Chapter Text
“Stop running away! I just wanna talk to you!”
Kaito charges down the hallway, his teeth gritted. The pain in his throat is reawakening just from speaking those measly words, and he can taste blood on his tongue again. God. He's so tired of this. He just wants it to be over.
“Hey! C'mon, man—Slow down!”
Could Kaito have chosen a worse candidate for receiving his affections?
Class was ending, and Kaito had been leaning all the way over his desk, murmuring something to Shuichi. He didn't even remember what he said. Something funny. The sound was all muffled in his memory, like each word had been captured in bubbles. Each word except for the ones spilling out of his dangerous little mouth.
“Nee hee-hee! Kaito, what'cha giggling about? Wanna share it with the class?”
Kaito's face had inexplicably reddened. He'd pulled himself away from Shuichi. Retorted: “Shut up. Mind your business.”
Across the room sat Kokichi Ouma, seated on top of his desk. His hair was a spindly purple mess around his face, one of his bitchy smiles sketched across his lips. “But I can't. I'm dying to know.”
Kaito had rolled his eyes. He might have forgotten the tickle at his throat as he turned and squinted at Kokichi, had the rest of the day not happened. But in the moment, he'd just said, “You'll survive.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Shuichi piped up.
Kichi chuckled, jabbing a finger at their class's detective. “See! You're gonna kill me!”
“Oh, now it's my fault?” Kaito sputtered.
“Yup!” Kokichi grinned, his cheeks a warm pink. “If you don't tell me, right this second, I will die, and you'll go to prison!”
Did he have to say it with such excitement?
Kaito fought an aggrieved grin. “I will not!”
“Yeah-huh!” Kokichi hopped off his desk and made his way over to the window. “Oop! Kaito, I'm so curious, I can't walk straight!” He bumped into the sill and fumbled it in such a way that the glass unlatched. When Kokichi's shoulder bumped it a second time, the window creaked open. “Oops! I'm so curious that I'm clumsy!”
“Hey—Stop that!”
Kaito surged out of his desk. Shuichi was badly stifling a laugh behind him.
“Oh nooooo! Kaito, Kaito! I'm gonna fall! I'm soooooo curious!”
The moment Kaito was about to reach him, his classmate slipped under his arms and sprinted out the door.
“YOU!” he belted, taking off after Kokichi.
The more Kaito thinks about it, the more today resembles that one. What a joke.
He'd chased after Kokichi what felt like the whole afternoon, until he was out of breath, head tented in his hands, and giggling like a fool. God, one day he'd have him...
He still couldn't tell exactly what it was that did him in. Maybe if he knew, it wouldn't have been so bad. He'd just been smiling to himself, rolling his eyes, when his stomach had suddenly—violently knotted, and he'd found himself gunning to the nearest restroom.
Kaito had coughed, coughed, coughed. He'd looked down warily into the sink to see dainty violet petals staring back at him.
What the fuck.
That didn't make sense... because Kaito didn't have feelings for anybody.
Kaito groans to himself now, slowing himself down. His sides are splitting, and the taste of blood is cloying, rendering him dizzy. He has to stop and breathe—heave, more like. Tears are screwing up in his eyes, and his nose is running. Everything smells like salt and misery.
It was so obvious, wasn't it? Now he looks back and see it for what it is.
Kaito grunts as a new wave of nausea fills up his stomach. God, he's never gonna catch him in this stupid state, not if he can't even run...
Shutting his eyes, Kaito tips his head against the wall and tries to focus on breathing. He isn't gonna catch shit in this state if he can't keep his lungs pumping.
With his eyes closed, he sees the blood-stained petals so clearly in his mind's eye.
It'd taken a couple afternoons before one had come up intact enough for him to take a picture of it with his phone and do some research. With Shuichi's help (Kaito had painstakingly washed the blood off the petals before showing him), he was able to figure out that the flower was a snapdragon. A plum snapdragon. A pretty thing, if it source weren't so grisly.
Kaito had gotten two words into confessing to Shuichi before he'd been struck dumb by the fact that, no. It wasn't Shuichi. He didn't secretly have feelings for him that had somehow completely blindsided him. Which meant it was someone else. But that first time Kaito had felt a bud tickling his throat, that first moment that had set off the firecrackers of flowers in his gut, had been right after he'd giggled his joke to his friend—and if it wasn't Shuichi, then who was it? Who was it that Kaito needed to bare his feelings to?
