Gunpoint Kiss- The Roleplay Before the Writing

Nearly all of the submachine gun bullets that riddled the vest were extracted. Her arms were growing sore, but the real chore of getting the larger ammunition around the chest had not begun.
She set the forceps and the pliers down on the table to massage her right arm.
Shit...that hurt.
The focus on the vest started to wane as the ache in her arm became more apparent. She winced as she swallowed, her throat felt raw, and dry.
Suddenly, her hands swiped for the half-full water bottle nearby. It had been a while since her last drink. As the water washed the irritated tissue away, she turned around to see that Kazuo was waking up. The cloth fell from his forehead and onto his lap. His eyes slowly went down, giving the thing a tired glance. Her lungs contracted. The arm holding the water bottle covered her mouth as she spat out the small amount of water. Violent coughing erupted from her chest, mixed in with laughter.
Sometimes, Setsuko hated how easily she laughed.
Right now, it was needed, and promptly welcomed.

Before she could see Kazuo's reaction to her braying, she turned around and set the bottle down, coughing out the remaining water into her arm.
The shining liquid was wiped along the skirt of her dress as she peered at the black vest.
Her arm was aching less due to stimulation, and she could resume immediately.
A stupid-looking grin tugged at her lips as the forceps were picked up, unopened.
It felt good to laugh. Better than it ever did.
It was rare to laugh now...
Those two occasions were appreciated, both due to Kazuo.
As she made little circles around the next extraction site to loosen the bullet, she sighed as new, somewhat dreaded thoughts entered her mind.
How on earth did he feel about her?
There was no trust, obviously, but that could be amended sooner or later. It was definitely higher than when they first met, or at least she thought so.
Could he ever...grow fond of her?
The thoughts passed through her mind, somehow assisting the focus of her work. She paused, only to look over at him and then promptly turn away.
Another bullet was placed on the table, along with the small pile of ammunition.
She really needed a rest when this was finished.

He jumped somewhat, tensing reflexively as if to move to stand up - but the sudden sound startling him was only that of his companion sputtering through a drink of water she had just taken. After a moment of choking, laughter spewed out of her between hard coughs. Kazuo cast a faint scowl. He didn't see what was so funny all of a sudden. But Narita turned back around to continue on the vest as her laughter died down and the last coughs of her choking fought their way out.

Gazing around absently for a moment, eventually he reached for his bag, pulling it closer across the floor to open it and retrieve his own water. After taking a drink, he grabbed for some of his bread, eating at it with a still-drowsy look in his face for a bit longer than usual and finishing off the partial loaf he had taken from his victim on the overlook. His own loaf still remained, barely touched.

He gave a sharp breath at sitting up a little when his bruised chest ached in protest. It felt as if the bruises permeated all the way down to his lungs. But, at most, their pain would dull within half a day. Glancing down at the cloth still in his lap again, he picked it up to toss to the floor as if just to get it off of him, like it was some diseased thing he wanted nothing to do with. There was a few minutes of his dark eyes sifting around like they didn't know what to do with themselves. Then he slumped again, and his head tilted back with a soft sigh, jacket falling at his movement so that its top rested at just his collar, leaving exposed his collar bones and the smooth tops of his shoulders. Despite the cool night air clawing across his skin's surface, he appeared too lazy at the moment to pull his jacket back up.

A grunt escaped her stomach as she yanked out the first, thicker bullet from the crevice it created. Before setting it down she brought the forceps closer.
Setsuko studied the bullet, quickly losing interest as she did not really know anything about guns, nor ammunition. She looked over her shoulder tentatively once the familiar sound of the bag opening reached her ears. He drank and began to eat, finishing the loaf of bread. As hunger clawed at her stomach, she was hoping that he had a little more food, and if he did, that he would be willing to share. Shaking her head, she returned to the vest.
There were only two bullets left. One looked incredibly loose, and she easily picked it off with her pliers.
Good.

