Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun shines down amidst wispy white clouds hanging from the blue sky, but the morning breeze is chilly. The trees around Midorijima High School rustle as if shuddering in the winter's lingering cold, spring not quite settled yet.

A yawn resounds in the empty hallway. The open glass windows lining up the wall pour mild morning light into the tiled floor, throwing a long shadow behind a lone, wandering figure.

In any other day of the trimester, these classrooms would be bustling with life, but today is different. It's the entrance ceremony day, so everyone's in the gym, listening to very long, very boring speeches and losing the feeling in their butts from sitting on those plastic chairs for too long, probably.

Everyone except Aoba, who's (lazily) braving through the deserted corridors and looking over the classrooms to find the entrance ceremony fugitive he's been ordered to find. Once outside the gym, he opened his gakuran's jacket, and is now traipsing around with hands tucked into his pockets, sporadically scratching his hair.

It's spring, alright. But it isn't cool like in the anime that airs on TV or pictures Aoba usually sees from bigger cities in the mainland. And that's because there are no cherry blossom trees in the Old Residential District. None. Or at least, that's what Aoba is inclined to believe, since he never saw one in real life. Besides, spring is when classes are back. Who even likes that?

Maybe there're some here in the Platinum District, Aoba thinks idly. Cherry blossom trees, that is. Aoba can't be sure; other than attending school here, he's never ventured too deep into these corners. Damn, had school not been here, he wouldn't even step foot in this place—it always gave him the chills.

It might've been eighteen years since Platinum Jail fell, but it's still the prim and luxurious part of Midorijima, attracting loads of tourists who want to kick back and relax at the resorts and beaches lining the coast. However, it isn't really a place for most islanders; there are some stores they aren't even welcome at. One may think they'd be more offended by that, but that's just how things have rolled out and no one questions it.

After all, if the stories are correct, people must've taken to the idea of a snobbish district quite easily. The past alternative was an entertainment center commanded by a megalomaniac planning to brainwash the entire populace of Midorijima and the rest of the world thereafter. Not that those tourists know anything about this.

Aoba snorts, hands tucked into his pants' pockets. If it weren't recent history with witnesses and pictures to prove its veracity, he'd have a hard time believing it too.

Having checked the first year's classrooms, Aoba stops at the stairwell leading to the next floor. He sighs with an impatient twist of his lips; where the heck is this kid?

"Ren really takes advantage of my goodwill," Aoba grumbles without heat, climbing the flight of stairs sluggishly. "Why the hell am I stuck here looking for some first-year punk? Though I'm glad I don't have to sit through that ceremony for once."

When Aoba clears the second-year classrooms, he already has a good idea of where the little delinquent must be. Thus, he climbs more stairwells and passes by the third-year classrooms without much more than a cursory glance.

"No trespassing: Students not allowed" are the words scrawled menacingly on a small white board, hanging on the metal door at the end of the dark stairwells. Just like Aoba suspected, the door is cracked open. So it's a lock-picking one, huh? Aoba can almost sigh wistfully.

To this cheeky first-year, that locked door probably looked like a challenge; who cares if it's windy as hell up there and still too cold for that shit? It's not that he doesn't understand, Aoba was like that too once, but he thought everyone left that rebellious impulse behind at junior high.

"Alright, little first-year," Aoba drones as he kicks the door open unceremoniously, using his forearm to shield his narrowed eyes from the blinding daylight. "You've had your fill of fun, so let's-"

Aoba stops in his tracks as his vision grows accustomed to the light. He drops his arm and finds himself pinned down by a pair of emerald-green eyes.

A good few feet away from Aoba is a guy who barely looks Japanese. His eye color aside, his unruly short hair shines a striking golden color under the sunlight. The only trace of a Japanese heritage is the faintest slant to his green eyes, which makes his gaze wield an even more piercing effect. What's more, his face and ears are covered in piercings; two on his right eyebrow, a double-tipped one on the bridge of his nose and one under each corner of his lips. There are so many on his left ear that Aoba doesn't even stop to count. What the hell kind of first-year I've been sent here to capture?

... There's that, but the problem at hand is that the guy is very clearly sitting on the rooftop's metal railing with his back to a four-story fall. The one thing holding him in place is the pair of pale hands braced onto the rusty railing, his legs stretched lazily before him. Just what is he planning, leaning on this railing that may have been sturdy ten years ago?

How will Aoba go about dragging this troublemaker safe and sound to the ceremony when he doesn't look willing to budge?

Now, Aoba only wonders how he let himself be fooled by Ren for even a moment. He told Aoba he didn't know the first-year's name, but he's the goddamned student council president, he has to know. Surely, this guy must have some weird, complicated name, like Russian or German, and Ren knew Aoba would bail out the moment he heard it.

Mixed kids aren't uncommon in Midorijima, but when one shows up out of nowhere like this, Aoba has to wonder, does this guy even speak Japanese? His English grades are not good enough for this. Aoba's tongue feels too big in his mouth, and he fumbles for the right words as he takes one step closer.

"E-e-excuse me?" He starts hesitatingly in heavily accented English. The first-year watches him impassively. "What is you...r name?"

The first-year keeps on leveling him with a blank expression, but he lets out a small huff through his nose. It takes Aoba a second to register the brief flaring of his nostrils and another one to question whether that was an impatient sigh or a contemptuous snort.

It's long enough for the boy to turn his placid face to the sky and lean backwards on the railing.

The scene in front of Aoba seems to unfold in slow motion, his feet frozen to the ground. A chilly wind whips soundlessly through the rooftop, throwing back Aoba's long hair in a powerful impulse. As the first-year falls, short strands of hair bristle around his face, blue sky clouding his empty green eyes.

In that one second, Aoba's stunned brain doesn't process the movement for what it means, but rather for how it looks. His eyes are stuck in the shimmer of lights and colors, ears unhearing.

How beautiful.

The spell is broken in his next heartbeat. Aoba lets out a surprised shout and jumps a step forward automatically, hand outstretched. But the kid is already halfway down and Aoba is not close enough. He's falling, and I won't make it. He's gonna die right in front of me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Aoba's eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritted as he braces himself for the sound of a body smashing down on the ground dozens of feet below.

What am I gonna do? Ren told me to grab this guy and now he's falling because I couldn't stop him? W-wait, what happens if they think I killed him?! I'm in such deep shit, holy-

After five seconds of nothing but the faint noise coming from the gym and the whistling of the wind, Aoba cracks one eye open.

First, Aoba looks at the open blue skies where the boy used to be.

Then, his gaze drops to the railing, where he sees a pair of legs hooked to it by the bend of their knees, pale hands still clutched to the rusty metal.

It's a split second until he fully assimilates the meaning of this and Aoba doesn't recognize his voice in the nearly pained sigh of relief that leaves his lips. He feels his eyes burn with tears, in fact, but they quickly subside in the face of surging rage.

"What the hell was that for? I almost had a heart attack!" Aoba growls furiously, taking wide strides towards the first-year and no longer caring whether he's understood or not.

Feeling marginally relieved he got to the kid before he could actually slip and fall, Aoba closes his fists on the first-year's jacket and pulls him up roughly, coming face to face with the weird delinquent.

The younger boy looks just as unperturbed as before, eyes bright even in the shadows thrown over his features. Aoba feels slight regret at having pulled him so close, with their noses one inch short of touching and a strong gaze boring into him.

"Would it hurt to fall from up here?" The boy asks in clear Japanese, voice low and even.

"No?! You'd just crack your skull and die in the same instant, you idiot brat!" Aoba answers without pause, realizing half a second later that the guy actually spoke his language.

The first-year scoffs at Aoba, who frowns immediately.

"Why are you so riled up?"

"You sure are full of stupid questions," Aoba remarks with an irritated grin. "I don't want to see someone die right in front of me."

The boy answers him with nothing more than a minutely raised eyebrow. Then, without warning, his body sags completely and he releases the railing, tipping backwards once more. Aoba yelps, firming his hold on him and taking all of his weight, righting him up again.

"What the fuck?!"

"If I died that'd be my own fault. You have nothing to do with it," he reasons matter-of-factly, a harsher undertone to his voice.

"You say that when I'm holding you?!"

The first-year shrugs. "Then let me go. It's not your responsibility."

"No no no no no, the police would definitely not say that," Aoba counters nervously.

The boy sighs in annoyance and pushes off from the railing, springing up to his full height. The movement is so sudden Aoba tumbles backwards, falling on his bottom with a wince.

"Ow... What was th-"

Aoba inhales sharply as the first-year bends at the waist, his face threateningly looming over Aoba's in one swift move.

"Don't show up in front of me again."

The words leave the blond's lips clear and cutting, green eyes just as sharp, drilling into Aoba's shocked hazel ones. A glint of silver catches Aoba's attention for the first time as the first-year speaks, and he hesitatingly lets his gaze slide away from the other's, glimpsing the small metal ball on his tongue.

Just as fast as Aoba sees the piercing, it disappears behind thin lips. The first-year straightens up and sidesteps Aoba, leaving him shell-shocked on the floor. The past five-or-so minutes play in Aoba's mind, and he still can't quite make sense of everything that's happened. He... just stopped a foreign first-year student from falling off the goddamn school rooftop at the entrance ceremony day, and the kid proceeds to threaten him?

The creak of the heavy door opening snaps Aoba out of his trance and he twists to look behind him, lips twisting around a snarl.

"Hey, where the hell do you think you're...?!"

The end of his sentence is stifled by the loud "clang" of the door banging shut.

"You're late," Ren doesn't chide but rather comments flatly as Aoba doubles over in front of him, gasping and panting with his hands on his knees.

Aoba finally looks up with a furious glare. "I'm never doing anything you ask me again!"

Ren's plain golden eyes blink at him, brows arched quizzically. Around them there's a flurry of people; first-years are ambling about with their families on their heels, mothers pestering their children to take pictures in front of the school gate. Aoba doesn't see him anywhere, which is only natural; the punk probably just left school after that incident in the rooftop. Where's this guy's mom to smack some sense into him?

He's going to be completely lost around school tomorrow and Aoba vows to not move a finger to help him.

"Aoba? What are you talking about?" Ren asks when Aoba fails to elaborate on his sudden outburst.

Aoba straightens up, wiping the sweat off his brow. "Thanks to you, I was almost roped into assisting the suicide of a fifteen-year-old edgelord!"

A mother tosses a glare towards Aoba while passing by the two third-years. He ignores her in favor of scowling at his twin brother.

"I'm sure I only asked you to bring him back," Ren says slowly, an eyebrow quirked up. "It didn't look like anything dangerous had been happening when he returned, though I was worried when I didn't see you with him."

Aoba's brows knitted in faint surprise. "Wait, you're saying he actually went back to the gym?"

"He did," Ren confirms, the previous confusion in his face softening into its usual polite blankness. "However, he was gone as soon as the ceremony was over. It was good that he wasn't the class representative or his absence would've been troublesome."

Aoba snorts. "Have you seen him? Even if he had the highest score at the entrance exam, the principal would have a heart attack at having a punk like that climb to the podium. It's bad even for a school like ours."

Ren stays silent, black hair swaying softly in the breeze as he looks over Aoba's head, at the school gate.

"Even in a school full of misfits he stands out," Ren said, almost cryptically.

Aoba blinks. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"I was watching him, especially after he returned. He's not simply apathetic; he stared blankly at the stage and I wondered once or twice if he was even breathing. It didn't look like his family came with him either."

"... And what am I supposed to do with that information?" Aoba snorts after a brief pause. "Are you assigning me as his babysitter? He even told me to fuck off loud and clear, you know. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

Remembering the little situation on the roof, Aoba mentally questions the words as soon as they leave his lips. Ren is oblivious to his brief conflict and laughs breathily.

"No, I didn't intend to make him seem pitiful either. I just have to make such observations, as a senpai and the student council president," Ren says, smiling sheepishly.

Aoba punches his arm lightly. "No need for that anymore, you'll be stepping down in a few months. Worry about your exams and getting into university. The first-years have three whole years to get their shit together; that's more than enough even for that guy."

Ren doesn't seem too satisfied with his answer and looks about to protest, but someone jumps on him from behind, wrapping arms around his neck like vines. The boy stumbles a couple of steps forward with a huff of shock.

"Ren, I finally found you!" is the soothing drawl heard as the girl hugging Ren drops her chin on his shoulder. Her face is tilted to the side, as if trying to peer into Ren's face.

"Clara... Hello," Ren greets with a hesitant smile, steadying his stance under the girl's weight. She probably doesn't notice the faint stiffness in his voice, but his polite act never really worked with Aoba, who grins mischievously at the sight.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone. See you later, Ren!" Aoba waves at them before turning on his heel, ignoring the silent cry for help in Ren's eyes.

Clara is a third-year like them, and, like everyone in the Old Residential District who bothers with their education, they have been studying together their whole life. There's only one elementary school, one middle school and one high school in the entire island, so all the kids grow up together. That's been a great arrangement for Clara... but not so much for Ren.

Aoba chances a glance over his shoulder, seeing Clara still hanging off Ren with a vice grip while the boy tries to discreetly disengage, smiling and nodding at everything she says. There's also some other boys from third and second year throwing them jealous and envious looks and they pass by.

Ren tries to accommodate for Clara as best as he can, since she's not a bad person and they are friends, but Aoba knows him to be the kind of guy who likes his peace and quiet. He never knew how to deal with Clara's slightly aggressive advances, her sudden hugs and unending monologues. What's more, Clara has always been incredibly popular; she's smart, well-spoken and beautiful, with silky pale-blonde hair falling to her hips, sharp grape-colored eyes and a tall, curvy figure that turns most boys into blushing messes during P.E. class. That has earned Ren enemies just as much as admirers; either way, it's all unwanted attention for him.

Aoba turns his eyes back forward and heads to the bike racks, off to the side of the school building. The small parking station is comprised of two shelters across from one another, semi-filled with rows of bicycles and mopeds. Given the early hour, the shade of the corrugated roof tiles is tilted at an odd angle over the bikes, and the spotty mosaic of surrounding trees doesn't quite reach it yet.  

Only when Aoba's feet step off the rustling grass and onto the concrete slab does he remember he hasn't seen Mizuki after the ceremony. Aoba stops on his tracks and sighs, momentarily chastising himself for being so flustered over that first-year he failed to notice Mizuki's absence; he should've asked Ren about it. Mizuki's not getting into trouble again, is he?

I also forgot to ask Ren about that kid's name. Aoba touches his chin pensively, looking up at the tree branches whispering softly in the wind.

And then he stops.

WHY AM I STILL THINKING ABOUT HIM?! Get a grip, get a grip, me! He's not Ren's problem and he's definitely not my problem!

Aoba ruffles his hair with both hands, growling in frustration to the skies above before stomping towards his bike. He's sure Mizuki must be off somewhere, probably flirting with a convenience store cashier while he's here, worrying like an idiot.

Right now, Aoba wants to go home and then head over to his part-time job where he will not think about blonds with a bad attitude, no.

Having unlocked his bike, Aoba takes the handles and leads it away from the racks by foot. As much as he wants to jump on it and ride away immediately, there's still some commotion around the school gate and god knows what his teachers will do to him if he runs over some unsuspecting first-year.

Well, after almost (keyword: almost) doing so last year, he does have an idea of what would happen. He'd hate for the school administration to finally ban bikes because he had to fuck things up for everyone.

Past the gate, Aoba jumps on the bike seat and pedals away from Midorijima High School, located on the outskirts of the Platinum District, almost being spewed out by the old, proud monster. Six days a week, he unknowingly rides over where once stood the sturdy walls of the long dead Platinum Jail, but the divide still exists in a sense. The increasing distance alleviates the easy-to-ignore, but very-much-there sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The North District's barren buildings are soothing in a way that can't be objectively described. Aoba's blue hair fly unabashedly in the wind as he rides down the sloping Aoyagi Street, pedals locked and a toothy grin on his face.

Chapter Text

There's the sound of repeated beeping... or the sound of sirens blaring. Yes, definitely the last one. It grates on his eardrums, rumbles inside his chest.

A far-away voice says something in an even, dispassionate tone. In contrast to its easiness, the words demand quick action in the chaos.

Emergency... Collapsing... Evacuation.

White walls tinged in red jostle almost vertiginously. A distant rumbling that sounds like the stampede of furious buffalos.

"...ere is Toue?"

"Dead... Five minutes until... Them?"

"..."

"This wasn't p..."

"... Not dangerous... ey're just... Right to live."

"... ba."

Repeating. A threat was detected in the laboratory.

"... Not human. They should..."

"They're human..."

"... oba..."

"From that boy's blood, they..."

"Aoba!"

"Hgh!?"

Aoba inhales sharply, body jolting as he opens his eyes to a blob of dark, misty colors. It feels as if he just slipped and fell onto his bed, but his brain is slowly working towards the conclusion that such thing is impossible. The world around him slowly comes into focus as he lies there, breathing erratically, feeling sweat sticking to his brow and the back of his neck.

"Aoba! You're gonna be late!"

"Wha..."

Aoba blinks at the ceiling in puzzlement, turning his head on his pillow. His room is empty; the muffled voice coming from downstairs belongs to none other than his old Granny.

His gaze falls upon the digital alarm clock on his bedside table. On the black background, the "7:53" flashes in innocent neon green.

"Shit!" Aoba curses, shooting up from his bed so fast he falls to the floor flat on his face, feet tangled on his blanket. With a groan, Aoba slithers across the carpet and reaches for his towel.

"Why didn't Ren wake me up... asshole..."

Deep down, Aoba knows Ren probably tried and was either ignored or kicked by his traitorous sleeping self.

The next twenty minutes pass by Aoba in a rush of colors and sounds. He ducks away from his Granny's well aimed wooden spoon as he runs down the stairs to shower and returns upstairs under more of Granny's rapid-fire scolding. After putting on his uniform and getting his bag, Aoba loops his headphones around his neck and attempts to leave without eating, but his ever-energetic grandma pushes him down on a seat at the kitchen table.

"You're not leaving this house before you fill up your stomach," she grouches, dumping a bowl of miso soup, another with rice and a plate with grilled fish in front of him. "I won't haul your skinny ass from the sidewalk if you black out on your way to school."

Aoba doesn't waste time thinking of how quicker it'd be if he just had toast and a cup of coffee and picks up his chopsticks. He positively inhales his food, ignoring the heat on the back of his neck from his Granny's nagging to wake up earlier so you don't have to eat so fast it's the third time this week what if you get sick, and heaves his bag to his shoulder.

"I'm off!" Aoba yells behind himself as he runs out of the kitchen.

"Take care," his Granny grumbles with the softest touch of fondness to her grave voice.

Sliding the door shut behind him, Aoba rushes to grab his bike, unlocking it with nervous fingers before hopping on the saddle and kicking off on his pedals.

The center of the Old Residential District never sleeps, and it's just becoming restless at this time of the morning. When Aoba leaves the quiet back street where his home is located, his senses are nearly overwhelmed by the noise and the vibrant colors of crooked buildings growing on top of one another.

Aoyagi Street pulses like part of a living organism and it suits Aoba's hectic mood as he smartly steers the bike wheel away from unaware pedestrians. He lets the booming of the news broadcast pass by him with the wind and ignores any possible acquaintances as he pedals at full tilt, tangled hair lashing out around his face.

Everything comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the North District. A flurry of black and white comes running from the corner of the street—and right into Aoba's path of destruction.

Amidst blurring colors, a pair of wide rosy eyes turn to Aoba in almost unsettling sharpness.

"Careful—!"

A heavy crash echoes down the nearly vacated area. The small crows sitting on the power lines overhead fly in a gust of flapping wings and black feathers, cawing in startled offense.

Aoba laughs awkwardly.

"What is this, Aoba?" Ren is standing by the deserted school gate, gaze equal parts bewilderment and disappointment as he scrutinizes the dirty and scratched-up Aoba. Despite the swirl of emotions in his eyes, his voice is its usual calm monotone.

"We had a little accident on our way here..." Aoba explains, sheepish, scratching the back of his head. His eyes float towards the clock on the school tower, and widen immediately. "Oh crap, homeroom starts in five minutes! I'll tell you everything later, just... Take care of this guy for me? Pretty please? I'm sorry!"

Ren only has time to flap his lips uselessly before Aoba is practically pushing the white-haired boy beside him into Ren's arms.

"This guy... Uh, what's your name?" Aoba asks, looking at their kouhai.

"C-Clear," the boy answers, taking one careful step out of Ren's personal space and gingerly nestling his left hand against his chest.

Aoba blinks. "What a weird name. Anyway, Clear seems to have hurt his hand somehow, so can you drop him at the nurse's office, Ren? I swear I didn't run him over, I'm so sorry, but the teacher will really kill me if I don't get there right now-"

Ren sighs, already resigned to cleaning up after his brother. "Just go, it's fine."

Aoba beams at Ren. "Thank you, I'm treating you to that burger place this weekend! It's a promise! Bye!"

Ren watches Aoba jump on his battered bike again and rush to the racks, sighing a second time.

"I'm... really sorry," Clear says, looking at the ground.

Despite being a first-year, the boy is almost the same height as Ren—though he seems to be trying to make himself as small as possible. Aoba wasn't there for most of the entrance ceremony, so of course he didn't know. Apparently, he almost ran over the first-year's representative.

Ren tries for a sympathetic smile.

"It's not your fault. Will you explain to me what happened?"

The boy raises his head to look at him, eyebrows slightly upturned in distress. Ren takes a moment to survey his appearance; Clear is slender and tall for a fifteen-year-old, pale skin flushed with exertion and, possibly, nervousness. A mop of shaggy white hair sits atop his head and frames his delicate features. His eyes are a pale rose color, expressive to a fault. And they clearly seem intimidated now.

"It's okay," Ren reassures him, settling one hand on the first-year's back and gently pushing him towards the school's entrance. "You won't get Aoba in trouble."

The boy lets himself be led into the school, but remains silent. Ren moves alone to his class' section of shoe boxes and quickly changes out of his outdoor shoes. When he weaves back through the aisles to retrieve Clear, however, he finds the first-year staring at his closed box, still cradling his injured hand.

"Excuse me." Ren steps closer and opens Clear's shoe box. He'd be lying if he said he doesn't feel reluctant to touch someone else's shoes, but the box is actually quite clean.

Clear quickly becomes flustered, looking keen on protesting, but he stays quiet as Ren goes down on one knee in front of him.

"I'm really, really sorry," Clear apologizes again. Ren prompts him to lift one foot at a time so he can slide his shoes off.

"As I said, it's not your fault. It's best not to jostle your hand right now."

Ren carefully slips the off-white indoor shoes on Clear's feet.

"It is partly my fault," Clear admits when they've moved away from the shoe boxes. "I was running late and wasn't paying attention to where I was going. When I realized, Seragaki-senpai was right in front of me with his bike. He turned away right in time, but I fell while trying to avert him, and he slammed right into some trashcans."

