[ It's as though the knife was meant to be there. It pierces skin and muscle and organs with ease, each time drawing out a fresh stream of blood and fresh screams that mingle with the sickening sound of flesh being ripped apart. He's weak by the third, blood dripping out of his mouth, and his voice is gone by the fifth, and by the seventh what little strength he had left is gone and he's collapsed onto the knife. But all that comes out is sticky red liquid, filling the room with the coppery smell that promised death was near.
He's dizzy from pain and rapid blood loss, and it's difficult for him to understand what's being said to him. Perhaps he did have love once, or perhaps it had never existed. But it might have been there once, a measure of it that was pulverized and burnt to a crisp before being spread to the wind. It was followed by such a strong despair that he still remembers that sensation, terrifying and thrilling all at once, and how it had allowed him to act before emptying it out and allowing himself to exist as he is now.
Hope and despair were necessary in measured doses. But he can't understand how this should help, or maybe that's because he can't understand much of anything now. Hiyori trembles in Komaeda's hold, raspy breaths interrupted by coughs and choking as blood runs up his throat. There's no hope. There's only blood and sweat and tears, there's only pain and agony and fear, sobs and soft whimpers that have replaced screams.
It doesn't end though, and he at least seems to register what's going to happen when the knife is pulled out once more. He wants to move, he wants to beg, but all that comes out of his mouth is another cry. The knife is slammed into his leg now, ripped out only to pierce skin once more over and over, and his fingers twitch and his body convulses and he gasps before it dies down into little trembles and shaky and uneven breaths.
He's pushed off with ease, and his head tilts slightly as he tries to follow Komaeda with his eyes. His vision blurs and the world spins, and his phone is taken and through the rushing in his head he can hear the audible snap and crash as the phone hits and bounces against the wall and falls to the ground in pieces. There's no one for him to call now. There's a landline in his office though, and he'll dig his fingers into the soaked carpet as he experiments with dragging himself in any one direction.
It's wrong to love him, but it's not, because he loves humans more than any other. It's wrong to try and help him, because Hiyori is perfect as he is. It's wrong to call it pleasant, it's wrong, it's wrong, he doesn't want to die, not over that filthy, worthless, disgusting title that had been coming up even when he leaves the house now and how had others noticed and what had he missed and how does he stop it - ]
Just... Sou...
[ - Hiyori, just a simple doctor, not the Ultimate Surgeon, is what he wants to say, but those two words are the sharpest rejection that he can manage. He no longer wishes for that title, he had never wanted to pick it up, and it's been proven time and time again that it can only cause him pain.
Sou Hiyori manages to pull himself a few inches, then to shakily push himself up a bit off the ground, clutching his stomach with a shuddering breath as he looks to the kit near him. Nothing spills out of him but blood. But that's fine, because it means he just needs to stitch himself up enough to not bleed out. ]
[ It's Sou Hiyori who has made himself everything that he is. Other titles were easily taken and discarded, but he was always himself and nothing more. The title of Ultimate Surgeon was like a ball and chain that had tried to hold him back. He couldn't stand the idea of being tethered to that rotten place for the rest of his life, as though he were nothing more than a tool to be used by those so-called elites. He couldn't stand to be bound to talent while being praised for picking up more and more, told to focus on a single hope while adults took credit for his efforts.
The rot and filth and corruption and stagnancy, the boredom and arrogance and complacency, but he can't even refuse it now. It's shoved onto him, and he tries to flinch away as Komaeda draws near. Komaeda is faster than him, and the knife comes out with a sharp cry as blood flows freely from the open wound. He gasps as it's shoved into his other leg, bringing with it no pains and sounds and shudders, and it hurts. Stab after stab after stab, and each time it finds a new way to inflict agony without cause nor results.
He has to fix this too. He has to work to fix it, since he has to be better than all of them. It blurs together with the desire to do nothing, to lay here, to never work again, just like the scenery in front of him. ]
Komaeda-kun...
[ His name comes out in a slow, pain shudder as Hiyori reaches out before his hand drops to the floor. He coughs up blood, vomits onto the floor again, blood and bile hitting the floor beneath him as the door snaps shut and all that he can hear is his own wheezing breath. He rolls himself over, managing to pull his kit over to him.