Quiet curses flew from her mouth. The most stubborn of the ammunition had to be taken off last, didn't it? The closed, pointed edge of the forceps circled around the bullet, she was trying to gently etch it out.
She stopped working a few moments later when a sharp sigh came from her companion. She turned to look at him. The bruises were causing pain. Kazuo would have to wait it out, unless he would agree to having the cloth placed on his chest.
Fat chance.
The floors scraped as she pulled the single chair from the table towards her. Setsuko grabbed the black vest and the tools, hesitantly sitting down cross legged on the uncomfortable wooden heap. Before getting back to work, she looked at him again. He sighed and tilted his head back, allowing the jacket to fall. Her eyes became somewhat heavier as she stared at the exposed collarbones and his shoulders. She breathed sharply, imagining herself abandoning the current task to bend in front of him and gently kiss his exposed skin. Mental reprimands came later, just as the last bullet came off. Instead of piling it on the table with the others, it fell onto the wooden floor with a heavy clank. It only bounced twice. Setting straight to work on the last piece of ammunition, she did not look up to see if the sound piqued her companion's curiosity. As she placed the vest back on the table, she caught sight of the cloth on the floor.
"Pick that up. I'm going to sleep." She glared at him before rising and heading towards the bed.
The small pillow was grabbed and placed nearest to the chair that Kazuo was sitting in. She collapsed, curling into a ball and turning towards the window above. Setsuko really wanted to take a bath, but that would have to wait. Sleep was the bigger priority here, and it overtook her easily.

Kazuo appeared comfortable enough to be asleep, but his eyes remained only half-lidded, black-brown pupils wandering over the room restlessly. His gaze shifted to his companion at every sign of movement, but each instance never held his attention for long.

At her demand, a scowl crossed his face. He pushed his blazer off of him to the floor and stood, striding to the discarded cloth to first pick it up just as instructed -- and then turning to throw it at Narita just as she had curled up in bed. He headed for the table to retrieve his vest then, setting his Uzi down just momentarily to strap the vest back on before collecting his shirt and jacket also. His clothes and submachine gun intact on his person again, he returned to his seat by the bed, dragging the chair a little ways from his companion before sitting back down in it.

Already, he had grown awake enough that he began to itch to be on the move again.

He gazed at his companion from the corner of his eye. He could probably sneak off once she fell asleep... Her advice hadn't been too important so far. A sour look crept into his features at the thought of how he had been dragging her around... or, more like, how she had so persistently kept up with him. He then realized he wasn't sure why he felt he had to sneak off. If he was going to ditch her, he could just kill her. Yes, that was a much better idea. But he wanted to wait, for now, to be sure she was asleep so he could take her by surprise. Though his dark eyes continued to drift around, they periodically moved to check on the resting form of the girl and try to monitor her level of sleep.

She was surprised that he had listened to her, jumping a little bit at his sudden stand. The surprise was short-lived, as she soon felt the damp cloth affix itself to her head by force. Sighing, her arm gracelessly fumbled over the back of her head, throwing the cloth at the table blindly, not even sure if it reached its destination. Either way, it was off.
He had not returned to his seat, opting to get dressed. The rustling from his clothes had enticed her to turn over, but she resisted the urge. The last thing Setsuko wanted to do was to make her attraction obvious.
...Unless she already had.

Another sigh. She mulled the idea of Kazuo already knowing in her head. Initially, worry entered her mind; the feeling soon alleviated when Setsuko realized that the probably did not pick up on it. At least, she hoped so.

Her eyes closed again, drifting into a very light sleep soon after. Still self-aware, still dreaming. After a bit, she turned onto her back, breathing heavily.
She dreamt of them together, intertwined in passion. A very soft sigh escaped her lips as excitement intermingled with self-damnation. Her feelings for her heartless companion hurt her heart, but the pain was insignificant right now. The dream was mostly still, images rapidly shown against each other. Some of the scenes moved, like a video, as if some of the frames were removed.
It was heavenly.
Another groan. Setsuko was relieved that her sounds were barely audible. She was aware that Kazuo was nearby, feeling his dark eyes burrowing into her. She held her breath as the dream faded away, her chest began to clench. It tightened as if something had appeared and was now sitting on her bosom. Her eyes opened, to be greeted by nothing. Nothing was sitting on her chest, and she started to breathe again, almost hyperventilating. She turned onto her side and crooked her head to see her companion still in his chair, as restless as ever.
Lowering herself to sleep once again, loneliness enveloped her heart as she closed her eyes.

His knee soon began to bounce again, and his hands fidgeted atop the submachine gun in his lap. Kazuo contemplated how to kill his companion while waiting for signs of deep sleep from her. Strangling could be fun, but was simultaneously kind of boring without any blood and only limited cries of pain. Sticking the Uzi to her head and watching her face when she awoke to it might be funny. But that would be too quick of a death... Though, blood and brains everywhere was not an unappealing idea. But the gunfire would be loud and draw attention. He would have to move if he used it.

