the things we carried

Sunlight pierced through the broken glass ceiling of the abandoned shopping mall. Taiga pressed his back against a concrete pillar, his rifle at the ready. The vast entrance hall stretched before them, a graveyard of fallen signage and withered plants.

“Clear on my side.” Juri’s voice echoed from across the hall. His silhouette moved with practiced grace, shotgun scanning the windows.

Taiga’s eyes traced the familiar lines of Juri’s form. Even after all these years, watching him move still made his heart skip. The way he held that Remington, how his shoulders tensed before each corner…

He knew every detail by heart.

A cluster of vines had claimed the escalators, nature’s slow conquest of mankind's abandoned domain. Taiga stepped over a fallen shopping cart, its metal frame twisted and rusted.

“Remember those stories from the older folks?” Juri’s boots crunched on broken glass. “About how people used to just… hang out here?”

“Sounds like a waste of time.” But Taiga smiled, remembering their own guilty pleasure of ‘wasting time’ with their guitars back home.

“Says the guy who spent three hours drawing yesterday.”

“That was mission prep. Mapping the—”

“Sure it was.” Juri flashed that crooked grin that always made Taiga’s chest tighten.

They moved deeper into the mall’s gut. Shafts of light cut through the gloom, illuminating swirling dust motes. The air carried the musty scent of decay and abandonment.

A mannequin lay shattered near what used to be a clothing store. Taiga paused, studying the frozen plastic smile. What a strange world it must have been, he thought, when people worried about fashion instead of survival.

“Hey.” Juri appeared at his side, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Overthinking.” Juri bumped him gently with his elbow. “I can hear the gears grinding from here.”

Taiga scoffed, but Juri wasn’t wrong. He’d always been the one to get lost in his head, while Juri remained firmly grounded in the present. It’s what made them work so well together, both in the field and...

A distant crash shattered the silence. Both men dropped into defensive positions, weapons raised. Taiga’s breathing slowed, controlled. He felt Juri shift beside him, their movements synchronized from years of practice.

Seconds stretched into minutes.

Nothing.

“Probably just more ceiling coming down,” Juri whispered, but kept his shotgun ready. “Remember that time in the subway station?”

“When you nearly shot that falling pipe?”

“Hey, that pipe was very threatening.”

Taiga suppressed a chuckle. Trust Juri to make light of a tense moment. It’s what had first drawn them together as kids—Juri’s ability to crack through his serious exterior, to make him smile even during survival training.

They advanced through the mall’s main corridor. A child’s toy lay abandoned near a dried-up fountain, its bright colors faded to ghostly pastels. Taiga felt Juri’s hand brush against his lower back—a gesture so subtle most would miss it, but loaded with meaning between them.

“Check that out.” Juri nodded toward a storefront. Through the grimy windows, rows of untouched shelves waited. “Might be worth a look.”

Taiga studied the store’s layout, mapping angles and exits. “Cover the door. I’ll—”

“Not a chance.” Juri’s tone left no room for argument. “We go together or not at all.”

Same old Juri. Ever since that close call two years ago, he’d become even more protective.

Not that Taiga minded, though he’d never admit it out loud.

They approached the store entrance, moving in perfect sync. Years of shared missions, shared meals, shared nightmares had forged them into something beyond partners. Each knew the other’s rhythms as well as their own.

The store’s interior smelled of dust and mildew. Taiga’s boots crunched on broken glass as they entered, rifle sweeping the shadows. Metal shelving units created narrow corridors throughout the space, most stripped bare by previous scavengers.

A faded sign hung crooked above the counter: “Pharmacy.” The kanji had nearly worn away, but the medical cross remained visible.

Taiga’s pulse quickened. Medical supplies were worth their weight in gold back at the zone.

“I’ll check the back.” Juri moved toward the dispensary counter, his footsteps precise and measured.

Taiga worked methodically through the front shelves. Empty boxes littered the floor, their contents long gone. He picked through the debris, hoping for something overlooked.

A flash of color caught his eye—a fallen display rack wedged behind a shelf. He pulled it free, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Found something?” Juri’s voice carried from behind the counter.

“Maybe.” Taiga sorted through the items. Cheap reading glasses, broken combs, a handful of elastic bandages.

He pocketed the bandages. Even small finds could make a difference.

The sound of Juri rummaging through drawers filled the silence. Taiga moved deeper into the store, past toppled displays of dental care products. A rat skittered across his path, disappearing into a hole in the wall.

He’d seen worse—much worse.

“Jackpot.” Juri emerged from behind the counter, holding up several small bottles. “Antibiotics. Expired, but better than nothing.”

Taiga nodded. The zone's medical staff could work with that. They'd learned to be less picky about expiration dates since the outbreak. His own collection seemed meager in comparison—bandages, some gauze, a bottle of pain relievers.

Taiga nodded. The zone’s medical staff could work with that. They’d learned to be less picky about expiration dates since the outbreak. His own collection seemed meager in comparison—bandages, some gauze, a bottle of pain relievers.

“We should check the rest of this floor.” Taiga secured his finds in his pack. “Might be more stores worth hitting.”

“Read my mind.” Juri stuffed the antibiotics into his vest pockets. “Though I’m still waiting for us to find that music store you keep talking about.”

“It has to be here somewhere.” Taiga had studied the mall’s old directory during mission prep. Not that he’d admit to Juri how much time he’d spent analyzing the layout, imagining finding intact guitars or sheet music.

They moved back into the main corridor. Sunlight painted patterns on the floor through the broken ceiling, creating islands of light in the darkness. Taiga checked his watch—still plenty of daylight left. The zone’s curfew wouldn’t be an issue.

Juri walked slightly ahead, shotgun ready. His movements were fluid, practiced. Taiga found himself studying the way Juri’s shoulders moved under his leather jacket, the confident set of his stride. Even after years together, small details like that still caught his attention.

“There’s a sporting goods place up ahead.” Juri gestured with his chin. “Might be worth checking for supplies.”

Taiga pulled his focus back to the mission. Stop getting distracted, he chided himself.

But it was hard sometimes, especially on quiet runs like this. His mind wandered to their shared quarters back home, to late nights spent playing guitar while Juri listened, to moments stolen between missions.

A torn banner fluttered overhead, advertising some long-forgotten sale. The mall felt like a museum of the old world, preserved in dust and silence. Taiga sometimes wondered what it had been like, before everything fell apart. Before The Rage turned humanity’s achievements into hollow monuments.

“You’re doing it again.” Juri’s voice pulled him back.

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you get all philosophical.” Juri flashed him a knowing look. “I can see it on your face.”

“Just thinking about the mission.” The lie came easily, but they both knew better.

“Right.” Juri’s tone carried that familiar mix of amusement and affection. “Like how you were ‘just thinking about the mission’ when you spent an hour sketching that sunset last week?”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. “That was different. I was documenting—”

“The way the light hit the mountains. I know.” Juri’s grin widened. “You’re not as mysterious as you think, Taiga.”

Maybe not to you, Taiga thought. Juri had always been able to read him, even back when they were kids.

It should have been unsettling, being known so completely. Instead, it felt like anchor in a world gone mad.

They reached another junction in the mall's layout. Storefronts stretched in both directions, their windows dark and uninviting. Taiga consulted his mental map. The sporting goods store Juri mentioned should be to the right, but something about the left corridor tugged at his memory. That’s where the directory had shown...

“Left.” The word slipped out before Taiga could overthink it. His feet moved on instinct, drawn by the nagging memory of that mall directory.

“Thought we were hitting the sporting goods store?” Juri fell into step beside him, adapting to the change without question.

“We will. Just… trust me on this.”

They moved down the corridor, passing empty storefronts like missing teeth in a broken smile. A gift shop, its shelves bare. A defunct electronics store, nothing but empty display stands remaining.

Then—

Taiga’s heart stuttered.

Through layers of grime and dust, faded musical notes decorated a storefront window. Inside, shapes of instruments hung on the walls like sleeping bats.

“Well, would you look at that?” Juri’s voice carried a knowing warmth. “What are the odds?”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. “We should check it for supplies.”

“Sure, we should.”

The door was locked, but Juri made quick work of it with his boot. Inside, the musty air carried traces of wood and metal strings.

Taiga’s fingers itched at the familiar scents. Shelves lined the walls, some still holding sheet music and instruction books. Most guitars had been looted long ago, but a few remained, too damaged or cheap to be worth taking. Taiga ran his fingers over a broken acoustic, its strings long since snapped.

Something caught his eye—a shelf of sheet music near the back, partially hidden behind a fallen display. He moved closer, rifle temporarily forgotten at his side.

The pages were yellowed but intact. Classical pieces, rock arrangements, even some traditional songs.

His hands moved without conscious thought, selecting a few collections that looked promising. They’d need careful preservation, but with proper care...

Warm arms slipped around his waist from behind. Taiga tensed for a split second before relaxing into the familiar embrace.

Juri’s chin came to rest on his shoulder. “Found something good?”

“Maybe.” Taiga tried to keep his voice neutral, but Juri’s closeness made it difficult to focus. “Could be useful for teaching the zone kids.”

“Mmhm.” Juri’s breath tickled his ear. “Nothing to do with that pile of sheet music you keep under our bed?”

“That’s different. That’s for—”

Juri turned him around, cutting off his protest with a kiss. Taiga melted into it despite himself, the sheet music crumpling slightly between them. Juri tasted like their morning coffee and something uniquely him, familiar and intoxicating.

The kiss deepened, and Taiga found himself backed against the shelf. His free hand tangled in Juri’s jacket, pulling him closer. The mission, the mall, the whole broken world seemed to fade away, leaving only this—Juri’s warmth, his taste, the solid presence of him.

“You know,” Juri murmured against his lips, “you could just admit you wanted to find this place.”

“Shut up.” Taiga kissed him again, softer this time. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“We are working.” Juri’s grin turned mischievous. “Very thoroughly investigating this location.”

Juri's lips found that sensitive spot on Taiga’s neck, and memories flooded back.

That first time, five years ago. They’d been clearing an abandoned parking garage—another supply run, another routine mission.

Juri had pushed him against a wall, just like now, but there’d been desperation in it.

Fear.

They’d nearly lost each other that day, an infected emerging from a dark corner. The adrenaline, the relief, years of unspoken feelings—it had all crashed together in that first, fierce kiss.

Taiga's fingers traced the familiar scar on Juri's jaw, a reminder of that day. They’d been reckless then, young and drunk on survival.

Now, each touch carried the weight of years, of shared battles and quiet moments.

“We should move,” Taiga murmured, though his body betrayed him by pulling Juri closer.

