He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He was ready to go out and offer himself as free target practice. He was about to puke all over his floor.

He felt bile rise, clammy hands grip onto the floor as he fell to his knees, and hair suddenly stick to his head with sweat. Just that damn morning had ruined his whole life and never would he ever recover.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Damn, he had to involve the police no matter what. Come on, as a Doctor, he had many friends in the police department. After performing numerous autopsies, Kenjirou had gotten acquainted with several and knew they would help him if they kept it quiet. But it was hard considering the cartel had full control over the government and if he so much as hinted at trying to uncover someone's identity, he might as well be dead. What if it was someone important? What if it was just someone with high ranking but not necessarily the leader? Kenjirou gasped against the floor as if he had run a whole marathon and breathed deeply.

How did he get himself involved in gang activity if all he wanted to do was help civilians?

He didn't get off the floor, dragging himself along the ground to his bathroom to half-assedly shower before climbing into his bed with nothing but boxer briefs and falling asleep, but the worry and stress of his day did nothing for him except garner him a fever that had him losing air and burning in bed.

He was a Doctor; he could cure himself and stay inside for a whole week if need be.

No one needed to know and the police could stay out until he figured out how to deal with his problem. Tsutomu would be returning the following day and could take some of his shift if necessary while being out of his hair, he'd be in the safety of his house for a while so there was no reason to be murdered as long as he kept all openings locked and closed. And the best part, he was getting time off work.

Heat enclosed him in his own house, the merciless sun beating down, and with the way he felt with a massive stress-induced fever and heat of the sun, he might as well be in Mexicali. He couldn't handle it but he would not step a foot out until he was better. No way would he venture out defenceless and vulnerable.

And the more the days passed, the more he accepted the thought that he was no longer being watched. Just over a week after finding the tattooed man had passed and although he had not found a single hint that he was still being watched or found a single note anywhere that proved that, the ash blond hair that had hung over his face never left his mind and the brown eyes that seemed so kind were burned behind his eyelids like a curse that should never leave.

The man that Kenjirou was almost sure committed five homicides yet he had no proof.

And as the third day of the second week came forth and Kenjirou deemed himself ready to go back to work, he turned on the news to see what he missed and instantly felt like dying all over again.

"¡Hoy en noticias! A las cuatro de la madrugada, la policía encontró tres muertos en Calle Caracas, Durango. Dicen que es culpa del Cartel."

("Today in news! At four in the morning, the police found three dead on Caracas Road, Durango. They say it's the Cartel's fault.")

Kenjirou hesitantly opened his curtain, stomach just about falling out his mouth as he spotted police outside. His street. His fucking road. Three had been killed on his street while he was asleep. Was it a silent murder? One so quick and merciless that no one had even noticed until daytime or a loud bloody one that everyone managed to sleep through? Was it gunshots or was it stabbing, was it poison or was it a vocal slice and strangulation, was it air injection or was it suffocation?

Kenjirou didn't know but what he did know was that he would be soon interrogated and all he would have to offer was his guilty conscience from the week prior and the alibi that he was in bed sick. His house still reeked of illness and that was believable but his entire body reeked of guilt and there was no way to cover that up.

So with the quickest change of clothes and freshening up he could muster, Kenjirou slipped himself out through a back window and climbed over his fence, strangely reminded of the time he had been thrown over one. He had a total of three hundred pesos on him, more than enough for transport and some food but nothing close to enough for a whole day out if he planned to survive properly. He'd have to return home soon and by that time, the police would hopefully be gone.

He picked himself up from the dusty ground and made his way down the alley, quick peeks over his shoulder as he made his way down. He didn't see anyone, feel anyone, or sense anyone but he was a fool to assume so, when out of nowhere, a vehicle pulled up beside him with a rolled down window.

"Hey Doctor, get in. We have conversing to do."

A mask and beanie were enough to cover basics but nothing could hide the eyes that burned in Kenjirou's head on the daily. And nothing could hide the entire arm covered in tattoos, especially not the stupid tanktop. They all stared at him shamelessly, tattoos that a normal person would never dare expose but this man, being whoever he was, exposed them as if they were his own natural skin.

Kenjirou felt antsy but when the warm eyes he had first seen never turned hard or looked dangerous, he accepted, although wearily. If he died, he might as well die while looking at the pretty eyes.

Before anyone could spot him, Kenjirou just about threw himself in, sinking in his seat as he got the window to close.

"How're your stitches?"

The man looked at him, a bit surprised, nodding as he made his way down the road.

"Quite fine, I guess. Didn't really think you'd recognize me but I guess I'm not good at hiding, am I?"

"You have the most visible Mara Salvatrucha Trece tattooed on your fucking upper arm, who wouldn't recognize you with that monstrosity right there?"

Kenjirou was more than brave. He could've literally been shot in the head in seconds if the man wanted to, yet he still went and insult one of the largest Central American gangs known.

"Against gangs? What if I was part of them? How would you defend yourself then?" The man asked, suddenly speaking in Japanese, which shocked the life out of Kenjirou but he continued on as if it were a normal occurrence and not the fact that he had definitely been stalked.

