Fuji cracks, but never quite breaks; not anymore. It took a long time for Inui’s classmates to realize what was happening, and by the time they did, it was too late. It look longer for Fuji, since he was the only one that could drink the juice with seemingly no ill effect, even liked it at the best of times. But, like so many of the other regulars, he soon began to realize that he couldn’t break.
But he could crack and crumble, all too easily and literally, like a porcelain doll, and Fuji hated the comparison. Far too often he would wake up and see a crack running down his face when he looked in the mirror and would scowl at it.
It would be fine, it would mend, but it made Fuji burn with rage.
On bad days, sometimes he would crumble completely, scattered to the wind. But he would know everything that had happened, experience the same things as all his component parts, and then in the morning be reformed with all those memories just as intact as the rest of him.
But he never quite stayed intact anymore, not for long.
Fuji woke up and carefully rolled out of bed, the frame wobbling and threatening to drop him. But by now he was used to it, delicately rolling the right way to get out without falling and breaking, again. The room around him was littered with debris; his home had come to mimic him in a way, though it wasn’t really his doing.
He swiped a hand over his face, and realized that it was cracked again, and opted not to go looking in the mirror.
He made his way down the stairs, carefully, patiently, plotting his way past rickety floorboards and the crushed bit of the banister. It certainly wasn’t ideal for someone who broke easily, but…
When he made his way down to the kitchen, he saw Taka there and smiled. Taka was working on getting breakfast started, but clearly hadn’t made much headway.
After the juice, Taka could hardly look at anything without breaking it. He’d been strong before, and the juice only amplified that. No longer was he able to do the fine, delicate cooking he had done in his youth. But the cast iron skillet could withstand him, and some foods were better crushed.
Fuji pulled the eggs from the refrigerator; he hated that felt a sort of kinship with them, too easily broken. Taka would hardly be able to get them from the fridge to the bowl before crushing them whole, collapsing the shells into them, impossible to separate again. Fuji helped by cracking them for him, ignoring the slight pang it gave him.
Taka smiled at him, but it faltered a little as his eyes traced the crack down the middle of Fuji’s face. He reached out and hovered a finger over it, but he miscalculated just slightly, and accidentally touched, just barely. Spiderweb cracks splintered out from where his fingertip had touched, and he flinched, pulling away.
Fuji smiled and reached out, rubbing his forearm. “It’s alright Taka-san,” he said, patting him comfortingly.
Some things were worth breaking for, Fuji thought.
FILL: TEAM MIYUKI KAZUYA/MIYUKI KAZUYA, T
Tags: body horror, Inui Juice is bad for you
Word Count: 533
A remix of
Fuji cracks, but never quite breaks; not anymore. It took a long time for Inui’s classmates to realize what was happening, and by the time they did, it was too late. It look longer for Fuji, since he was the only one that could drink the juice with seemingly no ill effect, even liked it at the best of times. But, like so many of the other regulars, he soon began to realize that he couldn’t break.
But he could crack and crumble, all too easily and literally, like a porcelain doll, and Fuji hated the comparison. Far too often he would wake up and see a crack running down his face when he looked in the mirror and would scowl at it.
It would be fine, it would mend, but it made Fuji burn with rage.
On bad days, sometimes he would crumble completely, scattered to the wind. But he would know everything that had happened, experience the same things as all his component parts, and then in the morning be reformed with all those memories just as intact as the rest of him.
But he never quite stayed intact anymore, not for long.
Fuji woke up and carefully rolled out of bed, the frame wobbling and threatening to drop him. But by now he was used to it, delicately rolling the right way to get out without falling and breaking, again. The room around him was littered with debris; his home had come to mimic him in a way, though it wasn’t really his doing.
He swiped a hand over his face, and realized that it was cracked again, and opted not to go looking in the mirror.
He made his way down the stairs, carefully, patiently, plotting his way past rickety floorboards and the crushed bit of the banister. It certainly wasn’t ideal for someone who broke easily, but…
When he made his way down to the kitchen, he saw Taka there and smiled. Taka was working on getting breakfast started, but clearly hadn’t made much headway.
After the juice, Taka could hardly look at anything without breaking it. He’d been strong before, and the juice only amplified that. No longer was he able to do the fine, delicate cooking he had done in his youth. But the cast iron skillet could withstand him, and some foods were better crushed.
Fuji pulled the eggs from the refrigerator; he hated that felt a sort of kinship with them, too easily broken. Taka would hardly be able to get them from the fridge to the bowl before crushing them whole, collapsing the shells into them, impossible to separate again. Fuji helped by cracking them for him, ignoring the slight pang it gave him.
Taka smiled at him, but it faltered a little as his eyes traced the crack down the middle of Fuji’s face. He reached out and hovered a finger over it, but he miscalculated just slightly, and accidentally touched, just barely. Spiderweb cracks splintered out from where his fingertip had touched, and he flinched, pulling away.
Fuji smiled and reached out, rubbing his forearm. “It’s alright Taka-san,” he said, patting him comfortingly.
Some things were worth breaking for, Fuji thought.