“Probably.” Juri’s teeth grazed his earlobe. “Any minute now.”

The sheet music crinkled between them. Taiga carefully extracted it, smoothing the pages before tucking them into his pack. His fingers lingered on the worn paper. Back home, he’d preserve them properly, add them to their growing collection of salvaged music.

They emerged from the shop, falling back into mission mode with practiced ease. Juri took point, shotgun ready. Sunlight had shifted, casting new shadows across their path.

Time to wrap things up.

Movement caught Taiga's eye—something white against the dark floor near a fallen vending machine. He approached cautiously, rifle trained on the area. The shape resolved into a medical kit, its plastic case dusty but intact.

Taiga crouched beside it. The kit looked relatively new compared to the decay around them. Someone had left it here, recently enough that dust hadn’t completely claimed it.

His mind conjured unwanted images—a survivor fleeing, dropping supplies in their haste.

Or worse, someone succumbing to infection, abandoning their gear as the fungus took hold.

Don’t think about it.

He pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the kit’s contents. Clean bandages, antiseptic, even some antibiotics. A solid find.

Taiga slipped the medical kit into his pack. Long shadows stretched across the mall’s floor, painting dark fingers through broken skylights.

“We should head back.” Juri checked his watch. “Don’t want to push our luck with daylight.”

The setting sun cast an orange glow through the mall’s skeletal remains. Taiga shouldered his rifle, following Juri’s lead toward the exit. Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness, too loud in the growing darkness.

A clicking sound froze them both.

Stage Three, Taiga's mind supplied automatically. His grip tightened on the rifle.

The clicking came again, closer this time, accompanied by the shuffle of feet.

More than one.

“Back exit,” Juri whispered, already moving. “Now.”

They retreated slowly, weapons ready. A figure emerged from the shadows—human-shaped but wrong, its head covered in fungal growths. The clicking grew louder as it turned toward them, drawn by their movement.

Two more appeared behind it.

“Run!” Juri’s voice carried the edge of command that Taiga knew better than to question.

They sprinted down the corridor. The infected’s clicks turned to shrieks, the sound bouncing off walls and multiplying until it seemed to come from everywhere.

Taiga’s heart hammered against his ribs. He fired at a shape lunging from a storefront, not waiting to see if it fell.

Juri’s shotgun boomed beside him, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. An infected crashed through a display window, glass tinkling like deadly wind chimes.

Taiga put two rounds in its chest, but it kept coming.

“Left!” Juri grabbed his arm, yanking him down a service corridor. The emergency exit sign glowed faintly ahead.

Something grabbed Taiga’s pack. He spun, coming face-to-face with a fungal-covered head. The infected’s mouth gaped, revealing blackened teeth. Its hands, twisted into claws, reached for his throat.

The shotgun blast was so close it left Taiga’s ears ringing. The infected’s head exploded in a spray of fungal matter and gore.

Juri’s hand found his, pulling him forward.

“Move!”

They burst through the emergency exit into twilight. Their vehicle sat twenty meters away, partially hidden behind overgrown bushes.

The infected poured out of the door behind them, their clicks turning to screams.

Taiga fired as he ran, each shot precise despite his racing pulse.

An infected fell, then another.

Juri reached the car first, yanking the driver’s door open.

“Get in!”

Taiga dove into the passenger seat as Juri gunned the engine.

An infected slammed against his window, fungal plates scraping the glass.

The car lurched forward, tires spinning on loose gravel.

They fishtailed onto the main road, the infected’s shrieks fading behind them. Taiga’s hands shook as he reloaded his rifle, muscle memory taking over while his heart tried to escape his chest.

Juri drove with controlled intensity, taking corners faster than strictly safe. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight enough that Taiga could see the muscle jumping.

“You okay?” Juri’s voice was rough.

“Yeah.” Taiga forced his breathing to slow. “Thanks to you.”

The adrenaline began to ebb, leaving him drained. He watched Juri’s profile in the dying light, memorizing again the sharp line of his jaw, the focused set of his eyes.

The image of the infected’s reaching hands lingered, too close, too real.

They sped toward home as darkness settled over the ruins of Kyoto, the car’s headlights cutting through growing shadows. Taiga’s pack pressed against his back, heavy with salvaged supplies and sheet music that had almost cost them everything.

-----

Cold air hit Taiga’s skin. His hand reached across the bed, finding empty space where Juri's warmth should have been. He opened his eyes, blinking away sleep as he focused on the analog clock.

4:56 AM.

Too early.

His muscles protested as he sat up, a delicious ache that brought heat to his cheeks as memories from last night flooded back. The way Juri had pinned him against the wall, hungry kisses trailing down his neck. How they’d barely made it to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. His skin still tingled where Juri’s teeth had marked him.

The standard-issue mattress creaked as Taiga shifted. The sound seemed too loud in the pre-dawn quiet of their hut. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair, frowning at the empty room. They both had the day off—rare enough that they’d planned to sleep until noon, maybe longer. Juri never woke up early if he didn’t have to.

Moonlight filtered through the reinforced window, casting strange shadows on the bare concrete walls. Their clothes still lay scattered across the floor where they’d dropped them. Taiga’s shirt hung off the back of a chair, and Juri's pants crumpled near the door.

His face burned hotter at the evidence of their desperation.

A soft clinking sound drifted from the kitchen. Taiga swung his legs over the bed’s edge, wincing at the cold floor against his feet. He grabbed Juri’s discarded t-shirt from the ground, pulling it over his head. The fabric smelled like him—gun oil and that military-issue soap they all used, but underneath it, something distinctly Juri that made Taiga’s heart skip.

His dog tags clinked quietly against his chest as he padded toward the kitchen. The shirt barely covered his thighs, but modesty seemed pointless after last night.

Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else would see him.

Juri stood at their tiny counter, back turned to the door. Moonlight caught the scars that crossed his shoulders, old battle marks Taiga had memorized with his fingers. He wore only boxers, his hair still mussed from sleep—or maybe from Taiga’s hands.

“You’re up early.” Taiga’s voice came out rougher than intended.

Juri turned, eyes trailing over Taiga’s bare legs before meeting his gaze. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Nice shirt.”

Heat crept down Taiga’s neck. He crossed his arms, suddenly aware of how the shirt rode up when he moved. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Juri’s smile faded slightly. He gestured to two mugs on the counter. “Made tea.”

Taiga moved closer, bare feet silent on the cold floor. This close, he could see the tension in Juri’s shoulders, the slight crease between his brows that meant something was bothering him. Their free days were precious—Juri should be dead to the world right now, not standing in their kitchen at dawn looking worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Juri handed him one of the mugs. Their fingers brushed, and Taiga’s skin tingled at the contact. “Just thinking.”

Steam rose from the tea, carrying the artificial floral scent of their rationed tea bags. Taiga wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic, studying Juri’s face in the dim light. Last night’s stubble shadowed his jaw, and dark circles lined his eyes.

How long had he been up?

“Juri.”

“It’s nothing.” But Juri’s hand found the small of Taiga’s back, pulling him closer. His palm was warm through the thin shirt. “Go back to bed. It’s too early to be up.”

Taiga set his mug down, turning to face him properly. “Then why aren’t you in bed?”

Juri’s thumb traced circles on Taiga's back, but his gaze remained distant. “Later, okay? When I’ve sorted it out in my head.”

The words held a familiar weight. Taiga knew better than to push—Juri processed things differently, needed time to work through his thoughts before sharing them.

Trust went both ways. If Juri said he’d tell him later, he would.

Taiga reached for his abandoned mug, letting the subject drop. The tea was still too hot, but he sipped it anyway. The artificial floral taste filled his mouth—a poor imitation of real green tea, but better than nothing. Their shoulders brushed as they leaned against the counter, sharing warmth in the pre-dawn chill.

Moonlight painted silver stripes across the kitchen floor through the reinforced window slats. The familiar hum of the building’s generators vibrated through the walls. In the distance, a siren wailed—just the regular morning patrol signal, nothing to worry about. These small sounds of their confined world felt amplified in the quiet.

Juri set his mug down with a soft clink. His hand found Taiga’s hip, tugging gently. “Come here.”

He moved to one of their military-issue chairs, pulling Taiga onto his lap. The metal was cold against Taiga’s bare thighs, but Juri’s skin burned hot where they touched. His hands slid under the borrowed shirt, callused fingers tracing patterns on Taiga’s sides.

“You look good in my clothes,” Juri murmured against his neck.

Heat bloomed across Taiga’s skin. He turned his head, catching Juri’s mouth with his own.

The kiss tasted like artificial flowers and something uniquely them. Juri’s hands tightened on his waist, pulling him closer as their lips moved together.

Whatever troubled Juri’s thoughts could wait. For now, this was enough—the quiet kitchen, the familiar taste of rationed tea, and Juri’s warmth against him in the darkness before dawn.

Taiga gasped as Juri’s mouth moved to his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath his ear. His hands slid into Juri’s hair, tugging gently as heat pooled in his belly. The borrowed shirt rode up his thighs as he shifted, drawing a low sound from Juri’s throat.

“Should go back to bed,” Taiga managed, even as his body arched into the touch.

Juri’s hands tightened on his hips. “Too far.”

His voice was rough, sending shivers down Taiga’s spine. Their lips met again, hungrier this time. Juri tasted like artificial tea and desire, his tongue sliding against Taiga’s in a way that made coherent thought impossible.

The chair creaked as Juri pulled him closer, metal legs scraping against concrete. His hands pushed the shirt higher, callused fingers tracing fire across Taiga’s skin. The dog tags clinked softly between them as Taiga pressed closer, grinding down in a way that made Juri groan into his mouth.

Moonlight painted silver across Juri’s shoulders, highlighting old scars Taiga knew by heart. He traced them with trembling fingers, mapping familiar territory as their kisses grew more desperate. Juri’s hands slid lower, gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise.

The distant siren faded, leaving only their ragged breathing and the quiet hum of generators. Taiga’s world narrowed to sensation—Juri’s mouth on his neck, strong hands on his skin, the delicious friction between them. His head fell back as Juri sucked another mark into his throat, adding to the constellation from last night.

“Beautiful,” Juri murmured against his skin.

The word held reverence, making Taiga's chest tight with emotion. He caught Juri’s mouth again, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. Their tongues tangled, bodies moving together with desperate need.

The chair protested beneath them, but neither cared. Juri’s hands slipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, making Taiga gasp and buck against him. Heat coiled tighter in his belly as skilled fingers teased and explored.

“Juri,” he breathed, the name half-plea, half-prayer. “Please.”

