Well I didn't get to write the zombie continuation to the last fic, primarily because it turned out really weird. With the current development of the manga, I need to figure out what to do about this ship. I still love Akafuri, but the dynamic has changed a bit.

I've been meaning to post this after the Delinquent chapter, but the muses came to me a bit later. Beware of bad descriptions.

AU Delinquent!Furihata continued. Furihata takes Akashi to his first fight.

The sun hung low in a hazy red, the air settling from its previous humidity to a sticky coolness. The skate park, littered with trash and paper bags and scrawling graffiti, was old, with rusting ramps and cracked concrete. Weeds and hardworking flowers squeezed through the cracks, giving the entire place a faintly bewildered air.

Akashi wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotting trash, flapping away several flies. He trudged carefully behind Furihata, who strode through the park comfortably, casually. He was swaggering a bit, his jeans hanging low at his hips and rustling with every move. Akashi thought it was rather pretentious of the other, and the swaggering appeared almost forced. Shaking his head at the other in not unkind amusement, he walked almost obediently behind Furihata, keeping his face carefully blank as they drew nearer to a bunch of large silhouettes huddled next to a creaking bench.

They were the standard ruffians, with tattoos, scars, and stocky statures. Akashi almost rolled his eyes at the cliche and wondered what Furihata was doing with them. Surely, they were using Furihata, who clearly didn't hold a single light to manipulations - Akashi could attest to that, having easily maneuvered Furihata into helping him with things Furihata had protested to at first.

Were they bullying him? Was that why Furihata, otherwise ordinary lower-middle class kid, was hanging out with them? It made more sense than Furihata's claims. Akashi crossed his arms and waited, almost impatiently, for Furihata to finish so they could leave and head back to the basketball court. Akashi had a move that he wanted to try, even though Furihata was pretty much hopeless with the sport.

"Boss!" The burliest and most heavily tattooed stood up suddenly, alert and grinning rather scarily. If not for the clear respect on the craggy face, Akashi would've thought it as mockery. The other delinquents stopped their activities, putting away magazines and tossing down the smoked joints and crushing out the smoke. They peered at Furihata cautiously, almost reverently.

Akashi couldn't have been more wrong. With a startling shock and widened eyes, Akashi had to admit that his theories about Furihata being bullied were disproven. The nonchalant and overly irritated expression on Furihata's face as he dismissed the men's greeting with a casual wave spoke volumes. Deciding to refrain from making quick judgments on Furihata in the future, Akashi waited for Furihata to start explaining.

"Guys, this is my friend. I guess you can call him 'Aka' if you want. Don't mess with him unless you want your eyes gouged out, got it?" Furihata said lazily, flashing them a quick smile at the end. It was delivered naturally, boredly, but Akashi noticed how each man paled and returned the smile nervously.

Furihata turned to Akashi with the same smile. It was razor sharp, completely different from his usual bumbling manner. "Same goes for you, Aka. It's for your good. Don't go starting any fights, 'kay? I'm not gonna wipe your ass for you."

Akashi raised a brow at him, uncrossing his arms and smirking slightly. "'Course not, Furi."

Furihata turned away, mumbling, "That's another nickname," ears faintly pink. The smirk on Akashi's face grew wider. Louder, Furihata said, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms, "Come on guys, we've got a date with those stupid imposters."

"I've got your bat, Furi!" A mohawked guy said, looking far too eager to be healthy. "Can I mess up their faces?" He whisked out a knife, the blade gleaming dully under the street light.

"Hey, careful! You wanna cut our boss, you idiot?!" Another guy snarled. The mohawked guy scowled at the other but put away his knife.

Furihata yawned. "Mess up their faces?" He sounded almost bored, Akashi thought. "Nah, that's boring. I think it'd be cooler to give them what they really want though."

"What's that?"

Furihata smiled shyly, a sudden change from his previous demeanor. Sweetly, innocently, Furihata laughed, his voice cheerful and boyish. "You'll see!"

Akashi stared at Furihata incredulously. "What are you going to do?" He asked in a low voice, glancing at the other ruffians who began to chatter excitedly to each other.

"Just scare them a bit," Furihata said nonchalantly. "Teach them a lesson about plagiarizing. These guys haven't gone to school for a while, so it's good to teach them a lesson once in a while." He peered into Akashi's face for a while, brown eyes studying him with an uncharacteristic solemnity. "Don't worry," He whispered into Akashi's ear, sending shivers down his spine, "You won't get hurt, I promise."

"I'm not scared of that." Akashi said, shaking his head. "I'm worried about you. Is this what you want to do with the rest of your life?"

Furihata turned away from Akashi, shrugging. "Probably not." He didn't say anything more, opting to fiddle with one of the screws nailed into the bat.

They stopped in front of a rusty chain-linked fence, where a bunch of other delinquents, with the name Jinkotsu graffitti'd behind their loitering spot.

