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“Did you know that I was born with AB- blood?” You say the fact with practiced carelessness. They’re light words. Easy to toss out of you. It’s easier to get rid of them when they’re being thrown. You’re not sure what you’d do if someone tried to take them.
“Oh yeah?” Kamimura does not raise his head to look at you. Far too busy examining the table with an eager eye. He’s been wiping the table for 20 minutes now. “I guess that fits you. I mean- I think that blood type stuff is bullshit, but. If I had to assign one to you, I think AB fits.”
You wonder what he’s searching for.
“What’s your blood type, Kamimura?”
“Hm? Oh.” He squints at the wood, scrubbing it with a wad of paper towels. “I’m O+. Which... I dunno. I guess it fits fine.”
You hum, pleased. “Ah, O+... that’s my blood type as well. It’s nice to find a kindred spirit.”
Finally, he pauses in his obsessive cleansing of the cafeteria table. Eyes raising with his brows. He squints and searches the porcelain covering your face.
“You just said you were AB-.”
You raise a finger at him and wiggle it side to side, reveling in the way his face scrunches up. You like seeing him displeased.
“I said I was born with AB- blood.”
You watch the gears turn in his head, and feel gears churning in your stomach. An oily taste on your tongue.
“So-... Blood types can’t change.” Kamimura scoffs, lip curled while he glares at you.
“They don’t do it often, I’ll grant you that.” You tip your head at him, corner of your mouth pitching. “It takes a certain amount of... medical intervention.”
You aren’t sure if he notices you squeezing your interlocked hands. He seems locked onto your face. The holes in your mask. Unwavering even to look for more.
You watch him. Rigid shoulders, hand strangling a bottle of lysol. The other grabbing his cloth in a vice grip. Investigating, those crimson eyes.
You wonder what he’s searching for.
“Was it... necessary?" He eventually asks, voice taut.
You aren’t sure how to answer that.
On a certain level, it was. Even if it wasn’t your body that would deal the blow, you would’ve died if your blood had remained as stained as it was. And yet, you don’t wish to give him the wrong impression.
“No.” The lie slips out as easy as a breath would. “But it gives me a bit of fun trivia.”
Kamimura snorts. “I bet you’d kill it at two truths and a lie.”
“Of course.” Your mind wanders to Isono, Harada, and after a momentarily delay you think of Tsuno as well. Two corpses, and two to join them. Counting yourself, of course. You have no delusions about where this plan will lead you.
Leaving just Ojima, then.
You wonder if the event will die with him, or if he’ll carry it with him out of here.
You aren’t sure what Kamimura reads in your body language, but when you focus on him again his permanent scowl has rounded out into a soft frown. Irises darting from your face to the floor.
“...I’ve had a lot of dumb bullshit done to me, too.” He admits. The softness of his voice startles you. “I mean, I got to keep my blood type, but...”
He lightly pushes away the spray bottle and finally sits at the table instead of leaning over it. Propping his head up with his hand and not-quite looking at you.
You hold the silence in your palm and decide to spend it staring at Kamimura.
Objectively, he’s weak. But not in the pathetic way that Wada is. There’s a fight in him. A spark that you used to see in the reflective surfaces your Mother would occasionally allow you to interact with. A desire. A need.
Perhaps it’s a bit cruel to consider killing him. But that’s what he wanted, isn’t it? You don’t fail to kill yourself that many times if you intend on living.
There’s a certain story you plan on telling with your death. One that requires a hero to be defeated, and an innocent victim. It’s a difficult dance, this play of yours. You wish it was easier to cast your actors.
Oh well. That’s what these casting calls are for.
Carefully, you sit yourself across from him. Hands folded on the table.
“Is it hard for you to live in a body you resent?” You ask, your voice low and quiet. Head angled down, but gaze steadily focused on him. You wonder if he can tell.
Regardless, Kamimura flinches a bit at your words. Eyebrows drawn together, glower tugging at his face. You watch his shoulders shake, and wait for him to trade in the silence.
“I mean-” He spits, sounding like he hates himself for talking “I dunno. I mean, yes? Obviously? It fucking sucks.” You think, maybe, he’d hate himself more if he said nothing. “But I deal with it. I- you’re not supposed to complain, y’know? ‘Cause everyone... everyone else wants you to fucking complain. And give in. And do all this bullshit.”
You nod your head, scratching idly at the bandages on your palm.
“It’s hard to enjoy a body that works... wrong.” You do not think about yourself. “No one tells you how to tell the difference between wanting to be something and wanting the pain to stop.”
“...Yeah, right? Like. Fuck, for such a long time I-” Kamimura coughs into his hand, refusing to look at you. It feels familiar. Nostalgic, almost. “I didn’t know how to tell what I wanted. Did I actually want to be a guy, or did I want to stop feeling so fucking awful?”
“Do I actually want to be nothing, or did he just make me feel like nothing?” You murmur.
You do not think about yourself. You do not feel any tightness when Kamimura manages to meet your gaze through the mask. You do not have to swallow anything when he smiles at you. Awkward, clumsy. Chapped lips cracking into a morose grin.
“God, it’s such bullshit.” He says, almost wistful. And you don’t think about yourself at all.
It’s nice that he’s easy. This is a simple story to weave to draw out the answers you need. Plant the trust you require. It’s easy to lie. You do it as easy as you breathe. Nothing more.
“I like to think that when I die, I will be reborn as... a fox.”
His eyes sparkle, curious. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes.” You nod. “I believe it would be- easier. Foxes do not have the same expectations. It would matter very little what a human wanted me to be.”
He breathes out slowly. “Yeah, that does sound nice.”
“Do you want to be a fox, too?”
Kamimura purses his lips and taps his fingers against his cheek. Looking strangely serious for a simple question. Does he understand what you’re asking him? Can he feel it, tugging on his soul?
“Nah, not a fox.” He decides with a smile. “A badger would be good, I think. Ken-” He stumbles, as if you care what you call him. “Uh. He mentioned that badgers and foxes actually get along and like... can live together in the same burrows?”
He shrugs.
“I think it’d be nice.”
Something goes tight in your chest. A live wire strangles itself there.
“Better than being a human?”
He snorts. “Fuckin’... 100%. Those guys have it easy.” His shoulders go a bit loose. A sort of defeat settling in his expression. Resigned. “I think I’ve been tired of humanity for awhile.”
He’s perfect. The realization settles in you, uncomfortable and unfortunate. But what else can you do?
You hope the others don’t realize the mercy you’re doing. It would ruin everything if they were able to twist you into something understandable. Good. You hate such a word. Evil is what saved you.
Evil will save him, too.
“I eagerly await to share a den with you, Kazutoshi.”
He pauses at the name choice, but doesn’t reject it.
“Me too.” He chews on his lip, and then dips his head. “Hanano.”
You wonder if he’ll hate you, too.