At that, Clear shows Ren a faint smile. "Despite all this, he actually saved me when he showed up. We had to run a bit too, but if he hadn't given me a ride here, I wouldn't have made it in time."

"You'll still lose the first periods while you're at the infirmary, though," Ren points out as they near the nurse's office.

"Yes, but it's not as bad as being tardy," Clear reasons, and Ren notices the more relaxed set of his shoulders. His expression, previously tight with nerves, is now opening slowly.

Ren knocks on the infirmary door before sliding it open. The nurse, Yoshie-sensei, spins on her chair to look at the students.

"Seragaki-kun, it's almost time for homeroom," she alerts him in her thick, pompous voice, looking at them owlishly through her oval-shaped glasses.

"I know, sensei. I'm just leading this first-year; he had a little accident on his way here and hurt his hand."

"Oh, poor thing!" Yoshie-sensei laments, heaving her plump figure from her swivel chair. She motions for Clear to show her his hand and holds it carefully, perusing it briefly before raising her gaze back towards Ren.

"You should go back now, Seragaki-kun. I'll make sure this boy's homeroom teacher knows about this." Her round face is lit up in a kind smile, and Ren nods.

"Alright then. Thank you, sensei."

Ren bows sharply and turns to leave.

"Ah!"

Clear's sudden gasp causes Ren to stop and look back at him in mild surprise. The first-year struggles to voice his thoughts.

"Ah, um... Thank you, senpai."

Ren blinks slowly as Clear bows his head at him, the most he can do when he's turned only halfway towards the door and the nurse is still holding his injured hand.

"It was nothing. Take care." Ren ducks his head in response and steps out of the room, sliding the door shut before turning in the direction of the stairs.

Ren doesn't know what to make of the unfamiliar warmth that surged in his chest from Clear's earnest gratitude, so he shelves it away entirely, to later or never think about it again, focusing on getting to the fourth floor before the bell rings.

"Damn, my bike sure got pretty banged up..."

Aoba sighs, steering his unfortunate bicycle out through the school gate with the mass of other going-home-club students. Wobbling dangerously, but his bike held out bravely over the remainder of his journey to school in the morning. He's sure he has put quite the strain on the thing, though, so he's kind of expecting it to crumble in front of his eyes at any second. It'd be sad; he's had this bike since he was thirteen.

The first few meters after he sits on the saddle and pushes away from school, he pedals slowly, wary of pushing his luck. However, laziness eventually overpowers caution as he decides to ride down the slope of Aoyagi Street instead of safely getting off the bicycle and walking it.

Aoba fears the chain will fall off midway through his descent and send him flying off his bicycle and the damn thing is still wobbling more than it should, he knows. Despite all odds, however, both he and his bike make it to plain ground in one piece. In the deep-space silence of the North District, only Aoba's heart is hammering in his ears from the thrill, like he just went skydiving instead of riding a decrepit bike down the street. Unable to resist, Aoba lets out a "yes!" that echoes off the grey buildings like the rumble of a gong.

But karma, it seems, is faster than an ungoverned bike running down an incline. Not even two minutes later, Aoba feels the bicycle is dragging and heavy, and he looks down to see his front tire flattening steadily.

"Oh man," Aoba grumbles under his breath and clutches the brakes, hopping off the saddle. He holds the bike in place and crouches down to assess the damage.

The tire has some sort of slash on it, seemingly worn thin until the air eventually started leaking out. Aoba can definitely try and power through home, but that'll definitely wreck the inner tube and rim of his tire, and he can't risk an accident in Aoyagi Street either, what with the cars and motorbikes running up and down.

Resigned, Aoba tucks his bag into the bike's basket and pushes it the rest of the way, out of the North District.

Aoba knows home by the noise, and at this time of the day, it's at its noisiest. Aoyagi Street is silent and grey when he rides down the Northern District, but as soon as he nears the intersection that leads into the Southern District and divides East and West, his surroundings transform. Music plays from ten or twenty different places and salespeople stand in front of their stores yelling from their microphones, trying to draw the attention of any potential buyer in the steady current of heads and feet moving up and down the sidewalks.

It's usually fun to ride down this lively street until he has to take a turn towards home, but as he is now, he's looking to get run over on the road or clog the movement in the sidewalks and earn the rage of window-shoppers. So Aoba goes into the side streets, contenting himself with the drip-dropping of old pipes poking out of murky-green walls.

For a while, Aoba is accompanied only by the rattling of his bike's chain and the sound of his own wet footsteps. He's taking the dark and quiet streets on purpose, so he is reasonably startled when a random guy slams into his bike's side and nearly topples him to the ground while running out of the nearest alley.

"Ow, what the hell?!" Aoba snaps, but the guy is already twenty steps into the opposite alley, not even looking behind his back.

Aoba huffs, stepping a bit closer and turning his head to look into the alley from which that guy came out.

Truthfully, Aoba doesn't know what he was expecting to see, but what he was definitely not expecting is the blond first-year from the entrance ceremony running towards him. No, not period; the blond first-year running towards him with seven other guys on his heels.

Aoba feels slightly better when the brat seems just as surprised as he is when he closes in. However, his wide-eyed expression quickly crumples into a shallow scowl.

Wait. Oh yeah, he did tell me not to show my face around him anymore, didn't he?

The blond slows to a jog until he stops in front of Aoba, who suddenly realizes he's blocking the exit. Yet, he doesn't move, caught in that guy's green glare. Is he going to try and kill Aoba right here? Sort of unfair, considering he's the one slinking around his neighborhood.

"Where's the other guy?" he asks Aoba, voice cutting like heavy rain.

"... Huh?"

The first-year narrows one eye, lips curling with irritation. "What's with the ugly mug? I said-"

"Watch out!"

Aoba cries out and jumps away with his bike, just opening space for the first-year to turn back and dodge from the swiping cut of a knife, brandished by the first of the pursuers to reach him.

The speed of his leap throws Aoba to the ground, taking his bike down with him. He winces as it falls on top of him, but there's no time to lie there. As soon as he's fallen in the middle of the street, the first-year is stepping back and ducking away from his assailant's blows. That guy's partners, too, are bleeding out of the alley and into the street as well, rounding them up.

Less than gracefully, Aoba moves out of the way with hands gripped tight to his bicycle's handle and saddle. He succeeds in stumbling back across the street, though he nearly cracks his skull on the ground when his bike gets stuck in the opposite alley's narrow entrance. The wind is knocked out of Aoba when he falls on his back into the dingy alley, eyes squeezed shut opening to the distant blue sky peeking through unending walls.

In that moment, with his heart hammering in his chest and stars popping in his vision, Aoba looks at his options.

First option: he runs away from this potentially dangerous situation. However, he'd have to leave his bike behind, and honestly, Aoba's not fond of any ideas involving him waking up an hour earlier every day until his next paycheck and then spending a third of it on a new bicycle.

Second option: he stays with his prized bike, and helps his troublesome little kouhai. Something tells him that's the morally applaudable thing to do.

However, he might die. Yeah, there's this downside.

Aoba forces himself to sit up, groaning and ignoring the dampness seeping into his uniform. As the images before him come into focus, Aoba is surprised to find that the first-year is putting up quite the fight. He's relentlessly dodging the knife cutting the air as well as swerving away from the other guys' grabby hands, seeking out to restrain him for their leading attacker. They scream in support for the guy, calling him "Hiroto".

"Really, that's way too dangerous," Aoba mutters to himself.

"Hey, Noiz-san, how 'bout a deal?!" The knife-wielding guy, Hiroto, yells out, speaking for the first time. Aoba nearly flinches in surprise. "You don't show your face in the arcades anymore and we agree to let you off the hook, how's that?!"

Noiz... Didn't I hear this name before...? Wait, the Rhyme champion people have been talking about around school was this guy all along?

Aoba looks on with a disgruntled expression as Noiz remains impassive, solely concentrating in ducking away from the knife. Hiroto laughs at his silence, pale face warping around a sneer.

"C'mon, we told you we've been aiming for that prize money for six months and you're kind of raining in our parade. Cooperate!"

Hiroto's soft voice morphs into a growl as he stabs the knife where Noiz's face was a fraction of a second before. The blade whispers less than five centimeters away from Noiz's right cheek as he dodges to the side and grabs his assailant's wrist. Without skipping a beat, Hiroto reaches for something in his pocket.

Aoba means to shout, but it leaves him as a strangled gasp.

As soon as Noiz loosens the hold on Hiroto's wrist in order to jump back, he brings down the blade, slashing Noiz's palm. Noiz staggers backwards as Hiroto drops the hand with the bloody knife and grins uncontrollably, bursting out in laughter as he slips his other hand out of his pocket, empty.

Oh hell.

"Hey, you better stop right there!" Aoba yells out, and even he's surprised at the sureness in his voice. He raises his phone and he swears, his hand is not trembling, no. "I took pictures just now and I'm gonna call the police. I'm not fucking kidding!"

Noiz gives him a sidelong glance while Hiroto stops laughing, but keeps a smirk in his face as he regards Aoba.

"If you were calling the police, you'd have done so already. You know that jackass Akushima would drop every single one of us behind bars before asking questions. You won't call."

"Oh yeah? Try me, asshole," Aoba nearly laughs in his nervousness, turning the screen towards him as he presses the dial button.

Hiroto's expression falls flat, lips pressed in a thin line and eyes narrowed at Aoba. Then, his brown irises slide to the side.

"Nico, get him."

Aoba falters. Oh, right, I forgot he could do that.

Nico, apparently, walks out of the circle at Hiroto's word, creeping towards the alley. Noiz tentatively moves to escape through the gap he left, but the other two guys on the line level him with an unblinking gaze, alert. In the alley, Aoba breathes deeply, chest trembling as the dirty-blond steps over his bike and closes in on him.

Aoba steps back, letting the hand with the phone fall slightly. Nico lunges at him.

Praying the case will protect it, Aoba whips his hand down and flings his phone to the ground. He sees Nico's eyes follow it on its way down.

Aoba seizes his opening with a sharp kick to the guy's chin, grinning wildly as Nico crumbles to the ground, gone cold.

Hiroto's right eye twitches. Noiz looks on with an eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smirk on his lips. With his foot placed firmly on the ground once again, Aoba huffs and assumes a defensive stance, hands tucked close to his body and one foot before the other.

"Send your next one, hot shit!"

Noiz actually laughs at that; it's breathy and short, most likely mocking, but a laugh nevertheless. Hiroto snarls, but then something flashes in his eyes and the corner of his lips tugs upwards. Noiz stiffens almost imperceptibly.

Aoba turns and jumps backwards just in time to escape a reaching hand.

"What have you been up to, Hiroto?"

A young man with long black hair stands behind two other people, one of whom is the girl who just tried to make a grab for Aoba's hair. The other one is the guy Aoba saw running away earlier. Well, shit.

"Just setting a problematic little no-mark straight, business as usual," Hiroto drawls out, nonchalantly pushing a strand of his red hair behind his ear.

Aoba snarls at the newcomers, who start closing in on him and forcing him out of the alley and into the street. The black-haired man rolls his eyes.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't call us out here because of a little personal feud. And pass me that knife, you have no business using one."

Hiroto flinches but quickly recovers his poise, glaring at the guy who had apparently called reinforcements. "I asked for more people, but I didn't mean to drag the second-in-command here. Sorry, Takato."

Hiroto sheathes the knife and throws it well above everyone's head. The girl with Takato leaps up and catches it easily, passing it to their second-in-command with a feline grin. Aoba realizes that, besides the three, there are four people coming from both directions of the street and closing the circle around him and Noiz.

"You're really stupid," Noiz says with his back against Aoba's. Honestly, he can't say he disagrees.

"They're both no-marks?" Takato asks. Hiroto blinks, becoming visibly flustered.

"Uh, I was only after the foreign-looking one. This other guy showed up out of nowhere and I..."

Takato clicks his tongue, which elicits a slight jolt from Hiroto. "Idiot. Hey, you with the blue hair," he calls out, eyes trained on Aoba. "What Rib team you're with?"

Aoba gives him a withering glare.

"I'm not in Rib."

Takato raises his brows. A heartbeat passes, then, "You're both plenty strong, though. If that's the case, won't you join us?"

"Sorry, not interested," Aoba rejects him outright, sneering.

"Same," Noiz echoes flatly behind him.

Takato watches them for a few silent seconds, then closes his eyes and shrugs. "Your call. No one will care about what happens to one or two no-marks." He looks at Hiroto, turning halfway around to leave through the same alley he came. "Do whatever you want with them, just don't-"

"Now, now, what's this commotion about?"

It's a loud, but calmly spoken question. Aoba can say, without shadow of doubt, that he's never been happier to hear Mizuki's voice.

Takato twists back around and looks over his teammates' heads to see the arriving figure. Donning a black gakuran like Aoba and Noiz's, his mop of burgundy hair shifts ever so slightly as he approaches to the circle, flanked by ten other people.

"You're Dry Juice's leader, Mizuki," Takato states. The name sends his teammates in a frenzy of hushed murmurs. Hiroto pales.

The man himself grins confidently in response, pearly white teeth contrasting his brown skin, hands tucked into his pants' pockets.

"Glad to know you didn't forget me. How's that useless leader of yours been? Takato, Scratch's second-in-command."

Chapter Text

"How's that useless leader of yours been? Takato, Scratch's second-in-command."

Aoba furrows his brow, puzzled. The Scratch members become even more agitated at Mizuki's words, even turning angry scowls at him, but they fall silent once Takato opens his mouth.

"Akira wouldn't like to hear you saying that."

"Not like I'm lying, but I know you can't agree in front of the underlings. Sets a bad example and whatnot." Mizuki shrugs, and his grin dissolves into a more neutral expression. "I'd say you're too uptight, but some of your teammates seem like they could use a lesson on limits. You know where we are right now, don't you?"

Takato blinks, forehead creasing lightly. For the first time, Aoba can see he looks troubled.

"Your turf, I'm guessing."

Mizuki smiles again, like a teacher receiving the correct answer from a student.

"That's right. When I was told about the little tumult happening here, I really didn't expect you to be involved."

Takato considers his words for a moment, then his features smooth out and he lets the lightest of smiles drape itself on his lips.

"It's been some time since I've come here. I didn't know you had taken over this area."

"Oh, I see. That's an honest mistake; I know your base is mainly in the South's Kisaragi now. It's been a long time since we were in contact last and my team grew even larger since then."

Aoba watches the exchange with a vague sense of nausea. Why do I feel so many poorly-veiled intentions behind their words? God I hate when Mizuki gets like that.

Takato keeps his diplomatic smile in place as he relents, "We've become a bit too reclusive, yeah. My teammates became overly excited chasing a no-mark into your territory and it seems a fight involving a second no-mark ensued. I apologize for that; we'll take them with us and leave."

Mizuki's smile widens almost imperceptibly, eyes pinching shut.

"I can't let you do that."

Now, Aoba is not at all fazed by Mizuki's big-man act. They've known each other since they were little kids, and Aoba knows all there is to know about Mizuki, just like Mizuki (unfortunately) knows all about him too. Aoba knows Mizuki drools in his sleep, knows that Mizuki pretends his hair is purposefully styled like this but it's just that he gave up on his untamable bed-head and lets it settle however it wants over the course of the day, and he knows Mizuki called Ren to open an olive jar for him a week ago.

Regardless of everything, Aoba can sense the tension in the air, the Scratch members stiffening and becoming alert despite being in a bigger number. Mizuki is talking right now from his place as the leader of Dry Juice, the largest and most respected Ribsteez team in the Old Residential District. So, yeah, Aoba thought, this guy must be pretty scary in these other Ribsters' eyes.

"One of them apparently made trouble for my teammates in our turf. We can't let him go that easily," Takato says, his carefully crafted smile nowhere to be found.

"Let me see them." Mizuki's voice is light as if he's making a request, but the way he advances alone into the circle, raising a hand to keep his party at bay and not waiting for a reply, makes it clear that he's demanding to be let through.

And, accordingly, the line of Scratch members part before Mizuki, pushing themselves to the walls on each side of the street. Mizuki doesn't seem surprised when he locks eyes with Aoba, smiling faintly but reassuringly. I'll get you out of this pinch, he seems to be saying with his sea foam green eyes, and Aoba doesn't doubt him.

Noiz shifts behind Aoba to look over his shoulder at Mizuki, and Aoba suddenly becomes aware of the boy's heat against his back again.

"Aoba doesn't wander around Kisaragi, I'm sure of that," Mizuki says.

Takato blinks, eyebrows arched minutely. "Aoba is the blond one? Because he's the one who was messing around in our territory, apparently."

Aoba's heart kicks up a race. Of course Mizuki can easily save his ass in this situation, but what about Noiz? Maybe you should be worried about yourself, this guy clearly picked a fight with people he shouldn't have, a brutally rational, kinda asshole-y part of his brain tells him.

Nine out of ten times Noiz has opened his mouth to talk to Aoba, he's said something rude. Aoba's been pushed to the ground, called stupid and even threatened by Noiz, and they have only met twice. But really, from what that Hiroto guy said, Aoba doesn't think Noiz has done anything wrong.

What's more, Noiz is hurt. Takato was right when he said no one really cares for no-marks' disappearances; without a team, no one will fight to help you. Aoba can count with Mizuki the rare times things get ugly with Ribsters, but he has no idea what will happen to Noiz if he leaves him behind here. Will anyone come for him?

"Apathetic students are hardly uncommon, but he looked... different."

"It didn't look like his family came with him either."

Ren's words from three days ago ring in Aoba's ears. Despite being buried in the depths of his memory, the clarity with which they surge to the foreground of Aoba's mind shocks him.

Noiz is a detestable brat, but Aoba can't say he doesn't care about what happens to him.

Aoba subtly reaches for Noiz's hand, holding it tight even when Noiz flinches and tries to slip away from his grasp. Mizuki blinks down at their joined hands, then looks up to Aoba, who's staring at him pleadingly.

"Ah," Mizuki starts, steering his eyes towards Takato once more. "No. Aoba is the other one. And what was the problem in your area, exactly?"

Takato studies him for a moment, then turns his attention to Hiroto, who rears back slightly. When Takato tilts his head towards Mizuki, signaling Hiroto to spit it out with an impassive expression, the guy ultimately relents, turning to face Mizuki.

"There'll be an event on Rhyme and we've been aiming for the prize money for months, but this guy is... making things difficult for us. We all had good scores and suddenly, this 'Noiz' guy is toppling us down from the podium, and we find out he's been playing in Kisaragi. So we're just settling things."

"Oh, I see," Mizuki says pensively. "So this is about Rhyme... Kind of a stupid reason, but there's money involved, so I can kind of get that, I guess."

Mizuki sighs, then crosses his arms, smiling beatifically.

"But I'm sorry, Takato. I really can't let you take these guys with you. You see, even if they're no-marks, they're under Dry Juice's protection."

Takato knits his brows, growing increasingly exasperated. "That's not a thing."

"It is, though," Mizuki counters, unwavering. "The reason Dry Juice is so big is because we're not kids picking meaningless fights; we provide protection to those who come to us and their loved ones. It's important for me to protect Aoba, since he's my childhood friend. Oh, and his boyfriend too, because, you know, one-package deal."

Aoba blushes up to his ears, lips pressing shut so he won't cuss out Mizuki right here and now. That fucking asshole...

"Noiz, uh, moved here recently, so I'm sure he just didn't know Kisaragi was your territory. There're other arcades in Umezane and Okuyama that would be okay to frequent. You'll go there instead, right, Noiz?"

Noiz, turned halfway towards Mizuki, shrugs one shoulder.

"What a lovely guy," Mizuki muses to himself, then moves his gaze back to Takato. "There, it's settled. Noiz won't stick his nose around your turf anymore. I'm sure Scratch can overlook it this once, right? I'll overlook the commotion today as well; after all, despite our present distance, we have history together."

Takato sighs, defeated. "Of course. Akira and I haven't forgotten about that."

Mizuki nods approvingly, then gives Hiroto a glance. "I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do about him beating your score in that game. All you can do is, well, get good, I guess."

Hiroto makes a sour face and Mizuki laughs boisterously, seemingly very satisfied with himself. Aoba looks on with a long-suffering deadpan; this guy is a pain to have as a friend but even worse as a simple acquaintance.

Takato seems to have the same opinion, because he sighs again, looking physically and mentally exhausted as he moves away from the alley's entrance. The line of people across from where Mizuki is situated parts before Takato as he saunters into it.

"Everyone, we're going back. Mizuki, I'll see you around."

Mizuki scoffs. "That's what you said almost three years ago!"

Takato's not even facing Mizuki anymore when he simply waves. The other Scratch members follow him closely behind and scatter into the many alleys, until the remaining ones disappear around the corner.

Aoba heaves a long sigh of relief into the silent street and Noiz promptly rips his hand away from his grasp. However, before Aoba can whirl around and give Noiz a piece of his mind, Mizuki is walking up to his side and giving Aoba's shoulder a light punch.

"You're looking like shit!" Mizuki laughs.

"Gee, thanks," Aoba intones blandly.

"That's no way to thank your savior!" Mizuki mockingly admonishes him and juts his thumb behind himself, to where his teammates are now talking among each other. "You should also thank Nobu, he was the one making the rounds here and he called us when he saw this whole mess."

Apparently blessed with a keen sense of hearing, the man Aoba knows to be called Nobu turns his head to look at them, locking gazes with Aoba. Nobu grins brightly at him, flashing a thumbs up, to which Aoba responds in kind.

"By the way, Aoba, did you get hurt? Your hand's all bloody."

Aoba startles at Mizuki's question, first looking at his right hand, the one he has just raised to give Nobu a thumbs up. There's no trace of blood, but before he can accuse Mizuki of lying, he drops his gaze to his left hand, indeed marred with blood.

Noiz.

Aoba whips around to peer behind himself, but the blond boy is nowhere to be found. Mizuki regards Aoba quizzically as he curses under his breath.

"How's that I didn't even realize I grabbed his injured hand..."

"Uh, you're grimy all over," Mizuki points out, looking him up and down. "What's a bit of blood when you're already covered in dirt?"

Aoba sighs. He's still a bit baffled that he managed to not notice the mucky feeling in his fingers (also, he thought with a wince, that must've hurt a lot for Noiz), but most of all, he's worried. There's quite a bit of blood on his hand, and now that he looks at the ground, he can see the dark red droplets. Will Noiz be okay? Does he even know how to dress his wounds?

...Wait, didn't I say I'm not responsible for him?! I already did my part in sticking up for him, if he leaves without saying anything, that's his own decision! I shouldn't be stressing out over him, I shouldn't...