--
Komaeda makes it into the office, and he'll see the instant reaction from Maple. There's a gasp, her hands lifting up in front of her chest, and her eyes widen with shock and fear. Komaeda looks a mess, and she can only imagine what fresh horrors might await outside of the room she's trapped in. ]
K-Komaeda-kun!? What happened!? Are you--
[ Maple cuts off there, taking in a breath. It's easy to see where she's not quite designed as a human would be in how quickly she's able to recenter herself with a nod. There's a symbol on the screen to indicate that a call is taking place, along with a pair of mute buttons on the touchscreen - one can mute the microphone and the audio. For now, the microphone is muted. From there the dispatcher picks up and she begins the process of explaining the emergency and offering an address.
If either of them die, then they'll have suffered too great a loss. ]
[ He hasn't, or rather, he can't. Hiyori had managed to prop himself up well enough to lean back on the bed. He had managed to stitch up a couple of the injuries on his stomach for now, but one is only partially done, and it's easy to see where he gave up. He hadn't realized he was running low, and the majority of what was left had been used on Komaeda previously. There's a roll of first aid tape in one hand, stretched out across his lap along his waistband, but he seems to have gotten distracted halfway through. It was proving to be difficult to move around his back.
His chin has dipped down, and his gaze is vacant as he stares down and off to the side. There's so much blood now, and if he weren't propped up by the bed he likely would have fallen to the floor again once more. The little cough tells that he's still alive though, as does the way he quivers. He has to do something, but he knows that this little bit won't be nearly enough to help him, and it hurts far too much when he tries.
He wants to go home. He is, but his blurry eyes just se smears of blue and red t that only makes him think of his workplace. Why is he here? ]
(deleted comment)
it was a lucky guess!! he lost it hope's peak killed it
[ There's a small sound as his cheek is touched, and his eyes do lazily lift to meet his gaze. Those eyes are glazed, shifting in and out of focus as he does so. There's stains on his face from where tears dripped down before from the overwhelming pain, washing away trails of blood, but they've already started to dry. His lips move, and he mouths his name, but nothing comes out.
There's a little twitch as Komaeda lays back on him, along with a moan, but those small reactions promise that he's still alive. He's still able to fear pain and fear alike. He shivers beneath him, chin resting on the top of his head, arm moving around him. Under any other circumstances, it would be comfortable, and he would doubtlessly pull him closer and nuzzle him, but that strength has left him. It's a romantic position, and if they died it could be seen as a lovers' murder-suicide.
There's a small sound when the knife first pierces his skin. His fingers twitch, and there's a weak effort at moving that nothing comes of. ]
... S-stop...
[ But that weak protest is all that he can offer save with pitiful little whines and whimpers following. as the word is carved into his skin. It'll scab over and heal into a a permanent scar later, a tattoo that will remind him of this moment each time he looks at it. But for now blood bubbles up and trails down down his arm and on Komaeda. ]
[ Is he a mistake? Hiyori can't answer that question, but there's a slight back and forth movement of his head that might pass as a no. It's difficult to think, but it seems like the right way to respond now. He must hear him though, even if he doesn't seem to be able to respond. The only thing that seems to rise to his mouth now is blood, and that weakness only seems to increase by the second.
There's another pained gasp of breath as Komaeda continues to dig the knife beneath his skin without caring for his wishes. This isn't what he wants. He wants to crawl into bed. He wants somebody to stroke his hair and tell him alright, that he's safe, that it was just a bad dream. It's not though and he's not, and those comforts he longs to have once more are replaced now with a soft and consoling kiss that he reciprocates. His eyes flicker into focus for just a few seconds, and he continues on in a pained murmur, ]
... P-please...
[ It hurts. He doesn't want to do this anymore. He doesn't want to be here. It's a pitiful sight, even when compared to before. It's proof that he's human, just as the red blood is, that he can be broken down and reduced to nothing but fear and pain and an awareness that he's barely hanging onto as easily as any other. His fingers twitch, trying to grip at Komaeda's shirt without finding any purchase. ]
Edited 2022-01-31 06:09 (UTC)
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I'M SURE HE WILL PROBABLY he's just getting destroyed here, his punishment for being hopeless
[ The knife digs into his arm now, helping to undo the work he'd done elsewhere, each little dig drawing out another reaction from him. Perhaps the pain was keeping him aware, and perhaps he wouldn't die so long as it continued to be piled on. Hope is carved into his skin, it's ripped into his flesh and organs, and limbs, and this pain will remain with him until the moment of his death.