That had haunted him for awhile. It started to get real annoying, hiding these damn flowers from others.
The Hanahaki Disease was sort of an epidemic when it came to high schools, so it wasn't like Kaito was the only one, but he was one of the few unlucky enough to not immediately identify who he was hiding his feelings from. If he could just figure it out and confess to them, then this problem'd go away. He could move on.
But... who..?
A wise man might suggest Kokichi. Kaito had been in the middle of one of his usual standoffs with his classmate when he'd first sensed the petals tugging against his insides. But that was ludicrous. No, it wasn't Kokichi Ouma. Obviously not. That guy was super annoying. Kaito wasn't attracted to super annoying people.
Kaito chokes on a self-deprecating laugh that hurts.
The flowers weren't so bad at first, if a bit embarrassing. Kaito had thought, If it stays this slight, I can keep ignoring it. Sure. Just keep stammering through confessions until one of your friends bites and the problem finally goes away.
Maki had seemed like a great candidate, since she had a girlfriend. Like, oh, of course he'd throw up flowers because of that! He didn't stand a chance! But he hadn't even gotten one word into that one. Maki had thrown him a bladed sneer and asked him, “Who is it really, Kaito? Don't waste your time on me. We both know you know better.”
She'd listened with him, Maki, as he mumbled his way through his insecurities. Had lightly touched his shoulder. Had sighed, long and slow. Had said, “I never thought you would have this problem.”
“Right?” He'd groaned, head in his hands. “I just... can't figure out...”
“Here. I'll keep an extra careful eye on you. We'll piece it together. Then, once we know, you can tell them, and it'll stop.”
Right. He just had to recognize, and then overcome, his feelings. It didn't matter if they reciprocated or not. Kaito just had to be honest with himself. Honest... and vulnerable... and open to rejection.
Easy. So easy.
Only, he'd just about run out of friends to confess to, which meant it wasn't a friend, which meant the rejection would probably sting. It also meant that Kaito had absolutely no idea who it was that'd set off these floral bombs inside of himself.
With a deep, ragged breath, Kaito stands up straight again. His legs are tired, and he's admittedly lost a lot of blood over these past few months, so it's tough to get himself going again. But he's Kaito Momota. He's nothing if not devoted. To stop now would be to spit on everything he is. So now that he's made this choice, he has to see it through.
...Even if it's likely his window of opportunity has passed.
He shouldn't kid himself: He's slow now. Just about anyone could outrun him in this state. Let alone someone so smart, and—
Kaito bites his tongue, wincing as the taste of blood overwhelms his mouth again.
He manages to stagger his way to the nearest wastebasket. It's long after the school day has ended, so the halls featuring classrooms have been cool and empty for a good while. And so, with a quick, relieved glance throughout the hall, he manages to confirm that nobody'll see before the petals spew out from between his lips, followed by another helping of hot blood. Kaito grips the edges of the bin, his body heaving, his insides stinging with a pain they can never quite grow used to, and that frustratingly insistent tickle starts up in his throat again.
The only thing that steadies Kaito is the knowledge that this will end. It always does.
Eventually, he proves himself right. Grimacing, he wipes his hand over his sweaty, bloodied mouth, and pulls himself up again. Snapdragons lie in a tangled snarl at the bottom of the bin, their purple petals sagging beneath the weight of the blood. The flowers' stems have snapped from the force of Kaito's heaves. He almost feels sorry for the poor things. Such beautiful petals.
He'd been cozied up in the library. Big mistake. Should've brought the book to his dorm with him.
Instead, he was carefully poring over flower language with Maki. She'd pulled out a few other tomes and now sat on the floor, head deep in one of the books.
The thought was, if they figured out what snapdragons meant, then maybe Kaito would link them back to the person he had feelings for somehow.
But that hadn't been much help. He grunted, turning away from one beautifully intricate painting of the blooms. “Says deception,” he murmured to Maki. “Probably because I'm lying to myself.”
Maki snorted. “Kaito, they reflect the person you like, not your own feelings.”
“Couldn't they be a reflection of how I feel about them? As in, a lie? As in, I'm lying to myself?”
“Damn,” Maki muttered. “Hadn't thought of it that way.” She hesitated on her page. “What about grace?”