Aoba shakes his head, chasing away those thoughts. Mizuki seems to find Aoba's predicament amusing, leering openly until Aoba aims a knee-kick at his thigh.

"Ow! Aoba!"

"Anyway, what's that about 'boyfriend'? You're picking a fight with me?" Aoba scowls menacingly at Mizuki, who's slightly bent down clutching at his leg.

Mizuki looks genuinely confused under his pained grimace, blinking up at Aoba. "What, he's not your boyfriend? I thought you were moving on from-"

"There's nothing to move on from!"

"Ow, ow! Hey, why won't none of you come save me from this brute?!"

"What's happening with you today, Aoba?"

Aoba tries for a smile, but it must look more like a cringe.

By the time Aoba gets home, Ren is already there. It seems like he just arrived himself, his school bag slung over his shoulder and still wearing his uniform. He's leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed over his chest, scrutinizing Aoba's sorry appearance when he comes pushing his bike.

"Did you... actually kill someone this time?" Ren asks, actually sounding concerned.

"I didn't!" Aoba snaps, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment.

"Your bike is even more bent out of shape than earlier, you look like you've been rolling around in the mud and I'm pretty sure I'm seeing blood under your nails and staining your shoes. Also, I saw you called me while I was in a council meeting. You better tell me the truth outright so we can-"

"We don't need to do anything, don't say weird things!" Aoba nearly begs him, looking around to see if any of their nosy neighbors is out watering the plants or something. "Just- just let me go inside and actually take a bath, please. I feel gross."

Ren sighs, pushing himself off the wall and leading the way through the open gate. "Granny will ask."

"I know. I'll explain to both of you when I start feeling human again," Aoba says, pushing his bike up the front porch's steps and into the small alley beside the house. After locking up his bicycle, he follows Ren into their home.

"Also, you didn't get in trouble because of me this morning, right?" Aoba asks with a touch of worry in his voice, taking off his shoes at the entrance.

"No, I made it to class only one or two minutes late. The teacher didn't mind it much."

"And Clear? Do you know how he is?"

"We didn't talk after I left him at the nurse's office."

Aoba hummed to himself. "I hope it wasn't serious. I guess I'll try to find his class tomorrow."

"I know his class," Ren says evenly, and Aoba turns wide eyes towards him.

"Then why didn't you check on him?!"

Ren blinks, opening his mouth to answer but their grandma chooses that moment to emerge from the living room. She stops mid-stride at the sight of Aoba's state.

"Aoba?!" She simply gasps, apparently too stunned to even yell at him.

"Granny... hello," Aoba greets her, scratching his cheek disconcertingly.

The old woman steps closer, brows knitted in a frown. "Is it happening again? Are you..."

"I didn't kill anyone and I'm not being bullied," Aoba explains quickly, raising a hand to stop her. "I just got mixed up in something by accident. I'll explain after taking a bath."

Granny looks at him for a moment, probably searching for the lie in his expression, but then she huffs. "Alright. Give your hair a good wash; you're stinking up the genkan."

"Ugh, yes, I will," Aoba sighs, turning to climb the stairs.

Granny tried to hide, but she was visibly concerned when Aoba explained the unfortunate escalation of that day's events. Leaving home with a heavy "be careful" in his pocket, Aoba sighs; he hates worrying his grandmother. Heavens know how much grief he gave her during his more rebellious years. Thus, this morning, he makes sure to actually leave at a decent time so he won't be late again and steers his bike around the streets with increased carefulness.

While it's clear that his dark-pink bicycle has seen better days, at least it's still functional. He only had to change the tire and ask Haga-san, his boss, to check up on any other issues he might've not noticed. The work in the repair shop is one Aoba likes doing, and at times like these, it really comes in handy, since he can even get a discount.

Really, the only thing he'd like to complain about... is his uniform.

"You look so stupid," Mizuki wheezes, doubling over in laughter as soon as Aoba comes into the classroom.

"Shut up! I'm not the one repeating the third year!" Aoba lashes out, blushing. His uniform didn't dry before he had to go to class, so he had to wear one of Ren's old ones. While the size is about right for Aoba, Ren has always been broader than him, so Aoba looks, rightfully, a bit like a football quarterback now.

Mizuki flinches at his jab, tossing him a sullen look. "Why do you always play this card? I just missed too many classes!"

If Mizuki means to justify himself further, he never gets the change. The bell rings and their homeroom teacher is immediately sliding the door open, ordering the scattered students to their seats.

When lunch break comes along, Mizuki has already conveniently forgotten his offense. Besides the fact that Mizuki simply never takes things like that to heart, there's one big motive for this.

"Please borrow me a hundred yen, I'm dying."

"I don't have it," Aoba drones flatly, picking up a piece of tamagoyaki from his lunch box. "You do this every time; you have a part-time job just like me!"

Aoba bites into it and chews, humming at the flavor with his eyes closed. Mizuki's fingers creep closer to another tamagoyaki, but Aoba swats his hand away wordlessly.

Mizuki whines, "But I'm saving up money! How come you always bring lunch when you can't cook for shit?! Don' tell me Tae-san prepares it for you."

"Do you even know Granny... Ren took a liking to cooking over winter break, so he makes enough for both of us every morning."

Mizuki grunts, openly sulking at Aoba's colorful lunch. They lapse into silence, but the classroom around them is lively with loud conversations and laughter, some of their classmates eating from lunch boxes like Aoba while others are having vending machine snacks. Suddenly, Mizuki perks up, eyes bright.

"I know! Ren must have a hundred yen! I'll ask him." Mizuki gets up from the chair he's pulled to Aoba's desk.

"Oi..." Aoba starts skeptically, but then remembers.

I was supposed to check up on Clear today.

"Ah!" Aoba jumps on his seat, accidentally hitting his knee on the bottom of the desk. Mizuki looks back at him, brows furrowed as Aoba curls up on top of his desk, clutching his knee and gritting his teeth in the pain.

"What is it?"

With his head still down, Aoba grunts, "Wait for me, I have to talk to Ren about something."

"Huh? No way, if I wait until you're finished eating, I won't have time to eat. I'm off~" Mizuki turns around and waves nonchalantly.

"Wha- you asshole!" Aoba glares at Mizuki's retreating back and digs into his lunch box in earnest, chopsticks clicking on the plastic surface.

By the time Aoba reaches Ren's classroom, Mizuki got his one hundred yen and is leaving in the direction of the vending machines with a spring in his step, humming an upbeat melody. Aoba watches him go with a slightly vexed expression.

"What is it, Aoba?" Ren asks him. Aoba turns his attention to him, face falling into more neutral lines.

"You said you know Clear's classroom, right? Let's see how he's doing."

Ren frowns. "But I haven't finished my lunch yet."

"I'll wait for you, just don't take too long," Aoba says with a grin. Ren sighs.

Five minutes later, they're taking the stairs to the first year classrooms. Ren leads the way through the sun-bathed hallways, until they stop at a doorway. Aoba blinks up at the plaque above it: Year 1 Class 10.

"Woah, he's a big deal. That's an advanced class like yours, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ren answers him before calling out to one of the students standing by the door. The other first-years look at them curiously, some whispering among each other; it's rare for third-years to visit underclassmen, especially so early in the school year.

Aoba looks over Ren's shoulder, but before he sees Clear, his eyes catch strawberry-blonde hair and a silvery glimmer.

At the farthest row, a few seats in front of Clear—who's just been called to the door and is looking at them wide-eyed—Noiz sits looking out the window, elbows braced on his desk. His chin is propped up on the palm of his hand, which is bandaged, Aoba notes. Doesn't that hurt? Or maybe his wound ended up being shallower than Aoba thought? No, but there was too much blood-

"Uh, hello," Clear greets them, peering at the two third-years with questions in his rosy eyes. Aoba sees that he, too, has his hand and wrist bandaged up.

"Hey, we wanted to check up on you," Aoba tells him somewhat softly, shuffling closer to stand beside Ren. Looking at his bandages, Aoba feels the full weight of his guilt; what would he have done if Clear had gotten seriously hurt?

Understanding dawns on Clear's face and he blushes brightly. "Oh, you didn't have to! It was just a sprained wrist, and it's my left hand so I can write just fine."

Aoba smiles weakly. "I see, that's good. Take good care of it, then."

"I will! Thank you very much!" Clear's eyes swerve between Ren and Aoba before he bows.

"A-ah, don't do that! It's alright, you don't need to thank us," Aoba says, hands flailing uselessly as he glances frantically at Clear's classmates.

Clear straightens up once again, smiling gratefully at them. He falters slightly when he focuses his gaze on Ren.

"Um, Seragaki-senpai, your teacher didn't give you a hard time for accompanying me to the nurse's office yesterday, did they?"

Aoba smiles, chagrined. We're both 'Seragaki-senpai', you know.

"No, it was fine."

"Don't worry about this guy, he has presidential clout!" Aoba jokes, slinging an arm over Ren's shoulders.

"Aoba, don't say that," Ren mutters under his breath, embarrassment imbued in his voice.

Clear laughs, visibly relaxing. "That's good, I'm glad!"

"Well, we should go now! See you around, Clear!"

Clear waves as they walk away from his classroom. Aoba's arm drops from Ren's shoulders a moment later.

"Did something happen with you and Clear?"

Aoba expects a reaction but Ren simply blinks at him, nonplussed.

"Not anything worthy of note. Why?"

"Well, it's just... you seem to clam up even more in front of him. You're not very talkative in general, but I just had a feeling..."

Ren keeps on staring at him, as if waiting for him to reach his point, and Aoba sighs.

"Never mind, it's just a dumb impression."

Aoba yawns, stretching his arms over his head as they climb the stairs. His joints pop satisfyingly, muscles buzzing with sluggish energy.

"I can't wait to sleep through all of study hall."

Ren knits his brows. "You have study hall now?"

"Yeah, it'll be Music period. Remember that Tanioka-sensei is on sick leave?"

"But there's a new teacher. Didn't they tell your class about it?"

"Whaaat?" Aoba whines, bemoaning his missed nap time. He reaches the top of the stairs and turns back to look at Ren. "But isn't she supposed to come back next week? Why did they come up with a substitute now?"

Ren's expression turns somber. "Things took a turn for the worst. She thought it was nothing serious, but we were told she was diagnosed with cancer."

Aoba grimaces and resumes walking when Ren reaches him. "That sucks. Tanioka-sensei is my class' favorite."

"Apparently she has good chances of recovery, but she's definitely not coming back here any time soon."

"Did you get to know the new teacher?"

"Yeah, we had class with him yesterday."

"So it's a guy this time, huh- Woah!"

Aoba stops short from slamming against someone, right before turning the corner where he'll separate from Ren. He stiffens up and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact. However, the other person stops right on time as well, so they only bump lightly.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?"

Aoba's eyes flutter open at the same time he feels Ren's hands on his shoulders, pulling him three steps backwards. The stranger in front of Aoba is looking at him concernedly, holding a stack of paper sheets to his chest.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry for walking around carelessly," Aoba answers without thinking, but then he stops. He doesn't think he's ever seen this guy around school before.

The worry creasing the man's brow dissolves and he smiles guilelessly. "Not at all, I am to blame as well."

"Good afternoon, sensei," Ren greets, bowing slightly.

"Good afternoon, Seragaki-kun." His eyes pinch shut when he replies Ren, then he turns his attention back to Aoba. "Are you a third year too?"

"Ah, yes. I'm from Class 1."

"Oh, I was there just now. I introduced myself and informed your classmates to come to the second music room when lunch break is over. We still don't know each other, so allow me to take this opportunity."

Standing tall in a simple suit, the blond man grins widely at Aoba, blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses shimmering in the sunlight.

"My name is Virus and I'm your new Music teacher. I hope we can work well together."

The man bends at the waist before Aoba, his every movement hypnotizing in its surgical precision.

Chapter Text

The final notes of the song ring in the classroom's walls, and Virus lifts his fingers from the black-and-white keys with a smile to the students.

"Anyone can tell me what the name of this composition is?"

Aoba doesn't even risk it; he only knows about the songs he likes, and that mostly comprises of electronic music. The girls sitting upfront, however, are eager to throw their guesses, eyes sparkling when Virus humors them. Aoba is sure they must've been devastated when they heard about Tanioka-sensei's illness, but Virus' good looks and charisma did fast work of enrapturing everyone.

Everyone except Mizuki, who's doing a really bad job of hiding his disgusted frown at the moment.

"Oi, stop that," Aoba hisses, ducking his head and punching Mizuki's shoulder. They sit side-by-side at the very last seats in the middle rows, which is pretty convenient in moments like this.

"Why is everyone falling for this guy so easily?" Mizuki whispers back, throwing Aoba a glare meant for the teacher. "Don't you find him creepy?"

Aoba lets his eyes float back to the front of the class, where Virus is getting up from his seat and rounding the piano, saying something while gesturing to the framed pictures of old men hanging above the windows. Aoba catches some words. Beethoven. Sonata Pathétique.

"I wouldn't say I fell for him or something," Aoba says, a loose knot between his eyebrows. "But I don't think he's creepy? Just a little weird."

"I'm pretty sure this means you did fall for him," Mizuki grumbled.

"Seragaki-kun," Virus calls from the front of the class, and Aoba has to actively stop himself from jumping off his seat. "If you have a question, you may direct it to me."

"A-ah, no..." Aoba glances to the sides furtively, hearing the muffled snickers coming from his classmates. He finally relents and looks at Virus, who's staring at him mildly. "I don't have any questions. I'm sorry."

Virus' pleasant smile turns just the slightest bit broader, his gaze sharpening before he turns his eyes away. He turns back to sit on the stool before the piano again.

"Then, shall we listen to our second piece?"

"Don't you think he's creepy now?"

Aoba rolls his eyes to himself. Classes have just ended and he's filling out the class log. Mizuki stares down at the top of his head, chin propped up on his palms as he hogs half of Aoba's desk.

"What would be creepy about him reprehending a student? That was your fault, by the way!"

Mizuki pouts when Aoba glares at him. "You were the one who started talking."

"Anyway," Aoba cuts him off flatly as he flips the log book closed with a heavy whump. "It's his second week here. Stop making weird faces at him during class, you wanna get on his bad side or something?"

"Ugh." Mizuki fakes a shiver, lips curling in distaste. "I probably shouldn't. He looks like the kind of guy who would kill me and cut me up into little pieces."

"Your imagination is really something else," Aoba deadpans, getting up from his seat.

Aoba mocks Mizuki, but leaving aside his exaggeration, Aoba does think there must be some truth to his words. One shouldn't underestimate Mizuki's instinct; he deals with many different people daily and, by virtue of this, became quite the judge of character. Aoba doesn't consider himself to be naïve or easily fooled either, but all he feels from Virus is that he's not sincere. He puts up a wall between himself and others, but Aoba doesn't think that's too weird; there are a fair number of teachers who do that so students won't get too familiar.

Well, while Aoba is not naïve, he fully recognizes that he gives people the benefit of doubt too often.

On their way to turn in the log book to their homeroom teacher, Aoba realizes Mizuki stopped walking beside him. When he looks back, his friend is staring at something around a corner they've just passed by.

"Hey, didn't you say you were coming with me?" Aoba asks, brows knitted.

"Ahh," Mizuki interjects dumbly, throwing Aoba a quick glance, then, "I just remembered something I have to do."

Aoba huffs. "Well, I don't have time to wait around. See you later." He whips his gaze forward and walks away towards the faculty room.

Mizuki waits until Aoba disappears around the next corner before turning back into the corridor. His footsteps are silent but not slow as he prowls closer to his prey, eyes narrowed at the stranger's back.

The boy's shoulders flinch in alarm but it's too late; Mizuki grabs the back of his jacket's collar and pulls him, hand flying to cover his mouth and muffle any consequential noise.

"Sooo," Mizuki coos, sharp eyes sliding sideways to meet his captive's startled stare. "You're the 'Clear' guy I've heard about."

Rosy eyes widened and Mizuki let his gaze wander away, until it fell on the door in front of them and the plaque above it. Student Council Office.

"My sources were correct, apparently." Mizuki looks at Clear again, eyes squeezed shut with a grin. "Mind if we have a little chat, Clear-chan?"

Saturday brings with it a heat wave, something unseen over the past month and a half. The sun shines down on Midorijima punishingly, but the fresh winds balance it out, and Aoba almost forgets it isn't summer yet.

When the bell rings and their homeroom teacher dismisses them, the sun is high up in the sky. While passing by the open windows, wind rushing into the hallways and rustling his hair, Aoba can hear the odd metallic clang of battering; the baseball club is probably taking full advantage of the good weather for an all-out training.

"Aoba," calls a voice from the side as Aoba reaches his shoe box in the school entryway.

Ren is navigating through the aisle to stand beside his brother, outdoor shoes already on his feet.

"Ren... No council meeting today?" Aoba asks with a quick glance, proceeding to open his box and toeing off his indoor shoes.

"We're taking Saturdays off. Can you give me a ride home?"

Aoba huffs out a laugh. "Of course I can. You usually walk home even when you get out early, though."

"I have an appointment so I need to be home earlier today," Ren explains, following Aoba on his way out. The early afternoon sunlight pours over the back of their necks, and a single solitary couple stands by the school gate, unbothered by the heat.

"Appointment, huh," Aoba teases. "Did Clara-chan finally score a date?"

Ren makes a weird, almost pained-looking face. "That's not it."

Aoba glances at him for a moment, then shrugs it off. They walk together to the bike racks and Ren follows Aoba as he pushes his bike past the school gate.

After walking down the sloping road together and climbing on the bike once again, Aoba remembers something. His pedaling slows down as they leave the North District.

"Hey, what do you think of Virus-sensei?" Aoba asks, slightly tilting his head to the side but maintaining his gaze forward.

Ren is quiet for the following seconds, and Aoba wonders if he didn't speak loud enough. But then, he says, "I find him unsettling."

Aoba sighs. "So even you are wary of him, huh."

"What are you talking about?"

"Uh, Mizuki has his guard way up around him. I thought he was acting a bit too freaked out, but if you're uneasy too..."

As if carefully choosing his words as he goes, Ren explains, "I feel that I don't know his first instincts, since he's so deliberate in every attitude. I have no idea what he's like without that control. That's something I find unsettling."

Aoba weighs those words in his mind for the rest of their trek home. When they stop in front of their home and Ren hops off his back seat, Aoba finds he's not the only one still hung up on their previous topic.

"Sensei hasn't done anything to warrant fear, so I don't think it's good to antagonize him like Mizuki's been doing," Ren continues, as though the previous pause hadn't been longer than five seconds. He fixes faintly luminous golden eyes on Aoba. "We should treat him according to how he treats us. But... I want you to be careful."

Aoba stares back at Ren; the straight set of his shoulders, the sun-golden halo around his hair. Aoba closes his eyes and heaves a harsh sigh through his nose.

"You know, even if he is dangerous, what would he want with me? I'm not even a pretty girl."

If Ren were the type of person who rolls their eyes, he would've done so now—that's the impression Aoba gets from his brother's answering expression.

"Just remember what I told you," he simply says.

Aoba sighs again, pushing his bike through the open gate. "Alright, alright. Let's go greet Granny before you get late for your 'appointment'."

There's another thing about Mizuki that, in virtue of his privileged seat as a childhood friend, Aoba is privy to.

Mizuki really, really sucks at keeping secrets.

He won't tell a soul, alright. You won't be able to pry him open with knowing words, prodding questions or a goddamn crowbar. He will die denying any and all suspicion, but he's so, so bad at acting natural.

"You know," Aoba starts, dragging out the vowels. "This is getting ridiculous. Just tell me what you're up to."

"Huh?" Mizuki whips his head to look at him, a grin wobbling in his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

Aoba stares at him, deeply unimpressed, cheek squished against his palm. Mizuki unsteadily holds his gaze, as always hogging half of Aoba's desk.

"Mizuki-kun," calls out one of their classmates from the front of the class, where he's clearing the black board. "Can you-"

"I'll be right there!" Mizuki springs up taut like a ruler and marches towards the other student.

Aoba watches him go and huffs impatiently.

Mizuki disappears after lunch break. It's hardly unusual for him to do this, but Aoba wonders if there's a deeper meaning to it this time; after days of furtive glances and evasive answers, he's at his strangest today. Whatever he's plotting will culminate today, Aoba is sure.

The bell chime signaling the end of the last homeroom class is, as always, followed by celebratory whoops and their teacher's scolding. By now, any thought of Mizuki's sneaky behavior has been buried under two Math periods and x equals something or other. Aoba's not bad at Math, but when letters got into the mix it really messed things up for him. He sighs, ignoring his classmates as they shoulder past him in a flurry of excitement, some talking about hanging out, going to karaoke or the arcades, while others gushed about their club's activities.

Other than classes 8 through 10, which are mostly comprised of students actually worried about university, third years don't really think about entrance exams. There are a fair number of people who stop after middle school, and then the ones who actually choose to finish high school are only worried about having slightly better qualifications and get a job right after graduation. Well, some are just bored.

By the time Aoba's leisurely footsteps take him to the shoe boxes, there's only a trickle of second-year students remaining. He ambles towards the 3-1 section and opens his shoe box.

It's empty. His shoe box is empty, his outdoor shoes nowhere to be seen.

There's only a note, which Aoba picks up with stiff fingers.

If you want us, you'll have to catch us! ৲ ( ᵒ ૩ ᵕ ) ৴ ☆

That's the moment Mizuki's big dumb face resurfaces in his mind's eye.

"What kind of harassment is this?!" Aoba explodes in a shrill voice, causing the couple of second-years a few boxes away to jump in fright.

"This was Mizuki, I'm one-hundred percent sure this was Mizuki, holy shit, I'm gonna kick his ass, that asshole..." Aoba crumples the scribbled note in his fist, gritting his teeth. So this is what this guy's been planning all this time? Playing a dumb joke on him?

"Seragaki-senpai!"

Clear, wearing a cream-colored cardigan instead of the usual gakuran jacket, nears the shoe boxes, waving at Aoba. He must sense his senpai's distress from his face as he moves closer, because his grin immediately falls into a worried line.

"Is everything okay?"

"Clear..." Aoba tries to twist his features into something more neutral and sighs. "No, nothing's wrong. I just have a really shitty friend."

Clear tilts his head to the side, wide eyes blinking at Aoba in blatant confusion. Then, his gaze moves from the empty shoe box to Aoba's indoor shoes, and he gasps. He seems even more worried now, actually frightful, and Aoba can almost see dog ears flattened against his white hair in fear.

"Seragaki-senpai... Could it be that you're being-"

"I'm not being bullied!" Aoba nearly shrieks defensively, making Clear flinch. Apparently, that's what finally manages to drive the second-years away, but they don't leave before throwing them a concerned glance. Aoba catches himself and shakes his head lightly. Too touchy, too touchy.

