Miyu does not wake up in the middle of the night. It never ever, ever happens. Miyu is a strong credit-averaging university student that last-minutes everything and he sleeps like a baby because you will not catch this pure soul ever being sleep deprived ever. That was the first thing his mother taught him, ever since he was eight. Don't pull all-nighters in university, Miyu, or you will be unable to function the next day and you will die.

At least he thinks she did. Probably. Something like that.

Today, miraculously, Miyu wakes up exactly nineteen minutes past three because there's something sparking in his brain that's telling him that something very bad is being done, right about now. And it is up to him to save that poor soul's life. Half-dead, zombie Miyu rises from his bed and treads very slowly out of the room, leaving his blankets in a desolate puddle on the floor, and treks blearily all the way to the communal kitchen where his danger sensors are tingling. Probably someone burning water or something. He flicks on the light.

At that moment Miyu unleashes a deathly warble of dissent that is meant to sound something like, "What are you doing! Stop right there!" and actually comes out like, "AEERUEGHHHEUUGHH," because that is not what you are supposed to do with your Red Bull.

Exhausted, half-awake (or quarter-awake, if you were going for utter scientific accuracy) and near death, no one can say that Miyu didn't need a Red Bull, but in this house of God there is never the need for drugs and at the very implication Miyu manages to snap into some semblance of actual lucidity.

"Drugs bad!" he manages to demur. Some semblance, he said. "You can't! It's body. I'm aaaughhhh." He swipes his hands down the sides of his face while stumbling forwards, before pulling his hands away to shove a very accusing finger right at Leo's face until, once manners kick in, he redirects it at his neck, to be a little more polite. "I'm gonna," he articulates, enunciating each syllable carefully and clearly, "take those away from you."

He then points at the pills, in case the delusional stranger hadn't comprehended his dire point. His hand then goes back to Leo, more insistently as the other kid flops on the floor and feels around for the pills, and in that window of opportunity Miyu goes for the Red Bull with the full intention of pouring it mercilessly and righteously down the sink. He can't let him die!!! Not on his watch!

They fit the caricature of crazed and sleep-deprived university students to a T, regardless of Miyu's oath to never ever get less than approximately ten whole hours in him every night. Honestly, if anyone chanced across them at this ungodly hour in the search for some coffee or something (should they also be working on something all night), they would probably take a single glance at the unfolding scene then turn right around.

Miyu doesn't scream. Let's get that settled. He makes an almost piercing garble of unintelligible sound when Leo tackles him, going for the kill - else, the Red Bull. Like a dragon protecting his cluster. A brooding hen threatening to peck your hand off when you reach in to take its weird football-shaped ball.

The late hour itself has Miyu feeling particularly sensitive and impassioned about everything, and when he manages to pull himself off the (frankly, nasty) floor with a slightly terrified wheeze at Leo's naked desperation, his eyes just about water up in sheer emotion. "You can't drink that," he replies, with utmost, stressed seriousness. "You'll die, man! I'm here to save you!"

Just maybe it's getting to them.

Why do they like pointing so much. Or trying haphazardly to point in the other's direction, which could really end up in either a poked eye or an accidental karate chop straight to the throat if they were still progressing along the track of being mutually Numb to All Sensation, which is... happening. "This isn't the way!" Miyu gibbers, because that is fake and he knows Leo will die he feels it in his pounding beating earnest heart of hearts, peeling himself off the floor and promptly yelling a half-cobbled, "NOOOO--" by the time Leo has thrown all the caution in the world to the wind and pounces for the can of death.

In Miyu's bleary-eyed frenzy, his brain makes the split-second decision that slapping the can out of Leo's hand is a smart idea. Or, maybe, going for the can at the exact same time. Which is what he does, so now they're both struggling.

"YOU! CAN'T!! DO THIS TO YOURSELF!!" he finds himself fairly screeching. Bless their souls.

Miyu has zero thoughts whatsoever about preserving this caffeinated drink of hell because one, Miyu the living happy slip has no need for artificial means of generating energy, two this drink is the work of hell because he's seen the capabilities of Coke who says that Red Bull doesn't have the same death mixture of Satan, and three, everything but tearing this aforementioned death mixture from this vulnerable soul's hands has entirely fled his mind. Booked it outta dodge. Flew out the window. Went smashing through the door via motorcycle. This sad soul needs salvation. He's half a person, and right now Miyu's also half a person, so together they can get through all adversity and he can teach him sensibly about organisational work practices otherwise a brighter mindset on life, which equates to learning how to give up gracefully and how to skilfully smash out something entirely half-assed without losing the sleep that could give him wrinkles and a shortened lifespan and--

Miyu's about to holler something back, something wholly intelligent and striking like, "NO!!!! YOU!!! CAN'T!" until his entire life goes blurry when he's propelled back because abruptly he's the only one tugging at the can and for a single second all Miyu can think to do is think out farewell messages to his mother, his friends whom he always leeches notes off, Santa, God, a reluctant but mostly fake apology to his professor for not being able to submit his assessment which is indeed mostly fake because no way is Miyu going to feel sorry about not having to do that, and actually it sounds pretty appealing to pass peacefully in the midst of a wild struggle over a can of Red Bull.

He lets go of the Red Bull, just as Leo's piercing caterwaul echoes through his ears.

Miyu lands hard on his tailbone, shrivels forward from the agony, as Leo crumbles beside him and the Red Bull, completing its slow downward motion, bounces off the floor. Then tips to the side and flows out. Gratuitously.

Like a beautiful roly-poly, Miyu curls on the floor and numbly recognises the metaphoric circling, quacking ducks going around his head as oblivion. Just like the finest of cartoon characters.