To say he was stitched up was generous, as he was only able to manage to get through just a couple of the ten gashes in his abdomen before he ran out of thread. Perhaps it was just as well, as he's too weak to do anything more. But those were the largest and worst of them. Blood spills out once more when they're removed, like a damn bursting, all the liquid that had been kept inside finally free to soak skin and clothes and items. There's no hope in these motions, not in the blood that spills forth, but certainly there could be in the cells that replace them. It could be brighter, more beautiful, more inspiring.
Another kiss, a weaker reciprocation, but it doesn't seem that he's able to respond to those words of love. It's strange, but with those stitches removed, the aches and pains vying for attention on different parts of his body seem to throb a little less. It's numb and cool, and he thinks he might sink into that feeling. If he were to do so, perhaps when his consciousness returned he would be better too.
Time marches on, his awareness barely lingers on, but it won't be long before an ambulance arrives to whisk both of them away. Just a little longer. ]
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SIGH HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN KOMAEDA'S CLASS HE COULDA SAVED HIM
[ He hears the words, but it's as though he's listening to them from underwater. They're difficult to make out and . His arm hangs around Komaeda limply. It's like being held by a doll, but one that bleeds and cries each time a blade is traced along its surface. How many times has he been stabbed? How many pieces of him been carved out, cut and torn into so that they could be replaced with something else entirely? The blood in his veins, the skin on his body, his organs, would all be rebuilt with new cells and become something that they weren't before.
Hiyori is vaguely aware of the head nuzzling against him. He blinks slowly, his head lifting just slightly in response. He doesn't want to keep doing this, but he's cruelly forced to as he watches without immediately responding, but that hand comes up to part his mouth and the threat finally seems to reach him. ]
Komaeda...
[ There's no honorfic, but it's not clear that he's able to, as the raspy whisper that is his name comes out in drawn out parts. His arm shifts a little, moving a little more around him, but maybe that's just an effort to get away from the knife that's been used to pierce him. It doesn't matter, there's nothing he can do when his mouth is parted, and it would be easy to Komaeda to yank on his tongue and begin tearing through the muscle if he so chose.
He watchers with dim eyes, barely there but still awake. He's still listening.
The sound of sirens are in the distance, close but not close enough. They have a little more time together like this. ]
Edited 2022-01-31 08:23 (UTC)
(deleted comment)
SIGH LET THEM HAVE THEIR CUTE HIGH SCHOOL ROMANCE they'll "wake up" in yogen together
[ He doesn't want this to continue any longer. Hiyori doesn't want it to hurt any more than it already does, he doesn't want to feel it, he doesn't want to transfer it to another, he just wants it to be over. There's so much of him missing. He can only imagine the permanent damage that he would be left with. He was a director of ASUNARO, and so Hiyori would be allowed to live his life crippled no more than he would be allowed to die. He would be given treatment that no other would have access to. Komaeda could repeat this torture a dozen times and he would be patched up each time.
His mind protects him from the the knowledge of the long and agonizing recovery that awaits him after this, and if he were just a little bit weaker it would be able to protect him from what comes next in his current nightmare. He's too far gone to grip the knife properly, but Komaeda can guide his hand. It's love, a spouse supporting their ailing husband. There's a weak resistance as he tries to pull his hand away, but love can overcome that well enough for the knife to press against Komaeda's chest. Hiyori would describe it as such without a doubt were he holding the knife - an endless love, deeper than the ocean, between two people that allowed one to overcome any hardship.
Love is a reason to live, it's a reason to kill, to help and hurt, and it's a reason to ignore the every want of your beloved for their own good. Isn't that why people marry? To support in sickness and in health? Hiyori is ill. He lacks hope and despair alike, he lives a life free of any concerns at all, and now his body is failing him just as readily. His breaths are slow and shallow, and they'll stop the moment he lets the room fade into darkness. But that might be fine, because once a person exchanges vows they've already fulfilled their purpose in life, and a knife can be used as well as a ring to complete that exchange.
There's a little hitch, a shake of his chest that might be an attempt at a sob. Komaeda, or himself? If he were of sound mind, he would never choose the latter. He was too strong, too aware of his own worth to accept damage to his body. He would sacrifice anyone, sacrifice anything, in order to achieve his goals and reach those heights he wants to. But he's not. He understands that this is a vow, a promise of love, and that this pain won't stop, and nothing more, so what comes out instead is the exact opposite of his desires, ]
Myself...