"Sorry for yelling. That's really not the issue." Aoba lets the note slip into Clear's hands, and the first-year reads it with owlish eyes. "That's just my friend's idea of a joke. Why is he doing this out of nowhere, geez..."

"This is indeed troublesome..."

Aoba shrugs and starts turning towards the glass doors. "Well, I'm not playing into his game. I'll just go back home in these shoes; the most that will happen is I'll get it dirty."

"Wait, senpai!" Clear calls out, and Aoba shifts back to look at him. The third-year quirks up one brow in question and Clear straightens up, pursing his lips.

 "I'll help you look for your shoes."

"Clear-"

"It's okay, senpai. If you go outside with your indoor shoes, won't it be a pain to clean them up for tomorrow? And it's wasteful to let go of a perfectly usable pair of shoes like that!"

Aoba stares at him with a knot between his brows. "It'll be even more of a bother to look for them, though... Besides, aren't you being a bit of a cheapskate?"

Clear starts at that, then looks down at his feet, cheeks dusted light pink. "I just picked up on this kind of speech from my grandfather. Our living conditions weren't the best when I was little, you see."

"Oh. I see." Aoba lets his eyes wander away, feeling a pinprick of self-consciousness.

Clear's eyes grow wide. "Oh, but don't worry! Our financial situation got better over the years, it's just that we're still overzealous with our belongings. Even though it's just the two of us."

"So you live alone with your grandfather. It's almost the same as me and Ren," Aoba tells him, softer with sympathy.

Clear's eyes brighten at that and he seems eager to follow the flow of the topic, but then he seems to catch himself. "Oh! But leaving that aside, we should look for your shoes!"

Aoba sighs. "We'll waste hours on that. We have two four-story buildings, and if you count the sports facilities, it could really be anywhere."

"Don't worry about it!" Grinning confidently, Clear rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan along with the white dress shirt underneath. "I'm really confident in my ability to find lost things!"

"You've looked through this entire building for a pair of shoes?" Ren asks after they explain everything to him, and Aoba knows he doesn't mean it that way, but he feels really dumb when Ren puts it in such general lines.

"I didn't think it'd be this hard," Clear mumbles as they walk through the second-floor hallways, and there it is again; Aoba can perfectly see his drooping dog ears. He looks up at Aoba. "Sorry, Seragaki-senpai."

Aoba blinks once before giving Clear a disconcerted smile. "That's alright but... Won't you quit with the 'Seragaki-senpai' already? It's weird, especially when you call both me and Ren like that."

Clear makes a difficult face, looking back and forth between Ren and Aoba, who eventually takes pity on him.

"Look, you can just call me by my first name; I'm not fussy with that kind of thing. It's fine with Ren too, right?"

Aoba looks to his twin brother for support. Ren blinks at them in brief surprise before nodding solemnly.

"I don't mind it."

Clear's lips curl wobbly around a dopey grin, cheeks flushing pink and spreading to his ears. He nods back.

"Thank you very much!"

Aoba smiles wearily. "Like I said, no need to thank us over this kind of thing..."

"Well, let's get on with our search!" Clear makes for a power-run, but Ren's hand on his shoulder keeps him in place.

"Wait a minute. Aoba, did you try calling Mizuki?"

They stop in the middle of the hallway. Aoba stares blankly at Ren, who stares blankly right back at him.

Ren sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"I just didn't think of calling him because I knew he'd be an asshole about this and I'd throw my phone at the nearest wall," Aoba grumbles defensively in a single breath.

"I didn't say anything."

"You look really disappointed! I'm sorry if you stole my share of intelligence in the womb!"

Clear nervously goes "there, there" while Ren taps around his phone's screen and moves it to his ear. He waddles around the hallway as he waits for Mizuki to pick up the call, chancing a look inside the nearest classroom while he's at it.

Aoba looks sullenly out the window, walking closer to it as he hears Ren talking on the phone. He thinks he hears Clear sighing somewhere behind him.

There may have been students still fooling around an hour ago, but now the courtyard between the two school buildings is empty. What's left are only a couple of cans tossed on the grass next to the benches, and Aoba has to wonder how bad were those guys' aim when the nearest trashcan is just a couple of steps away.

Aoba's gaze wanders up, towards the windows to the second building's second floor hallway, at the opposite side of the courtyard. The second building seems deserted too; the only clubs staying this late are usually the sports ones, in the gym, the baseball field and so on.

It's only a flurry of movement. The building interior can barely be seen through the strong reflection on the glass windows. Yet, Aoba's eye catches a blur of blonde hair and he automatically focuses on a profile that's become familiar to him. As though he's right in front of Aoba again, he can see the strong line of his nose, the sweep of thick, pale eyelashes drooping on his cheeks. And red, red dripping down the side of his face.

A heartbeat is all the time you need to make a stupid decision.

Aoba takes off running, uncaring for the additional weight of his bag against his body. In the periphery of his attention, he hears Clear calling his name, but there doesn't seem to be steps following him. Only the sound of Aoba's own shoes squeaking on the tiled floor echoes in the hallway.

Ren watches Aoba go with a rare shocked expression, phone still pressed to his ear. Clear looks indecisive on whether he should go after Aoba or stay, but ultimately stands rooted in his spot. Ren frowns at the empty hallway and Clear's furtive looks, and then everything clicks into place. Ren sighs heavily.

"Your hare-brained schemes are as terrible as always."

"Eh? W-what are you talking about?" Mizuki stammers on the other end of the line.

Ren sighs again. "Is there any meaning to hiding it by now? I know what you're up to, and it's not going well."

Mizuki keeps on stammering and Ren hangs up on him. He stares at his lock screen for a moment, his background picture a photo of his grandma's and Aoba's backs side-by-side in front of their kitchen sink.

Monday, April 22

5:43pm

Ren slips his phone back into his pocket and switches his attention to Clear, who stiffens up under his scrutiny.

"You're in this too, right?" Ren asks casually, eyes devoid of judgment.

Clear looks guilty when he nods, head downcast.

"Does this have anything to do with why you suddenly asked to meet me last Saturday?"

Clear glances up at him, and his cheeks go the lightest shade of pink.

"More... or less. I wanted to get a good hint for a present."

Ren stares at him for a moment, then smiles thinly and pats Clear's head. The first-year looks up at him with wide, bright eyes.

"Let's find Aoba."

Chapter Text

Chest heaving and calves aching at the sudden dash, Aoba gets to the corridor connecting the buildings. Luckily, it's empty; he takes a sharp turn without slowing down and grunts in pain when he crashes onto the wall. The pain that spikes up in his shoulder causes him to stumble his next couple of steps, but he's soon picking up speed again, windows passing by him in flashes of dying daylight.

As he slows down to a jog around the corner of the hallway, Aoba briefly catches a glimpse of Noiz's back going into one of the doors. Aoba braces himself on the wall for a moment, fighting to catch his breath. At the same time, he hears a clatter of footsteps approaching. He has half a mind to wait and see if it's Ren and Clear because are you an idiot you should've told them to come with you.

However, the memory of Scratch members running after Noiz flashes in his mind's eye. Could it be...?

Aoba groans under his breath. He staggers to the door Noiz disappeared behind in quick but muffled steps, looking around furtively. Clear and Ren can't be seen through the windows when he tosses a glance to the other side of the courtyard. With a steadying breath, Aoba slides the door open and slips into the room quickly.

And, of course, he's being shoved against the wall in the next second. Of course.

Aoba's bag falls to the ground. The air is punched out of him when his back meets brick and his vision blurs, but what surprises him next is how weakly he's being restrained. Aoba shakes off the whiplash and his eyes focus properly on what's in front of him.

Noiz is breathing laboriously through his mouth, blood smearing his hair and spilling over the right side of his face. His green eyes are hooded, hazy, and Aoba is marginally relieved that they are, indeed, in an empty classroom.

Aoba breathes shakily, taking in Noiz's state.

"What are you doing here?" Noiz rasps out, glaring.

At such close proximity, it can be seen that his bottom lip is busted as well. Is it the rusty smell of his blood that Aoba can feel invading his nostrils, soaking into his own tongue?

"What... what are you doing here?! And like this?!" Aoba yells, furious. Why does Noiz look like this? How did he let things get this bad?!

Noiz snarls at him. "It's none of your business. Why are you always..."

Lime-green eyes flicker, and the pressure of Noiz's arm against Aoba's chest falls away. Noiz is staggering backwards and Aoba gasps, holding on to Noiz's elbows reflexively. The first-year blinks for a moment, disoriented, but his knees don't give way like Aoba feared they would.

After a longer stretch of time, Noiz finally pulls away, half-heartedly so, and Aoba doesn't persist. Noiz steps back until he's bracing himself on one of the desks upfront, eyes strained and pointed to the ground.

"Hey, seriously," Aoba says softly after a while, "are you okay? This is... a lot of blood."

"Shut up," Noiz replies, but it's pathetic-sounding. He lets out a heavy breath and slowly descends to the ground, sitting on the floor with criss-crossed legs.

Aoba stares at the crown of his head and sighs. Noiz doesn't look up as Aoba bends down and pulls his previously abandoned bag to him, rifling through the contents until he finds what he's looking for. Aoba comes to sit down across from Noiz with a half-drank bottle of water and a plain white shirt in his hand.

"Stop playing tough and lean your head back. I'm gonna clean your face so you won't look so terrifying, at least."

Noiz looks blankly at Aoba, but ultimately obeys, to Aoba's surprise—even though he's the one who asked in the first place. Noiz tilts his head backwards, but he's still trying to keep an eye on Aoba, as if expecting him to take out a knife at any given moment.

Aoba snorts, uncapping the bottle. "Close your eyes or water's gonna fall in it. If I wanted to attack you, I would've done so already, you know?"

Again, Noiz obeys reluctantly, and Aoba doesn't waste time to slowly cant the bottle in the air and spill water in a thin rivulet onto Noiz's forehead. It slides down his face, wetting his eyelids and cheeks. Before it can start making a mess on the floor, Aoba stops and places the bottle beside him, sloppily folding the shirt in his hand and sliding it carefully across Noiz's cheek.

"Sure is lucky we had P.E. today. The water is still a bit cold, it'll help with the pain. You can open your eyes now," Aoba tells him, and Noiz does so. He flinches when Aoba settles one hand on the side of his head and moves it to face him more squarely, but he doesn't try to fight off his touch. He's likely too tired for that already.

"Can you tell where the cut is? So I'll try not to press on it."

"Dunno," Noiz replies under his breath. Aoba shrugs, smoothing the shirt over Noiz's brow as delicately as he can.

"I guess it must be hard to tell. Ugh, I can't imagine how much this must hurt. Doesn't seem like it's still bleeding, though, which is good."

Aoba smiles lightly at him, but Noiz only frowns at the third-year.

"You're so annoying."

Aoba scoffs, not letting up on his task. "And you're so rude every time we talk that it doesn't even affect me anymore."

"Why are you doing this? Every time..." Noiz asks, closing his right eye when Aoba moves the shirt over his eyelid.

"It seems you're in trouble every time I run into you. Most people would do what I'm doing."

This time, it's Noiz who scoffs. "That's bullshit."

"No, it isn't. Wouldn't you do the same?" Aoba asks with a slight pout, then blinks at the long cut that appears near Noiz's hairline when he brushes the shirt over it. "Ah. Found it."

"No," Noiz answers promptly, ignoring his mutter. "Not if I stand to gain nothing from it."

"What a charming personality," Aoba muses derisively, picking up the bottle and wetting another part of the shirt. When he's done, he uses it to clean Noiz's fringe. "So you wouldn't have lifted a finger for me back when Scratch cornered us?"

"I was actually thinking of how to use you to escape, that time."

Noiz looks Aoba in the eye as he says it. For the first time, Aoba feels a sting in his chest. It's not that he feels hurt or disrespected in the face of Noiz's disregard for him, but rather something else. For the first time, even after the scene on the rooftop and their bad encounter with Scratch, Aoba realizes there's something really wrong with Noiz.

Could Aoba live not trusting anyone and not caring for other people's well-being? He thinks of his friends, and Ren and Granny, and he knows he wouldn't be able to. Is a life like that easier?

Noiz's wounds and the look in his eyes don't show him a positive answer.

"That's sad," is all Aoba breathes out. The cloth brushes smoothly over the seam of Noiz's lip, mitigating the angry red into soft pink.

"So why did you do it?" Noiz insists, and Aoba furrows his brows at him, dropping his hands on his lap.

"Like I said, anyone would-"

"And I said, it's bullshit." Noiz points to his forehead, at the pink line of the cut. Aoba realizes, then, that his hand is still bandaged. "This, it was a person who did it. One like you, like the 'anyone' you're babbling about. He did it because I rigged up the machines at the Serinuma arcade, so now Kisaragi doesn't have an advantage anymore."

"So it really was that Hiroto guy..." Aoba bites his lip, tossing a glance to the classroom's door. So he came to school after Noiz, even when Mizuki cast his protection over him? And more importantly, is he still around?

Noiz doesn't mind him again and continues. "That guy did this because I'm getting in the way of something he wants. That's something anyone does. What you're doing is not."

Aoba rears back when Noiz leans forward, pinning him down with his piercing stare.

"So what is it that you want?"

After his initial shock, Aoba rolls his eyes and lightly pushes Noiz back. He gets up, but only to plop down beside Noiz, who stares at him. Aoba turns his head and looks straight into that emotionless gaze.

"I want nothing from you. I don't know what kind of life you've been living to develop such a sad mentality, but," Aoba gives him a slight smile, "it's impossible not to care when a brat this bad at taking care of himself shows up in front of me."

Something changes almost imperceptibly around Noiz's eyes, but Aoba doesn't have time to analyze it because a bang comes from behind him.

Aoba whirls his head back around and towards the door. His faint hope of it being Ren and Clear disperses quickly when he finds Hiroto standing there, cold eyes zeroing on them, or rather, on the boy beside Aoba. A wide smile takes over his bruised features. Noiz must've put up quite the nasty fight.

"So there you are, Noiz. So damn rude of you, running off without saying anything."

Hiroto takes one step closer, and Aoba assumes a defensive position, crouching and raising one arm in front of Noiz protectively. This time, Hiroto looks at him blankly.

"Oh, the boyfriend is here too," Hiroto says flatly, then grins at Aoba. "Sorry for interrupting your moment alone, but I have a little thing to work out with Noiz."

Hiroto moves closer, and Aoba is forced to get up on his feet, still standing in front of Noiz. The moment is so tense Aoba can't muster up the energy to feel embarrassed for really acting like he's Noiz's boyfriend.

Aoba tilts his head to the side and whispers, "Noiz, get awa-"

"Ah, by the way..." Hiroto takes a wider stride and closes in on Aoba faster than he expected. Before he can react, Hiroto is closing a fist on his uniform's jacket and giving him a heavy knee-kick to the gut.

"Ggh-ah—!" Aoba yelps and spits the air right out of his lungs. His knees buckle under the pressure of the numbing pain. It comes as a surprise; for a man who had heavily relied on a knife before, it seems like he's much more fearsome in hand-to-hand combat.

Hiroto throws his limp body to the ground unceremoniously. Aoba rolls away once, twice, before stopping with a groan, trying not to let the nausea rippling up his spine overtake him. The world is tilted ninety degrees in his hazy vision, stars popping and darkness creeping at the corners. Still, Aoba balls his fists and, with teeth gritted, pushes himself up on one elbow.

"I made sure to come here when Mizuki wouldn't be present, so you're alone in this," Hiroto tells him, and his voice is warbled and distant like Aoba is underwater. His feet get closer and closer, and then Aoba feels something gripping his fringe and pulling his face up forcefully.

At once, it feels like he's being split in two, starting from his head. Aoba cries out in agonizing pain and Hiroto gets into his face, grinning broadly.

"Your kick that time was really good, you know. That guy was dazed for the rest of the day. Hope I'm able to provide you the same experience," he whispers, then releases his hold on Aoba's hair with a laugh.

"Now, back to you." Hiroto turns towards Noiz.

Aoba is back on the floor and, this time, he can't muster the strength for more than keeping his eyes open. Through his pain-driven tears, Aoba can see Noiz staring right at him, disregarding Hiroto's looming figure. He hasn't moved from his sitting position.

Noiz's eyes aren't sympathetic, but they're not indifferent either. It still seems like he's having a hard time focusing, but his gaze is set firmly on Aoba, riveted.

Aoba can only watch from the floor as Hiroto pulls Noiz up by his jacket and socks him in the face. Noiz doesn't wince, but Aoba does. The water bottle has tipped over at some point, pouring its contents over the tiles.

A new wave of nausea crashes over Aoba and he shivers. Hiroto is saying something to Noiz, but his conscience is fading in and out.

"This time..."

The bandages around Noiz's hand are coming undone.

"I'll really get rid of you."

Noiz's eyelashes flutter as he valiantly tries to hold on to his own conscience. There's a new bruise on his cheek, now. Aoba's arms are numb, uselessly flopped to the ground.

(A detestable brat.) I can't say I don't care about what happens to him.

It's impossible not to care... (Doesn't know how to take care of himself.)

I care about

you.

Noiz is sagging in Hiroto's hold, eyes shutting. Aoba grits his teeth and tears are spilling out and running over the bridge of his nose because it hurts, everything hurts, but also because Noiz is hurting and he wants to do something, anything, because he cares. I care about you.

A new stab of pain pierces through Aoba's head. Everything goes dark.

"Hiroto."

A sharp intake of breath.

"Sink."

As the sun dips into the horizon, dark, heavy clouds close over Midorijima's sky. It starts raining as soon as the last sliver of daylight disappears, and the streets of Platinum District become virtually empty. People rush into restaurants, cafes and malls, but Noiz keeps on his path.

The water pooling in the cobblestone sidewalk glitters, reflecting the light shining through the windowpane of stores and eateries. A couple runs by Noiz, huddled together under the precarious shelter of a single coat.

They're laughing, and the girl whines, "So cold!"

Noiz doesn't follow them with his eyes; he only listens to the wet paddling of their footsteps and a little bell chiming, accompanied by the creak of a door. They must've taken cover in a cafe nearby.

"Cold" is something people say when they're out in the rain. Noiz raises his face to the sky, and he only knows it's raining because he can see and hear it. The feeling of drops slipping over his face or soaking into his uniform is nothing but the faintest of whispers, as light as the pressure of a breeze against his skin. Noiz opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

A lone drop falls on its tip, and Noiz can feel its trajectory as it slides down the blade of his tongue.

It's not cold, but he wouldn't say it's hot either.

After taking a few more turns, Noiz arrives to the tall, pristine condo he lives in. There are a few people waiting for the rain to pass under the cover of the porte-cochere; Noiz weaves through them easily. The double glass doors open before him after he taps the correct password on the keypad and he slips inside, unconcerned with the wet track he's surely leaving behind.

The lights are dimmed down in his flat when Noiz pushes the door open. He toes off his muddy shoes by the entrance, passes by the light switches without bothering to flick them on and goes into his room. In the darkness, there are only the outside lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling window. Noiz drops his bag by the foot of his bed and shrugs off his black jacket, proceeding to pull the white undershirt off his back, letting it all fall to the floor.

Only now, he can see the blood splattering the fabric. His gaze slides to the side, where a second white shirt pokes out of the corner of his bag's opening, which he failed to zip all the way up.

Noiz sits on the floor, legs folded, and pulls his school bag closer. He opens the zipper, pulls out the blood-soiled t-shirt and stares down at it.

That guy is, quite possibly, the stupidest, most irritating person Noiz has ever come across.

No one before him has been as meddling and self-righteous, and someone like that can't possibly live too long. Noiz remembers the way he stood between him and the guy from Scratch, how he writhed and cried out on the floor, and the tears streaking across his face as he lay unconscious. He's someone who properly knows pain—Noiz could tell when he looked at him. A true, bonafide idiot.

If he knew what Noiz is, he would never have done all of this.

The door creaks behind Noiz and the lights overhead flicker on. Noiz lets the shirt fall inside his bag again and twists around.

"Finally home?" The tall blond man in the doorway drawls, a muscled arm braced on the wooden frame.

Noiz simply stares at him, expressionless. The man scoffs and pushes off from the doorframe. He's nonchalantly cracking his knuckles, but a fist grabbing a tuft of his hair stops him from advancing.

"Stop that, Trip," a cold voice says, and Virus emerges beside Trip, shooting him a warning glare before turning his attention to Noiz. Virus smiles perfunctorily.

"You wandered quite a bit today."

Noiz huffs and gets up from the floor, picking up his towel from where it was draped over the back of a chair. He makes to move past Virus and Trip, but Virus stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Noiz glares, but Virus is too busy pushing his bangs away from his brow.

"You have new bruises and cuts, Wilhelm," Virus observes, and Noiz feels the pressure of his fingers against the wound on his forehead. It doesn't hurt. Virus grins at him again, eyes sparking with interest. "Perhaps you have a fun story to tell us?"

Noiz holds Virus' icy blue gaze, which tries to unveil him even as no words leave his mouth.

The sight of his bedroom's ceiling comes into focus very slowly. The blobs of dark colors dissolve into sharp lines, and he can make out the wooden frames of the ceiling and the light bulb.

Aoba slides his head to the side, hearing the faint rustle of his hair against his pillow. Ren is sitting by his bedside, observing him, and Aoba's memories come flooding in, first slowly, then building momentum.

"Noiz!" Aoba gasps and sits up in bed, but pain lashes out like the crack of a whip in his head, echoing down his body. He winces and Ren puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back onto the mattress.

"Calm down. You have to rest."

Aoba lies back obligingly, furrowing his brow. "Ren..."

Ren smiles ruefully at him. "You gave me a scare, Aoba."

A sudden twinge of pain pinpricks Aoba's chest, unrelated to any bodily damage caused by the recent events. He doesn't remember the last time he's seen Ren make this face, and guilt sits heavy in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Ren."

Ren shakes his head. "You don't need to apologize. Do you want water?"

Aoba nods and Ren helps him sit up slowly, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher placed on Aoba's bedside table. Aoba slowly sips up the water and settles back against his pillow when he's finished. Ren gets up from his seat.

"Are you okay to see more people? Everyone's worried."

"Everyone...?" Aoba trails off, finally registering the buzz of conversation coming from downstairs. Sounds like a lot of people. Aoba furrows his brow. "Who's out there?"

"Granny, Clear, Clara, Mizuki, a couple of guys from Dry Juice and Beni-shigure, as well as Haga-san. Koujaku is here too; he just returned from his trip."

Aoba's eyes go wide. "Just because I got a little hurt? Why..."

Ren blinks. "No, because of Mizuki's surprise party for us. You didn't realize?"

Aoba stares at him for a moment longer, then sighs heavily, throwing a hand over his face. "Of course. It had to be something dumb like that, how didn't I catch on..."