A knife, maybe. He probably wouldn't get the the chance to use his dagger otherwise. Knives felt so personal; intimate, almost. Wielded as an extension of himself just as a tooth or claw... A cold blade ripping through warm flesh. He delighted at the idea of punctured organs spilling open into each other, blood rushing through every bit of ruptured tissue and, not to mention, out.

His head dropped forward, and he shivered, shutting his eyes for a moment.

The boy jumped at a soft noise, glancing to Narita as she stirred somewhat with a small groan Kazuo took for nothing more than drowsiness. Her breathing paused, and when it resumed it picked up a bit. He looked away as her head turned to peer over at him. He didn't glance at her again until he could hear her shifting back into the comfort of sleep.

When he heard her breathing calm again, he drew the dagger from his belt. His breath quivered excitedly at the feel of its weight in his hand, and darkness billowed into his gaze. He stood slowly from his seat, stepping toward the bed with the practiced stealth of a predator. The girl lay on her side so her back was to him at the side of the bed he reached. He lifted the blade so it crept through the air... until its cool, sharp edge was pressed slowly and evenly against the exposed nape of Narita's neck, parallel to her spine. He could feel the pressure of each ridge of bone in her spine against the knife's edge. His eyes went alight at the moment of panic he anticipated from her - he knew she would recognize the feeling at her neck, but would be unable to move for fear of the blade diving into her at a moment's notice.

Her consciousness did not travel through any dimension of dreaming, she was cloistered within the embrace of deep sleep. Sleep had become a rare luxury over the past few days, and was cherished.
The passing day spent traveling with her companion had worn her out exceptionally, but sleeping during the day was light and unfulfilling.
Sleep was pulled away from her by a cold, metal finger that pressed itself against the nape of her neck. It stayed in one place, parallel with every single piece of bone in her spine. The cold feeling ran through every vertebrae, every neuron. Her eyes shot open, she began to shiver. Muscles tensed, her awareness slowly returning.
It was a blade, just as cold as the hand of Death. It was too small to be the wakizashi…what the hell was it?
Did someone sneak in? Was Kazuo alright? Her mind went blank and her stomach turned into ice as a terrible realization dawned upon her.

He had the dagger. It…it had to be Kazuo. If someone had snuck in, she would have been shocked awake by the rapid fire from the Uzi. Those eyes…she could feel the darkness radiating into the nape of her neck. Her hand traveled to her mouth, clenching over the dry, cracked lips to keep from making any sound.
Why? What did she do wrong? Was this his idea of a sick joke?

Escape.
She had to get the Hell out of here.
Escape was near impossible. She was too close to the wall to move, and it would be hard to sit up. There was a window, but it was right above her. That would take too long.

Some tears escaped the small corners of her eyes.
…Why?
So many emotions hit her at once, enough for a little whimper to escape the prison of skin. Some were unclear; she could only unmask a few basic ones.
Anger raged through her blood, yet a more powerful sadness pulsated through the valves and chambers of her heart. The small burst of an exhilarating desire to live began to die.
“Traitor.” She hissed. They were far from being allies, yet the label meant more.
Her throat contracted, but she did not dare make a sudden movement other than the soft, erratic shuddering. Kazuo held her life within the small, steel inches of the blade. He could end her quickly…or he would savor and wallow within each laceration he created on her skin.
The tears were flowing freely, but she did a good job of keeping it quiet. Searching her mind, she discovered that her feelings for her volatile companion were intact. Her nails shot out for her arm, digging into her skin.

“Ka-” She stopped again. Her voice was a strangled whisper, but the anger and sadness were clear. “Kiriyama…if you don't put that fucking dagger down, I'll make you regret it.”
The threat was totally empty, they both knew. But Setsuko Narita would not let Kazuo Kiriyama have the satisfaction.

A grin pooled into his lips at the small gasp that signaled her awakening. He watched her frame bristle and then begin to shiver. His gaze ate up her fear, and the dagger pushed against her nape to make a thin sliver of blood he could just barely make out in the darkness. If he were to drag the blade in any direction the wound be made bigger or deeper... but he was going to savor this.

At his companion's accusation, short breaths reminiscent of laughter spurted out his nose, though such a sound hurt his bruised chest to produce.