[ His voice is weak enough that it's barely audible, and any third party would be able to recognize that he's not capable of understanding what he's agreeing to. It's just habit that leads him to choose himself, just as he always does and always will. ]
(deleted comment)
SIGH FINE I KNOW NEITHER OF THESE GUYS ARE GOING TO DIE THEY GOTTA CUDDLE IN THE HOSPITAL
[ He flinches back as the knife tears through fabric and pricks his skin. His vision is starting to fade, even those blurred shapes in the room seem to be slowly fading away, but he can see the look on Komaeda's face. There's another effort at pulling his hand away, but the movement is too small to be noticed, and his free hand lifts before dropping down. How much blood has he lost? The next stab would certainly be the last. Every part of his body, from top to bottom, will have been claimed and damaged by the person before him.
There's a flicker of fear in his eyes as the knife is pulled back, and Hiyori tries to push himself back into the bed, but that effort has no more weight to it than attempting to raise his arm did, and his chest feels like it's on fire as the blade sinks into it and is quickly ripped out. There's a sharp gasp, and his eyes widen just briefly before looking more lifeless than ever, but he has no choice but to watch as Komaeda guides his hand and completes their vows by shoving it deep into is chest.
Komaeda is next, and he can only stare as he falls against him. In the distance, he can hear the sound of his front door breaking open with a slam and hurried footsteps. Hiyori can't move well, his body is too weak for that, so he can't even pull the knife out. He manages to finally lift his arm though, settling it around his waist and dipping his head to let his forehead rest against him, and he returns that I do without really knowing what he's saying, just that he should, just that it's important that he does - some bit of stored knowledge telling him to.
He manages to say Komaeda's name just once more as he hears the approaching footsteps, the handle to his door turning and slamming open moments later, but by then the world has already gone dark and his body fallen limp. ]
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i think it's a pure kind of love (and pettiness)
He's dizzy from pain and rapid blood loss, and it's difficult for him to understand what's being said to him. Perhaps he did have love once, or perhaps it had never existed. But it might have been there once, a measure of it that was pulverized and burnt to a crisp before being spread to the wind. It was followed by such a strong despair that he still remembers that sensation, terrifying and thrilling all at once, and how it had allowed him to act before emptying it out and allowing himself to exist as he is now.
Hope and despair were necessary in measured doses. But he can't understand how this should help, or maybe that's because he can't understand much of anything now. Hiyori trembles in Komaeda's hold, raspy breaths interrupted by coughs and choking as blood runs up his throat. There's no hope. There's only blood and sweat and tears, there's only pain and agony and fear, sobs and soft whimpers that have replaced screams.
It doesn't end though, and he at least seems to register what's going to happen when the knife is pulled out once more. He wants to move, he wants to beg, but all that comes out of his mouth is another cry. The knife is slammed into his leg now, ripped out only to pierce skin once more over and over, and his fingers twitch and his body convulses and he gasps before it dies down into little trembles and shaky and uneven breaths.
He's pushed off with ease, and his head tilts slightly as he tries to follow Komaeda with his eyes. His vision blurs and the world spins, and his phone is taken and through the rushing in his head he can hear the audible snap and crash as the phone hits and bounces against the wall and falls to the ground in pieces. There's no one for him to call now. There's a landline in his office though, and he'll dig his fingers into the soaked carpet as he experiments with dragging himself in any one direction.
It's wrong to love him, but it's not, because he loves humans more than any other. It's wrong to try and help him, because Hiyori is perfect as he is. It's wrong to call it pleasant, it's wrong, it's wrong, he doesn't want to die, not over that filthy, worthless, disgusting title that had been coming up even when he leaves the house now and how had others noticed and what had he missed and how does he stop it - ]
Just... Sou...
[ - Hiyori, just a simple doctor, not the Ultimate Surgeon, is what he wants to say, but those two words are the sharpest rejection that he can manage. He no longer wishes for that title, he had never wanted to pick it up, and it's been proven time and time again that it can only cause him pain.
Sou Hiyori manages to pull himself a few inches, then to shakily push himself up a bit off the ground, clutching his stomach with a shuddering breath as he looks to the kit near him. Nothing spills out of him but blood. But that's fine, because it means he just needs to stitch himself up enough to not bleed out. ]
sighhhhs but he still wouldn't have hope tho
The rot and filth and corruption and stagnancy, the boredom and arrogance and complacency, but he can't even refuse it now. It's shoved onto him, and he tries to flinch away as Komaeda draws near. Komaeda is faster than him, and the knife comes out with a sharp cry as blood flows freely from the open wound. He gasps as it's shoved into his other leg, bringing with it no pains and sounds and shudders, and it hurts. Stab after stab after stab, and each time it finds a new way to inflict agony without cause nor results.