"So, who should I call here?"

Aoba huffs irritably. "Call Granny and Clear, and tell Mizuki he can choke."

Ren chuckles lightly and leaves the room. Aoba burrows back into his pillow, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. A subsequent sting in his midsection makes him wince. After a moment, Aoba sits up and takes off his thin cream-colored shirt to survey the state of his body.

There's a big, ugly bruise in his stomach, naturally. The skin is blue and purple and sensitive to the touch, he finds as he presses the pad of his fingers onto the area. Aoba is surprised to notice a fainter bruise on his shoulder too, possibly from when he collided with the wall in his blind run and then went rolling on the floor, thanks to Hiroto.

Aoba makes a mental reminder to check for bruises on his back later, but now he can hear people walking up the stairs. He puts his shirt back on and doesn't wait for long until Ren is reentering the room, followed by their grandmother and Clear, who raises his eyes from the floor to Aoba. The first-year's expression opens in apparent glee and relief, and then crumples up.

"Aoba-san," Clear sobs, and Aoba is terrified to see actual tears brimming at the corners of Clear's eyes.

"Eh? Eh? Clear, don't..." Aoba raises his hands uselessly, eyes widening in panic.

"It's okay, I won't cry," Clear promises in a whiny voice like a child's, scrubbing away the tears with the back of his hand. He waddles up to Aoba's bedside and startles him again when he bends at the waist in a ninety-degree bow.

"I'm really sorry! It's my fault all of this happened!" Clear declares.

Aoba stares at him in open puzzlement, brows low over eyes blown wide. Ren helpfully steps in.

"Mizuki got Clear to make sure you would stay in school until my council meeting was over so we could come to the surprise together."

The penny drops. Aoba groans, dropping his head. "Okay. Alright, I got it."

Clear is still bowing; he's looking up at Aoba like he's waiting for a death sentence, lips pursed tightly. Aoba can't help but smile.

"It's not your fault, Clear. It's not Mizuki's either, but next time, don't go along with his stupid ideas, okay?"

Clear straightens up and nods, grinning and blushing lightly. Ren has a discreet smile as he gives them a side-long glance. Aoba smiles too, but it's short-lived; it disappears as he tightens his hold on the sheets draped over his lap and looks down at his hands.

"With that said... What happened? We didn't get in trouble with the school, did we? A-and Noiz? Is he okay?"

"Noiz?" Ren questions, one brow arched.

"Ah, you know, that first-year from the entrance ceremony; he was in the middle of that mess with Scratch.  He's your classmate, Clear."

Clear pokes his chin in thought and looks up at the ceiling.

"Noiz, Noiz... Ah, you mean Wilhelm-kun?"

"Oh, so that's his name..." Aoba turns his gaze down again. There's giddy warmth in his chest and an insistent pull at the corners of his lips. Aoba swears he must be going insane—is he seriously this happy to find out that guy's true name?

Clear's eyes brighten when he glances at Ren. "So it was him, huh. It makes me glad; so he's not as cold as he appears in class."

"We still don't know how he was involved in this," Ren points out, grim.

Leaving Ren's suspicion to be relieved later, Aoba asks Clear, "What are you talking about? 'So it was him'?"

"Mm, Ren-san tried calling you many times, but you weren't picking up. We were still looking for you when, uh..."

Ren picks up from where Clear trails off. "After a short while, you called back but you weren't the one talking. That person said you were unconscious at Class 1-7, and we should figure out what to do with 'the other blacked-out guy'. He hung up soon after."

Aoba snorts, tucking his knees to his chest. "That dry tone sounds like Noiz, yeah."

"When we got to the classroom, it was only you and the other guy. I called Sumi-sensei and told him an outsider had attacked a student in school grounds, but I don't think they'll make a big deal out of it, since the police probably wouldn't help. Mizuki might be able to do something."

Aoba nodded, looking down. "I see."

Doesn't this all mean Noiz helped him? He could've easily left Aoba for anyone to find eventually. He could've left Aoba to Hiroto's mercy, but he went to the trouble of calling Ren from his phone. Hey, Noiz. Did you gain anything from it? Can you understand me now? Do you realize what you did?

There are so many questions Aoba wants to make Noiz. He pushes them all to a secluded corner and lets a single thought weight in his mind as his forehead drop on his knees.

Damn. I'm happy.

"Aoba," calls a hoarse voice that has been silent all this time. Aoba lifts his head to see his grandmother moving away from the door, where she's been standing quietly until now.

"Granny... I'm sorry for troubling you."

She huffs and smiles softly, taking the seat Ren was previously occupying by his bedside and holding one of Aoba's hands in her own.

"What are grandchildren for, if not that? Never mind the small things. How do you feel?"

Aoba smiles awkwardly. "I've been better."

"You really did a number on yourself this time," Granny sighs.

She looks hesitating, and Aoba can see that Ren picked up on it too when he gives her a side-long glance. Aoba waits for the question, which is eventually delivered by Ren.

"We have no idea why you ran at that time, and why we found you in that room like that. What happened, Aoba?"

Aoba examines the worried lines in everyone's faces and nods, smiling apologetically. "Sorry for leaving you in the dark. I'll tell you."

Chapter Text

Ren closes the organized meeting journal and the ensuing thump reverberates softly in the empty student council office. It's late enough that all other members have left; the orange, cooling light of sunset pours into the room through the windows behind his chair. Ren would usually receive the aid of the vice-president for such duties, but the third-year in question stepped down from his post as soon as last year ended.

After putting the meeting journal away and hauling his bag to his shoulder, Ren heads out of the room. He is almost too distracted by the jingling of the keys he's retrieving from his pocket, but he soon notices a silhouette leaning on the wall a few steps away from the door.

"Clear... why are you still here?" Ren wonders, head tilted towards the first-year as he twists the key into the lock.

"Ren-san, good work today!" Clear grins, bounding over to his upperclassman's side. "You wouldn't let me stay longer so I thought I'd wait."

"It's only your first day as a council member; I didn't want you to push yourself too hard."

Ren slips the keys back into his pocket, passing by a dejected Clear. Despite the very pronounced pout, he's not discouraged and catches up with Ren in two strides.

"I got it... But tomorrow I'll stay back to help you!"

A sheepish, reserved smile opens up in Ren's face and he chuckles. "Alright."

... Eh? Clear puts a hand on his chest, blinking down at his moving feet. It feels like something snapped and is swelling up in his chest. Inundating... with what?

Did something just blow up inside? Am I dying?

Warm; perhaps internal hemorrhage? While trying to remember the names of the coronary arteries, Clear swivels his head to throw Ren a frantic look, a question or a plea for help on the tip of his tongue.

Ren isn't looking at him. Like Clear was, he's looking down at the floor, a ghost of his earlier smile still lingering in his pink lips. Ren's lashes sit half a centimeter short of resting on his cheeks, long and thick and as pitch-black as the hair on his nape.

The names of the aorta's branches and the most common heart conditions blank out of Clear's brain.

No one who's ever been around Seragaki Ren is oblivious to his good looks. Even for the whole five minutes during which Clear was scared of Ren, he recognized the beauty in the intimidating third year's golden eyes and the solidity with which he carried himself. Clear accepted it, as naturally as he accepts the sunlight when he opens the windows in the morning. It's all a matter of course. So how is it that, now, it feels more like the first time he's seeing Ren than that day?

Clear takes a deep breath, and when his chest expands and narrows, he doesn't know whether he's feeling normal again or that mysterious warmth has simply taken permanent residence in the curves of his ribcage. He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, quick and minutely.

"I wanted to ask you how Aoba-san is. He didn't come today, right?"

Ren nods, and his expression is settled into neutrality again. "He tried to get up, but it was obvious he was still sore, so I convinced him to stay home."

Clear sighs. "Wilhelm-kun didn't come to school either. He skips but this is the first time he misses class."

"Aoba did say he had a head injury. And he still fought off that other man."

Clear purses his lips. "Ren-san, do you think Wilhelm-kun really was the one to knock that man out?"

Ren furrows his brow at Clear. "That's the only possible explanation. Aoba was unconscious."

Clear stops for a moment, hesitant in face of Ren's rising defensiveness.

Still, in a lower voice, he continues. "He told us that he remembered telling that Hiroto person to 'sink', though."

"Aoba was probably hallucinating; although he didn't sustain any head injury, he was in enough pain to black out. Also... Don't mention that around Aoba again. Granny told us we should forget about it."

Ren's tone is conclusive. Clear drops his gaze and the silence between them stretches for miles longer than the distance they're closing to reach the shoe boxes. Even longer than the increasing distance opening between them as Clear lags behind.

"I thought I was unconscious but then I heard myself saying those words..."

The details are vivid in Clear's memories. Almost as pale as his white bed sheets, Aoba scowled down at his hands, clutching at the covers.

"You must've been hearing things. You were in pain."

"But... even that was weird. That pain wasn't normal, even back when the kids pulled at my hair and it hurt, it didn't hurt like that. And- and you said you found Hiroto lying unconscious there too-"

"That was probably Wilhelm-kun's doing, Aoba-san-"

"No! You didn't see how Noiz looked, there's no way he could've knocked him out! He was bleeding, and I thought he might die because I couldn't help him. So I-"

"Aoba!"

It was Tae-san's voice, hoarse but firm. They all fell silent right then, all eyes turned to her slouching figure.

Taking in a deep breath, Clear squeezes his eyes shut and grabs Ren's wrist, feet halting at once.

The upperclassman jerks back at the sudden hold, but doesn't pull away. Clear opens his eyes and Ren is turning to face him, confusion in his cool golden eyes.

"Clear?"

The first-year opens his mouth. Then, a feminine voice yells out from behind them.

"Ren!"

Clear flinches in surprise as Ren blinks at something over the first-year's shoulder. Clear's hand slips away from its grasp on Ren's wrist as he turns back.

"Clara... Why are you still wearing your archery uniform?"

The girl slows to a stop before them. Although her exertion is betrayed by the sheen of sweat covering her sandy-brown skin, she doesn't lose her poise. Just as Ren noted, she's wearing a black hakama, a chest guard placed over a white keiko-gi.

Clear quickly remembers her as the girl from yesterday's party; she ran to hug Ren when they arrived, asking one and a million questions when she saw the unconscious Aoba on Clear's back. Different from that previous encounter, her long blonde hair is not down, but instead pulled back in a ponytail.

"If you picked up your phone for once, I wouldn't have to rush here. Now, let's pick up Beni-chan at Koujaku's and get gelato!"

Ren sighs. "Is practice even over?"

"No, but I'm the captain and I give the orders," Clara tells Ren, tipping up her chin with a tight-lipped grin.

"The faculty advisor will definitely love that." Ren sounds unnerved, but there's the smallest of fond smiles gracing his lips. Clara beams at him, a smile illuminating her face with not a drop of her earlier haughtiness. Somehow, it's made all the more natural and unguarded when accompanied by the beads of sweat at her temple, stray hairs plastered to her skin.

Ah.

The warmth which had enveloped Clear in a soothingly suffocating embrace is now eating into his ribcage. Like rust, gnawing away, crumbling, crumbling, sending his lungs and heart into free fall. Falling whereas earlier it swelled like a fluffy sparrow, taking in the morning sunrays. What a reaction to have in realization of Clara's beauty, when just earlier he was elated by Ren's.

That's because it isn't simply of matter of beauty, is it?

It hurts.

"We weren't introduced yesterday, were we? Sorry for my rudeness."

Clear snaps out of his reverie when he realizes Clara is addressing him.

"A-ah... Yes, we weren't." Clear cleared his throat and gave a shy smile. "I should've introduced myself, but I was still stunned by what happened to Aoba-san. I'm Clear, nice to meet you."

Clara takes Clear's proffered hand and shakes it with confidence, her grin following suit. "Likewise. My name is Clara."

There's not a hint of guile in Clara's disposition, but Clear fears his thoughts are an open secret before the intelligence of her almond-shaped eyes.

"Clara, you should go back before your teacher gets mad," Ren tells her. She gives him a chaffing smirk.

"That won't be a problem; he absolutely adores me. But I do need to go back and change. Don't leave without me!"

Clara jogs away, ponytail swishing across her narrow shoulders. Clear breathes in and perks up.

"Well, I should get going."

Ren turns his eyes away from where Clara disappeared to, locking his gaze on Clear. "You can come with us if you want. For gelato. My treat."

Clear sputters at the sudden invitation. "W-w-why treat me?"

Thankfully making no comment on Clear's tomato-red face, Ren nods to himself.

"I want to thank you for helping me carry Aoba home yesterday. I wouldn't have been able to do it alone."

"It was partly my fault, of course I would..."

Ren shushes him with a wave of his hand.

"I also want to thank you for the scarf."

Clear blinks, gaze wide and blank. Then, at once, his flush returns in full-power, painting even his ears and nape a furious crimson.

"A-ah!" Clear's hands fly up and from this point on it's a race between them and his rattling mouth. "The scarf! I did leave it there and y-you saw it, uh, I thought- I thought you guys wouldn't open them so soon, after Aoba-san... Anyway, d-d-d-did you like it? Sorry, it's not even cold anymore-"

Ren laughs; it's subdued and short. Clear is in danger of fainting from overheating.

"Aoba woke up some time after everyone left and asked about the presents. He didn't leave me alone until we opened them."

"Oh... Did he like the CD?" Clear asks, looking anywhere but Ren's eyes as he fiddles with the sleeve of his cardigan.

Ren nods. "Mhm. I liked the scarf as well. The thought that went into it... I appreciate it. Thank you."

Distrustful of his ability to both string words together in a coherent sentence and deliver it in a human-sounding language, Clear simply coughs a laugh. Ren isn't expecting anything more and, for that, Clear is grateful.

"So, are you coming with us?"

Clear almost falters, almost opens his mouth to say "yes". However, as the excitement tingling up his arms and back bleeds out of his system, he ultimately shakes his head. "Sorry, I really need to go. My grandfather wants my help with some errands. Rain check?"

Ren blinks for a moment, then gives a slight smile. "Okay."

Clear grins widely and holds onto the strap of his bag. "Then, see you tomorrow!"

With a spring in his step, Clear only stops at the end of the corridor, giving a little jump and waving at Ren. The third-year waves back. Clear can't really see his expression from this distance, but the good thing is: Ren probably can't analyze Clear's expression either.

After turning around the corner, the enthusiasm slowly slips off Clear's frame like a cloak.

There's no logical reason not to go with Ren; his grandfather didn't ask for any help. There's no explanation for why he felt the need to fake glee when he wasn't feeling particularly gleeful. Not even an explanation as to why he wasn't gleeful; since the moment he felt Ren's kindness for the first time, he's been nothing but completely comfortable in his presence. Until now.

How much did he say and do in the last twenty minutes that he didn't mean? And in turn, how much of what he meant was suppressed?

Clear has only just dared consider Ren a friend, and yet, in more ways than one, uncountable lies are already piling up between them.

When Wednesday comes around, Aoba is more than glad to leave the house, even if it's just to go to school. One reason for this is that, contrary to popular belief, one can grow tired of lying in bed all day eating birthday cake pretty fast.

The most poignant reason, however, is that he doesn't want to be left alone with his warring thoughts for even a second longer. Not when Granny stares at him from the corner of her eye, and he's making enough questions to himself without that. Some of them about what happened on Monday... and some of them about Noiz's well-being.

It's true that, thanks to Ren, Aoba knows that Noiz managed to leave school on his own—after calling for help in Aoba's behalf, even. Had he gotten help for himself, though? Did he make it home safely?

Because, if Aoba fainted, that leaves Noiz as the only one who could've fought with Hiroto. He was in a bad enough shape, how tough must've been to knock him out without injuring himself further?

Aoba thinks he will have all of these questions answered when he returns to school. Turns out he's wrong.

"I see. So he didn't come today either."

It's Thursday. The students from Year 1 Class 10 don't even blink an eye at Aoba anymore; it's the second consecutive day he shows up at their doorway. Clear purses his lips, but then it takes the form of a hesitant smile.

"Today, I'll see if I can get our homeroom teacher to tell me Wilhelm-kun's address. I'm worried about the assignments piling up, so I want to take some copies of my notes to him. I'll tell you how he's doing, if I get to see him."

Aoba smiles weakly, head bowed down only slightly. "Okay."

Clear looks at a loss for words, but soon he perks up. "I know! Let's exchange Line information and I'll text you when I get some news about him!" Shifting on his feet, Clear leans on the doorframe of his classroom as he takes his phone out of his pocket. His lips are faintly curled up when he looks at Aoba again. "You're coming here every day during lunch break; it'll be easier like this."

Aoba blinks, wide-eyed as a sudden realization dawns on him. "Oh, sorry, am I bothering you or your classmates?"

Clear shakes his head. "Not at all, I'm just thinking you have to come all the way from the first building every time, before you even have your lunch."

Feeling the thankfully silent, but rather enthusiastic rumbling of his stomach in response to Clear's remark, Aoba can't bring himself to oppose his kouhai. They quickly exchange contact information through infrared, and Aoba returns to his classroom and his wrapped up lunch box.

Mizuki, as usual, has his chair pulled to the side of Aoba's desk, but this time, he's using his arms as a make-shift pillow, napping soundly even amidst their classmates' obnoxious laughter. Aoba lets the legs of his chair screech sharply against the floor as he pulls on it.

"Hey, you're not at your house," Aoba grumbles, taking his lunch box out of the compartment under his desk.

Mizuki stirs in place and raises his head with a yawn. He rubs away a tear from the corner of his eye and brushes a hand through his hair distractedly. Really, a sleeping beauty, except for the big red mark across his cheek from where he had it pressed against his arm.

"I didn't sleep enough last night, let me be..."

Aoba raises a brow. "And you disappeared during lunch break yesterday and didn't come back for the afternoon periods too. That's how you're planning to graduate this year?"

"What are you, the student council president? My mom?" Mizuki drawls, hiding his face in his arms again. Aoba scoffs but doesn't grace him with an answer, instead digging into his lunch.

Fifteen minutes later, Aoba is nearly done with his food when Mizuki yawns again, stretching his arms on the desk (and almost pushing Aoba's lunch box over the edge, had the boy not lifted it up in the air with a scowl). The strain in his shoulders relaxes at once and Mizuki slumps on the wooden surface with a sigh.

"Done?" Aoba asks, just as Mizuki is properly sitting up again.

"Yeah, yeah." Mizuki tilts his neck from one side to the other, pressing a hand to its base. Aoba hears a faint "pop".

"Did you even eat anything?"

"Oh, so worried about me!"

Aoba kicks Mizuki on the shin, but it's half-hearted. "Shut up. Where did you disappear off to yesterday, anyway? You said you were going to get snacks and never returned."

"Mm, I jumped the gate and went to 7/11."

Aoba spits an incredulous laugh. "Why?"

"They have these new corn puffs we can't get in the vending machines here or at home. It's so good it's worth the effort. The Platinum District really is something else."

"So you got lost on your way back?"

Mizuki rolls his eyes with a sarcastic grin. "Yeah, right. No, first I got a bit side-tracked because the cashier was really cute--" An audible scoff grates on the back of Aoba's throat. Mizuki ignores him. "--and then, I got a text from the guys at the hangout, so I just came back to grab my things and left. I was going to let you know, but you were out."

I must've been over at Clear's classroom. Aoba knits his brows. "That's new. You never bother to tell me anything when you skip class."

Mizuki scratches his head. "Well, it's because it concerns you a little. It was Takato."

Aoba rears back, eyes going wide. Mizuki continues before he manages to make sense of the questions in his head.

"We didn't get to talk about this yesterday.  I went to Kisaragi on Tuesday to show Takato the pictures... Ren told you about the pictures, right?"

Aoba nods. The serious tone of their conversation is at odds with the overall carefree atmosphere of the classroom. "The ones he took of Hiroto to prove he was the one who attacked us."

"Yeah. Takato really had no leverage to counter the accusations, so we decided to arrange the finer details when Hiroto woke up, and yesterday-"

"W-wait, you're telling me that guy wasn't up yet by the next morning?!"

Aoba gapes openly, three or five shades paler as Mizuki gives a sharp nod.

"I was pretty surprised too; he only woke up yesterday morning. Don't get surprised if Takato tries to recruit you and Noiz again, with how hard you apparently socked that guy."

Mizuki barks a laugh and punches Aoba's shoulder. His response is more like a forced cough than an actual laugh. It seems Mizuki doesn't know Aoba blacked out before he could touch a hair of Takato's head.

"Can you believe Hiroto tried telling Takato he didn't do anything? Said he couldn't remember a thing. Hah, like that would fly with him."

"Maybe he really doesn't remember anything," Aoba mutters pensively.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch break. Mizuki stands up with a short chuckle, dragging his chair back to his own desk.

"Now you're overestimating your fist. Like you could punch someone's memories away just like that."

Noiz never returns that week, and the next one is... Golden Week.

There's no school. The Old Residential District becomes a little emptier, since those who have the means will use the holidays to travel, but it's largely disproportionate to the swelling of tourists in Platinum District. Aoba doesn't need to watch the news or see the odd foreigner waddling lost around their district to know that. It's simply what happens every year.

"You're being a great help, Aoba-kun," his boss, Haga-san, tells him on Monday morning. They're in front of the repair shop, and Haga-san is placing the keys on Aoba's open palm. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to kick back and relax?"

Aoba shakes his head. "Don't worry; I'll still have plenty of free time. Not like I have anything big to do, anyway. Have fun!"

Behind Haga-san, the taxi driver is done loading his suitcase into the car trunk. They exchange polite waves, and soon, his boss is off on his way. Like some other people, he is going on a trip—a well-deserved one, Aoba knows.

Even before he started working for the man, Aoba was never a stranger to Haga-san. All elders in the Old Residential District are tightly knit, and he and Granny, especially, are long-time friends. Both Aoba and Ren have many a fond memory of hanging out at Haga-san's repair shop when they were toddling brats with tooth gaps and band-aids covering their knees and elbows.

Aoba was a cheeky little thing, touching everything he wasn't supposed to, giving made-up advices and tips to lenient patrons as though he was a trained clerk. Ren would pull a stool and climb on it, sitting beside Haga-san and roping him into long conversations, so much so that it wasn't only once or twice that a client had to clear their throat at the front desk to get Haga-san's attention.

They weren't any help; in fact, they distracted Haga-san and probably made his job much more difficult. Still, the man would always be boundlessly kind to them. That hasn't changed, even after they grew up.

When Haga-san asked him if he could take care of the shop while he visited relatives in the mainland, Aoba naturally accepted to help. Thus, now, he's in charge of checking the locks of the shop every morning, keep the place clean and feed the kittens that live behind the store—that's mostly Aoba's self-imposed duty, though.