Kaito blushed. “Grace?”
“Grace and strength,” his friend rattled off. “They can represent protection, too. Maybe they're protective of you. Or they protect you, somehow.” A dark chuckle escaped her. “They're a good luck charm...”
“Don't say that,” Kaito groaned.
Maki's finger was gliding down the page of another book. “The colors add something, too. This one says that they promote a sense of magic.'”
Kaito squinted at her. “So it's Himiko.”
“No.” Maki choked. “Is it?”
Kaito stared at her. “I would hope not.” Not that he didn't like Himiko, but... he was pretty sure he'd never had a single longing thought in his entire life that came even miles close to the girl.
He shook his head. “No—I'm certain. It's not.”
“Anyways,” Maki said, shooting him a look, “purple snapdragons can reflect spirituality.”
“Huh...” What that had to do with him was a great question.
“And... magical mystery.”
“Magical huh?”
“Kaito!”
Kaito dropped his book and all but fell out of his chair. His eyes yanked upwards, landing squarely on the face of the boy who'd shoved himself into Kaito's periphery.
“Kokichi!” he shouted, then hastily lowered his voice. “What are you doing here?”
“What'cha reeeeeading,” Kokichi whispered, matching Kaito's tone. Before Kaito could stop him, his classmate scooped up the book he'd dropped and hit the page he was on. “Ooh. Flower language.”
An absolutely horrid grin snarled up Kokichi's face.
Kaito's heart shot into his throat.
Peeking over the pages of the book, Kokichi whispered: “Kaaaaiiiiiiito. Does Kaito—Does Kaito have a little—a little—a little crush on someone—”
“Shut up,” Kaito hissed, snatching the book out of Kokichi's hand. To his surprise, the boy gave it up willingly.
Kokichi cackled, his voice awfully breathy. His face awfully close. “Deception, huh..? Do you like it when someone lies to you, Kaito? Do you get off on someone—”
Growling through his teeth, Kaito grabbed the collar of Kokichi's shirt and tugged. Kokichi actually yelped. They probably had ten seconds before the librarian kicked them out.
“Can a guy look at flowers in peace?” he gritted out. It didn't have to have shit to do with the Hanahaki Disease. And if there was anyone Kaito desperately did not want to know about this...
...wait.
Why was it so important that Kokichi not find out? Sure, there was the risk of him telling other people, but he lied about half the things he said, so it wasn't like everyone'd take him seriously. There was the prospect of blackmail, but what the hell was Kichi gonna blackmail him into doing? Hell, Kaito still didn't know who he liked. Kokichi couldn't lord information over him that Kaito himself didn't know. And if Kichi spread it around, then maybe someone—the right person—would find out—and they'd seek Kaito out. Maybe he'd finally be freed from this stupid curse. Maybe even—
He realized Kokichi was still in his face, held there by Kaito's own strength. Hurriedly, he let go, shaking himself.
Kokichi was staring up at him, his face oddly blank. Kaito's eyes fell to the book in his other hand, still opened to the page on snapdragons.
He caught onto a word he'd glossed over earlier, the one next to deception.
Deviousness.
A terrible pinch in his stomach told him more than he could say out loud. He managed one pathetic glimpse at Kichi, and he felt his cheeks light up. Just like that.
Oh, fuck.
Kokichi was still silent, was still empty, but Kaito thought he saw a shadow pass the boy's complexion.
Swallowing painfully, Kaito fought to his feet. He'd thrown his book onto Maki's pile and quickly walked his way over to the bathroom without thinking. The moment his knees touched the cold tile floor, he bent over and threw up into the toilet bowl.
He's not running as fast as he was earlier, but it's better than nothing. He almost opens his mouth, to call again, but then he realizes that it might be better if he sneaks up on him. Kaito keeps his gait as quiet as he can, his slippers soft down the corridor. Still makes a noise, but not much of one. And without his voice echoing, it's become a lot harder for any unsuspecting students to know for certain that Kaito is the one hurtling toward them.
He rounds the nearest corridor and slams straight into someone else.
Kaito fumbles through a moment of sheer, blind pain, then collapses against the nearest wall and forces his eyes open.
He catches Kokichi lifting his hand off his own mouth and slipping the fingers into his pocket.
He meets Kaito's gaze, and a smile jerks across his face.
“Hey there, Kaito,” he says.
