“You know what to do.”
His consonants are sloppy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, after getting better acquainted with Kamenashi's right hook. Kamenashi who's clearing his throat, staring uncertainly at the deep red droplets drying on his skin—Tomo's blood, now obvious under the fluorescent lighting.
He's almost proud something of his has Kamenashi's attention.
“So if,” Kamenashi trails off with a shaky exhale. Young, lost and bewildered, not so fierce anymore; it's a good look on him. Tomo's body seems to think so too, and now's not the time for that. “If I do this, you'll talk to him?”
“Maybe's not going to cut it, Yamashita.” Trust him to go for demanding even when he's not in any position to do so. “Just, why? Why would you— You're not even...”
Tomo laughs, the sharp pang in his jaw making him regret it almost instantly. He's burning up, the white tiles cold as ice against his skin and he feels light-headed, dizzy from the pain and the adrenaline and something else. Kamenashi's right; he wasn't interested, only maybe he is now because he can. Because there may never be a better chance.
“Why not?” he says. Eventually, Kamenashi will agree.