Teeth caught his lower lip in response, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through his body. Their kisses turned messy, uncoordinated as passion overtook finesse. Taiga’s fingers dug into Juri’s shoulders, leaving crescent marks that would join last night’s scratches.

The generator’s hum seemed to pulse with his racing heart. Every touch felt electric, heightened by the pre-dawn darkness and lingering exhaustion. Juri’s mouth traced a burning path down his throat as their bodies moved together, chasing release with increasing urgency.

The world blurred at the edges as pleasure built between them. Taiga rocked against Juri’s touch, breath coming in short gasps. Every nerve ending felt raw, oversensitive from last night yet craving more. The borrowed shirt clung to his sweat-damp skin, Juri’s scent surrounding him with each ragged breath.

The first rays of dawn painted the kitchen walls in soft grays, but Taiga barely noticed. His focus narrowed to the points where their bodies connected—Juri’s mouth on his throat, skilled fingers drawing desperate sounds from his lips, the solid heat of him beneath Taiga’s thighs. The dog tags clinked softly with each movement.

“Close,” Taiga managed, the word more air than sound. His fingers tightened in Juri’s hair, drawing a low growl that vibrated against his skin. Heat coiled tighter in his belly as Juri’s free hand gripped his hip, guiding their movements with increasing urgency.

The chair creaked a warning beneath them. Taiga distantly hoped the sound wouldn’t carry through the thin walls to their neighbors, but coherent thought scattered as Juri’s thumb found that spot. His back arched, pleasure spiking through him in electric waves. Juri caught his cry with a bruising kiss, swallowing the sound as Taiga shuddered against him.

Stars burst behind his closed eyes. His body went liquid, boneless as aftershocks rippled through him. Juri’s arms tightened around his waist, holding him steady as tremors subsided. The borrowed shirt stuck to his skin, damp with sweat. Their harsh breathing seemed too loud in the quiet kitchen.

“You okay?” Juri’s voice was rough, concerned despite his own obvious need.

Taiga managed a shaky nod against his shoulder. His heart thundered against his ribs, dog tags cool against overheated skin. He felt Juri’s pulse racing to match, strong and steady beneath his lips as he pressed lazy kisses to his throat.

Dawn light crept across the floor, painting their tangled limbs in soft gold. The building stirred around them as other residents began to wake. Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, a reminder that their bubble of privacy wouldn’t last much longer. Soon, the day would properly begin, bringing with it all the worries Juri hadn’t voiced.

But for now, in this moment between night and morning, Taiga let himself sink into the warmth of Juri’s embrace. Whatever troubled his thoughts could wait a little longer.

-----

“Like this. Keep your wrist relaxed, don’t grip too hard.”

The late afternoon sun filtered through the high windows of the platform, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Six children sat cross-legged in a semicircle before him, each cradling a salvaged guitar with varying degrees of success. The instruments showed their age—scratched finishes, replaced strings, patched bodies—but they still rang true.

Mika, a serious nine-year-old with perpetually skinned knees, frowned in concentration as she attempted the chord progression. The sound came out buzzing and wrong. Taiga remembered his own frustration at that stage, and Toma’s patient voice guiding him through it.

“Music isn’t about being perfect,” Toma had said, adjusting Taiga’s fingers on the frets. “It’s about expressing what’s in here.” He’d tapped Taiga’s chest, right above his heart.

“Try again,” Taiga said, echoing that same patience. “Press closer to the fret this time.”

The memory of Toma’s lessons rose sharp and clear—the way he’d hum along as Taiga practiced, his calloused hands demonstrating chord shapes, the proud smile when Taiga finally mastered a difficult passage.

He’d been more than just a teacher. In the sterile environment of the zone, where survival skills took precedence over art, Toma had shown them another way to live.

A hesitant series of notes drew Taiga back to the present. Riku, the youngest at seven, picked out a simple melody they’d been working on. His face lit up when he hit the right sequence.

“Good,” Taiga said. The praise earned him a gap-toothed grin. “Remember to keep your thumb behind the neck.”

The KMZ authorities had tried to shut down the music program three times, calling it a waste of resources. Each time, Toma had fought back with quiet determination.

“These kids need more than just survival skills,” he’d argued. “They need something to survive for.”

Taiga adjusted another student’s hand position, the motion automatic after years of teaching. His dog tags clinked against the guitar’s body as he leaned forward.

Five years since Toma’s infection, and sometimes the loss still felt raw. He’d been on a routine supply run when it happened—the kind he’d done countless times before.

One mistake, one moment of bad luck, and everything changed.

A discordant twang snapped him back to the lesson.

“Sorry,” Mika mumbled, face flushed with frustration.

“It’s okay.” Taiga shifted to sit beside her. “Watch how I do it.” He demonstrated the progression slowly, muscle memory taking over as his fingers found the familiar patterns. The notes rang clear and true, filling the dusty air with something beautiful.

For a moment, he was twelve again, sitting in this same spot while Toma showed him this exact progression. The memory overlaid reality—the smell of metal polish and coffee that always clung to Toma’s clothes, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the steady confidence in his voice when he said Taiga had a natural talent for music.

The last note faded. Mika's eyes were wide with determination as she tried again, mimicking his hand position. This time, the chord rang cleaner.

The other children watched intently, their own guitars forgotten for the moment.

“See?” Taiga said, pride warming his chest. “Keep practicing and you’ll get it.” He glanced at the battered watch on his wrist—ten minutes left in the lesson. Just enough time to review the homework he’d assigned last week.

Movement in his peripheral vision drew Taiga’s attention to the doorway. Juri leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. The late sunlight caught the edges of his dark hair, creating a soft halo effect that contrasted with his usual sharp features.

The children noticed him too. “Juri-sensei!” Several voices chimed in greeting as they packed up their guitars.

“Hey, squirts.” Juri's gruff voice carried warmth as the students filed past him, each careful with their instruments. He ruffled Riku’s hair, earning a giggle from the boy.

Taiga gathered the sheet music scattered across the floor, tucking loose pages back into their folders. The room fell quiet as the last echoes of small footsteps faded down the hallway.

A familiar warmth pressed against his back, and Juri’s lips found the sensitive spot behind his ear. “Missed you,” he murmured, arms sliding around Taiga’s waist.

Taiga leaned into the embrace, his body recognizing the familiar contours of Juri’s chest against his back. “You saw me this morning.”

“Too long ago.” Juri’s kiss deepened, drawing a soft sound from Taiga’s throat before he pulled away to examine the line of guitars propped against the wall. His fingers trailed over the worn finishes until he selected one—an old acoustic with a replaced bridge. “Haven’t played in days.”

The instrument settled naturally in Juri’s lap as he sank to the floor. His fingers moved across the strings, testing the tuning. Despite his rough exterior, music transformed him—softened the hard edges, revealed glimpses of the boy Taiga had fallen in love with years ago.

“We could try that piece we found at the mall,” Taiga suggested, remembering the crumpled sheets they’d salvaged from the music store. “The duet?”

Juri's eyes lit up with interest. His fingers stilled on the strings as Taiga retrieved the music from his folder. The pages were worn, edges torn, but the notes remained clear enough to read. They’d spent hours that night in their hut, examining their finds like they were precious treasures.

In many ways, they were.

Juri settled beside Taiga, their shoulders touching as they arranged the sheet music between them. The familiar scent of gun oil and leather from Juri’s jacket mixed with the musty air of the classroom.

Taiga’s fingers found the opening notes, and Juri followed his lead, their guitars weaving together in practiced harmony.

The melody transported Taiga back to his first day in Toma’s class. He’d been nervous, clutching a battered guitar almost as big as himself, when a scowling boy with intense eyes had dropped into the seat next to him.

Juri hadn’t said a word that entire lesson, just watched Toma with fierce concentration. But afterward, he’d turned to Taiga and declared, “You’re doing it wrong. The G chord—your fingers are too spread out.”

They’d been inseparable since. Through combat training, through supply runs, through the endless drills and inspections that filled their days in the zone. Juri’s presence had become as natural as breathing, a constant warmth at his side.

Taiga’s fingers stumbled over a difficult passage, and Juri adjusted his tempo to match, covering the mistake. They’d learned to read each other that way, to anticipate and compensate, until it became second nature.

Like the way Juri always seemed to know when Taiga needed space to think, or how Taiga could tell Juri’s moods from the set of his shoulders.

The memory of their first kiss rose unbidden—both of them seventeen, exhausted after a close call during a supply run. They’d taken shelter in an abandoned shop, adrenaline still coursing through their veins, when Juri had grabbed Taiga’s shirt and pulled him close.

The kiss had tasted of fear and desperation and something else that had been building between them for years.

Taiga’s heart clenched at the memory of that fear. It never really went away, just settled into his bones like an unwanted companion. Every time Juri went on a run without him, every time they encountered infected, every close call and near miss—the fear whispered that one day, their luck would run out.

One day, he might lose Juri the same way they’d lost Toma.

Their guitars wove together, the melody rising and falling like a conversation. Juri’s knee pressed against his, warm and solid and present.

Real. Here.

The sunlight caught the small scar above Juri’s eyebrow—a reminder of a mission gone wrong last spring. Taiga knew every scar, every story etched into Juri’s skin. He knew the nightmares that sometimes woke Juri in the dark hours, knew the weight of the secrets they carried.

The music swelled, and Juri leaned into him slightly, their shoulders brushing. Such a small gesture, but it anchored Taiga to the present moment. To the warmth of Juri beside him, to the familiar weight of the guitar in his lap, to the way their fingers moved in perfect synchronization across the strings.

“Remember when you tried to teach me that riff from the old rock song?” Juri’s voice was soft, a private murmur meant only for Taiga. “I practiced until my fingers bled, just to impress you.”

Taiga’s chest tightened at the memory. They’d been fifteen, and he’d already been falling, though he hadn’t recognized it then. He’d just known that Juri’s rare smiles made his stomach flip, that he lived for the moments when their hands would brush during guitar practice.

Juri’s calloused fingers slid up Taiga’s neck, pulling him into a gentle kiss. The touch sent shivers down Taiga’s spine, familiar yet electric. Their lips met with practiced ease, a slow dance they’d perfected over the years. Taiga melted into it, savoring the warmth of Juri’s mouth against his.

“We should head to dinner,” Juri murmured between kisses, his breath hot against Taiga’s lips. “Before they run out of the good stuff.”

Taiga hummed in agreement but didn't pull away.

One more kiss, then another. Each one felt weighted, heavy with unspoken words. Something in Juri’s touch seemed different—more urgent, almost desperate.