And then he takes off.
“STOP IT!” Kaito bellows. “STOP RUNNING! FOR ONCE IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE—”
With a useless groan, Kaito pulls himself up and sprints after him.
And so close—so close! Almost had him..!
Shit, he chides himself, watching Kokichi's lithe, white-clothed figure grow distant down the corridor. Shit, shit, SHIT.
The disease had rapidly spiraled out of control after that afternoon in the library bathroom.
Kaito had thought—foolishly, uselessly—that he could just stop thinking about it, and it'd go away.
Nope.
But maybe there was a chance Kokichi knew. He was smart as hell, but that didn't—everything that'd happened that afternoon didn't mean that Kaito had had feelings for him.
Didn't help, though. The pain stayed about as bad as it had become after that terrible, fateful confrontation.
It'd go away, a voice would whisper into Kaito's head, as the tears streamed down his cheeks and the pain in his throat rocketed stars across his vision, reopening yesterday's wounds, if you told him how you feel.
Yeah. But he couldn't say that to Kokichi.
How would he even get himself alone with the guy? He spent, like, half his conversations with Kichi either from across a full classroom or down a long hall. People would overhear. And Kaito didn't—Kaito didn't want that. Not for such an intimate moment.
He also still didn't fully get it himself. Why he'd blushed that afternoon. Why he'd suddenly grown so quiet, and nervous, and... soft.
His next mistake had been one evening as he lay in bed, exhausted from his relief. He'd had a couple of lighter days, and he was just trying to soak in that while he had it. Staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars he'd stuck to his ceiling, listening to the sound of his own breathing, the sound of it quiet and undisturbed.
Why do I like Kokichi..?
Big mistake. Big, big, big mistake.
But then he'd wondered it, really pondered why it was that fucking guy—
and his heart had painfully constricted.
Kaito heard Kokichi's laugh in the backs of his ears. That witchy cackle of his, manic and infuriatingly passionate. He felt Kokichi's small form under his palm when he'd pushed him, his heart all but beating into Kaito's hand. He saw Kokichi's silhouette in the hall, growing more and more distant as he slipped under Kaito's fingers yet again.
And then he—
Kaito turned over, burying his face in his pillow.
He could see Kokichi's snappish, impish mask, even in the dark. The one he put on to goad Shuichi through a mystery, or to frustrate Rantaro into trying a new tactic on his next adventure. To urge Miu to manufacture a better machine, or to sic Maki on her next target. It was mean and prickly and annoying as all hell, and it worked every single time.
It was the exact tone of voice he used to trick Kaito into his periphery, and the one that trailed down the warped, ever-elongating corridors of Kaito's mind as he slipped, elusive, out of Kaito's grip yet again.
Kokichi... Kokichi was a good person.
He acted like he wasn't. He made a bit stink out of fucking with their classmates.
But he was good.
Kaito's hand rose to his mouth. He needed to get out of his bed, right now—
Kokichi was so good.
Kaito didn't make it to the bathroom in time. After that night, he started keeping a wastebasket by his bedside.
Dammit.
Kaito laughs sardonically to himself, his mouth hot with pain.
Dammit!
Lost him again!
His laughter hurts. This failure hurts. The fact that he's too weak and tired to outmaneuver Kokichi when he needs to the most hurts.
His eyes are so blurry he almost doesn't recognize the handle in front of him. With a sigh (that hurts, too), he rests his hand on the door's frame. Maybe he'll just sit down in the janitor's closet with that nice big mop bucket, take another breather. Maybe if he gives it a minute, he'll recover the strength he needs to finally catch up to Kokichi.
Kaito slides the door on its hinges, letting himself through.
It got worse, after that night.
Worse, and worse, and worse.
If Kaito thought about Kokichi, it got worse. If Kaito tried not to think about Kokichi, it got worse. If Kaito so much as looked at Kokichi during class, he found himself sealing his own mouth shut until he could excuse himself and then hacking snapdragon after goddamn snapdragon into the toilet bowl.
He'd started using medication for his throat. It was advertised as The perfect aid to take the fight against your feelings, but it could only do so much. His stomach hurt like a madman these days.
But he didn't... want to tell Kokichi.
Because it made his face burn so hot it went numb when he considered it. Because of the way Kokichi laughed, and the thought of hearing it—hearing it—directed at him, after something so vulnerable—made his insides quiver.