The sound stopped, though, and his smile dropped and his brows knit at the first name Narita almost uttered. As if she had any right to use his first name. The knife was abruptly pulled away from her neck with no more harm than the thin, shallow cut it had already inflicted, and Kazuo grabbed her arm to unceremoniously rip her out of bed and throw her to the floor with a faint scowl. Almost the second she was on the floor, he kicked her hard in the shoulder to make sure she didn't try for getting back up. He looked about ready to kick her again, but had gone still instead, knife in hand and Uzi hanging at his side, dark eyes glowering down at her almost warily.

No comfort came when he pulled the cold blade away from the back of her neck, since he immediately grabbed her arm and threw her onto the floor with terrifying strength. For a fleeting moment, she thought she was safe, that it *was* a joke.

A silent curse stayed latent in her throat, it transformed into a pained cry as his foot met her shoulder with a painful force. The vigor of the kick was enough to turn her onto her back.

She shut her eyes and tried to roll back onto her stomach, but her body suddenly became heavy, like an anchor. The pain in her shoulder burned, she clutched it tightly; it also inhibited her from turning over. The other hand reached behind her neck, feeling warm slivers of blood smearing her fingers. Her eyes opened, slowly, to look up at him. He was still. The dagger was in his hand, and the Uzi was ever-present. Her head slowly turned towards the table, looking up at the wakizashi.

Useless. Kazuo would overtake her within seconds. Her gaze shifted back to him. Their eyes met, he was glaring at her, the predatory air choking her with each second. Fear and anger were present in her eyes, but sadness was the most noticeable. But she swallowed and began to regulate her breathing, soon furrowing her brows. She glared back at him, not caring that her emotions were splayed out for him to read.

Setsuko wasn’t going to entertain him any further.

Kazuo leered down at his companion, who met his glare with an almost hurt look. A scowl overtook his face then. Some violent, heartless, monstrous thing sparked in his eyes, and he stepped forward to kick Narita in the side just as mercilessly as he had in the shoulder, promptly kicking her again in the back when she recoiled.

Just when it seemed he was ready to kick her again, his grip clenched on his dagger, and the wild-haired youth turned furiously on his heel to kick a chair over with equal ferocity. For his mild reluctance to cause such noise as gunfire, Kazuo was certainly making plenty of noise now; after the chair, he ripped a small cabinet from the wall to throw it across the floor, where its door was knocked askew and its display window shattered. Next he dragged his knife through the knick-knack-covered shrine adorning a shelf, before flinging the shelf from the wall altogether and then turning to suddenly and vehemently plunge his blade into the wall.

There, he held his dagger where it had been stabbed, leaning into his grip and resting his head against the wall. His breathing came hard as he appeared to gradually settle from his brief tantrum.

Setsuko’s glare shattered into terror as Kazuo’s normal, cold eyes were replaced with those of a monster. Her arms reflexively shrouded her face as he walked towards her.
Another kick, this time to her side. The result was a pained shriek. She was able to land on her stomach, but the comfort was short-lived. He kicked her in the back.

Setsuko tensed, her arms entangled over her head, prepared for another strike. She waited, but it never came. Hesitantly, she looked up, elevating herself slightly to look over her shoulder. The boy turned away from her, delivering a hard kick to the chair. It toppled to the ground. Her volatile companion had thrown himself into a sea of rage. She turned away as the cabinet was hurled onto the floor, jumping once the glass shattered.

Despite the pain, she elevated herself even more to slowly crawl towards the table. Agony restrained her, she could not stand. Her arm stretched up, towards the handle of the wakizashi. Her arm and fingers stretched to even touch the blade. Setsuko sighed sharply as she fell over. The remnants of the kick still haunted her side. Her breathing became labored, and heavy. It almost hurt to breathe. More fear pulsated through her veins as he destroyed the shrine and buried the dagger into the wall. The floor was cold against the side of her head, she shivered.
She licked her lips as Kazuo rested his head on the wall. Some excitement built within her chest once she realized that they were both breathing hard. Too tired to scold herself, she began to think. She wanted to live, perhaps she could reason with him; although talking could possibly make the situation worse.

"What did I do?"
Her own anger had not disappeared, but it had been covered by fear and her sad expression.
Why was she feeling this way? His allegiance had been sworn on a whim at today's dark dawn. He was probably planning to dispose of her right then and there, anyway.
"What did I do?!" She repeated, her voice growing louder.
An incoherent string of words escaped her lips, the inconsistencies of anger finally rising.
"And I can't believe...I..." Her voice failed her.
Not another word.
Eyes closing, her teeth pierced her bottom lip. The sting invigorated her. She hid within her own arms, beginning to question herself.

