"The person's already six feet under," Inoo says, exasperation clear in his voice. "Will you please shut it with your complaints now?"
Hikaru silences him with a glare, his hand never faltering in soothing circles on Daiki's back. The younger man is nearly inconsolable, sobs wracking his small shoulders. In between the stressful environment the photoshoot location has turned into, with everybody functioning only by the coffee in their veins and night turning into early morning, the act they've all witnessed and helped cover up had been too much to bear.
"Let's not kill each other," Yabu interjects, attempting to bring some semblance of peace in their little gathering.
"Only one person in here can do that and it's not me," Takaki replies, his gaze never leaving Inoo's as if to prove a point.
Inoo huffs, fists clenched to his side and shaking with the effort of not strangling Takaki. "I know perfectly well what I can do," he says icily, staring right back at Takaki. "And if I haven't had my quota of dead bodies today, you'd be next."
"I just said—" Yabu starts, only to be cut off by the sound of a palm hitting someone's cheek. Yabu reaches up to his own face, confusion painting his features when he feels no pain at all. Then he sees Inoo's cheek, red from the impact of Chinen's palm.
"You're not gonna lay a hand on even a strand of Yuuyan's hair, you got me?" Chinen says. His small frame manages to exude a deadly aura, the threat in his tone coming off in waves.
Nobody utters a single word after that, thoroughly terrified of their youngest member. They end up silently putting aside their shovels into its rightful place before heading back to the studio, as though they hadn't just buried a body during their break.
The staff greet them when they enter, apologizing for the delay without batting an eyelash at the absolute mess they all must look like, and the photoshoot proceeds as usual. They pack up without further incident.
Your turn, yomimashou.