Juri broke away first, standing and extending his hand. His fingers interlaced with Taiga’s as he pulled him up, the gesture achingly tender. They stored the guitars with practiced care, movements synchronized from years of routine.

The walk to the dining area was unusually quiet. Juri’s hand remained clasped around Taiga’s, his grip tighter than normal. The setting sun painted long shadows across their path, and the evening air carried the metallic tang of the UV barriers.

Halfway there, Juri stopped abruptly. His expression shifted, features hardening into something that made Taiga’s stomach clench. He’d seen that look before—when Juri had to deliver bad news about fallen comrades, when supply runs went wrong.

“Taiga.” Juri’s voice cracked slightly. He squared his shoulders, jaw tight. “I got drafted.”

The words hung in the air between them. Drafted. Only one organization had that kind of authority these days.

“STAGE?” Taiga’s voice sounded distant to his own ears.

Juri nodded, his grip on Taiga’s hand tightening. “They need people with experience. For specimen collection and—” He swallowed hard. “They want me in Tsukuba.”

Tsukuba.

The word hit like a physical blow.

Tsukuba meant research facilities. Meant specialized teams. Meant leaving the zone.

Leaving him.

Taiga’s chest constricted, each breath becoming harder than the last. The world narrowed to the pressure of Juri’s hand in his, to the familiar scent of leather and gun oil, to the scar above Juri’s eyebrow that caught the fading sunlight.

No, Taiga wanted to say. You can’t go.

But the words stuck in his throat. Because this was STAGE—the organization that might actually find a cure. The group that could end this nightmare.

And they wanted Juri.

Taiga’s vision blurred. The familiar walls of the zone seemed to close in, suffocating. His free hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into his palm.

“When?” The word came out rough, barely a whisper.

“Three days.” Juri’s thumb traced circles on Taiga’s hand, a gesture meant to soothe that only heightened the growing ache in his chest. “They need experienced runners. People who can handle themselves out there.”

Three days. The weight of those words settled like lead in Taiga’s stomach.

Three days to memorize every detail of Juri’s face, every scar, every expression.

Three days to prepare for a goodbye he wasn’t ready to face.

“I tried to—" Juri's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, started again. “I asked about bringing you with me.”

Hope flared briefly in Taiga’s chest, but Juri’s expression killed it before it could take root. Of course they’d said no. Taiga was valuable to the zone—one of their best scouts. And STAGE didn’t waste resources on non-essential personnel.

The evening bell rang, its hollow sound echoing off concrete walls. Dinner would be starting. Other zone residents passed them, casting curious glances at their frozen tableau.

“That’s why you've been different.” The pieces clicked into place—Juri’s intense focus during their mall run, the way he’d touched Taiga last night like he was trying to memorize every inch of him, the guitar at dawn. “How long have you known?”

“Two days.” Juri’s grip tightened. “I wanted to tell you, but—”

“But you didn’t.” The words came out sharper than intended. Taiga pulled his hand free, instantly missing the warmth. “You kept it from me.”

Memories flooded back—every shared moment over the past two days now tainted by this unspoken truth. The way Juri had insisted on cooking Taiga’s favorite meal, how he’d lingered longer than usual during their morning goodbyes, the desperate edge to his kisses.

“I didn’t know how.” Juri reached for him again, but Taiga stepped back. “Taiga—”

“Don’t.” His name in Juri’s lips hurt, a reminder of countless whispered conversations in the dark. Of promises made between guitar strings and supply runs.

Of a future that was crumbling before his eyes.

The dining hall doors opened, releasing a wave of noise and cooking smells. Someone called Juri’s name—probably another runner wanting to coordinate schedules. But Taiga couldn’t stay, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

He turned and walked away, ignoring Juri’s quiet curse behind him. His feet carried him automatically through familiar corridors, past the training grounds where they’d learned to fight together, past the music room where they’d fallen in love. Every step felt weighted with memories.

Three days.

The words echoed in his head, a countdown he didn’t want to start. Three days until Juri would board a STAGE transport and disappear into the wasteland beyond the zone’s walls.

Three days until—

Taiga's throat closed up. He quickened his pace, needing to move, to run, to do something other than think about Juri facing infected without him there to watch his back. About nights spent wondering if Juri was alive or—

No.

He couldn’t go there. Couldn’t let himself imagine that possibility.

The practice range appeared ahead, empty at this hour. Taiga grabbed his rifle from the locker, muscle memory taking over as he checked the magazine, adjusted the sight. The familiar weight of the weapon grounded him, gave him something concrete to focus on.

The targets downrange blurred as he lined up his shot.

Three days.

Bang. Center mass.

Two days and twenty-three hours.

Bang. Head shot.

Two days and—

“Fuck.” The curse escaped through clenched teeth as his next shot went wide.

His hands shook as he lowered the rifle, the metal warm against his palm. How many times had Juri steadied these same hands during training? How many nights had those hands pulled him close, traced patterns on his skin, played music that made the world feel less broken?

The rifle clattered as Taiga set it down. He pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the shooting stall, trying to slow his racing thoughts.

Trying not to think about how empty their hut would feel without Juri’s guitar filling the silence. How cold their bed would be without Juri’s solid warmth beside him.

His dog tags clinked together, the sound drawing his attention to the matching set Juri wore. They’d swapped tags years ago, a private promise between them.

Now Juri would take Taiga’s tags to Tsukuba, while Taiga kept Juri’s close to his heart—

A constant reminder of what he stood to lose.

-----

The electric vehicle hummed beneath them, its tires crunching over broken asphalt and scattered debris. Taiga pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching familiar buildings slide past in a blur of decay and overgrown vegetation. The route to Higashiyama District hadn’t changed, but everything else had.

His fingers traced the worn grip of his rifle, finding comfort in its familiar contours. Beside him, Juri’s hands flexed on the steering wheel—a nervous habit Taiga had memorized years ago, along with countless other little details that now felt like thorns in his chest.

A flash of movement caught his eye. Just a piece of fabric caught in the wind, dancing between abandoned storefronts.

Not infected. Not yet.

His grip on the rifle loosened slightly.

Juri cleared his throat. “Weather report said—”

“Clear skies,” Taiga cut him off, the words coming out harder than intended. They’d done this run dozens of times. The weather didn't matter.

Nothing mattered except the countdown in his head: twenty-six hours until Juri left.

The silence settled back between them, heavy with unspoken words. Taiga caught Juri’s sideways glance in the reflection of his window. The concern in those dark eyes made his stomach twist. He didn’t want Juri’s worry. Didn’t want his guilt or his explanations or his attempts to make this better.

The vehicle hit a pothole, jostling them. Their shoulders brushed.

Even that brief contact sent electricity through Taiga’s skin, followed by a wave of nausea. How many more touches would they share? How many more moments like this, side by side in comfortable silence, before—

No. He forced the thought away, focusing instead on the approaching district. The old temple roofs peaked through the trees, their curved tiles still elegant despite years of neglect. Moss and vines had claimed most of the traditional buildings, nature reclaiming what humanity had abandoned.

“Taking the usual route?” Juri’s voice was carefully neutral.

Taiga nodded, not trusting his voice. The “usual route” was their route—the path they’d carved together through years of successful runs. Tomorrow someone else would learn these streets, would watch Juri’s back, would—

His fingers found Juri’s dog tags under his shirt, the metal warm against his skin. The familiar weight that had once brought comfort now felt like it was choking him.

The vehicle slowed as they approached their usual parking spot—a narrow alley between two former tea houses. Defensible. Multiple escape routes. Good sight lines. They’d chosen it together during their first run here, when everything had been simpler.

When promises whispered between guitar strings still meant something.

Juri killed the engine. The sudden silence pressed in around them, broken only by the distant call of birds and the soft whisper of wind through empty streets. Neither of them moved to exit the vehicle.

“Taiga—”

“Don’t.” Taiga’s hand found the door handle, gripping it until his knuckles went white. “Just... don’t.”

He could feel Juri’s eyes on him, could picture the exact expression on his face without looking. That mix of determination and regret that had haunted his features since his announcement. The same look he’d worn when Taiga had finally returned to their hut that night, guitar silent, bed cold.

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision again—this time definitely not fabric. Taiga’s training kicked in, pushing personal thoughts aside. “Contact. Two o’clock.”

Juri’s posture shifted instantly, professional instincts taking over. This, at least, was familiar. This they could do without words, without the weight of tomorrow hanging between them.

They had a job to do. Supplies to gather. A route to clear. Just like always.

Except nothing was like always anymore.

-----

They moved through the district with practiced efficiency, a dance perfected over countless missions. Taiga took point while Juri covered their six, their footsteps barely audible on the moss-covered stones. Each doorway, each shadow held potential threats, but they’d learned to read this place like a familiar song.

The weight of Juri’s presence at his back felt different now. Still steady, still reliable, but tinged with an expiration date that made Taiga’s chest ache.

He pushed the feeling down, channeling it into hyper-vigilance instead. A broken window. A displaced trash can. The subtle signs that marked the passage of infected—or worse, other survivors.

Shop after shop yielded their usual harvest: medical supplies, preserved food, anything useful for the zone. Taiga’s backpack grew heavier with each stop, but he barely noticed the weight. His body moved on autopilot while his mind drifted between the present and memories of previous runs.

Juri’s laugh echoing off these same walls. Quick kisses stolen in shadowed doorways. Plans whispered between supply counts.

A faded sign caught his eye—some upscale restaurant that had probably served overpriced sushi to tourists. The door hung off its hinges, creating just enough space for someone to squeeze through.

Taiga signaled his intent to Juri, receiving a nod in return.

The interior smelled of mold and decay, but beneath it lingered traces of what might have been sake and grilled fish. Taiga’s flashlight beam cut through the gloom, revealing overturned tables and broken dishes.

The beam caught something unusual tucked behind the host stand—a vintage record player, its wood cabinet somehow intact despite the chaos around it.

Toma had one just like it.

The memory hit unexpectedly. Toma, their old music teacher, spinning vinyl records during lessons. The way his eyes would close as the music filled the room, transporting them all somewhere beyond the zone’s walls. Before the infected took him.

Taiga’s fingers moved without conscious thought, checking the player’s mechanisms. Still functional. A record sat on the turntable, protected by the closed lid. The electrical outlet nearby still had power—they’d confirmed this block was on the zone’s grid during previous runs.

He shouldn't waste time on this. They had a mission. A schedule.

But his hands were already connecting the power, lifting the lid with careful reverence. The label was faded but legible: “I Look Up as I Walk” by Sakamoto Kyu.