Not without some amount of effort, Kazuo eventually wrenched free his blade from the wall, lifting his arm then to tuck his forehead into the crook of his elbow. He turned, taking languid, generous steps away from the wall, and began to pace slowly about the opposite side of the shack as his companion.

The first time he heard Narita's voice he seemed to pay it no mind, if he had even heard it. The second time, however, once she raised her volume, he paused, arm still positioned against his head like he might have a headache. His breathing, which had calmed, picked up again, and he lowered his arm to stride briskly for the girl on the floor. The dagger was swept into his opposite hand so he could take up his Uzi in his right, raising the gun for Narita so that by the time he reached her the end of it was barely an inch from her head. His breathing was hard again. His dark eyes were at once calm, angry, and - albeit vaguely - somehow hurt.

His finger quivered over the submachine gun's trigger enough that nearly the whole gun was shaking in his hand, though not too noticeably. But after a minute - that probably felt more like a couple of years - the Uzi was pulled away without firing. Kazuo moved past his withered companion to start pacing again, still gripping his Uzi anxiously and still breathing as if fatigued.

Her breathing had calmed, although her face was getting rather warm from hiding in her arms. Tensing again as she heard his approaching footsteps, her head slowly rose. The end of the Uzi was pointed at her. Setsuko paused as if she withheld her breath, in reality she was inhaling and exhaling slowly from her nose. With eyes fixed on the dark, eternal tunnel of the gun, she waited for his finger to pull the trigger. Her skull would be ripped apart by bullets, her brain would be obliterated. Everything would pour out.

Time passed. No typewriter-esque gunfire ended her existence.
What was he waiting for?

Her gaze shifted to his face. Eyes widening in surprise, she let out a small, strangled gasp. With the monster gone, he was as calm and angry as before, but that is not what shocked her. Questionable hurt drifted through his eyes like thin fog. Soon, the Uzi was pulled away from her. As Kazuo walked away, Setsuko started to breathe normally again, some relief washing over her. Still, she kept an eye on him, unsure if he had grown uninterested in ending her life.

That hurt expression in his eyes lingered in her thoughts. Perhaps she was just seeing things? Setsuko hissed as she hoisted herself up to sit against a table leg, continuing to watch her companion as he paced with circumspect eyes. Escape should have been the first thing on her mind, but a feeling at her gut eliminated it as a priority. She wanted to stand up and slap him, stopping when her side and back protested.

Setsuko needed to say something, but what transpired between them left her speechless.

His gaze darted to her, though only fleetingly, with the wariness of a skittish animal when she moved to sit up. His hand flexed on the Uzi. Boy number six hungered to shoot something; he craved the typewriter noise in his ear, the satisfying feel of the gun's recoil in his hand, the odor of its smoke. He craved the rush of pounding bullets into the living sack of meat that was every human being. And, perhaps most of all, Kazuo craved the chemicals his brain offered in reward for drawing blood from any such fleshy frame.

His breath fell suddenly, and he paused in his pacing, resting the back of his knife-wielding hand against his forehead and shutting his eyes for a moment. His chest ached at all the hard breathing that had been wrought upon it.

If he wounded his companion, he would get carried away and kill her. And she did have her uses, he reluctantly acknowledged.

If he wounded himself, it would be something else he would have to patch up and be mindful of the rest of the game.

There was something like 19 other kids on the island, all his for the killing. And he was holed up in here like those brats at the clinic.... The clinic. There had been more than one voice at the clinic; he could go back and check there for them.

Kazuo promptly turned to stride for his bag, but froze before reaching it, gaze lingering on Narita. The boy's face was perfectly barren of so much as a hint of concern, yet gears were churning through his dark eyes. He seemed to be contemplating something in regards to his companion, but whatever it was did not appear to be worrying; a purely objective calculation of the injuries he may have inflicted kicking her... and if they would hinder or altogether put on hold his return to the clinic.

Judging by the restlessness of her companion, they would have to get moving soon. She gave him a look of disapproval as he strode over to his bag, her expression of displeasure becoming more apparent when he turned to look at her. It was clear that he was analyzing her for damage. Setsuko paused and looked away suddenly. She needed to assess herself. Now.

