He lays there, on the floor, older brother over him, knees on either side of his hips, hands just barely touching his throat.

They both know the routine of this, and it'll go as always, give or take a blackout.

Nozomu's breathing becomes lighter and lighter, fainter, until it's just the quiet and the subtle, subtle rise and fall of his chest. He only looks up at his brother- half expectant, watching the calculating look make itself around his face, his exposed skin of his collarbone from his shirt being messed earlier in the day and hadn't even bothered to fix it. Looking at how he has his arms, bent and hands laying at either side of his head, hands curled slightly.

There's a soft sigh from one, followed by the gasping, choked noise that there always is.

Mikoto's hands tighten around his brother's throat, some still-red welts gracing the pale and creating quite the contrast- cutting off all air. Watching as Nozomu only stays still, the occasional sound coming from him, the occasional flexing of his arms or the slight bend of a leg- but he remains obediently still.

He can feel the pulse in his brother's throat, the attempt to breathe. Nozomu can feel the blurr, the dark coming in over his eyesight, that feeling he was all too accustomed to.

And then the older loosens his grip once again, and the younger coughs, turning on his side as his brother gets off, crouching by him. He coughs, he chokes, and then he's quiet, the only sound being his ragged breathing returning to the soft in-out-pattern once again.

There are no words for the longest while, and when the silence is broken, they're speaking at the same time, same words.

"Thank you."

A/N: Oops my paraphilias are spilling on Word again in the form of fanfiction oh well.

...Does anyone else agree that SZS needs more squick in their archive. /shotshotshot