Because he knew Kokichi wouldn't feel the same way.
Somebody else is inside the janitor's closet. Kaito hears a gasp, and a choke—one that reminds him of the way he sounds when the petals are stuck in his throat.
Kaito decided he wasn't going to tell Kokichi.
He was certain. Eventually, the feelings would fade on their own, and it was the coward's way out, but it would spare him the shame of coming out to someone who got such fun out of Kaito's flaws already.
He was willing to wait it through.
Then he blacked out while walking to the gym with Maki.
She'd been the first thing he saw as his eyes refocused, her face a giant, pallid moon.
“Kaito, d-do you want to die?” she breathed. “You have to to tell him. Soon.”
The door shuts behind Kaito.
He stares at the man in the closet whose head has bent into the garish yellow mop bucket.
Kokichi rapidly whips up his head, but pretty white petals stained pink still stick to his jaw.
Kaito had stiffly walked over to Kokichi's desk that afternoon. Had informed him that he needed to speak to him alone after class.
Kokichi had made a show of simpering and teasing, sticking out his tongue, but he'd saluted to him, aye-aye, captain, and Kaito had thought that that would be that.
The final bell had rung, and as soon as Kaito was out of his seat, Kokichi was gone, his backpack nowhere to be seen.
Kaito stares down at Kokichi's lips, pink blood smearing the fan-shaped petals on the pale, cracked skin.
He swallows. Says, hoarsely, “You should really tell them how you feel.”
The mop bucket drops from Kokichi's hands and slams into the floor with a dull THURK.
He jeers up at Kaito, the petals flickering as he exhales.
“Oh, that's rich,” Kokichi snaps, “coming from you.”
Kaito scowls. “I'm trying to—!”
“Yeah?” Kokichi merely cocks his head, his violet hair elegantly framing his sweat-streaked face. “Yeah, is that so? How many months again, Kaito?”
Kaito's gut twinges. How the hell does he know it's been so long?
...Maybe, with Kokichi, the better question he should ask himself is how his classmate wouldn't know.
They face one another in a standstill that causes Kaito's stomach to churn. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he wills—begs—that the floral bile in his throat will stay down a little longer.
Carefully, Kaito breathes in and out through his nose, feeling the hot flush on his cheeks simmer down.
“How about this,” he offers, once he's as calm as he's going to get. “I'll count to three. On three, we say the name of the person we like.”
Kokichi's brow furrows. “Ummmm... why would I do that?”
Kaito snorts. “To work up the courage to tell the right person! Maybe you just need a little practice.”
Kokichi makes a diseased face.
The laughter that bubbles up hurts. Kaito tries not to let it show how much. He swallows down a wad of feathery leaves.
“I'm just saying,” Kaito continues, “it might help.”
“Oh,” Kokichi poses, tone pitched into a mock-question, “is that all I need? A little pep talk from Kaito? You sure that's not what you need from me?”
Kaito can't even harbor the strength to push back. His heart is beginning to pound in a premonitory drumbeat, his pulse twitching in the pads of his fingers. Struggling and failing to clear his throat, he says, “Sure, Kichi. Whatever gets you through it.”
He does need Kokichi. That's the simple truth. He needs Kokichi to hear him.
Kokichi doesn't quip him like Kaito's expecting him to. Kaito tenses, awaiting one more clap back, but instead Kokichi lets out a monumental sigh and grumbles, “Fine. But only because you asked me so nicely.”
It's because Kaito is blocking the door, he bets. That, and Kaito's beginning to wonder if he's not the only one dealing with a keen loss of blood.
“Alright,” Kaito says. He takes in a tight breath that cinches in his gut, squeezing where the veins of the flowers fester within him. “On three.”
Kokichi nods slightly.
“One... Two... Three.”
No matter how loudly Kaito had shouted, he hadn't even heard Kokichi's cackling replies. Usually the boy at least had the decency to give Kaito a fucking clue. But the hall was totally devoid of Kokichi's voice. Eerily.
With the students crowding the halls and the risk of being seen, Kaito had ducked into a quiet restroom stall and waited through the answering tremors in his stomach. By the time he left the restroom, he figured Kokichi was gone, too.
He hadn't expected to see his classmate standing at the end of the silent hall like some ghostly sentry.