The needle touched down. Static crackled, then—

Music filled the dead air. Soft guitar strings and that haunting melody that had once been Japan’s gift to the world. A song about walking with head held high despite heartbreak.

Something cracked in Taiga’s chest. All the anger he’d been using as armor, all the hurt he’d tried to bury beneath professionalism—it surged up like a wave, burning behind his eyes. His vision blurred as Sakamoto Kyu’s voice sang about whistling while walking into the wind, about pushing forward even as tears fell.

He gripped the edge of the host stand, knuckles white. How many times had they played this song together? How many quiet evenings spent working out the chords, Juri’s fingers brushing his as they shared the guitar?

And now—

A single tear escaped, tracing down his cheek. Taiga wiped it away roughly, but others followed. The music swelled around him, filling the empty restaurant with ghosts of everything he was about to lose.

Warm arms slid around Taiga’s waist, Juri’s chest pressing against his back. The familiar scent of gunpowder and sweat wrapped around him like a blanket, threatening to break what little composure he had left.

Juri’s chin settled on his shoulder, and Taiga’s body betrayed him by wanting to lean into that touch.

But then, he jerked away, spinning to face the man who’d shattered their world. “Don’t.” His voice cracked. “You don’t get to comfort me. Not when you’re the one—”

The words caught in his throat, choking him.

“Taiga—”

“You promised.” The accusation tore from his chest, raw and bleeding. “All those nights planning our future. All those stupid dreams about finding a place outside the zone. Was any of it real? Or were you just waiting for a better offer?”

Juri stepped forward, reaching for him.

Taiga backed away until he hit the host stand, the record player skipping at the impact. “Stay back. I mean it.”

But Juri never listened when Taiga pushed him away. Never had.

His arms came around Taiga again, stronger this time, pulling him into an embrace that felt like home and heartbreak all at once. Taiga’s fists connected with Juri’s chest, but there was no real force behind the blows. His anger crumbled, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that left him sagging against Juri’s solid frame.

“I’m sorry,” Juri whispered into his hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Taiga’s fingers curled into Juri’s jacket, holding on like he could keep him here through sheer force of will. The music played on, its bittersweet melody mixing with their ragged breathing. Juri’s heart thundered under Taiga’s ear, its familiar rhythm both comfort and torment.

“I thought—” Taiga swallowed hard. “I thought we were enough.”

“We are.” Juri’s arms tightened. “God, Taiga, you’re everything. But this isn’t just about us. The research they’re doing... they might actually find a cure. I could help make that happen.”

“I know.”

And he did know. That was the worst part. He understood exactly why Juri had to go, why this mattered more than their small dreams of happiness.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

Juri’s hand found his chin, tilting his face up. Those dark eyes held a storm of emotions—guilt, determination, and something deeper that made Taiga’s chest ache. “We still have today.”

The words hung between them, heavy with promise and grief. Taiga nodded slowly, his anger draining away to leave only the raw need to memorize every moment they had left.

“Then let’s make it count,” he whispered.

Juri’s lips found his, gentle at first, then desperate. Taiga kissed back with everything he couldn’t say, pouring years of love and fear and trust into the press of their mouths. His fingers tangled in Juri’s hair, holding him close as the music swelled around them.

Juri pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Taiga's. “I’ll call. Every chance I get.”

“Don’t.” Taiga’s fingers tightened in Juri’s jacket. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His voice softened. “Just... don’t die out there.”

“Only if you promise the same.” Juri’s thumb traced Taiga’s cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “No heroic bullshit while I’m gone.”

A wet laugh escaped Taiga’s throat. “Since when am I the heroic one?” He leaned up, pressing their lips together again, trying to memorize the taste of him, the feel of—

A crash echoed from the kitchen, followed by the distinctive clicking sounds that haunted Taiga’s nightmares. His blood turned to ice.

Shit. The music. They’d gotten careless, let their emotions override years of training.

Juri tensed against him, head snapping toward the sound.

More crashes followed, accompanied by inhuman shrieks that made Taiga’s skin crawl. The Infected were drawn to noise—and they’d just broadcast a dinner bell across the district.

“How many?” Taiga whispered, already reaching for his rifle.

Juri’s eyes narrowed as he listened. “Too many. Coming from multiple directions.” He grabbed Taiga’s arm, pulling him toward the broken window they’d passed earlier. “Up. Now.”

Taiga didn’t hesitate. They’d practiced this enough times—Juri’s cupped hands becoming a springboard, launching Taiga through the window and onto the sloped roof of the adjacent building.

He spun immediately, reaching back to help pull Juri up just as the first Infected burst through the kitchen door.

The creature’s face was a nightmare of fungal growth, its movements jerky and wrong as it oriented toward their position. Behind it, more shapes moved in the darkness, drawn by the music still playing below.

Juri’s hand found his, yanking him further up the roof. “Move!”

They scrambled across weathered tiles, years of practice guiding their feet over the treacherous surface. Taiga’s heart hammered against his ribs as screams echoed from the streets below.

Not just from the restaurant—the commotion had drawn others. Many others.

They reached the roof's peak, and Taiga’s stomach dropped. Infected filled the streets below like a grotesque flood, their twisted forms moving with terrible purpose toward the source of the music. Their escape route to the vehicle was completely cut off.

“There.” Juri pointed to the next building—an old ryokan with a roof only slightly lower than their current position. “We can make it.”

Taiga’s mind calculated distances, angles, risks. The gap wasn’t impossible, but one slip meant death—or worse.

Still, the growing chorus of shrieks behind them made the choice simple.

They backed up three steps, hands still clasped. Taiga squeezed once. Juri squeezed back.

Then they ran.

The moment of weightlessness felt eternal. Taiga's stomach lurched as the ground disappeared beneath him. Then his feet hit tiles with a bone-jarring impact, momentum carrying him forward. He rolled, absorbing the force like they’d trained, coming up in a crouch with his rifle ready.

Juri landed beside him, already scanning for their next jump. “That way. We can circle back to the alley.”

More shrieks rose from the streets. The horde was spreading, drawn by their movement now as much as the fading music. Taiga forced himself to focus on the path ahead, on the familiar weight of Juri’s presence at his back.

One roof at a time. One jump at a time. They could do this.

They had to. They still had promises to keep.

The scaffolding loomed ahead—a rusted skeleton clinging to the side of a half-renovated building. Taiga’s lungs burned as they sprinted across the final rooftop.

Behind them, the infected’s shrieks grew closer, their inhuman footsteps thundering across tiles and wood.

“There!” Juri pointed to a maintenance platform jutting from the scaffolding. “We can climb down from there.”

Taiga’s muscles screamed as they leaped the gap. His feet hit metal with a hollow clang that echoed through the empty streets. The platform swayed beneath them, decades of rust weakening its supports.

A screech pierced the air. Too close.

Taiga spun, rifle raised, as an infected burst from a broken window above them. Its fungal-covered face twisted in a silent howl as it launched itself toward them.

Two shots rang out. The infected’s head exploded in a spray of spores and gore, its body tumbling past them into the abyss.

But the gunshots were like dinner bells to the others. More shapes appeared at windows and rooftops, drawn by the noise.

“Move!” Juri shoved him toward the ladder. “I’ll cover!”

Taiga's hands found the first rung. Rust flaked beneath his fingers as he began his descent. Above him, Juri’s shotgun boomed, the sound reverberating through the metal framework. An infected’s body plummeted past, missing Taiga by inches.

The platform groaned. Metal shrieked against metal. Taiga looked up just as one of the support brackets tore free from the wall.

Time slowed. He saw Juri’s eyes widen in horror.

Felt the platform tip beneath his feet.

His fingers scrambled for purchase as gravity shifted, but the rusted rungs crumbled in his grip.

He fell.

The world spun. Wind rushed past his ears. His body slammed into something solid—an awning—breaking his fall but not stopping it. He hit the ground hard, pain exploding through his shoulder and hip.

“Taiga!” Juri’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “I’m coming down!”

No. They were separated now, vulnerable.

Already infected were pouring from doorways and alleys, drawn by the commotion. Taiga forced himself to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side. His rifle was gone, lost in the fall, but his kusarigama still hung at his belt.

The chain-sickle felt right in his hands as he spun to face the first infected. Its fungal plates gleamed dully in the fading light as it charged.

Taiga waited until the last moment before stepping aside, the blade of his weapon finding the soft spot beneath its jaw.

The infected dropped, but two more took its place.

Above, Juri's shotgun continued to roar. Shell casings rained down like metallic tears as he cleared a path to a safer descent point.

Taiga kept moving, using the kusarigama’s reach to keep the infected at bay. The chain wrapped around one’s neck while the blade found another’s throat. Blood and spores painted the ground at his feet.

A shadow dropped beside him—Juri.

They fell into their familiar dance, back to back, covering each other’s blind spots. Juri’s machete flashed while Taiga’s chain sang through the air. Together they carved a path through the growing horde.

“There!” Taiga spotted an opening between two buildings. “The maintenance tunnel!”

They sprinted for the narrow gap, infected hot on their heels. Juri fired his last shell, the blast echoing off stone walls. Taiga’s kusarigama found one last target before they dove through the entrance.

Together they shoved a dumpster across the opening, sealing it just as rotting hands began to pound against the metal.

Taiga’s chest heaved as he sagged against the dumpster, his muscles trembling from exertion. The infected’s fists still hammered against the metal, but the barrier would hold.

It had to.

Sweat trickled down his neck as he turned to Juri. “That was too—”

“Taiga.” Juri’s voice cracked. “Your arm.”

Something in his tone made Taiga's blood run cold. He looked down at his right forearm where his sleeve had torn during the fall.

Bloody teeth marks marred his skin, already starting to bruise around the edges.

No.

His legs gave out. He slid down the wall, eyes fixed on the wound. On the proof that everything they’d feared, everything they’d trained to prevent, had finally caught up to them.

“I’m sorry.” Juri’s whisper echoed off the tunnel walls. “I should have—" He stepped into the dim light filtering through the barrier, holding up his left hand.

Similar marks scored his palm, fresh blood still welling from the punctures.

Taiga’s world tilted sideways. The tunnel walls pressed in, threatening to suffocate him.

This couldn’t be happening. Not both of them. Not like this.

“When?” The word scraped his throat.

“During the fall. One of them grabbed me as I was climbing down.” Juri slid down beside him, their shoulders touching. His hand found Taiga’s, fingers interlacing like they had a thousand times before. “Yours?”

“The last one. Before we reached the tunnel.” Taiga’s voice sounded distant to his own ears. “I didn’t feel it. Adrenaline, I guess.”

