[ He’s quietly ushering them back to the barracks, mind rushed with memories not his own; sleepless nights, dark alleyways, the empty apartment surrounded in darkness. The true Obikawa Kiyoshi - alone and with nothing else to lose, a man eaten alive by a god who chose to inhabit his body simply because of his name. Born and died and unfortunate. Nothing that Makoto needs to worry himself about.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe? Why isn’t he so sure of himself? ]

I don’t like getting hit. [ And he directs Makoto to his bunk, which was left in disarray and already marked as lived in by Obikawa - a discarded pair of shorts tossed at the end of the bed, an energy drink left somewhere on the floor. But did at least stash a few bandages in his pillowcase. ] I don’t like my friends getting hurt, either.

[ Did he expect he or someone else would get hurt? Who cares? ]

So if it means you’ll stay away from people who might hurt you, I don’t mind. But that doesn’t mean just hit me whenever you have some minor inconvenience. I’ll actually get mad at you. [ He holds up two flimsy bandages: one decorated with strawberries and another with wide smiles. ] Which one?