Kaito had hollered; Kokichi had zipped away. An odd, comforting warmth had ballooned in Kaito's chest, nearly—not quite—strong enough to snap the vines wrapped tight around his gut.
“You.”
And Kaito had started to run.
Kaito's mouth collapses shut, his eyes shooting open.
He—He must've imagined that. Maybe he spoke too loudly. Drowned out Kokichi's voice.
But Kokichi's mouth movements match the word.
You.
He's not looking at Kaito. One of his hands shakily raises and brushes a crumb of flower off his lip.
Kaito's heart manages a dizzying quiver. When he swallows, no resistance meets him.
He bends down as if yanked. Kokichi lets out a tiny gasp that feels massive in the cramped, musty space. When Kaito leans, his shadow swallows Kokichi whole. They are dimly lit by a singular light bulb on a string. But a spark remains in Kokichi's eyes, his brightly-shining violet eyes, and they're as big, as overwhelming as planets when Kaito closes the gap between them.
Kokichi's lips are scarred. Tough. Resistant. But all it takes is a second of resilience for them to pry themselves open, willingly accepting Kaito's. He hears Kokichi mewl, the sound stifled by Kaito's mouth, and he feels a tremble on his lips. The sensation rockets pleasing shockwaves up and down his spine. Kaito thinks he might be floating—like he's untethered from his body, and the moment he opens his eyes, he'll gaze down at himself, worlds away.
At himself, and at Kokichi, whose head leans into Kaito's. Their foreheads bump, and Kaito senses himself pulling in, jolted back toward his body.
Another kiss, and Kichi's lips soften. Another, and they practically meld into Kaito's. His breaths are thick in his chest, suddenly unobstructed, louder than they've been in a long time.
Kokichi grunts. Kaito thinks he's about to be pushed when small hands flatten across Kaito's chest, and a word—choked-up, breathless—comes free:
“Kai...to...”
Such longing packed into it that Kaito's very spirit quavers. His legs weaken, and he slips out of himself, his back thudding against the closet door—and it's a cold shock on his lips when they pop off of Kokichi's.
They're staring at one another again, staring in the cramped semi-darkness. Kokichi's face is a mess of pink and red, from his panting mouth to his scarlet-rimmed eyes to his cotton candy storm-colored cheeks.
Kaito remembers to close his mouth.
Kokichi's gaze flickers. Kaito gets the feeling that he's being sized up.
His gut clenches. His hand secures on the doorknob.
Trying to speak up is like lighting a match on a wet strip of charcoal. His voice connects long after he's lost his train of thought, and he stumbles:
“I-I'm gonna go—”
“—and we're never speaking of this again,” Kokichi seamlessly slots into his sentence.
Kaito blinks. He wasn't—going to say that. He's not sure what he was going to say, and by Heaven, he cannot begin to string together any less than fifty possibilities.
But he knows there is no reality in which he would've said that.
Kaito swallows down fiercely. His throat remains unclogged.
One of Kokichi's cheeky little grins creeps up his face. Panicked, Kaito struggles to mirror it.
“And we're never speaking of this again!”
Yeah. For the best, anyway. It's over now. They've solved the problem, broken the curse, whatever.
“And you're gonna go,” Kokichi prods, which sets Kaito in motion.
“Yes I am.”
Yes, he does.
Kaito forgot what it felt like to carry a clear windpipe. Damn, can he breathe. It's a miracle. He's never taking that for granted. If he ever has the absolutely dreadful idea of falling for another human being ever again, he is confessing to them immediately. Not worth it.
He strides through the rest of his evening in a painless daze.
There's only one moment, as he undresses for bed, when the memory of Kokichi's breath on his mouth flickers through him, and he has to lock himself into place so he doesn't crash down. And his heart—his heart warms like a small bird, fluttering itself awake in his chest. And he's astounded, staring at the slack-jawed stranger in the mirror—astounded.
But the lack of pain proves a stronger drug, and Kaito lies down and slumbers through the night without incident.
In the morning, he immediately bolts upright, his stomach heaving, and rolls to the edge of the bed, sticking his face in the bucket as more bloodied blooms spurt from between his gnashing teeth.
He gazes, wracked, at the raw spillage clawing its way out of him, more and more with each heave, more than he can even fathom, and his mind blanks into one single, useless, helpless thought:
FUCK.