He has to fix this too. He has to work to fix it, since he has to be better than all of them. It blurs together with the desire to do nothing, to lay here, to never work again, just like the scenery in front of him. ]
Komaeda-kun...
[ His name comes out in a slow, pain shudder as Hiyori reaches out before his hand drops to the floor. He coughs up blood, vomits onto the floor again, blood and bile hitting the floor beneath him as the door snaps shut and all that he can hear is his own wheezing breath. He rolls himself over, managing to pull his kit over to him.
--
Komaeda makes it into the office, and he'll see the instant reaction from Maple. There's a gasp, her hands lifting up in front of her chest, and her eyes widen with shock and fear. Komaeda looks a mess, and she can only imagine what fresh horrors might await outside of the room she's trapped in. ]
K-Komaeda-kun!? What happened!? Are you--
[ Maple cuts off there, taking in a breath. It's easy to see where she's not quite designed as a human would be in how quickly she's able to recenter herself with a nod. There's a symbol on the screen to indicate that a call is taking place, along with a pair of mute buttons on the touchscreen - one can mute the microphone and the audio. For now, the microphone is muted. From there the dispatcher picks up and she begins the process of explaining the emergency and offering an address.
If either of them die, then they'll have suffered too great a loss. ]
the way komaeda's going to kill him if he doesn't
His chin has dipped down, and his gaze is vacant as he stares down and off to the side. There's so much blood now, and if he weren't propped up by the bed he likely would have fallen to the floor again once more. The little cough tells that he's still alive though, as does the way he quivers. He has to do something, but he knows that this little bit won't be nearly enough to help him, and it hurts far too much when he tries.
He wants to go home. He is, but his blurry eyes just se smears of blue and red t that only makes him think of his workplace. Why is he here? ]
it was a lucky guess!! he lost it hope's peak killed it
There's a little twitch as Komaeda lays back on him, along with a moan, but those small reactions promise that he's still alive. He's still able to fear pain and fear alike. He shivers beneath him, chin resting on the top of his head, arm moving around him. Under any other circumstances, it would be comfortable, and he would doubtlessly pull him closer and nuzzle him, but that strength has left him. It's a romantic position, and if they died it could be seen as a lovers' murder-suicide.
There's a small sound when the knife first pierces his skin. His fingers twitch, and there's a weak effort at moving that nothing comes of. ]
... S-stop...
[ But that weak protest is all that he can offer save with pitiful little whines and whimpers following. as the word is carved into his skin. It'll scab over and heal into a a permanent scar later, a tattoo that will remind him of this moment each time he looks at it. But for now blood bubbles up and trails down down his arm and on Komaeda. ]
STOOOOPPP maybe i'll give him hope after this
There's another pained gasp of breath as Komaeda continues to dig the knife beneath his skin without caring for his wishes. This isn't what he wants. He wants to crawl into bed. He wants somebody to stroke his hair and tell him alright, that he's safe, that it was just a bad dream. It's not though and he's not, and those comforts he longs to have once more are replaced now with a soft and consoling kiss that he reciprocates. His eyes flicker into focus for just a few seconds, and he continues on in a pained murmur, ]
... P-please...
[ It hurts. He doesn't want to do this anymore. He doesn't want to be here. It's a pitiful sight, even when compared to before. It's proof that he's human, just as the red blood is, that he can be broken down and reduced to nothing but fear and pain and an awareness that he's barely hanging onto as easily as any other. His fingers twitch, trying to grip at Komaeda's shirt without finding any purchase. ]
I'M SURE HE WILL PROBABLY he's just getting destroyed here, his punishment for being hopeless
To say he was stitched up was generous, as he was only able to manage to get through just a couple of the ten gashes in his abdomen before he ran out of thread. Perhaps it was just as well, as he's too weak to do anything more. But those were the largest and worst of them. Blood spills out once more when they're removed, like a damn bursting, all the liquid that had been kept inside finally free to soak skin and clothes and items. There's no hope in these motions, not in the blood that spills forth, but certainly there could be in the cells that replace them. It could be brighter, more beautiful, more inspiring.
