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Yuto wakes up. He still doesn't quite understand how he's alive. He remembers being on the floor, bleeding out when-

"Chizu?" Katagiri shifts next to him, voice weak.

Weak. Protect.

Yuto shakes his head. "Nope."

"Help..." Katagiri murmurs. "I need help."

Protect. Save.

Yuto puts his hand on Katagiri's forehead. It's burning up.

"Can someone help?"

Yuto lifts the blankets. Itsuki almost immediately curls up, but he manages to catch a glimpse of a scar on his abdomen.

The knife digs into his flesh. "Stupid rebel. Guess we'll give you what you want: death!"

Yuto checks under his own shirt. There isn't a scar. There isn't anything to show for the abuse they gave him.

He remembers the relief. The blood. The sudden warmth.

"Can someone help?"

The wound on Itsuki's stomach is his.

He didn't want this. He didn't ask to be saved. He didn't want to watch someone suffer a fever while bearing his scars. He didn't want to be a human experiment.

He doesn't want to be a facility freak.

But it's too late for that.

Yuto sits by Itsuki’s side, changing out the cool damp cloth on his forehead, coaxing him to drink water and shushing any incoherent mumblings. Eventually, the fever breaks.

Yuto pretends he didn’t let out a sigh of relief. He crawls back into his own bed, letting sleep take him.