He's relieved that it's cats. While he definitely loves them, if they were puppies, he would've already smuggled them into his house. Granny would be furious.

It's after he's fed the kittens, one morning. Aoba comes back into the shop and he's ducking under the counter, looking for a rag, when he listens to the door opening.

"Shit, forgot to lock the door," Aoba grumbles to himself, then says louder, "Sorry, but we're closed!"

Aoba straightens up, finding none other than Koujaku in the doorway.

In the few months they haven't seen each other, the other man hasn't changed a single bit. Maybe a bit taller than the day he left, but still broadly smiling, eyes alight with the same sincerity. If one fails to take a look at the hand on the hip of his red kimono and carefully listen to the deliberate low timber of his voice, they may not even realize how much of a heartbreaker he is.

"... Oh, it's you," Aoba says nonchalantly and bends down to resume his search for the rag.

"Aoba..." Koujaku sighs, admonishing. Aoba can hear him walking up to the desk. "Is that any way to greet a childhood friend you haven't seen in ages?"

"Months, not ages," Aoba corrects him, then lets out a faint oh when he finds the rag under rolls of duct tape. He flaps it in the air to shake the dust away.

"You didn't even let me go upstairs to see you on your birthday, and I made sure to come back in time! I was really worried when I heard you were hurt."

Aoba stops in his methodical mopping of the desktop and looks up into Koujaku's eyes. He holds Aoba's dubious stare with plain concern and stubbornness. Expressive as ever. Aoba sighs and bumps his knuckles against Koujaku's forehead.

"I was tired, hippo." Koujaku reflexively scrunches his brow at the light aggression and Aoba smiles at him. "I thought you weren't even coming back."

"My father would've had it this way. This is why I hate going over to his place." Koujaku's gruffness dissolves into a grin he readily offers to Aoba. "But didn't I tell you I'd get the hell out of there as soon as I could? You can just come out and tell me you missed me, you know."

"Huh? I never meant to say that."

"Really? I mean, now that I'm back, I thought we'd be able to start things over, hopefully on the right feet..."

Ah. Aoba's eyes open wide. Somewhere along the way, without Aoba's realizing, Koujaku has deftly twined their fingers in a loose grip, leaning closer over the counter, thick eyelashes drooping lower as he speaks to Aoba velvet soft.

A vein pops in Aoba's forehead.

When Koujaku's lips are less than two centimeters short of touching his, Aoba lets a harsh sigh escape through his nostrils and leans away. Koujaku's quickly descending lids stop and blink over wide eyes.

"Eh—? Ow!!" is Koujaku's cry of pain when Aoba mercilessly bashes his forehead against Koujaku's.

The man staggers away from the counter, pressing his hands into the bruised spot with a wince and, undoubtedly, a teary eye.

"What was that for?!" Koujaku protests, voice going shrilly. The mood he's tried to set up lies at their feet in tiny little pieces.

Aoba ignores the sting on his own brow and huffs out an annoyed laugh. "Are you serious now?"

Koujaku looks taken aback, and Aoba gives him a dead stare, like an overachiever trying to teach their dumb best friend two months' worth of lectures ten minutes before an exam.

Not that Aoba has ever been in such position, but he imagines it's the same way Ren looked at him one unfortunate lunch break last year.

Ultimately, Aoba sighs. "Koujaku, we weren't even dating. What are you talking about, 'starting over'?"

"We were dating! We kissed, we had sex! I wrapped you up in my warm embrace!"

Patience wearing thin, Aoba rolls his eyes, casually grabbing the mop leaning on the wall. "Yeah, we had sex, and that was it. You said it yourself in the beginning, didn't you? We were just fooling around."

Koujaku's gaze flickered away and to the poster on the wall, the run-off-the-mill pretty girl on a motorbike type. "That was the beginning. We were on this for almost two months, and I started thinking I could really..." Koujaku trails off, then looks at Aoba accusingly. "And don't pretend you didn't notice. Didn't I tell you I wasn't giving up when I left?"

Aoba smiles thinly at him, bordering on pitiful. "Why are you being so serious about this? I just wanted a... confirmation of how I felt about men, and you were curious, it was just convenient-"

"Then tell me why you had your guard up as soon as I entered the shop?" Koujaku raised his chin, resolute. "If it wasn't serious, why do you look as hurt now as you did when I told you I was leaving?"

"Now you're just sounding like those obsessed guys who can't get over their girlfriends breaking up with them."

"So you admit we were-!"

"Alright!" Aoba's disrupting tone echoes in the room, the same false cheer present in his smile. "I've got a pretty hefty mop in my hand right now, so if you're not buying anything, get out before I make you."

Koujaku eyes Aoba and the mop warily. Regardless of their relationship status, it is known that Seragaki Aoba can and will hit you with a mop if you strike his last nerve. The twitch on the corner of Aoba's dark grin is as good a warning as any.

A resigned, but certainly not defeated, sigh leaves Koujaku. "We will continue this later."

"Hey, don't-" Aoba's protest is cut off by the door closing. Koujaku leaves without waiting for an answer to his one-sided promise.

Aoba lets out an irritated huff and drops his head, letting his brow press onto his forearms atop the counter.

This isn't how meeting Koujaku was supposed to go. After six months of ignoring the issue, of course Aoba didn't stop to think that, when Koujaku returned, things wouldn't go back to the way they were before they slept together for the first time.

Heaving a long, strained sigh, Aoba straightens up and goes into the back room. He deposits the mop on the corner and looks around to make himself remember if there's anything else he's supposed to do.

Not even two minutes later, Aoba hears the door creaking open outside.

"That Koujaku..." Aoba turns to stomp out of the back room, ready to tell the other man off for good this time.

However, Koujaku is nowhere to be seen this time. Immediately, Aoba tries to smooth out the scowl on his face like wrinkles on one's favorite dress shirt.

"G-good morning! The owner is out for the week so we're not taking repair services right now, but if you're interested in purchasing parts..."

"Aah, that's a pity," laments the young man in the doorway. He looks around Aoba's age, but it's hard to determine whether he's younger or older; while his airy voice is like that of a teenager, even from this far, Aoba can tell this potential client is taller than him. There's still some baby fat clinging to his cheeks, but he looks like something that stepped out of fashion magazine, all tanned skin, sharp jawline and long, soft brown hair braided loosely over his shoulder.

"I was hoping to have my bike looked over while I got some stuff settled over here, but I guess it'll have to wait."

"I can pencil you in for Monday first thing, if you want," Aoba says, sneaking a look at the motorbike parked in front of the shop. Damn. Even if he were to resort to his rookie knowledge to grab hold of the client, there's no way he could take on that monster.

"No, that's alright. It's nothing urgent, just a check-up." The boy waves his hand in the air as if batting away flies and approaches the counter. "Next time I'm over here, I'll see to it. For now, let's get the important stuff done with."

Aoba blinks confusedly and barely has time to react before the stranger is reaching for something on Aoba's chest. He jerks away, but doesn't go too far as the man pinches the pocket on the chest of his uniform shirt, where the kanji for his name is printed.

"Seragaki Aoba, am I correct?"

He lets go of the fabric and smiles beatifically at Aoba, who's more than a little alarmed despite this stranger's easy demeanor. If this is the guy's idea of flirting, then Aoba will have to tell him to tone down the creep factor before he gets himself arrested. Also, who hits on people in their workplace?

A stupid head framed by unruly burgundy hair and an echoing hyena-like laugh breezes through his mind. Oh yeah, that type of weird guy. Aoba will make sure to sit Mizuki down and give him some friendly advice when they meet again.

In the current situation, it seems like Aoba doesn't need to waste his advices. The young man takes a couple of steps back, leaving Aoba's personal space. "You are done here, right? I need you to step out with me for a minute."

"What..."

The boy winks, his grin turning impish. "Don't tell Mizuki about this, okay? Or he'll tell on me to Takato."

Takato. The name alone sets all alarms ringing in Aoba's head, and he's just calculating how to escape this situation, opening his mouth to spill excuses, when the next airy words reach his ears.

"Your little punk duckling of a boyfriend really loves getting himself in trouble, huh?"

Aoba stops. For once, he really looks at the young man in front of him. From the moment he entered the shop, everything about him bespoke joviality and unpretentious confidence. Now, however, his smile is irreprehensible, sharply analytic eyes thawing at the victory of a card well played.

Chapter Text

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Aoba bluffs as soon as he finds his tongue.

The boy tilts his head, forehead scrunching in thought. After a moment of consideration, he beams at Aoba.

"Oh, sorry! Before inviting you out, I should've followed up with this: I'm Akira, Scratch's leader. Nice to meet you, Aoba-kun."

Akira.

"How's that useless leader of yours been?"

"Akira wouldn't like to hear you saying that."

The aforementioned Akira extends his hand for Aoba to shake. Instead, Aoba wants to shake Mizuki, because while this guy indeed doesn't look like someone that would be mixed up with Ribsteez, the ill-concealed craftiness in his smile is not that of a useless leader.

 Still, Aoba takes his hand.

(Akira's grip is not that of a useless leader either, he observes. Aoba feels like he's been tricked into only being wary of Takato when there's someone even more concerning behind him.)

"Now, we've made it clear that you can't lie to me," Akira says breezily. "I know exactly who you are, and I need you to come with me. Will you?"

Doesn't sound like much of a question, Aoba thinks. Yet, he clenches his fists and stands his ground.

"Why would I? How can I be sure you're not luring me into a trap?"

Akira snorts, eyebrows coming down over his amber eyes derisively. "Now I ask you, why would I? Despite common belief, we all have better things to do. I'd gain nothing from getting in trouble with Mizuki by kidnapping you—in fact, I'm here because I'm trying to settle this under wraps."

Aoba still regards him suspiciously, though it's becoming harder to not take him at his word. "How so?"

"Well, from what Takato told me, that kid wasn't supposed to be wandering around Kisaragi. In fact, he shouldn't even be near the Southern District after what happened to Hiroto, but..." Akira sighs, nearly theatrical. "That's not what I saw when I picked him up from the street two hours ago."

"Picked him..." Aoba breathes out, blanching in the sunlight pouring through the store front. He holds on to the edge of the countertop and stammers, "What do you mean? Is... is he alright?"

Akira pokes at his chin in thought.

"I wonder... I had to leave him with a couple of our teammates to come here. I did leave express instructions not to touch Noiz or breathe a word about him to the others, but those guys don't take me nearly as seriously as they do Takato. Mmm-"

Aoba interrupts Akira with a harsh sigh and metallic jingling as he grabs the keys and moves around the front desk.

"Alright, alright, I'm going, just... let me lock things up first."

Akira laughs, a cheeky glint in his eye. "You really love your boyfriend."

Aoba opens his mouth to correct him, no, he's not my boyfriend, but stops himself. It's probably for the best that Scratch keeps on believing Mizuki's thoughtless lie.

"A whole lot, yeah." If sarcasm has seeped into his voice, Akira's indulgent grin suggests he thinks nothing of it.

Between hearing about Noiz for the first time in two weeks and accepting to follow Akira to the Southern District, Aoba didn't think of the implications of the huge black motorbike parked in front of the store. That is, until Akira dropped a helmet in his hands, making a bright show of teeth.

When Akira called it "his baby", Aoba thought that meant he'd drive mindfully. He'd call it his first mistake, but really, the first one was bending to Akira's persuasion inside the shop.

"So... what exactly do I need to do here?" Aoba practically wheezes, still winded from the lightning-fast ride and sharp turns taken around corners and moving vehicles. It's only slightly mortifying that his fear of flying off the back seat forced him into a vice grip around a stranger's waist.

"Mm? Oh, yeah, you need to take your guy out of this place. Hiroto's friends are out for blood, you know? He's lucky I found him." Akira sighs long-suffering, motioning with his head for Aoba to follow him towards a small apartment complex. "Don't worry, I have everything planned out. You're the last piece I needed."

Aoba blinks quizzically, but says nothing more as they climb the staircase tucked to the side of the building. Following Akira's lead, Aoba stops behind him in front of a door.

First, a short series of uneven-timed knocks on the wood. Then, Akira pulls a keychain out of his pockets, the colorful beads catching the sun and flashing in Aoba's vision, nearly blinding him. Akira slips a key into the hole and twists it, pushing the door open.

The vision that greets them is that of a dimly lit kitchen. A couple of slightly older men are sitting on the floor, legs criss-crossed, playing cards while a lone, blond figure is sitting on a chair. Noiz is looking at the door blankly, black tape covering his lips and ropes tied around his torso and feet.

Aoba shoulders past Akira, barely stopping for enough time to stick his fingers into the back of his shoes to pull them off his feet. The two men at the corner, most likely Akira's henchmen, don't move an inch as Aoba strides over to Noiz, catching him by the shoulders and giving him an once-over. The ropes encircling Noiz's arms and torso are neatly tied at the chair's back. Aoba turns to look incredulously at Akira.

"Why the hell is he tied up?! And gagged?!"

If not as surprised as Aoba, Akira does look relatively intrigued by the scene before him.

"Oh, that was me," one of the men sitting on the floor speaks up, raising a hand.

"Kyou-chan... didn't I tell you guys not to touch him?" Akira reprimands him, but half-heartedly so.

"Sorry," the man, Kyou-chan, sounds as unapologetic as one would expect in response to such a weak scolding. "He was being annoying, so. Swear we didn't rough him up or anything."

Akira sighs, but quickly perks up at Aoba. At least, that's what Aoba thinks until Akira open his mouth and he realizes Scratch's leader is looking over his shoulder.

"Noiz, I told you to stop with your temper tantrums," Akira coos disapprovingly, as though talking to a rowdy child. "See? Aoba-kun's here now. And you said he didn't care at all; I didn't even have to twist his arm much."

Aoba turns his head to glance at Noiz, finding a vicious glare there. Moreover, it's pointed at him, not Akira. That certainly shows a healthy Noiz, but why is Aoba receiving the death-ray stare when Akira is the one teasing him?

"So, uh," Aoba starts awkwardly while Akira moves into the kitchen. As the sudden adrenaline rush is easing away, he starts to realize he's stuck in an enclosed space with a group of dangerous delinquents. "You said you picked Noiz up from the street, but he doesn't look hurt at all..."

Akira pulls a second chair from the table and drops his weight on it, crossing his legs sloppily. With a carefree flick of his wrist, he retrieves his phone from his jacket's inner pocket.

"Oh, no. Luckily, I caught sight of his little..." Akira gestures vaguely towards Noiz's head. "... bird nest of hair turning around the corner before the troublesome guys could get to him."

"You must know about us from Takato, huh?" Aoba wonders aloud, smiling hesitantly. It's cut short by the weird look Akira gives him in response.

The look, which Aoba feels is a bit too close to sullen, is gone in less than a second. Akira goes back to tapping on his screen with an irked pout. "That's exactly it. I, very politely, told Noiz he shouldn't be wandering around this place, but after trying to attack us, he said he wasn't going anywhere if I didn't bring you here. Really, what a pain."

Aoba looks over at Noiz again. The apple-green eyes are turned away now, but the memory of his glare is still vivid. That didn't look like the gaze of someone who wanted Aoba here. "And... you just up and decided to protect him from your other teammates?"

"Aren't I generous? I've arranged everything; since I can't lead you out myself, you'll be escorted out of the Southern District by a very trustworthy person." Akira smiles sweetly, but there's a challenge lingering quiet in his eyes, daring Aoba to put his intentions in question. In what feels like an incredibly out-of-place show of hospitability, he announces, "We're in my place, by the way. Feel free to treat yourself to some melon juice while we wait for them."

"We're out of melon juice," the man who's not Kyou-chan promptly drawls from the corner, voice muffled by the toothpick hanging from his lips, not looking away from the apparently intense card game they're playing.

Akira's shoulders slump, letting out a subdued "Whaaat?"

From his front-seat view of the men shrugging off Akira's whining, Aoba is starting to see how this guy can be considered a useless leader. He shakes himself out of the distraction.

"... This makes no sense. Why did you go to such troubles for Noiz?"

Akira's eyes flash in a way that makes Aoba feel like he's walked into a trap.

The boy leans forward, chin resting on his open palm. His elbow finds purchase on his ankle, which is resting atop his opposite leg's knee. "I hate meaningless violence, to be honest. That may sound like a joke; I know of the fame Scratch has outside of the Southern District. We're not really like that. This whole scuffle with Hiroto was stupid from the beginning, and I'd rather avoid trouble with Mizuki..."

Akira trails off, carefully regarding Aoba's narrowed-eyed gaze. In a way that shouldn't feel as natural as it does, the forlorn tilt of his lips morphs into a smug grin, displaying a sharp white canine.

"But, mostly, I wanted to see you with my own eyes."

"See... me."

Akira beams in spite of Aoba's distrustful tone. "Yep! I mean, it's only natural. Takato gave me an earful when he met you, you know. All about how he could tell who you were by your voice, blah blah blah." Akira speaks while letting a keen glance stretch toward Noiz, head tilting to the side.

"My voice?" Aoba asks distantly. Akira springs up to his feet, ignoring him until Aoba proceeds with another question. "Did we... speak to each other before that day?"

"Mm? Oh, no, not to you." Akira crouches beside Noiz and lifts his chin with a crooked finger. Green eyes glint furiously between the thin cracks of Noiz's lids, as irate as Akira is solemn. Uncaring for his glare, Akira rips the black tape off Noiz's lips in a single brusque motion, the sharp screech like a gunshot in the still air of the kitchen. Aoba's shoulders jump. Noiz's head simply jerks in place, led by momentum.

"I had to take advantage; this is the best possible chance I could get to properly put my curiosity to rest," Akira hums in thoughtful consideration, gazing up at Noiz's shadowed visage. "Not only did I get the sole eye witness to the incident walking right into the palm of my hand, but he brought in the main subject as well. I really can't thank you enough, Noiz."

Akira turns his attention back to Aoba and only then does he rise to his full height, casually draping his forearm over Noiz's shoulders.

"I didn't take Takato too seriously at first, but then the incident at your school happened. Mizuki was clueless, but of course, Takato and I picked up on the implications of Hiroto's coma and memory loss. So let me ask you first. The one who broke into Hiroto's head... it was you, right?"

The question leaves a long, oppressive silence in its wake. Aoba waits for Akira to crack another one of his snarky grins, but his lips remain in a thin line, golden eyes piercing into Aoba's with intent. The two men who were absorbed in their card game until a second ago are now peering at Aoba from the corner of their vision, as though waiting for him to attack Akira or something to that effect.

Noiz's eyes are the only ones turned away from Aoba. Somehow, that doesn't help the cold numbing his skin and the nervous fever burning underneath.

Akira sighs and moves to stand behind Noiz, eyes locked onto Aoba's. "You're going to try and lie to me again, right? Come on, do your worst."

Whether Aoba intends to laugh or make a mocking remark when he manages to open his mouth, what leaves him is a pathetic exhale. His lungs feel too small—or maybe too big in the constricted space inside his ribcage.

This talk of voices, lost memories, breaking into one's head... Aoba can't make heads or tails of it. And yet, he can't find it in him to deny any of Akira's ridiculous propositions. Not when he's being looked at like the wolf in sheep's clothing, and even he feels the smell of blood coming from his hands.

"Didn't you say," Noiz starts, his low voice breaking through Aoba's daze, "you knew all about what happened that day? Why are you making all these stupid questions you apparently know the answers to?"

Noiz is staring at some point over Aoba's head, as though Akira was standing behind Aoba, not himself.

Akira laughs like a doting parent watching his toddler acting silly. Noiz looks as though he's considering biting off Akira's face when he leans down and pushes his cheek against Noiz's, arms coming around his shoulders in a hug.

"Here I thought you lost the ability to speak! You're a little forgetful, though. You'll just let me have my fun; that's what we decided on, right?"

Aoba makes yet another sorry attempt at smiling. "You two are making no sense..."

After unhurriedly taking in the background, Noiz's eyes finally settle on Aoba's face. Luminous green, eerily beautiful and striking him down like a lightning bolt, incapable and unwilling to hide the reality of oncoming storms.

It's always been like this; Noiz's gaze speaks volumes louder than his voice ever could, and there's no relief to it.

A knock resounds in the small kitchen and successfully breaks the heavy silence. Then, more knocks echo out, once again timed in a specific rhythm.

Aoba is frozen under Noiz's gaze, hazel eyes wide. Akira sighs again, seemingly disappointed by the interruption, but the levity of his movements as he leaves his position belies no inner turmoil. On his way to the door, Akira smiles ambiguously at Aoba, giving a light tap to his shoulder.

"No need to get so tense. We're on your side, after all."

The door opens. Sunlight spills into the kitchen again, but with it, comes a long shadow.

"Yuu-chan, took you long en... oh."

Aoba finally looks over his shoulder to see the cause for Akira's surprise. There's a woman at the doorway... but then someone else steps up from behind her. Immediately, Aoba can put a name to the curtains of straight black hair and blank expression.

"Uh, sorry about this, Aki-chan," the woman, Yuu-chan, says coyly, scratching behind her pierced ear.

The tenseness in Akira's shoulders melt away, then he heaves a soundless exhale. He goes on to say, chipper:

"Takato! Good timing, can you get us some melon juice?"

As it turns out, Akira's plan was to keep Noiz away from his own team's eye and have Yuu-chan safely transport him and Aoba in her van to the Western District, since she apparently had some deliveries to make in the area. This is, at least, as much as Aoba pieces together as he boards into the back of the woman's van, alongside a completely silent Noiz.

Most of the plan is going accordingly, except that Takato found them out. After Akira's flippant greeting, Takato simply looked over his leader's shoulder and ordered their two loitering teammates to untie Noiz. They quickly jumped into action, seizing the chance to quietly slip out of the room as Takato instructed Yuu-chan on where to drop Noiz and Aoba off.

Before leaving, Aoba caught a brief glance exchanged between Takato and Akira. Somehow, he was starkly reminded of a mother telling her child they'll "have a talk" when they get home through a cold glare alone.

Despite the threat in Takato's chocolate-brown eyes, Akira gave a light wave of his hand as they left, one corner of his lips lifted up cheekily. The apartment door closed, just like that.

"Might get pretty bumpy here and there, you know this place's grade-A pavement," Yuu-chan tells Aoba with a toothy grin, one hand on the van's door. However youthful she is, Aoba can tell she's definitely much older than all of them, probably in her thirties.

"Sorry for the trouble. Thank you for giving us a ride, Yuu... Yuu-san" Aoba says with a curt bow of his head. Yuu-chan waves her hand with a carefree laugh.

"It's Yuuko, boy. Don't worry, I'm just doing a favor for my stupid nephew."

She drops a heavy hand on Aoba's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. Just like that, he's left with that random piece of information on his lap as the woman slams the doors shut.