They sat in silence, listening to the gradually fading sounds of the infected outside. Taiga’s arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of what was coming.

What they would become.

His free hand found Juri’s dog tags again, the metal now cool against his skin. Yesterday, his greatest fear had been losing Juri to STAGE.

Now...

“At least we’re together.” Juri’s thumb traced circles on his palm. “That’s something, right?”

A wet laugh escaped Taiga’s throat. “Yeah. Something.” He turned his head, studying Juri’s profile in the dim light. Memorizing the lines of his face while they were still human. Still themselves.

The irony wasn't lost on him. They'd spent so many years fighting to stay alive, to build some kind of future together.

Now they had maybe forty-eight hours before the infection took their minds. Before they became the very things they’d spent their lives fighting.

“We should…” Taiga swallowed hard. “The protocol…”

“I know.” Juri’s grip tightened. “Not yet though. Please.”

Taiga nodded, letting his head fall onto Juri’s shoulder. The familiar scent of him mixed with blood and gunpowder. His arm burned where the bite marked him, but he barely noticed the pain anymore. All he could feel was Juri’s warmth against his side, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the beating of their hearts still in sync after all these years.

They had maybe two days left of humanity. Two days before protocol demanded they end it—before they lost themselves to the fungus growing beneath their skin.

“Some last mission, huh?” Juri’s voice wavered slightly.

“Could’ve been worse.” Taiga closed his eyes. “Could’ve been alone.”

“Never liked that protocol.” Juri’s voice broke the heavy silence. “Always seemed too... clean. Clinical.”

Taiga shifted, the bite on his arm throbbing as he turned to face him. The dim light caught the sharp angles of Juri’s face, shadows deepening the hollows beneath his eyes. The same eyes that had watched countless others follow protocol when infection claimed them.

“We could...” Taiga’s throat tightened around the words. “We could wait it out. Together. Fight it as long as we can.”

His heart hammered against his ribs. Even suggesting it felt like betrayal of everything they’d trained for, everything they'd sworn to uphold.

But the thought of Juri cold and still, of watching the light fade from those eyes—

“Second option sounds better.” Juri’s fingers tightened around his. “Rather spend whatever time we have left with you than follow some bullshit rulebook.”

Relief flooded Taiga’s chest, followed immediately by guilt. They’d both seen what the infection did, how it stripped away everything human piece by piece.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Juri’s warmth pressed against his side, solid and real and alive.

“The zone will send search parties when we don’t report in,” Taiga said. “We should move deeper into the tunnels.”

“Already planning our escape route?” A hint of the old teasing tone crept into Juri’s voice. “And here I thought I was the reckless one.”

“You are.” Taiga bumped his shoulder. “I’m just the one who keeps up with you.”

The familiar banter felt surreal against the weight of their situation. His arm burned, each pulse a reminder of what grew beneath his skin.

But for now, they were still themselves. Still able to choose.

“How long do you think we have?” Juri’s question hung in the stale tunnel air.

Taiga’s mind calculated automatically—infection rates, progression markers, variables they’d studied for years. “Maybe forty hours before the changes start. Another eight before we lose cognitive function.”

“Two days.” Juri’s thumb traced Taiga’s palm. “Better make them count then.”

The touch sent shivers up Taiga's spine, mixing pain with something deeper. They’d always known their time was limited—living in the zone made that impossible to forget.

But now the countdown felt real in a way it never had before.

“Any regrets?” Taiga asked, surprising himself with the question.

“Just one.” Juri’s voice roughened. “Should’ve kissed you sooner. Wasted too much time being scared.”

A laugh bubbled up in Taiga’s throat, half-hysterical. “That’s what you're going with? Not ‘should’ve been more careful’ or ‘should’ve checked the scaffolding first’?”

“Nah.” Juri turned, his free hand finding Taiga's cheek. “Those extra months with you would’ve been worth more than playing it safe.”

The words hit Taiga’s chest like physical blows. All their careful planning, all their protocols and precautions—none of it had saved them in the end.

But they’d had this. Years of stolen moments and shared dreams, of learning each other’s rhythms until they moved like one person in two bodies.

They found a tunnel that stretched ahead, their flashlight beams cutting through decades of darkness. Taiga’s boots scraped against broken tiles, each step echoing off the curved walls. His infected arm throbbed with his pulse, but he forced the pain away, focusing instead on Juri’s steady presence beside him.

“Remember that time we found that intact convenience store?” Juri’s voice bounced off the concrete. “All those expired snacks?”

“You got sick from eating that ancient chocolate.” The memory pulled at Taiga’s lips despite everything. “Served you right.”

“Worth it though. Haven’t had chocolate since.” Juri’s fingers brushed against his. “When we get through this—”

“If we get through this.”

“When.” Juri’s tone left no room for argument. “First thing I’m doing is finding you real chocolate. Not that processed military ration stuff.”

Something tight wound around Taiga’s chest. They both knew the odds. No one survived the infection—not in all the years since the outbreak.

But the familiar game of “what if” pulled at him, offering a momentary escape from their reality.

“I’d learn to play electric guitar,” Taiga said softly. “Find one that still works, hook it up to those old amplifiers we saw in the music store.”

“You’d wake up the whole zone.”

“Maybe they need waking up.”

Their footsteps synced naturally as they walked deeper into the tunnel. Water dripped somewhere ahead, a steady rhythm like a metronome counting down their remaining hours.

“I’d take you to the ocean,” Juri continued. “Find one of those coastal zones they talk about. See if the water’s really as blue as the pictures.”

Taiga’s throat tightened. They’d spent countless nights planning imaginary trips, tracing routes on salvaged maps. “We could learn to swim.”

“Build a boat.”

“You get seasick on solid ground.”

“Details.” Juri’s laugh echoed off the walls. “I’d learn for you.”

They passed a collapsed section of tunnel, their lights catching the gleam of exposed rebar.

“I’d marry you.”

Juri’s words stopped Taiga mid-step. His heart stuttered in his chest as he turned to face him.

“If we survive this,” Juri continued, his eyes intense in the flashlight’s glow. “I’d do it right. Get down on one knee, find rings somewhere. Make promises we’d actually have time to keep.”

Memories flooded Taiga’s mind—all those couples standing before the zone’s chaplain,  joining their lives together despite the constant threat of death or infection. He remembered watching them dance at their receptions, lost in each other despite the world crumbling around them.

How many of those couples had ended up like this, infected and alone in the dark? How many had chosen love over protocol in their final hours?

“The captain would officiate,” Taiga heard himself say. “She always cries at weddings, even though she tries to hide it.”

“We’d play our own music.” Juri’s hand found his uninfected one. “That song you wrote last summer.”

“The one about the rain?”

“Yeah. That one.”

Moonlight filtered through a break in the tunnel ceiling, illuminating weathered stone steps that spiraled upward. Taiga’s breath caught as recognition dawned. The maintenance tunnel had led them straight to a temple.

His infected arm throbbed as they emerged into the open air. The temple grounds stretched before them, eerily silent in the pale light. No screams, no infected—just the whisper of wind through ancient wood and stone.

Hand in hand, they climbed the steps together. Each one felt heavier than the last, but Taiga forced himself forward. The pain in his arm had spread to his shoulder now, a constant burning reminder of what grew beneath his skin. But Juri’s grip anchored him to the present, to these precious final moments of clarity.

The main hall loomed ahead, its wooden stage jutting out over the valley like a defiant fist against the darkness. How many times had they passed this place during missions, never daring to venture inside?

Now it felt right somehow, finding their way here at the end.

They crossed the creaking floorboards to the altar. Fallen leaves crunched beneath their boots, carried in by years of wind through broken windows. Taiga’s throat tightened at the sight of scattered prayer tablets and beads—remnants of the last desperate souls who’d sought sanctuary here.

Juri released his hand, moving to examine the debris around the altar. Taiga watched him shift through the items, memorizing the way moonlight caught his profile, the familiar set of his shoulders. Even infected, even dying, he moved with that same fluid grace that had first caught Taiga’s attention all those years ago.

“Hey look.” Juri’s voice was soft as he straightened, holding something that glinted in the dim light.

A ring—simple silver band, probably left as an offering in those final chaotic days.

He turned it over in his palm before meeting Taiga’s eyes. “Seems like a sign, doesn’t it?”

Taiga’s heart hammered against his ribs as Juri stepped closer. The infected bite on his arm burned, but he barely noticed through the tightness in his chest.

“I know we don’t have much time left,” Juri began, his voice rough. “And I know this isn’t how either of us pictured it. But I meant what I said before—about doing it right.”

He took Taiga’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“I, Tanaka Juri, take you as my husband. In whatever time we have left, I promise to love you, protect you, and face whatever comes next by your side.”

Tears blurred Taiga’s vision as Juri slid the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been waiting all these years just for this moment. His throat worked as he struggled to find words past the ache in his chest.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I take you as my husband. And I promise to stay with you until the end, no matter what form that takes.” The tears spilled over as Juri’s hands framed his face. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“I now pronounce us married,” Juri whispered against his lips. “Even if the world’s gone to hell.”

Their kiss tasted of salt and copper, desperate and gentle all at once. Taiga poured everything he couldn’t say into it—all the years of love and fear and hope, all the dreams they’d never see fulfilled.

Juri’s hands trembled against his cheeks, and Taiga realized he was crying too.

-----

Moonlight filtered through broken shoji screens as they made their way deeper into the temple. Their footsteps echoed off ancient wood, each creak a reminder of the centuries of history beneath their feet. Taiga’s infected arm throbbed, but the pain felt distant now, overshadowed by the simple weight of Juri’s hand in his.

They found themselves on the temple’s rear veranda, the pagoda rising before them like a shadow against the star-filled sky. The structure still stood proud despite years of abandonment, its tiered silhouette a defiant monument to human perseverance. In the valley below, distant shapes shuffled through darkened streets—infected drawn by earlier gunfire.

Taiga sank down on the wooden planks, his body heavy with exhaustion. Juri settled beside him, their shoulders touching. The familiar warmth of him felt right, grounding.

From up here, the infected below looked almost peaceful—just dark shapes moving through the night. Hard to believe those same creatures had torn their world apart, had marked them both for the same fate.

The thought should have terrified him, but instead, Taiga felt an odd sense of calm. At least they would face it together. No more protocols, no more rules—just them, here, now.

“It’s beautiful,” Juri murmured, his eyes on the pagoda. “Never really looked at it before. Too busy watching for threats.”

“We missed a lot of beautiful things.” Taiga leaned into him, breathing in his scent beneath the blood and gunpowder. “Always focused on surviving.”