"You're in damn Mexico. No way one single Salvadorian gang member will be here alone unless he's escaping for his life and by the looks of you, you don't seem to be here with several gang members."

The man had the audacity to laugh. Really laugh as he pulled off his mask. Yet Kenjirou couldn't say that the MS-13 tattoo on his arm was what he recognized but instead it was his eyes. Hell, he had never even had a really good look at all his tattoos until then, just having known they were looked down on, but his brown eyes sucked him right in.

"You're more or less right. I guess I don't need this mask anymore if you recognize my tattoos."

"Damn right. Now tell me something, are you behind the killings?"

"You sure have a free mouth, Sweetheart. What makes you think I'd tell you even if it was me and what makes you think you'd live if I confessed to such things, huh? Killing isn't taken lightly and I saw the news. Three murders this morning and five last week. I know it seems like a coincidence thanks to the shootout and the murders happening around the same time but I can promise you, it wasn't me who murdered."

Kenjirou looked at him with narrowed eyes, realization dawning on him as he came to the conclusion that this man was a damn good liar. There was no way everything lined up so perfectly and yet he didn't have not a single role in all of it.

"I was just saying, y'know, because I can't actually fucking trust you, yet I'm sitting here with you as if we're friends?"

The man silently nodded, coming onto the main highway as they dwindled down a moderately busy path. Kenjirou literally had a shift in a little over an hour that he had originally planned on ditching yet he sat there as if he had all the time in the world. This man who he really needed to know the name of didn't even blink as several people came against his closed window yelling things they sold the next time he came to a stop at a red light.

"¡PIÑA, NARANJAS, QUESO FRESCO, POLVORÓN, CHURROS!"

("PINEAPPLE, ORANGES, FRESH CHEESE, POLVORÓN, CHURROS!")

"Do you want anything? I assume you didn't eat anything and just threw yourself over your fence."

"You saw that?" Kenjirou asked, swallowing because frankly, how the hell did that happen when he was sure no one had been around?

"You could say that. So? Anything?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever is fine," Kenjirou nodded, the man opening the window just enough to show the top half of his face as the vendors waited expectantly.

"Thirty pesos for anything," one of the vendors called out.

"I'll take the pineapple, keep the change," the man stated, handing over a hundred peso bill in exchange for the fruits. Rolling up the window, he handed Kenjirou the food, a small smile on his face. "Be healthy, Doctor. You can't save lives if you don't keep yourself nutriented."

"Yeah, save the lives for you to have fun with," Kenjirou muttered, and that's when he really felt his life flash. He should've kept his mouth closed, honestly.

"I FUCKING TOLD YOU! DID I NOT?! I DIDN'T KILL THOSE PEOPLE! NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

For the first time, Kenjirou really saw the depth of meaning of those tattoos. He saw the teardrops that were delicately patterned into flowers, he saw the dates that littered his forearm, he saw the numerous gang and criminal organizations that disappeared under his shirt and covered his upper arm, and the worst part, he spotted a fresh tattoo on his thumb.

Another date. The date that was all too close. The date they first met. He had that date burned in his mind.

Kenjirou knew it was bad. It was so horribly bad. He knew his chest was covered in vines, skulls and more miscellaneous designs. He was in pure disaster and it was all thanks to his mouth.

"Goddamn. Sorry? Fucking fine, I won't accuse you of killing anymore."

"You better fucking not because you know how much shit I'd have to go through to try and get out? Do you know how much shit I'd have to go through to make sure you stay alive if I'm found out? DO YOU FUCKING KNOW HOW HARD I'VE BEEN WORKING TO MAKE SURE YOU STAY ALIVE?!" His neck tightened, a vein popping out shamelessly as he yelled, the soft brown eyes narrowing and his entire body turning in his seat. "So fucking hard just because you so happened to be on shift and going home that one absolutely fucked up night! Just because I had been goddamned stabbed by some stupid-ass cartel member! And I fucking swear, I've been working even harder than required to keep you alive just because you helped my ass but I promise you, if any word of this slips out, I will personally commit a crime. Not once did I commit one of those murders but that doesn't mean I wouldn't do it."

Kenjirou dumbly nodded, nose cold as hell as he shrunk into his seat and swallowed dryly. He suddenly wished he was never a Doctor. He'd rewind his days to make sure he never met this man.

"Yeah, yeah, got it, Sir. Just like, please stop yelling at me? I don't work well under pressure which is funny because I'm a fucking Doctor and I have to work under pressure but I don't do well with yelling, y'know? So like can you-"

"Yes, damn it. Got it, just fucking keep your mouth closed."

The vehicle suddenly went fully quiet, a heavy air as Kenjirou slowly crunched his pineapple. How'd he get there? He had no fucking clue and he wasn't sure if he should complain or not. It was conflicting to some extent because he was being watched by literal criminals but also nice because some of said criminals were taking care of him which led back to the fact that it was mainly unsettling because the criminals were watching. He could literally die any second. Hell, he could die as he sat there.