Akashi hung behind the fence while the others hopped over, sneering at the opposing riff raff. Despite his contempt for this kind of stupidity, Akashi couldn't help but feel curious. What was Furihata going to do? After seeing him like this, Akashi felt a tingle of excitement, anticipating.

Furihata strode forward, appearing meek and shy. He was stuttering something. The other group was laughing, mocking, leering. Furihata's gang was still, their postures defensive and tense.

Akashi narrowed his eyes at Furihata, who watched the other gang with slitted eyes and a mischievous grin. And then it happened too fast for Akashi to catch, but Furihata lurched forward in a blur, and the other gang member was smashed against the wall, his forehead bleeding. There was a roar of outrage and Akashi watched, with large eyes, as Furihata - small, seemingly frail, elementary schooler physique Furihata - jumped up with the bat, swinging it into the unfortunate victim, whose yell was strangled, breathless.

It was Akashi's first time seeing a full blown fight. He'd seen versions of it in movies, on television on the rare occasions when he had absolutely nothing to do, but never in reality. His face touched the iron fence, white hands gripping the wire frame. Furihata was being attacked by two men, and he had lost his bat, but he ducked and lashed out viciously, so ferociously that it took Akashi's breath away with the sheer animalistic quality of it.

"Amazing..." Akashi breathed, eyes gleaming. This feeling, he couldn't quite grasp what it was, but it was the same as the time when he first saw Michael Jordan slam the basketball in a powerful dunk into the net at the live game. Furihata was no Michael Jordan, nor was he an expert in fighting. He was perfectly ordinary, save for his rebellious extracurriculars. Furihata Kouki wasn't striking, wasn't beautiful, wasn't ugly, wasn't intelligent, wasn't dumb, wasn't confident but not particularly self-deprecating. He was perfectly ordinary, and he was a complete paradox. Akashi couldn't understand him, even though he had thought he figured Furihata out.

Watching Furihata move, scurry in and out of fights, face alight with an intense vivacity and brightness, Akashi felt his knees grow weak. He felt strange, and the word that he couldn't help but think over and over again didn't make any sense to him, but his mouth formed the words over and over again, catching him in a strange seizure.

"Amazing..." He wished he could go on watching forever, but the fight had stopped, and Furihata had his men string up all the beaten delinquents, pulling up their shirts and exposing their back. Furihata had a knife, twirled it rapidly so it spun silver under the humming streetlamp. It was fluid, the way he handled a knife. Akashi was stunned, silent, as he watched Furihata carve up the backs of the delinquents, his ears ringing with the painful and tortured screams from the grown men.

Finally, it was over. Furihata was waving at him, his expression deadened in comparison to the animated viciousness five minutes prior. The other gang members fist bumped him, dispersing and carrying the beat up delinquents to somewhere for disposal.

Swallowing, feeling his throat close up, Akashi tried to speak. What came out was a sudden and hurried question, his voice shaky. "Are you alright? You're bleeding again."

Furihata blinked, the life returning back to his eyes. Suddenly he was the Furihata that Akashi had gotten to know after the first night they met. The friendly, socially acceptable, unsure and innocently naive Furihata. At this point, Akashi didn't even know what to think about him, but the fight, he would never forget that. But Furihata smiled sunnily at him, genuinely happy. "I'm fine! You want to get ice cream?"

And it was as if the fight and the viciousness had never happened. Akashi found himself nodding, carried away by Furihata's burst of cheer. He caught himself a little while later, biting into Furihata's kiwi-lime ice, the sourness waking him up from his daze. Sweeping Furihata once more to make sure he was seeing his friend correctly, Akashi noticed more and more things about Furihata.

Furihata always stood in a certain way, uncertain and unsure at first glance. Now after that fight, Akashi wouldn't call it unsure, but wariness. Furihata's posture was sustained at that intermediate point between friendliness and hostility, his hands hovering near his pocket, where he kept a small pocketknife, Akashi knew. It was rather amazing, Akashi thought, absently licking his melting Caramel tofu ice.

They finished their ice cream, laughed and talked about nothing in particular, and Akashi couldn't help but ask, right before Furihata was about to leave for home. "Can I go with you again? To another fight?"

Furihata's look of surprise nearly made Akashi grin in triumph at catching him off guard. But a gentle, pleased expression made Akashi's heart skip a beat. "Of course. Just don't expect me to protect you." He said teasingly, softly.

Akashi wrinkled his brow in displeasure. "As if." He scoffed, but smiled back, feeling rather light-headed. "I'll text you later."

Furihata waved at him, turning around, back small in his large t-shirt. Akashi walked into the tall residential building, watching Furihata walk away from glass windows in the elevator.

His hand hovered near his phone, itching to take it out and fire a text to Furihata.

It was a really good idea, Akashi thought later in the night, grinning rather stupidly at his phone, being friends with Furihata.