“Not anymore.” Juri’s thumb traced the circles on his palm. “Now we can just… be.”

The words settled in Taiga’s chest like a physical weight. How strange that it took dying to finally feel truly alive. To see the beauty that had always surrounded them, hidden beneath layers of fear and protocol.

“I love you.” Juri’s voice was rough. “Should have said it more. Should have—”

“I know.” Taiga turned to face him, heart aching at the raw emotion in Juri’s eyes. “I’ve always known.”

Their lips met softly, a gentle press that deepened into something more desperate. Taiga poured everything he couldn’t say into the kiss—all his fears, his hopes, his gratitude for these final moments together.

Juri’s hands cupped his face like he was something precious, something worth protecting even now. His weight settled over him, familiar and solid against the worn wooden planks. The bite on Taiga’s arm throbbed, but he barely noticed through the rush of sensation—Juri’s hands sliding under his shirt, callused fingers mapping his ribs like memorizing sheet music. Their breaths mingled, desperate and ragged in the still night air.

Moonlight caught the silver ring on his finger as he gripped Juri’s shoulders. The metal felt cool against feverish skin, grounding him in this moment. His other hand tangled in Juri’s hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss that tasted of copper and salt and need.

Mine, Taiga thought fiercely as Juri’s mouth trailed down his neck. Still mine.

Even with infection burning through their veins, even with time slipping away like water—this belonged to them. This connection that had survived years of protocols and missions, that had grown from friendship into something vast enough to fill the emptiness of their broken world.

Juri’s hands trembled as they worked at Taiga’s belt, but his eyes stayed locked on Taiga’s face. The intensity there stole his breath—love and desperation and determination all mixed together.

No hesitation, no fear.

Just Juri, choosing him over everything else, even now.

“Beautiful,” Juri whispered against his collarbone.

The word vibrated through Taiga’s chest, settling somewhere deep and aching. How many times had they done this?

And still, Juri looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time, like he was something precious to be savored.

Their clothes fell away piece by piece, abandoned on ancient temple wood that had witnessed centuries of prayers. Taiga arched into Juri’s touch, letting sensation wash away thought. The night air raised goosebumps on exposed skin, but everywhere Juri touched burned like fever.

His fingers traced the familiar planes of Juri’s back, following the map of scars and muscle memory had long since memorized. Each touch felt more urgent now, weighted with the knowledge of what was coming. Time pressed against them like a physical thing, each second precious and fleeting.

“Stay with me,” Taiga gasped as Juri moved against him. “Just—stay.”

“Always.” Juri’s voice broke on the word. “No matter what happens. No matter what we become.”

Juri’s skin was slick with sweat as they moved together. Each thrust sent waves of sensation through Taiga'’ body, mixing pleasure with the burning pain in his arm. The temple wood creaked beneath them, their harsh breaths echoing off ancient walls that had seen countless prayers and confessions.

Taiga’s fingers dug into Juri's shoulders, anchoring himself as pressure built at the base of his spine. His infected arm throbbed in time with his racing heart, but he pushed the pain away, focusing instead on the familiar weight of Juri above him.

Their bodies knew this dance by heart—every touch, every angle perfected through years of learning each other. But tonight felt different, charged with desperate energy.

Juri’s hands trembled as they traced Taiga’s ribs, his breath hitching on each exhale. Even now, he touched Taiga like he was something precious, something worth protecting despite the infection growing beneath both their skins.

“Look at me,” Juri whispered.

Taiga forced his eyes open, meeting Juri’s gaze. The raw emotion there stole his breath—love and fear and determination all mixed together in those familiar dark eyes.

How many times had he lost himself in that look? How many more chances would they have before the infection stripped away everything that made them them?

Pleasure coiled tighter as Juri shifted angles, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind Taiga’s eyes. His back arched off the wooden planks, a moan tearing from his throat. The sound echoed through empty temple halls, sacrilegious and beautiful all at once.

“That’s it,” Juri breathed against his neck. “Stay with me. Just like this.”

The words vibrated through Taiga's chest, settling somewhere deep and aching. His hands slid down Juri’s sweat-slick back, tracing scars he knew by heart.

Each mark told a story—missions gone wrong, close calls, moments when they’d nearly lost each other. But they’d survived it all, found their way back to each other every time.

Heat built between them, urgent and demanding. Taiga wrapped his legs tighter around Juri's waist, pulling him deeper. Their movements grew more frantic, less coordinated as pleasure threatened to overwhelm them both. The ring on his finger pressed into Juri’s shoulder, leaving an indent in tan skin—a mark of belonging, of promises made.

Moonlight painted silver streaks across Juri’s face as he moved, catching the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the desperate intensity in his eyes. Taiga burned the image into his memory, determined to hold onto this moment even after the infection took everything else.

“I love you,” Taiga gasped as pressure built to breaking point. “I love—”

The words dissolved into sensation as release crashed through him. His body arched, fingers digging crescents into Juri’s shoulders as pleasure whited out thought.

He felt Juri follow moments later, his name a broken prayer on familiar lips.

Aftershocks rippled through Taiga’s body as he caught his breath. The wooden planks felt cool against his overheated skin, grounding him in the moment. Juri’s weight pressed him into the ancient boards, familiar and comforting despite the circumstances.

The ring caught moonlight as Taiga traced idle patterns on Juri’s back. Such a small thing to hold so much meaning. His infected arm throbbed, but the pain felt distant now, overshadowed by bone-deep contentment.

“We should probably put clothes on.” Juri’s voice vibrated against his chest. “Don’t want any of our zone buddies finding us like this if they come looking.”

A laugh bubbled up in Taiga’s throat, surprising in its genuineness. “What, you don’t want to give them one last show?”

“Rather not have ‘found naked’ in my mission report.” Juri pressed a kiss to his collarbone before pushing himself up. “Besides, it’s getting cold.”

The night air raised goosebumps on Taiga’s skin as Juri’s warmth left him. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Juri gathered their scattered clothes, movements still fluid despite everything. The moonlight painted silver streaks across familiar scars, catching on the planes of muscle Taiga had mapped countless times before.

Their clothes were wrinkled but mostly intact. Taiga’s hands shook slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head, fabric catching on cooling sweat. The ring clinked against his belt buckle as he fastened it.

“Come here.” Juri settled back against one of the temple's wooden pillars, arms open in invitation.

Taiga didn’t hesitate, fitting himself against Juri’s chest like they’d done countless times before. Juri’s heartbeat thrummed steady beneath his ear, its familiar rhythm more soothing than any lullaby. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer until no space remained between them.

Sleep tugged at Taiga’s consciousness, heavy and insistent. The infection’s fever burned under his skin, but Juri’s warmth felt different—safe, like coming home after a long mission. He breathed in Juri’s scent, memorizing this moment of peace amid chaos.

“Rest,” Juri murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Taiga’s eyes drifted closed as Juri's fingers carded through his sweat-dampened hair. The gentle touch combined with post-orgasmic haze made his limbs feel heavy, thoughts growing fuzzy at the edges.

For the first time since the bite, he felt truly calm.

The ring sat perfectly on his finger, as if it had always belonged there. Taiga curled closer to Juri’s warmth, letting exhaustion pull him under.

The last thing he registered was Juri’s lips pressing softly against his forehead, a benediction in the quiet night.

-----

Harsh light pierced Taiga’s eyelids, stabbing into his skull like needles. His mouth felt like sandpaper, tongue thick and useless.

Where...? The thought scattered as he tried to move his arms. Something held them down, biting into his wrists.

His eyes snapped open. White ceiling. White walls. The steady beep of monitors mixed with the low hum of air filtration. The antiseptic smell burned his nostrils, so different from the temple’s aged wood and incense.

The temple. Juri.

Metal restraints encircled his wrists, anchoring him to chrome bed rails. An IV line snaked into his arm—the infected one. The bite mark was covered in clear medical film, angry red beneath the sterile dressing.

A pneumatic hiss drew his attention to the sliding door. A figure entered, completely encased in white hazmat gear. The suit’s faceplate reflected the fluorescent lights, making it impossible to see the person’s features. Only a nameplate offered any identity: “Dr. Yamamoto.”

“Good morning, Kyomoto-san.” The voice came slightly muffled through the suit’s filters. “How are you feeling?”

Taiga’s throat worked, but no sound came out.

Dr. Yamamoto reached for a cup of water with a straw, holding it so Taiga could drink. The cool liquid felt like heaven on his parched throat.

“Where am I?” His voice came out raspy, barely recognizable. “Where’s Juri?”

“You’re at STAGE’s Central Research & Quarantine Facility.” Yamamoto checked something on one of the monitors. “You’ve been unconscious for three days. The Kyoto Military Zone sent a search party when you failed to return from your mission. They found you at Kiyomizudera Temple.”

Yamamoto was only talking about him. Taiga tries to remember, but the last clear memory was falling asleep in Juri’s arms, the ring a comfortable weight on his finger.

His heart rate spiked, the monitor’s beeping becoming more insistent.

“Please try to stay calm.” Yamamoto’s tone remained clinical, detached. “Your condition is still unstable. The infection appears to be progressing differently than our recorded cases, which is why you were brought here instead of being terminated according to standard quarantine protocols.”

The words hit like physical blows. Different progression. Terminated. Standard protocols. Clinical terms that stripped away humanity, reduced him to a specimen.

But none of that mattered right now.

“Just tell me about Juri.” Taiga forced his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his chest. “Please.”

Through the glass, Taiga watched figures in blue hazmat suits move with practiced efficiency. Their faces hidden behind reflective visors, they gestured at monitors and charts mounted on the walls. One pointed directly at him, and he resisted the urge to shrink away from their clinical scrutiny.

“Your case has generated significant interest among our research staff.” Dr. Yamamoto followed Taiga’s gaze to the observation window. “We’ve been monitoring you around the clock since you arrived.”

The doctor's matter-of-fact tone made Taiga's skin crawl. He felt like a bug under a microscope, something to be studied and dissected. The restraints bit into his wrists as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“Monitoring for what?” His throat still felt raw, words scraping past his lips. “I told you, I need to find—”

“For infection symptoms.” Yamamoto cut him off, tapping something on his tablet. “According to the report, you sustained a bite wound at Higashiyama District. By all known progression patterns, you should be showing Stage One symptoms by now.”

Taiga’s breath caught as the memory flooded back. “But I’m not…” He stared at the bandaged wound. “Am I?”

“No.” Yamamoto’s voice held a note of barely contained excitement that made Taiga’s stomach turn. “Your blood work shows no signs of fungal invasion. Multiple tests have confirmed it—you appear to possess natural immunity to the infection.”