A look around the inside of the van reveals quite a few nondescript cardboard boxes, all sealed shut with adhesive tape. Aoba and Noiz wordlessly move around to opposite sides of the stuffy room, settling down under the tinted windows. Dim daylight scatters over their heads, illuminating what little it can of each one of them.

The engine revs up. Aoba's gaze falls on Noiz's hands as he brushes a distracted thumb over his pulse point, over the red marks left by the ropes.

"I'm sorry," Aoba blurts out, "I should've tried to untie you as soon as I got there."

Noiz's only answer is a barely audible scoff. Aoba furrows his brow and bites his tongue at the question of "did I say anything funny?" waiting to leap off it. After the incident on Aoba's birthday, isn't it embarrassing to just keep going at each other's throat like this?

Except that, apparently, Aoba wasn't properly present for a very key moment of their last encounter; the very reason why Noiz looked at him the way he did at Akira's apartment.

After a week of listlessness and walking in circles, the questions surrounding that day had ebbed away from the forefront of Aoba's mind. They gave space to his more trivial problems, like homework for Golden Week and his task as Heibon Repair Shop's sole caretaker in Haga-san's absence.

He's been lulled into a false sense of security, which made the impact of Akira's forceful interrogation that much heavier. In one fell swoop, he's falling down the familiar spiral of questions; what happened while he was unconscious? The words he heard in the darkness were words truly said by him? Whatever happened to Hiroto, whatever was apparently caused by him, was it something natural? Is he still the person he was before it all happened?

In the center of the spiral, it all connects to a single question.

Was he ever who he thought he was?

Aoba can't tell how many seconds and minutes have slipped by while he got lost in his own winding thoughts. As he navigates this maze, seeing the same walls and same corners, entrapped in an illusion of stillness, time is passing and the van is still bumping up and down the streets. Aoba has never been the introspective type, but it's the first time he can't bear to look inside himself.

There's muffled honking outside; Yuuko's cussing can be heard coming from the front of the car. When Aoba looks up, Noiz still has his vision dropped low, ignoring his presence. Slowly, Aoba sets his shoulders, blinking at the boy.

"How's your head?"

Noiz raises his gaze to Aoba's face, but doesn't respond with words; instead, he lifts a single eyebrow.

"You had your head hurt before, right?" Aoba elaborates, though it feels unnecessary for him. "That day at school."

"It's fine."

There's finality to his voice, cutting off communication as swiftly as the sharp snap of scissor blades. While Aoba is looking at him, inadvertently earnest and searching, Noiz is peering down at his hands again.

"Ah..." Aoba clears his throat, tries again with a brittle, purposeless smile. "I'm glad. That looked pretty bad, then. There was a lot of blood, and when H-Hiroto showed up..."

Aoba pauses, lets a single breath leave him, and his fake smile ultimately crumbles under the weight of the memories. This time, Noiz is warily observing him and Aoba lets his own gaze slip down to his open palms, settled on his folded legs.

Aoba's hands seem to always be reaching out—to pull Noiz up from certain fall, to forcefully grasp it bloody and sweaty—while Noiz's hands are always pushing Aoba away. For once, in that empty classroom, Noiz let Aoba get a little bit closer.

It was so different from the entrance ceremony day. At that time, Aoba was afraid to watch some boy, a stranger, die in front of him. Afraid of the responsibility, the guilt that wouldn't let him sleep for days.

This time, seeing Noiz's body sagging in Hiroto's hold...

A little closer. Still too far away.

"That was scary. If something happened to you, I-"

"You really are so..."

At those simmering words, the thin thread of thought Aoba's been holding onto slips off his fingertips, texture long-forgotten when his eyes flicker up to Noiz's. A shudder rides up Aoba's spine; his gaze is razor-sharp, puncturing through Aoba's in low-boiling fury. In the dim lighting, his piercings glint as bright as his livid green eyes.

Entrapped like prey, Aoba only stares as a calloused hand reaches for him and fists at the collar of his shirt, pushing him down.

He's slammed against the wall, and while his sanctimonious grin is unbeatable, the impact does yank a pained grunt out of him. Takato's mouth is twisted in a snarl, his fingers clutched so tightly to the collar of Akira's shirt they tremble.

Akira looks down. Takato's knuckles are twitching, nudging at his collarbones through fabric.

"So, this is how I finally get you to punch me?" Akira teases.

Unsurprisingly, Takato ignores him and growls, his scowl closing in on Akira's sneer. "Why would you bring them into your house? Can't you tell how dangerous this is?"

Their noses are brushing. Akira lets out a faint snort, which fans over Takato's face.

"I had to see things for myself, it was too interesting. That guy even got you to sing his praises, but... honestly, I don't see why you were so stunned."

"You wouldn't see it, idiot. Thank your lucky stars you didn't get to see Scrap in action and you weren't the target."

Akira leans his head to the side, giving a half-hearted shrug. "I guess you're right. But don't you think we had to meet, sooner rather than later? Since our fathers were comrades in the front line."

Takato huffs and lets go of Akira's collar, eliciting a pout from the other boy. Pensive, light-brown eyes stray away from golden ones and trace across a wall.

"That man didn't have comrades, Akira."

Takato's gaze is lost somewhere Akira can't think of ever reaching. Peering at him by a side-long glance, Akira bites his tongue and contents himself with a bitter smile.

"Wouldn't you know."

Aoba winces; the back of his head hit hard against the floor of the cargo. He blinks through the ache vibrating all around his skull.

Above him, the faint light pouring through the window has vanished, leaving only darkness in its wake. The floor rattles under his shoulder blades. Aoba blinks once more, then twice, disoriented. Is he blacking out...?

No, he quickly realizes as sharper lines and colors surface from under oppressive shadows. It's like he's coming out of a nearly unconscious state, coming back to reality once again, except said reality is steadily bearing down on him.

Green eyes flash down at Aoba, fury and frustration and something just a bit too far from Aoba's reach swirling in Noiz's glare as he pins the third-year down.

"Noiz-"

"Shut up," Noiz interrupts Aoba, fist clutching the collar of his shirt. Despite his agitated look, his voice is as steadfast as always, quiet unrest boiling within. "Why didn't you stop this whole act yet? Why are you even here?"

Aoba swallows. "Wh- wasn't you the one who called me here?!"

Noiz let out a scoff. "Of course not. That bastard Akira bribed me into a stupid bet; he just used me to get to you. I didn't expect you to be stupid enough to actually follow him back."

"A bet?!" Aoba brings a clenched fist to Noiz's chest, trying to put some distance between them. The blond boy doesn't budge, despite Aoba's unrelenting punches. "What kind of fucking bet did you two make? I can't believe I came all the way here to-"

"After capturing me, he started talking about what happened when Hiroto attacked me. About what you did." As he speaks, Noiz keeps a steady gaze on Aoba, whose punches stutter to a stop. "Akira told me the same things as when you were there; you broke into that guy's mind with a single word. It was clear he knew more."

"I can't... that's impossible..."

Noiz pays no heed to Aoba's muttering. "I wanted to pull that information out of him. Akira kept on going on and on about how he wanted to see you, how you would definitely show up if he said I was in trouble. I told him you wouldn't." Noiz exhales harshly, something between amusement and exasperation.

"We made the bet around then. If you didn't show up, it'd be my win and I could get him to spill everything. If you showed up, he'd win and he could do whatever he wanted. That bastard was just humoring me; I only realized it later on."

Aoba's eyes wander away for a moment before returning to Noiz. His voice is hoarse, slow. "Akira made it seem like you were hurt... Of course I would show up."

"Why would I count on you for anything?" Noiz throws at his face, cold and removed. "Especially after that day. You don't have any reason to play the goody-two-shoes around me anymore; I had quite a view to what you can do."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what it is, or you wouldn't look like this."

"I don't know! I don't remember anything!" Aoba yells, unthinking of whether Yuuko can hear him outside. In the silence that follows he lets out a heavy breath, shielding himself in the darkness behind his tightly shut eyelids.

"... Then, maybe you want to refresh your memory." 

Aoba opens his eyes as Noiz makes quick work of grabbing his wrists and holding them over his head. The third-year struggles, but his legs are immobilized as well.

"What are you doing?! Oi-!"

One strong hand tethers Aoba's wrists to the ground and the other moves to his neck.

"You reacted to Hiroto attacking you," Noiz says conversationally, as smooth as his fingertips and its predatory movements. They press down against his airways, only enough for Aoba to feel the pressure and shudder, treasuring every inhale and exhale.

"One word from you and he was on his knees screaming before dropping limp to the floor. It was quite the show."

"Stop that, Noiz-!" Aoba grunts as Noiz tightens his grip, his contorting body falling limp as to save his breath.

"You'll do the same thing if I'm the one attacking you, right?"

Aoba watches, giving stuttered and shallow breaths, as Noiz's hand swiftly moves away from his neck to grab a handful of his hair, staring down at him.

It's in his grasp, but he never pulls. Noiz blinks down at him, eyes narrowing.

Aoba breathes in and takes the chance; he pushes himself up with all the strength he can gather and bodily shoves Noiz off him. He braces himself for the pain of him pulling at his hair, but it never comes. Noiz loosens his hold as he's pushed away, being the one this time to fall on his back on the floor.

Contrary to Noiz, however, Aoba doesn't crowd him. Instead, he crawls back to where he was sitting before he was sent grappling to the floor, pushing himself farther away from Noiz. Aoba hugs his knees to his chest, the feverish heaving subsiding as adrenaline leaves him.

"I did that because I was afraid you were really going to die," Aoba says after a while. No matter how blurry his memories of the incident are, this one thing... only this, it rings true to Aoba.

It's hard to swallow. A part of Aoba has inadvertently expected, hoped that after what happened on his birthday, the next time he saw Noiz would be different. Ever since he woke up with the bruises from standing up to Hiroto, ever since he learned how Ren and Clear found him... and ever since he learned Noiz's real name. Since then, Aoba has wanted to see Noiz, talk to him, experiment the difference he thought sparked from that moment.

If anything changed, it was for the worst. And it may just be Aoba's own fault.

Noiz keeps quiet for one long minute. Then, low and accusingly, "Pretty sure of yourself for someone who doesn't remember anything."

"I remember the word, only that. I never.... I didn't know. I don't. Even if I don't know how I did it, don't know what I even did... I know exactly why I did it." Aoba's gaze slides to the side, finding Noiz and pinning him with a chilling glare. Noiz blankly looks back at him.

"You know that too, don't you? That's why you called my brother to help me."

In Aoba's heart, it's the last thing he can hold on to, the most meaningful. A palpable sign that Noiz listened to him, that his feelings reached Noiz and he realized that he doesn't need to isolate himself anymore. People can care about him genuinely, and he can care about them, as well, not because he's receiving something, but because he wants to.

In Aoba's heart, it's a hand reaching out to Noiz, asking for confirmation. Out of his lips, it's reduced to a bitter retort, a blade to his neck. Like it isn't as important as it really is for Aoba.

Noiz sits up slowly, scoots back to the other side of the cargo. They're back to the positions they occupied just as the doors had closed on them, like they had never moved. Once again, only the croaky hum of the engine and tires protesting at the irregular asphalt accompany them, no word fitting into the large space between them.

"From now on, make sure to stay away from me," it's Noiz's answer, at last. Aoba raises his head slowly, staring at him.

These are not unfamiliar words coming from Noiz. The very first time they met, Noiz said something to this effect. Don't show up in front of me again.

Aoba drops his sight, his arms slide off his knees. Maybe he should feel the words have no weight, given their repetition. Instead, they're stronger for it—this time, not between two strangers, but between two people who know each other.

In the dark, Aoba's hand grasps at nothing.

Chapter Text

For days and weeks, Aoba has been turning Akira's and Noiz's words in his head. The cruel ones, the absurd ones and the ones that are making more and more sense as he mulls them over.

"The one who broke into Hiroto's head... it was you, right?"

Aoba clutches his elbow, arms folded on the desk. It makes sense, it does, but it still feels like it belongs in a realm far beyond the reach of his comprehension. The only hard fact he has in his hands is that, as he initially thought, Noiz wasn't the one to knock Hiroto out. And of course it hadn't been him; but who could it be under normal circumstances?

Ren's incredulous expression and Granny's pursed lips race through his mind and Aoba locks himself up even further. More and more, Aoba is alienated, pushed out of his own world. What would they think if they found out about the less-than-normal circumstances under which Aoba apparently caused a man to enter a comatose state by vocal command alone? Maybe they're already thinking of it. Aoba is starting to regret ever mentioning his vague memories of the incident.

It's still clear in his mind, that green, half-lidded gaze, pushing him down, below his line of sight.

"Stay away from me."

Aoba nibbles at the thin skin of his bottom lip, faintly registering the taste of blood. Whatever happened, however he looked when he wasn't conscious, he can't reprehend Noiz for seeing that part of him up close and wanting distance. Well, no matter how hard he thinks about these things, none of it feels real.

"Oi!" The hiss is accompanied by a painful prod at Aoba's arm, jostling him back to reality. He's in his classroom, having apparently zoned out in the middle of English period. 

Startled, Aoba bangs his knee under the desk, letting out a soft swear under his breath. While some of his classmates peer behind themselves with raised eyebrows, the teacher doesn't pay him any mind and keeps scribbling on the black board. Like many others, she came from the mainland to work and tries to keep her distance from the problematic Old Residential District's youth as much as possible.

The culprit, Mizuki, has a weird, disgruntled look in his face when Aoba turns to give him a glare.

"What's wrong with you?" Aoba hisses back at his friend.

"You mean what's wrong with you! Come back to planet Earth, astronaut."

"You little-"

The slow chime signaling the end of the period interrupts Aoba's slew of poorly-chosen insults. It's also the start of lunchtime, so the classroom erupts into joyful whoops and boisterous conversations, impossible to disentangle from one another. In her soft and barely audible voice, the teacher instructs the students to read such-and-such pages of the textbook for their next lecture, but in Class 1 surely her directions fly over most kids' heads.

As per usual, Mizuki pulls his chair next to Aoba's desk as he retrieves his lunch box from under it.

"I'm serious, Aoba. Can't you see everyone's worried about you?"

"Everyone..." Aoba huffs out in an aborted laugh, absentmindedly opening his box and clicking the tips of his chopsticks. "Who are you talking about?"

"Everyone! Tae-san, Ren, even Koujaku noticed, and that's the guy who walked around a whole day with one less eyebrow and didn't miss it!

"Well, it's not like he could see it-"

"You've had your head in the clouds for weeks already, Aoba."

"Mm..."

Finding himself rudely ignored, Mizuki dexterously plucks a tiny octopus-shaped sausage from his friend's lunch box. Aoba squawks, affronted.

"Look, Ren is even going to the trouble of cooking you these little cute things to cheer you up," Mizuki points out, flicking the sausage into his waiting mouth and seemingly eyeing the other small, red octopi. Aoba moves the lunch box away from him with a scowl that's just a tad bit exaggerated

"That's not it. And I don't need cheering up, idiot, I just... have a lot to think about, lately."

"Huhhh..." Mizuki side-eyes Aoba suspiciously. "Worried about post-graduation plans or something?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Aoba lies through his teeth.

Mizuki rests his chin on his palm. A paper airplane whizzes by his left ear. "Ehh, I thought you were happy to work for Hage-chan forever, though..."

"Oi, don't call him 'Hage'... Anyway, I'm still thinking it over."

Aoba feels a vibration in his pants' pocket just as Mizuki hums pensively and snatches another sausage from his lunch box, seizing the opportunity offered by his friend's distraction. On Aoba's phone, a text message notification pops up innocently in the lock screen, but the sender's name drags a sigh out of him. He opens it.

From: Clear

[12:50pm] I just wanted to let you know that Wilhelm-kun came to school today! I know you said you didn't need to know about him anymore, but you've done a lot for him, so you must feel reassured when you know he's okay, right? (｡･ω･｡)

"Ohhh." Aoba jumps at the gush of hot air against the shell of his ear and glares at Mizuki, tilting his phone screen away from the redhead's prying eyes. Mizuki is undeterred, however. "So after all that buzz, you're avoiding even your darling dearest."

"What darling... I'm not avoiding him. Don't you think it's creepy to be reported on whether he's coming to school or not? Clear is being too weird about it."

Mizuki shrugs and plops back down on his seat, cheeks full like a chipmunk's. Aoba gives up on saving his remaining sausages. "I guess it's weird. But you're acting much weirder, so..."

"Leave me alone, Mizuki."

"So it's because you're fighting, after all?! Make up with him already, fighting is no good!"

Aoba half-heartedly kicks Mizuki's leg, prompting a bark of laughter from him. Soon he's stringing them into another topic of conversation and, giving one last glance to Clear's message, Aoba pockets his phone. No more thoughts of Noiz; they only serve to bring into first plan how confused Aoba feels deep inside.

Noiz closes the door behind him as he enters the flat. From the entrance, he can see bright light coming from the living room and spilling into the corridor; the windows must be open. He lets his stare linger for one more second before turning towards his room.

The curtains are draped over his windows just as he left them. Silent and unrushed, Noiz flicks the light switch on and drops his bag at the foot of his bed, changing out of his uniform and into comfortable loungewear. The quiet but persistent grumbling of his stomach prompts Noiz to leave his room and head to the kitchen.

Of course, he's not at all surprised when a hand shoots out of the corner when he reaches the end of the corridor. One fraction of a second away from making a grab for his head, Noiz ducks under it and pulls at his attacker's wrist, twisting it behind his back and pushing him roughly chest-first against the wall.

"Ow... you're no fun anymore, too sharp," Trip mock-complains, head turned sideways with his cheek pressed to the wall.

"You always leave the windows open when you're alone at home." And when you're alone, you're bored, Noiz doesn't say; it's common knowledge to the two of them. When Virus is not around, Trip can't sit still for more than ten minutes, which usually makes him turn to Noiz for entertainment.

"Mmm, I'll keep that in mind."

Noiz's hold becomes strained as Trip puts force in the opposite direction, pulling away. The boy grits his teeth; in a showdown of sheer physical strength, he'd never win against Trip. So he releases his grasp on the man's wrist and jumps three or four wide steps away, standing in guard.

Trip turns slowly, rubbing at his reddened wrist with leering eyes but a flat line in his lips. He makes his way to the white couch and Noiz keeps his distance, watching his movements like one would do a wild animal. "Welcome home, Wim. You're early."

Noiz narrows his eyes at the pet name. Trip plops down on the cushions with a groaned sigh, arms draped over the back of the couch. His gaze is trained on Noiz's reaction and seemingly approves of it, his piercing blue eyes glittering faintly.

"Speaking of that, little Theo called."

"Theo?" Noiz's frown deepens. Where is this coming from? There's no way his parents would allow that. Leaving the living room for the small kitchen beside it, he scoffs, "You're lying."

"Not lying," is Trip's simple sing-song reply, navigating slightly muffled through the wall. Noiz pulls a slice of leftover pizza and a can of soda out of the fridge. "I don't know the full story, but poor thing, he was crying. I can't take that kind of thing, so Virus talked to him." Noiz walks out of the kitchen and Trip looks at him from over the back of couch, an easy grin in his lips. "You can ask him later, if you want."

Noiz blinks slowly at him with a single brow raised, unimpressed. Funny how Trip will say he "can't take that kind of thing" as if it affects him emotionally in any way other than making him irritated to the point of flipping out. Noiz sits at the dinner table and opens his can, taking long swigs of grape-flavored soda before turning his attention back to Trip.

"And where is he? Virus."

"Mmm, he's working."

Noiz takes a bite out of his pizza. "No, he's not. I was supposed to have class with him today. They said he took a sick day."

Trip doesn't look at him, typing something into his phone. "I didn't mean work for the school. It's for your father."

The soda sloshes inside the can when Noiz flinches, jaw locking. At long last, Trip's eyes slide to the side to peruse him, half-lidded.

"By the way, you're having the flat to yourself tonight. You have to take care of it, yeah? If we come back and the place was ransacked, I'll beat you to a pulp."

Noiz narrows his eyes, recovered from his earlier shock. First, Virus is busy with work relating to his father and now Trip is saying they're spending the night out. They could just be planning to hit a love hotel or something, but Noiz is well aware that these two don't have that kind of consideration for him.

No, Noiz has a good idea of what they may be doing without having to ask, which he knows would be a fruitless endeavor.

"This is the safest apartment complex in Midorijima, shouldn't you know that?" Noiz wonders aloud, instead, raising one eyebrow.

"This island is a dangerous place, even here in the Platinum District. You wouldn't know, little brat," Trip drawls, prompting a contemptuous snort from Noiz. The man turns to regard him fully and there's a dangerous tilt to his grin.

"Anyway, I'm bored. Spar?"

Noiz stares at him. Sparring is something they started doing even before they left Germany; Virus side-eyed Trip but wouldn't stop them until things were going out of control. Not for any deeper reason other than the fact that he hated cleaning after them; Trip's irresponsibility and Noiz's relentlessness made for a bad mix that more often than not resulted in broken furniture and bloody scrapes. The habit still remains now, and while it's only because Trip has a lot of fun pushing him around, that's the only way a sheltered kid like Noiz was able to learn how to fight and fend for himself.

Quite the useful skill, if he is to live by himself as soon as he can escape the clout of his father's never-ending reach.

Abandoning his half-empty soda can, Noiz gets to his feet. "Alright."

"Mizuki, you can leave," says a voice from a few steps to the side, approaching the lower steps of the staircase where the Dry Juice leader is sitting. Mizuki turns his attention to the one speaking; his right-hand man, Sakazaki.

"I meant to stay for night rounds, though?"

Sakazaki shakes his head. "You stayed the last two nights already. Don't worry; Nobu, Makino, Satoru and I will be on it."

Mizuki furrows his brow and opens his mouth to protest, but Sakazaki has a counter-argument ready.

"Michiru-san called me earlier and said that she's manning the store tomorrow and if you come home in the morning again she'll personally put habanero peppers in my food."

After a second of collective silence and careful consideration, they give matching grimaces to each other. She's really gonna do it.

"Maybe that's a sign for you to learn to cook for yourself? Save up some money?" Mizuki suggests with a tentative smile.

"She definitely wouldn't approve of you trying to shoo away a client. Also, take your own advice, will you."

Mizuki ignores the jab at his non-existing cooking skills and gets up with a groan. He pats at the bottom of his pants to brush off the dust and smirks at Sakazaki. "Don't worry, we're successful enough that we'll survive your loss."

"Well, I won't survive the loss of Michiru-san's heavenly tonkotsu ramen, so scram." Sakazaki shoos him away with a flick of his wrist.

"Yeah, yeah. Call me if anything comes up." Mizuki gives a loose wave, not bothering to look back as he disappears into the maze of dark alleys leading home.