One palm gripped the floor and the other hand held onto the table. Her eyes were on the washroom. Hot water would be good for the muscles in the kicked areas, her ankle and her nerves. She whimpered as she forced herself to stand up, worry entering her mind as she hoped that none of her ribs were broken. Walking did not hurt as much as she thought, and she was able to make it to the door. She gave her companion a glance before sliding the door open.

“I’ll be out whenever. Stay put.” The door slid rather angrily behind her.

Setsuko discarded her smallclothes on the floor, on top of the dress and the shoes, standing in the middle of the room soon after. She was thankful that there was no mirror in the room, but that meant that she could not see her back. No matter. The pain was not as intense back there. Her hands gently pressed over the big, dark bruise where he kicked her. It was painful, but it only seemed to be in the muscle. She felt again, running her finger over her ribs. All seemed to be intact. Sighing with relief, she started to fill the tub.

Setsuko did not want to keep Kazuo waiting, but the tenseness could potentially slow them down. That wouldn’t be good if they were to be pursued. Her neck rested on the curved edge of the tub. The water was not particularly hot, but it would do. Her stillness was helping a great deal, too. She closed her eyes and sighed gently as one of her hands inadvertently ran over her inner thigh. Her hand pulled away at the shock of the sudden excitement, but slowly, it returned. Nails gently running over the tender, unexplored skin, she mewed. The excitement grew as she began to go higher, towards her stomach, stopping at her core. Her bony fingers explored her soul, her breath becoming shaky and pleasure-filled. A shattering wave of pleasure crashed into her soon after, another quiet mew carrying his name on her lips. It would have been louder, but she did not wish for her companion to become aware of her activity. Her hand rested on her bosom, breathing shakily. Some shame entered her mind, and the loneliness of being solitary when she opened her eyes enveloped her heart. Her lips parted as she remained a few more moments, before wandering out of the tub.

It was much less painful to stand, and she was able to dry herself off and dress without trouble. The bandages would have to be reused, though. After making sure that she was ready, she opened the door to look at her companion, nodding her head once in his direction.

He watched vigilantly as she stood, eyes taking in her every movement like a predator sizing up potential prey - a lion scanning the herd for weakness. Observant as ever, he followed her gaze to what was presumably the bathroom, but his attention flickered back to her at the whimper that did not go unheard. When Narita moved for the bathroom, however, her walking appeared largely unaffected by however much pain she was in.

Kazuo cast a faintly sour look at his companion's instruction. He didn't like being bossed around, to say the least. For all his own attitude, he didn't tolerate the attitude of others very well.

Regardless, he did 'stay put' just as instructed. He took the time to make sure his supplies were collected, then closing his bag. He kicked absently at some shards of glass as he walked through the debris he had created on his way back to his seat.

A number of minutes felt like longer, but, more or less fortunately, not long enough that Kazuo set off on his own. The second his companion reappeared from the bathroom, he swiped his bag off of the floor to sling onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

She looked away when she emerged from the bathroom, chewing the inside of her cheek with embarrassment. Her composure was needed, though; the incident in the bath would have to be forgotten.

It was no time to wallow in the pain of her current debacle. Right when she emerged, he grabbed the bag and made a beeline towards the door. She scrambled to gather the items she left on the table. The shears and the wakizashi returned to their place by her waist, the water bottle held in her hand. As she stepped over one of the fallen shelves, the two closed First Aid kits caught her eye. Carefully but quickly, they were opened.

Good. Their dwindling medical supplies were strengthened. She looked outside at her companion, who was already walking at a brisk pace. She held the kits under her arm, the bottle of water was in the other.

Eventually, she caught up to him, and they appeared to be heading back to the clinic.
At first, she questioned Kazuo’s choice of direction, but then she remembered that there had been others present that did not fight in the skirmish. Silence overtaking them both, she looked around at the dark scenery. Possible ambushes were all around them, and slowly, she fell behind.

The relatively short journey back to the clinic was uneventful, though Kazuo did stop a few times to listen, possibly as if he might have heard something or perhaps just to check on the vicinity.

The building still smelled like smoke. The hand grenades did not do particularly impressive damage; though almost all the windows were blown out, the structure itself was largely intact, and only certain areas inside that were the immediate vicinity of the grenades' impacts were at all really destroyed. The place was empty of its former inhabitants.

After searching every room and corner and potential hiding place of the building, Kazuo began to pace briskly back and forth in what may have been the waiting room. It wasn't long before his frustration escalated again. He scowled and suddenly kicked over an intact chair, fuming - albeit silently as always.