The words hung in the air like physical things. Immunity.

The implications crashed through Taiga’s mind, each one more overwhelming than the last. His heart hammered against his ribs, the monitor’s beeping becoming frantic.

“That’s impossible.” He shook his head, trying to deny what he was hearing. “Nobody’s immune. The infection has a hundred percent transmission rate through direct contact. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone was wrong.” Yamamoto set down his tablet and leaned closer, the fluorescent lights creating a halo effect on his faceplate. “Your genetic markers show a natural resistance we’ve never seen before. This could be the breakthrough we’ve been searching for.”

More researchers gathered at the window now, their blue suits creating a wall of clinical observation. Taiga could feel their stares even through the reflective visors, the weight of their fascination pressing down on him. He was no longer just a patient or even a person to them. He was the answer they’d been seeking for decades.

A lab rat, he thought bitterly. Their precious specimen.

“What happens now?” He forced the words past the tightness in his throat, already dreading the answer.

“We’ll need to run extensive tests.” Yamamoto’s tone held that same barely-contained excitement. “Blood work, tissue samples, stress response monitoring. Understanding how your immunity functions could be the key to developing a cure.”

The doctor continued listing procedures and tests, each one making Taiga feel smaller, less human.

But he barely heard the words anymore. His mind kept circling back to one thought, one person.

“Where is he?” Taiga cut through Yamamoto’s monologue about test protocols. “Juri should be here. He was recruited to STAGE—this is where he was supposed to go.”

The doctor’s shoulders tensed beneath the hazmat suit. His gloved hands gripped the tablet tighter, plastic squeaking against the protective coating.

“Yamamoto-sensei.” Taiga’s voice cracked. “Where’s Juri?”

The silence stretched, broken only by the steady beep of monitors. Yamamoto set down his tablet, movements deliberate, controlled.

“When the search team found you both...” He paused, head tilted slightly away. “Tanaka-san was already showing Stage One symptoms.”

No.

“Elevated heart rate, extreme agitation, disorientation.” Yamamoto’s clinical tone couldn’t mask the tension in his posture. “The bite on your arm—he became highly aggressive when they tried to separate you.”

This isn’t happening.

“Given the confirmed exposure and rapid onset of symptoms, protocol dictated immediate action.” The doctor’s words came faster now, like ripping off a bandage. “He was terminated before full infection could manifest.”

The monitor’s steady beep became a shrill alarm. Taiga’s chest constricted, each breath burning in his lungs. The fluorescent lights blurred and doubled, too bright, too harsh.

“You’re lying!” The words tasted like ash. “Juri was fine! We were both fine!”

“The progression was accelerated, likely due to multiple exposure points.” Yamamoto reached for the IV line, adjusting something. “The team had no choice. Once symptoms manifest, the infection rate—”

“Shut up!” Taiga yanked against the restraints, metal cutting into his wrists. “Just shut up with your protocols and progression rates!”

The observation window filled with movement as more researchers crowded forward. Their faceplates reflected his thrashing, turning his pain into data points for their charts.

“Your heart rate is dangerously elevated.” Yamamoto’s voice came from far away. “I’m administering a mild sedative.”

Cool liquid flowed through the IV line. Taiga fought against the heaviness creeping through his limbs, but the restraints held firm. The ring finger on his left hand burned with phantom weight.

“The ring.” His tongue felt thick, words slurring. “I need... need to see...”

“All personal effects were incinerated.” Yamamoto’s voice faded in and out. “Standard decontamination protocol for items exposed to infected bodily fluids.”

Gone. Everything gone.

The sedative pulled him under, but it couldn’t touch the hollow space spreading through his chest. Behind his eyelids, he saw Juri’s smile in the temple’s dim light.

“I’ve got you.” The last words Juri had whispered, before Taiga drifted off in his arms.

The memory fractured, scattering like leaves in a storm.

Leaving only white walls, antiseptic smell, and the clinical beep of monitors measuring his grief.

---

The first breath of outside air burned Taiga’s lungs. After a month in filtered isolation, the raw autumn wind felt like sandpaper against his skin. His legs trembled as he took another step, muscles weak from disuse.

A month. Four weeks of tests, needles, and clinical observation. Four weeks of waking up alone in white rooms, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

Would never be there again.

“The fresh air will help your recovery.” Yamamoto walked beside him in the facility’s courtyard, his usual hazmat suit replaced by a simple surgical mask. “Your bloodwork has been consistently clear of infection.”

Taiga’s fingers traced the healed bite mark on his arm. The scar tissue felt wrong—too smooth, too clean. Like his body was trying to erase what happened that night at the temple.

“I have a proposition for you, Kyomoto-san.” Yamamoto’s tone held that careful neutrality that Taiga had learned meant something unpleasant was coming. “One that could help save countless lives.”

Like you saved Juri’s life? The thought rose bitter in his throat, but he swallowed it down. “What kind of proposition?”

“Your immunity is unique. We’ve never seen anything like it.” Yamamoto stopped at a bench, gesturing for Taiga to sit. “With your cooperation, we could develop treatments. Maybe even a cure.”

The word ‘cure’ hung between them like smoke. Taiga stared at his hands, remembering how they’d trembled that night, trying to hold Juri steady as the infection took hold.

“What exactly would that involve?” His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

“Experimental procedures. Some...” Yamamoto hesitated. “Some carrying significant risk. We’d need to understand how your immunity responds under various conditions.”

Various conditions. The clinical phrase couldn’t mask its meaning. They wanted to push his immunity to its limits. See how much trauma, how much exposure his body could take before it broke.

“You’re asking permission to experiment on me.” Taiga’s laugh held no humor. “Ironic, isn’t it? Juri was supposed to be here. STAGE recruited him.”

“We understand if you need time to—”

“I’ll do it.”

Yamamoto blinked, clearly thrown by the quick response. “The procedures could be dangerous. There’s no guarantee—”

“I said I’ll do it.” Taiga’s fingers found the empty space where his ring should have been. “What else do I have to lose?”

The autumn wind rustled through bare branches above them. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called—the first natural sound Taiga had heard in weeks. He wondered if this was how Juri had felt, agreeing to join STAGE. That mix of purpose and resignation, hope and despair tangled together until you couldn’t tell them apart.

Maybe, a quiet voice whispered in his mind, if something goes wrong, I’ll see you again.

“When do we start?”

---

“These corridors take some getting used to.” The voice struck a familiar chord in Taiga’s memory. “Everything looks the same at first.”

Taiga turned, his heart skipping a beat. “Yugo?”

The figure in the white STAGE uniform smiled—the same crooked grin Taiga remembered from countless missions back in KMZ. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Footsteps echoed off sterile walls as they walked. Yugo’s presence felt surreal, a ghost from his old life wearing STAGE colors.

“A month for me now.” Yugo gestured at his uniform. “Better food than the zone, I’ll give them that. And the beds don’t feel like concrete.”

Taiga’s throat tightened. Those had been Juri’s exact words, reading his recruitment letter. Better food. Better beds. Better life. Maybe for them both, eventually.

“Lab work isn’t so bad once you get used to it.” Yugo’s voice carried forced cheerfulness. “Mostly blood draws, physical tests. Some days you almost forget why you’re here.”

Almost. The word hung between them.

They reached a door marked “R-217.” Yugo pressed his keycard against the reader. “Home sweet home.”

The room was larger than his isolation unit—a real bed instead of a hospital cot, a desk, even a small window.

It looked almost normal. Almost livable.

“Here.” Yugo handed him a canvas bag. “Standard welcome package. Toiletries, some clothes, basic stuff.”

Taiga’s fingers brushed metal as he opened the bag.

His breath caught.

Two sets of dog tags lay tangled together, the metal worn smooth from years of wear. Beneath them, a simple silver ring glinted in the fluorescent light.

“How…” Taiga’s voice cracked.

“I was there.” Yugo’s forced smile faded. “At the temple. When... when it happened. Protocol says we’re supposed to incinerate everything, but...” He swallowed hard. “I figured you’d need something to hold onto. I sanitized them, of course!”

The ring felt impossibly heavy in Taiga’s palm. He remembered the night Juri had given it to him, sharing voice despite the tears.

“Till death do us part” had been a promise they’d already lived with every day.

“I’m sorry.” Yugo's voice sounded far away. “God, Taiga, I’m so sorry. You looked fine when we saw you unconscious, but Juri… Even with Stage One symptoms, he wouldn’t let us near you, as if…”

The ring blurred in Taiga's vision. His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor, clutching the dog tags to his chest. The first sob tore from his throat like broken glass.

The grief crashed over Taiga in waves, each sob ripping through his chest until he could barely breathe. The cold floor pressed against his knees as memories flooded back—Juri’s crooked smile in their hut that last morning, his final words at the temple, the warmth of his hands.

Yugo’s footsteps retreated, the door clicking shut behind him. Privacy for the broken man. The thought came with bitter clarity through the haze of tears.

The dog tags bit into Taiga's palm, their edges sharp against the calluses from his rifle. How many times had he traced these same ridges with his fingers, teasing Juri about keeping them polished even after all these years?

The metal felt different now—heavier, final.

He forced his fingers to uncurl, reading the familiar information stamped into the steel.

Tanaka Juri. Blood type B. KMZ-7749.

The numbers blurred as fresh tears welled up.

The ring caught the harsh fluorescent light, and Taiga slipped it onto his finger. It settled there like it had always belonged, a perfect fit.

Just like they had been.

“You’d hate this place,” he whispered, voice raw. The sterile walls seemed to mock him with their emptiness. No guitar music floating through the air. No warm body pressed against his back at night. No quiet laughter in the darkness.

His fingers found the small scar on his forearm—the bite that should have killed him. The bite that had revealed his immunity.

The bite that had cost Juri everything.

Rage bloomed in his chest, hot and sharp beneath the grief. Not the mindless fury of the infection, but something deeper. More focused.

This was what Juri had died for—this chance, this immunity, this possible key to ending it all.

Taiga pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking. His reflection in the window looked haunted, hollow-eyed.

But beneath the shadows, he saw steel. The same determination he’d learned from Juri during endless patrols and midnight watches.

The dog tags clinked softly as he slipped them over his head. Their weight settled against his chest like armor. Like purpose.

“I’ll keep fighting,” he whispered to the empty room. To the ghost of Juri that would always walk beside him. “I’ll make it mean something. Everything we lost. Everyone we lost. I’ll make it count.”

His hand found the ring again, twisting it on his finger. A promise made in better days, renewed now in grief and fury and love.

Till death do us part—and even after.

[ END ]