Another kiss, a weaker reciprocation, but it doesn't seem that he's able to respond to those words of love. It's strange, but with those stitches removed, the aches and pains vying for attention on different parts of his body seem to throb a little less. It's numb and cool, and he thinks he might sink into that feeling. If he were to do so, perhaps when his consciousness returned he would be better too.
Time marches on, his awareness barely lingers on, but it won't be long before an ambulance arrives to whisk both of them away. Just a little longer. ]
SIGH HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN KOMAEDA'S CLASS HE COULDA SAVED HIM
Hiyori is vaguely aware of the head nuzzling against him. He blinks slowly, his head lifting just slightly in response. He doesn't want to keep doing this, but he's cruelly forced to as he watches without immediately responding, but that hand comes up to part his mouth and the threat finally seems to reach him. ]
Komaeda...
[ There's no honorfic, but it's not clear that he's able to, as the raspy whisper that is his name comes out in drawn out parts. His arm shifts a little, moving a little more around him, but maybe that's just an effort to get away from the knife that's been used to pierce him. It doesn't matter, there's nothing he can do when his mouth is parted, and it would be easy to Komaeda to yank on his tongue and begin tearing through the muscle if he so chose.
He watchers with dim eyes, barely there but still awake. He's still listening.
The sound of sirens are in the distance, close but not close enough. They have a little more time together like this. ]
SIGH LET THEM HAVE THEIR CUTE HIGH SCHOOL ROMANCE they'll "wake up" in yogen together
His mind protects him from the the knowledge of the long and agonizing recovery that awaits him after this, and if he were just a little bit weaker it would be able to protect him from what comes next in his current nightmare. He's too far gone to grip the knife properly, but Komaeda can guide his hand. It's love, a spouse supporting their ailing husband. There's a weak resistance as he tries to pull his hand away, but love can overcome that well enough for the knife to press against Komaeda's chest. Hiyori would describe it as such without a doubt were he holding the knife - an endless love, deeper than the ocean, between two people that allowed one to overcome any hardship.
Love is a reason to live, it's a reason to kill, to help and hurt, and it's a reason to ignore the every want of your beloved for their own good. Isn't that why people marry? To support in sickness and in health? Hiyori is ill. He lacks hope and despair alike, he lives a life free of any concerns at all, and now his body is failing him just as readily. His breaths are slow and shallow, and they'll stop the moment he lets the room fade into darkness. But that might be fine, because once a person exchanges vows they've already fulfilled their purpose in life, and a knife can be used as well as a ring to complete that exchange.
There's a little hitch, a shake of his chest that might be an attempt at a sob. Komaeda, or himself? If he were of sound mind, he would never choose the latter. He was too strong, too aware of his own worth to accept damage to his body. He would sacrifice anyone, sacrifice anything, in order to achieve his goals and reach those heights he wants to. But he's not. He understands that this is a vow, a promise of love, and that this pain won't stop, and nothing more, so what comes out instead is the exact opposite of his desires, ]
Myself...
[ His voice is weak enough that it's barely audible, and any third party would be able to recognize that he's not capable of understanding what he's agreeing to. It's just habit that leads him to choose himself, just as he always does and always will. ]
SIGH FINE I KNOW NEITHER OF THESE GUYS ARE GOING TO DIE THEY GOTTA CUDDLE IN THE HOSPITAL
There's a flicker of fear in his eyes as the knife is pulled back, and Hiyori tries to push himself back into the bed, but that effort has no more weight to it than attempting to raise his arm did, and his chest feels like it's on fire as the blade sinks into it and is quickly ripped out. There's a sharp gasp, and his eyes widen just briefly before looking more lifeless than ever, but he has no choice but to watch as Komaeda guides his hand and completes their vows by shoving it deep into is chest.
Komaeda is next, and he can only stare as he falls against him. In the distance, he can hear the sound of his front door breaking open with a slam and hurried footsteps. Hiyori can't move well, his body is too weak for that, so he can't even pull the knife out. He manages to finally lift his arm though, settling it around his waist and dipping his head to let his forehead rest against him, and he returns that I do without really knowing what he's saying, just that he should, just that it's important that he does - some bit of stored knowledge telling him to.
He manages to say Komaeda's name just once more as he hears the approaching footsteps, the handle to his door turning and slamming open moments later, but by then the world has already gone dark and his body fallen limp. ]