The moon provided no comfort on the excursion. The small amount of bluish, phantom-like light showed false trickery within the brush. Setsuko paused whenever he did, becoming as stiff as the nearby trees. The illusions of the minimal light soon faded, she relaxed, but she became anxious again when they reached the clinic.

Thankfully, the building was clear of the smoke. The smell lingered, but it was not enough to make her cough. Immediately, her companion set out on a very thorough search. Setsuko quietly left the new first aid kits on one of the standing waiting room chairs, so that her hands would be free to wield the wakizashi if there was any conflict.

While the clinic was small, the search took longer than expected. There were many cabinets and beds that could have served as a hiding spot. She followed him loyally, only refusing to go into the sick room. Setsuko returned to the waiting room as he finished his search, some uneasiness veiling her expression as Kazuo started to pace, jumping slightly when he kicked over one of the chairs.
She opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something, but promptly closed it. He had spared her, yes, but he was still dangerous. Remembering the hurt expression in his eyes earlier, she cautiously moved towards him. A shaky hand slowly reached out to provide comfort to his shoulder, stopping suddenly. It did complete its course; the touch was gentle and quick. Her hand withdrew after a few seconds, turning around to walk towards an overturned table. He definitely didn't like that, but she couldn’t help herself. She stood there, arms crossed with her back to him.
Not wanting to distress herself further, she pushed coming assessments of her feelings for her dangerous companion away. She felt a little happier, control over her mind was returning, albeit slowly.

He was still for a minute, shoulders heaving slightly at the hard breath of his frustration. Dark eyes focused emptily on the ground, he seemed either oblivious or indifferent to the footsteps of his companion... until her hand reached his shoulder, however briefly. His frame tensed as if an electric shock had traveled from the bottom of his feet up to the top of his head, and he turned, slowly, to lift his gaze to Narita. His brows gradually knit, expression growing steadily more troubled until the emotions that seemed to be invading his face reached his eyes - which then displayed the usual hostility and surging hunger for violence, but also some amount of anxiety, and even a hint of something bordering on... fear, like he was looking at some horrifically alien monstrosity he was far from certain he could survive facing.

But the girl had turned away and put some distance between them, crossing her arms in a withdrawn and vaguely defiant stance.

Kazuo appeared to try to scowl, but anxiety permeated his face too stubbornly for the expression to succeed in looking very intimidating, and instead he looked more like a pouting, somewhat frightened child putting on a tough facade. Still, enough traces of his volatile nature lurked in his eyes to warn he was as dangerous as always, and his near ever-present grip was maintained on the submachine gun.

He stepped closer to a broken window, the tension and air of fury about him steadily draining as he focused his attention outside... Perhaps to scan for potential victims, or perhaps just to distract himself so he could calm down.

The regained control she had over her mind did not dull her ardor for Kazuo as she had expected. In fact, as if it was by her selection, it became stronger. For a moment, her head tilted backwards, not unlike a frustrated teenager’s; although she was a prime example of one at the moment. She looked over at him once more, her gaze met with a tincture of expressions. The ever present crave of violence and the hatred he held never ceased to hammer fear into her heart. Yet, she began to notice that anxiety had seeped into his face.

Was that because she touched him? It had to be.

No pity welled in her heart, none. His eyes made it clear that he was still dangerous, despite the troubled veneer he wore.
She looked away again as he made his way to one of the broken windows to gaze, only looking back for a moment with a longing look on her face, which she hoped that he was not aware of.

Slowly, Setsuko made her way towards the chair where she deposited the new medical kits. Any sort of activity was welcomed. Better than to wallow in uneasiness. The wound and the spraining were recently tended to, but re-using the bandages made her feel unclean. Now she had time to do a better job. She sat on the cracked linoleum and set to work, carefully shaping the tourniquet and the tight wrappings around her ankle. After finishing, her form remained on the floor, only once peering at him. His arm was fine and probably did not need to be dressed until sometime tomorrow, but now she wished to be near him, to touch. Hesitantly, she spoke, her volume quiet but her tone rather strong and authoritative.

“Get over here. I need to check your arm.”

He couldn't help eyeing her warily as she moved, as if skittish of her touching him again. When she only sat down on the floor to tend to her ankle, he directed his attention outside again, though his troubled expression continued to cling to his features. He looked more lost in thought - or some kind of worry, maybe - than focused on watching the yard.

