(MISCOMMUNICATION AND DOOMED YAOI IN MY PRESSURE? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK) (this is like completely self indulgent if you happen to like it i’m kissing you)

He feels weak as he drags himself across the facility floor, one claw after the other, leaving a trail of red in his wake. He’s desperate. He hates how desperate he is, how he’s looking for him, mouth agape as he takes in air, his lungs paining him in retaliation. It’s pitiful, he’d moved too deep into the facility, too far from water. There hadn’t been a blown out wall for rooms. He feels pathetic, dragging himself along like this, pausing to retch up the contents of his lungs, and then continuing because he knows he must.

Sebastian’s helped him before. For the life of him he doesn’t know why. He’s always outwardly showed distain for him, judgement, hatred, but despite that Sebastian’s been to his aid time and time again. He feels disgusting for being this desperate for it now. He hates how, as he drags himself, it’s just him, the flickering lights overhead, and his thoughts. He doesn’t hate Sebastian; he’d never say that out loud. He might even entertain the idea he’s fond of him. He doesn’t want to be. He hates that he is. The floor is cold against his stomach, stained with the blood seeping from his gills. He sputters a cough.

Sebastian had ventured from his shop to loot deceased expendables. Of course, the saboteur spots him. He knows this situation well at this point, Akira has stayed out of water for too long more times than he can count. But it looks worse this time.

Akira’s trying to stay conscious. Sebastian is returning to his current shop as fast as he can, Akira in his arms. He always had a stash of bottled water or something for Akira, as that’s normally where he’d end up somehow. It seemed so distant. “Don’t die on me now…” He chuckles, an attempt to keep Akira awake and himself from worrying, voice slightly wavering, “that… wouldn’t be…” Sebastian’s words trail. Salvage seems so distant.