His lack of attention became all the more apparent when he jumped a little at his companion's words. Glancing at her with a look that was a bit closer to a scowl than his first try, Kazuo begrudgingly turned to step over to her, taking his time like a reluctant child. He crouched before lowering himself into a sitting position in front of the girl, long legs coiled in front of him for balance while he removed his blazer and then his dress shirt so his wounded arm waited exposed before her. His vest remained, as it did not have sleeves so there was no need to take it off.

She unlatched one of the white cases, looking happy at the new supplies, although she did not wish to carry the containers from now on. Perhaps Kazuo would put the new things in the bag later.

After he readied himself, she gently handled his arm. Her fingers lightly pressed on the smooth skin, slowly lifting the wounded area so that she could see. While she had done this for him twice, it still excited her to be this close and get away with it. Especially since it was darker, she had to curve her back and crane her neck to really have a good look. The old bandages were off, only slightly stained with red. The wound was clean, but the cleaning alcohol went on anyway. She wouldn’t take any chances with this thing. Dressing Kazuo’s wound went well, despite the occasional pangs of hunger that revealed itself through light growling.

Damn, she really needed food.

She pressed the need out of her mind as she tended to his arm, sneaking glances at his face when she could. However, she paused halfway, realizing how shaky her breathing had become. At this closeness he probably noticed, but he had not pulled away.

“There.” She sat back down in front of him, looking at him in the eyes this time, smiling slightly.
Her arm wandered under her legs to hold the falling skirt to her skin.

“Your arm is looking better. Good that I found you, huh?” Setsuko frowned slightly after she said this, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Talking to him was useless. And why did she have to sound so happy?

Despite compliantly lifting his arm to present it to his companion, Kazuo flinched when contact was made, though there was no pain inflicted by it.

Anxiety lingered in his features. It shifted through his eyes restlessly, and even seemed to crawl down from his face into the rest of him, tension and even goosebumps bristling across his skin until his lanky frame had taken on a slight shivering. But even bare of his shirt and jacket, Kazuo was not particularly cold.

He felt his heart jump at the feel of Narita's breath in his wound when she leaned in, and his own breath began to quiver soon after. His gaze began darting about nervously at the familiar, racing sensation in his chest.

No, no, no, no, no.

Panic attacks were relatively few and far between for boy number six. He had not anticipated having any trouble with them in the Program; he had not anticipated any form of companionship, had not anticipated having to deal with much of any degree of social anxiety... Just pure and unrestrained fighting and killing, nothing but the element he was most comfortable in. Yet he could feel panic overtaking his heart, and anxiety build in his every vein, evidenced by his incessant shivering and his shaking breath which, if gone unchecked, would evolve into hyperventilating should the feeling continue to escalate.

A more obvious fear he could not hold back seeped into his face. Caught in the increasingly tangible possibility of a panic attack, he did not appear to even notice when Narita was finished, nor at all hear or acknowledge when she spoke up. Instead, legs withdrawing toward his chest and hands turning to a fit of compulsive fidgeting against the floor at his sides, he gave a great shudder and shut his eyes for a moment at an overwhelming surge of terror. His breath quickened suddenly at the feeling, at last dropping into hyperventilation just as he had predicted.

Eyes widening at her companion’s increased breathing, she sat up, again, this time on her knees. Her smile faded. He was shuddering, and his breathing was just getting heavier and faster.

“Oh my God…” Her voice was constricted into a whisper.

Kazuo…

Setsuko was about to stabilize him by holding his shoulders, but once she remembered what her grandmother told her, they darted towards her side.

Never. Ever. Touch someone when they’re having a panic attack.

She tried to remember what to do.
What to say, if anything.

She’d have to be calm, but that was hard to do. Being quiet would be a challenge, as well. Being strong was out of the question. But she could pretend.
Remember.

Some of the advice came to her mind, but she dismissed them quickly. She knew what caused the attack.

It was her fault.

He probably did not have any medication for these situations.

She stood up to run towards the pharmacy in the other room, but stopped. The world of drugs and elixirs were unknown, and she would probably end up killing him rather than helping. Back to the floor.

Everything else she knew seemed to be useless. Staying with him would probably make things worse. Breathing exercises.
Maybe that would work.

She was still kneeling, but straightened her back, resting the shaking hands in her lap. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, hoping that the tone was good enough to calm him down a bit. She tried her best to sound collected and confident. To hide that she could cry at any moment.

“Deep breaths. It’ll be okay.” Setsuko sighed in, her chest rising and falling as she started to lead. “Come on.”