The peaceful chirping of crickets and the rustling of stray cats and dogs nosing into dumpsters follow his steps. Tall, irregularly constructed buildings tower over him from all sides, making it hard to look up at the sky. Mizuki pulls his phone out of his pocket and the screen momentarily blinds him, a beacon of light in the darkness.

"Shit, it's past midnight..." Mom must be dead asleep now if she's getting up early. Mizuki sighs. He's probably getting an earful in the morning whether he stays out or not.

CRASH!

The sound of glass shattering breaks the calm hum of the night. It pierces through Mizuki's ears, attuned for the disadvantage of his eyes, and sends his body into immediate alertness. It leaves the silence of deep space in its wake, the crickets and strays going as still as Mizuki's feet on the pavement.  

That... was a bit too close for comfort.

Mizuki's grip on his phone grows tighter. That didn't sound like someone stumbling and breaking a teacup in a nearby kitchen, especially considering the following sounds that reach him. Loud thuds, scratching that sounds suspiciously like furniture being dragged across the floor and voices, too muffled and distant for recognition. Mizuki walks a few careful steps forward, face turned skyward. The only thing he can say for certain is that the noise is coming from above.

Somewhere through the verandas of crooked houses built on top of one another, the moonlight finally peeks into the alleyway. Mizuki's eyes quickly get used to the change of lighting and his gaze sweeps up the buildings for the source of unrest, a specific part of his brain already working through what to tell Sakazaki when he calls his second-in-command.

All thought process comes to a halt, however, when a shadow eclipses the moon, faster than any of the clouds peacefully surrounding it could have and directly above Mizuki.

There's the nearly inaudible swish of long hair beaten by the wind, then a violent impact as Mizuki is roughly shoved into the ground. The phone flies off his hand, lit up screen clattering away into the darkness. The pavement is not at all gentle on his back and it yanks a pained yelp from him—which comes out as more of a hoarse wheeze, because his chest is still being crushed.

Before Mizuki can regain the breath or mental capability necessary for an angry yell or a protest, however, a hand hastily presses down against his lips. His head is still spinning from the sudden clash and for the first time since he heard the glass breaking, he feels truly afraid.

That is, until his vision finally comes into focus and he takes in the features of his attacker. Curtains of long black hair, not a drop of blood in their face and, more importantly, eyes wide with much more panic than Mizuki is feeling at the moment. Then a whisper pushes through dry, pale lips.

"Help me!"

A muffled rattling interrupts the quiet settled over the kitchen; a phone is vibrating on the wooden table. Aoba sighs from his place at the dinner table. Ren peers at him from over his shoulder, hands drowned in soapy white bubbles as he does the dishes at the sink.

"What is it?"

"Clear's been bugging me about Noiz," Aoba mutters, moving his index finger lazily over the screen of his phone.

Ren hums. "Define 'bugging'."

Aoba stretches his arms over the table, cheek pressed to the cool wood as he lets out a whine. "Just... reporting everything he knows about Noiz to me. If Noiz comes to school, if he doesn't, if he hears gossip about Noiz. I don't know what gave him the idea that I want to know."

"Maybe the whole 'jumping blind into danger for him' ordeal?"

"You know, Ren, someday you'll regret being this sarcastic to your brother."

Aoba's phone vibrates with another text. As he turns off the tap and wipes his hands on a towel, Ren notes that, despite complaining, Aoba has yet to block Clear's number and, instead, faithfully reads every message.

"Oh," Aoba breathes out. Ren finishes putting the plates and cutlery to dry and comes up behind Aoba, looking at his phone's screen over his shoulder.

From: Clear

[9:36pm] Did you know Wilhelm-kun didn't win the Rhyme Special Tournament Event? Seems like it came as a surprise to everyone! Since you said this game was a motive for why he was attacked, I thought you'd like to know!

Ren was barely able to finish reading the text before Aoba opened the reply box and started typing.

To: Clear

[9:37pm] do you know who it was? the one who won the event.

"Does it matter?" Ren asks after Aoba sends his reply.

Aoba twists his lips. Ren knows he's biting at the inside of his cheek. "Not really. I'd feel a little, uh, relieved if it was one of those people from Scratch, I think."

The phone vibrates in Aoba's hand and they look down to see Clear's answer.

From: Clear

[9:38pm] Apparently, it was someone called Usui and they only started playing a few weeks ago. I heard Wilhelm-kun was leading for the past two or so months, I suppose that's what they call a dark horse, huh...

Aoba vaguely remembers how Hiroto said his friends were grinding for the prize for months. Well, it's not like having one of them win would guarantee that they'd be satisfied and stay away. The screen fades to black and Aoba drops his gaze.

"I guess it's not one of them."

"You're worried?" Ren asks, not judgmental. Aoba tilts his head to look up at him for a moment, then huffs, getting up from his seat.

"I'm not, not at all! From the start he told me to leave him alone and I'll do just that."

Aoba gives him his back and trots over to the fridge. Ren sighs at his brother's theatrics, but doesn't press the matter. The genuine dejection present in Aoba's weighted eyelids, the gritting of teeth—they keep Ren at bay, despite his increasing worry.

Chapter Text

The thump of a door sliding shut snaps into existence at the center of Mizuki's awareness, a single lit candle in a dark room. Floating in the soothing, restricting comfort of sleep, that sound is completely removed from its real context. Instead, it's the sound of his classroom door closing (for some reason, everyone's is wearing the wrong uniform), the sound of Aoba's chopsticks clicking together as he surveys his lunch box (it's just endless octopi-shaped sausages, and it's not Aoba's face, even though he recognizes the boy as Aoba).

It's the sound Mizuki heard in the dead of the night, well over his head as he's caught up in the spider webs of Eastern District's alleys, a helpless prey. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Knock. Knock, knock, knock.

Mizuki is vertiginously yanked out of blissful unconsciousness. Half-baked dreams disperse in front of his eyes as he springs up like a bent up ruler snapped straight, sitting up in a hurry.

A stabbing pain on the base of his spine keeps him from getting on his feet like he means to. Just in time, the door of his room is pushed open.

Mizuki can only look up at his father's wide eyes and raised brows, his tall and broad figure filling the doorframe. Not nearly awake enough to repossess his mental faculties, yesterday's memories gather over his head, only slightly more real than the dreams he was having one minute ago.

Uselessly and belatedly, Mizuki raises an arm to block his father's vision of the bed behind him.

His dad straightens up and coughs into his fist, a deep crease etched into his forehead. As the world around Mizuki settles down into something familiar and set in the space-time continuum, so does his panic set in and rise. His arm trembles but he doesn't drop it.

"Your, uh, mother is calling you down to help her prep the store before you leave for school," his father explains, gruff, avoiding his line of sight. "Make sure to spoil Miraku a little too, she's sullen today. I thought it was weird that she was sleeping outside your room, but mmm..."

When his father looks at him again, he looks like he's holding back a cheeky grin. Still, it sparkles in his jovial brown eyes. The middle-aged man leans forward, lifts the back of a hand beside his puckered lips and whispers:

"Don't worry; I won't breathe a word about this to Michiru. Just bring the girl over some other time so we can be properly introduced, mm?"

Mizuki's head whips around to look behind himself. He is greeted by the crown of a head poking out from underneath the sheets and long, lustrous black hair spilling over the side of the bed.

The redhead goes cold, an ocean wave of relief, renewed panic and bewilderment washing over his head as his father leaves the room snickering. Mizuki's left staring at his troublesome guest, or at least, the top of their troublesome little head.

I did something really stupid, didn't I?

The sturdy floor is less than gentle on Mizuki's knee, so he goes back to sitting on his ass, facing his hijacked bed as he wipes dried drool from the corner of his mouth. Yes, somehow, he managed to sleep on the floor last night, for the first time in his entire life. His entire body is throbbing, limbs and joints protesting at the night's sleeping arrangements.

Mizuki shakes his head. All because the kid had to black out in his bed as soon as he left the room to get a glass of water. The voice was like a boy's, but the hair and the delicate facial structure was more like a girl's.

More like an angel or some other being of the fantastic, to be frank, but after making Mizuki sleep a whole night on the floor, they weren't about to get showered in praise.

But no, no. Mizuki shakes his head again, scratching his chin with eyebrows knitted in concentration. The kid—and he kept on thinking of them like that despite not being that sure that he was even older—never actually kicked him out of bed. It's just that Mizuki is that much of a cool guy. He wouldn't ever make someone who was shaking on his back as he carried them away sleep on the floor, and he's a gentleman, goddamn it, how disgraceful it'd be to force his way into bed with someone unconscious, even if the bed in question is his.

"What are you doing?"

Mizuki's eyes, which he didn't realize were closed, open up to a face full of the aforementioned otherworldly beauty. At least, it felt otherworldly in the middle of the night, colors washed out in the moonlight and details spared in their blind run.

Now, since he forgot to close the curtains before sleeping, the daylight is shyly peaking through the window, only just warming up in the early morning. Although shy and weak as it crests over the horizon, it's bright. It reflects on the waterfall of silky black hair cascading over his unexpected guest's shoulder, highlighting prominent cheekbones and the curve of their nose. Sunlight drops like a single dime into a dark lake when it meets the pair of darkest brown eyes Mizuki has ever seen.

Otherworldly isn't an accurate description anymore. Another word, which has nothing to do with that person's infuriating beauty, falls into his grasp. How eerily familiar they are.

"Who are you?" They speak up again. Underneath the hoarse quality of those fighting off the claws of sleep, Mizuki can tell how melodious and soft it is a voice.

"Shou... shouldn't I be the one asking?" Mizuki retorts between barely moving lips, low and sullen. "I actually asked yesterday and you refused to answer, remember?"

"Oh... you're right. Sorry, I didn't think it was safe, then." They shift into a more comfortable sitting position, leaning their back against the wall. The sheets are pooled around their hips, and for now, the fabric holds their attention as they draw lines on it with a finger. "I meant to properly talk to you and make sure I was with someone trustworthy. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I'm sorry I made a nuisance out of myself."

The beauty bows their head in apology, a frown plaguing their features. Mizuki scrambles forward, hands clutching at the edge of the bed.

"N-no, not at all! You don't have to apologize, uh..."

They look up, and like the sun outside, a quiet smile breaches through their worried expression.

"I suppose I don't have reasons to doubt you any longer. My name is Sei."

Mizuki's face grows the slightest bit hotter. Just the sun, for sure.

Being beautiful is a thing, but... Aren't they kind of cute as well?

"Sei, I'm Mizuki."

Sei's smile grows wider, though it's still close-lipped. "Mizuki, thank you for helping me."

"O-oh, it was nothing, you would've done the same, I'm sure, haha," Mizuki stammers, scratching the back of his head. It's starting to feel like his face is boiling; a good time to close the curtains, probably.

Sei lets out a sigh and looks around the room. "This is your home?"

"It is, it is."

They nod to themselves. "This place will do until the dust settles."

"Right... Huh?

Sei pushes their hair behind their ear and kneels on the mattress, sticking one leg out and then the other. Mizuki simply watches them, feeling more ignored with each second that trickles down the narrow neck of the hourglass.

They open the window and stand by it, but in a weird position; to the side of it, as though fearing a passerby will spot them. Mizuki's room is in the second floor of the house and his window faces the street. Even though it's not very high, it's unlikely anyone would be peeking up, especially at such an early hour.

A chilly breeze comes in; the sun is hiding behind thick clouds. Sei's hair, which Mizuki now notices reaches as low as their hips, sways ever so slightly in the wind.

"Um, hello?"

They turn halfway around to look at Mizuki. For how much it looked like they were lost in their own world, he's surprised there wasn't even a flinch at the call. Instead, Sei has a light smile and a very refreshed expression altogether.

"I feel I can trust you and this place seems to be reasonably far from my grandfather's home, so I'm choosing to stay with you."

"Woah woah woah, there's a lot to unpack here!" Mizuki gets up on his feet, voice hitching on a wince. His knees have seen better days, for sure. "What is this talk of staying? What's that about your grandfather?!"

"Mmm..." Sei puts their index finger on their chin, a pensive gaze turned to the ceiling. Then, they throw a brilliant smile Mizuki's way, finger slipping to their lips. "Can't tell you yet."

"You just said you trust me!"

"Now, now..."

"And how come you're 'choosing' me? I'm not having much of a choice here!"

Mizuki's frustrated remark is met with silence, made more intense by distant thunders. Sei frowns down at their feet, hands balling into fists.

Taking in their eye-catching good looks, Mizuki knows he wouldn't have seen it once and forgotten about it. Everyone knows everyone in the Old Residential District, especially people of the same age. Not only is Sei a completely unknown sight, they scream of something alien. From their speech pattern down to their sheltered appearance—what kind of teenager in the Old Residential District wears satin pajamas and a night robe?!—Mizuki can tell they must've grown up in a completely different place. Where a person like this could've come from?

"So..."

Mizuki startles and looks up to find Sei staring at him. Piercing into him with a steady gaze, not a trace of his earlier indulgent smile.

"Will you throw me out?"

The well-known beat of rain droplets starts against the tiles, only a drizzle at first, but soon enough it pours, dripping down the slant of the roof. The wind agitates Sei's hair further, pushing Mizuki's disheveled own away from his face. Sei's eyes, however, seem to draw him in, a tide contrary to the wind.

Mizuki averts his gaze, swallowing through a dry throat.

"Of course I won't. I did choose to bring you here, after all."

Through a quick glance, Mizuki can see a smile budding in Sei's face.

"See, that's why you're my perfect choice."

Mizuki lets out an irritated huff, but there's pink blossoming on his cheeks like poppies.

"How long are we talking about, anyway? One, two days?"

"Mmmm, probably one, two weeks?"

Mizuki almost snaps his neck turning to look at Sei's close-lipped, but utterly unapologetic smile. As for him, Mizuki is surprised his eyes haven't popped out yet because no way.

"I'm... supposed to keep you here... for one or two weeks?"

"Yes! No one can know."

"Not even my parents?!"

"That would be ideal. I'm counting on you."

Sei gives a perfect ninety-degree bow with grace befitting of royalty, holding their pristine smile in place. Mizuki is trembling.

They're just a beauty after all. There's not a drop of cuteness there!

"Grandpa, I'm off!"

The kitchen is filled with the aroma and steam arose from coffee. They mingle with the meek sunlight pouring in through the open windows. The old man sitting at the table nursing a fuming teacup waves at Clear, who's wobbling on one foot at a time as he pulls his shoes on.

"I think it's about to rain," his grandfather alerts him in his soft, hoarse voice. It's nearly stifled by Clear's grunts as his shoes are less than cooperative with his efforts.

"It's so bright right now, though?" His shoes are getting too tight; it'll be hard to keep on delaying the purchase of new ones.

"Sometimes, it is when it's too bright that you know rain is coming," the older man says and sips at his coffee. Clear straightens up, his temples sweaty, and frowns at his grandfather. Apparently sensing his confusion, the older man blinks in his direction and smiles warmly.

"You don't have an umbrella. Be careful."

Feeling a little cheated, Clear sighs, but smiles back. "Yeah. I think it'll be fine."

Clear pushes out the door, almost pitching under the unexpected pull of his heavy bag for a moment. After closing it, he skips down a few stone steps to the street and follows into the meandering alleys, gaining distance from the rickety bungalow.

As soon as Clear reaches Aoyagi Street, thunder rumbles overhead. The first-year warily peeks up at the sky, his step quickening subconsciously. Unsurprisingly but unfortunately, his grandfather was correct; the quickly rising sun is being covered up by heavy dark clouds. Even though he's leaving quite early today, Clear wonders if the rain will let him get to school in time. To think he's been steadily keeping his tardy record clean after that first week's mishap...

The thunders grow more frequent; Clear grits his teeth and walks even faster. At the first drops of rain, he starts looking around at the grey buildings of the North District, looking for shelter.

A couple of fellow students run by him in their mopeds. Not for the first time, Clear grieves the fact that he only considers going to the effort of buying a bike at times like these.

Then again, that's big talk for someone who hasn't even bothered to buy an umbrella.

A car horn startles Clear out of his inner lamentations. He thinks of getting out of the way, but blinks in realizing that he's already walking up the edge of the street. A glance to the side reveals an unfamiliar blue car.

The passenger window rolls down and that's when he sees something familiar.

"Clear, is that it? Hop on," Clara says by way of greeting, an easy smile on her lips.

"A-ah, Clara-san, good morning." Clear bows hurriedly, sending a look up to the still fairly distant school. "Thank you, but..."

Clara huffs. She's every piece the image of an impatient princess. "You can't be thinking of refusing. You'll either be tardy or get there sopping wet. Get in."

Her voice is soothing, but there's no space for refusal in her tone. Clear silently obeys.

It's almost a miracle how warm the backseat is. Clear is still marveling at it when he gets a second shock in as many minutes.

"Clear-chan! How've you been doing, boy?" A rich, lilting voice questions from the driver's seat. Immediately, he recognizes it as the school nurse's voice, Yoshie-sensei.

"I-I've been fine, sensei."

"Haven't visited me again after that time, it feels so lonely..."

The pout is audible in her complaint. Clear laughs, not at all fake but with a tinge of nervousness.

"Did your wrist recover well?"

"Yes, it did. Thank you very much." Clear bows his head, even though she's most likely not looking.

"Oh? Did you get hurt recently?" Clara asks and Clear flinches. In Yoshie's overwhelming presence, Clear almost forgot about the third-year.

"He did!" Yoshie promptly answers for him, and Clear is actually thankful for it. "Poor thing, came to the infirmary cradling his hurt hand like it was a little bird. It's a good thing Ren was accompanying him, isn't that right, Clear-chan?"

"Umm, right," Clear agreed with a slight pitch to his voice, shoulders curled inwards.

"I'm not surprised." Clara laughs to herself, graceful. "Ren's so weak to people in need. When we were little, he thought he had to protect everyone. I'm sure you must've noticed how much of a worrywart he is."

Clear laughs shyly. The drops that have been stubbornly beating on the car's windshield are washed away as the rain starts pouring in earnest.

"I used to be envious of Aoba, who's always been the one Ren cares about the most," Clara tells him, her voice taking a wistful tone. "Just kids being kids. I stopped feeling like that when I realized how far he'll go for any of his friends, even me."

"Clara-chan and Ren-chan always did like each other a lot," Yoshie gushes, voice thick and sickeningly sweet.

"Auntie, don't be embarrassing," Clara chides softly. Then, she throws a glance over her shoulder, catching Clear's eye for a flicker of a second.

"How come I don't remember you from middle school and elementary school?"

"Ahh, that's because I was homeschooled," Clear explains, looking out the window as rainwater distorts the image of passing buildings. "I had the option to never properly go to school, but I decided to take the entrance exams for high school."

Yoshie makes a faint sound of surprise, in line with her theatrics. Clara considers his words in silence, then turns her head to look at him again.

"If I may ask, why did you not come to school up to now? Sorry if that's an insensitive question."

Clear shakes his head to relieve her of her worries and smiles forlornly.

"I had to take care of my grandfather."

They reach the gate for teachers and staff. Clara doesn't push the argument and they simply listen to the quiet rumble of the engine as Yoshie parks her car between a black model and a red one.

By this point, the rain still hasn't let up. Clear is just wondering if he'll be able to make a run for it and not get too wet when his door is opened from the outside. Clara waits while holding an umbrella over her head and the open door.

"Come on, we can get to the entrance like this."

Clara impatiently motions for him to move, which Clear does, scrambling out of the seat and ducking under the umbrella's cover. It's barely enough to keep both him and Clara dry.

"U-uhm, thank you!" Clear yells out through the ruckus of the rain, looking over his shoulder to find Yoshie-sensei. He only hears a rich laugh before Clara pulls him towards the school entrance, an arm around his shoulders.

While they do fail to get to the entrance completely dry, the damage is mostly restricted to their shoes and the hem of Clear's pants. Clara partially furls her pink umbrella, shaking off the rainwater. Clear watches her, fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan.

"Thank you..." Clear mutters and hates that he feels so clammed up around Clara when she never gave him reason to.

"No problem. There wouldn't be much meaning to giving you a ride if you had to run uncovered through the rain."

"Right... Thank you for calling out to me, too. You didn't have to."

Clara huffs out a laugh, her smile not unkind. They start moving into the building, and in one sudden snap of realization, Clear notices how tall she is. Clear is used to girls' heads hovering under his shoulder's height, but Clara is almost as tall as he is. That's one reason why she makes such a striking figure, he supposes.

"I'm not the kind of person who would've left you in the rain after seeing you. I wouldn't be able to face Ren, who holds you in such high regard."

A vibrant blush pulses under Clear's skin, coloring his cheeks as shock-pink as the umbrella he was under. His eyes, big as saucers, blink up at Clara. She doesn't mind his gaze, instead letting her own wander.

"The other day, he raved on and on about how hard you work at the council and how thankful he is that you were there when Aoba was hurt. Mind you, he's more of the silent type; you won't catch him spewing praise about just anyone. Which is why he got so embarrassed when I called him out on it!"

Clara laughs, loud and unapologetically. Still, Clear thinks, it seems she couldn't look inelegant if she tried.

When she's done, she lets out a sigh. "Seeing you walking to school reminded me of him. He's so stubborn; refuses to get a bike and refuses rides to school because he 'likes the walk'."

They stop by the shoe lockers and Clara unexpectedly pinches Clear's cheek. The boy gives a stifled yelp of surprise.

"I can tell you really admire Ren, but don't put him in a pedestal. He's as weird and incomprehensible as the next person."

Clara lets him go and waves perkily before turning around the corner, straw-blond hair swishing in the air. While he massages his stinging cheek, Clear reflects on how he's finally seeing the kinship between Yoshie-sensei and Clara.

Aoba blinks, a deadpan expression in his face.

"You look tired." Like his face, his voice is completely flat.

Mizuki sighs mournfully. "Thanks for worrying about m-"

"I'm not worried about a lazy bum like you." Aoba pokes him with the broom he's holding, like Mizuki is a big dead rat he's just found under the sink. In similar fashion, Mizuki is lying on the floor of the classroom, arms and legs spread out.

"Get up and help us clean already. We had three absentees today, you know."

Some of their classmates waddle by them; girls making jabs at Mizuki's uselessness and boys snickering and tossing balls of paper at him like roses to the dead. The redhead is unaffected.

"So unfair, Aoba... You don't know what I've been through," Mizuki drones, hollow eyes lost in some indistinct spot of the ceiling.

"You're sickening."

"Seragaki!"

The grimace drops from Aoba's face and he looks over his shoulder, following the call of his name. He finds one of his classmates beckoning him over to the door.

Aoba drops the broom across Mizuki's torso, ignoring his whine, and walks up to the boy calling for him. The question about to roll off Aoba's tongue halts when he sees a head of white hair behind his classmate.

"Clear..."

"Sorry, Aoba-san," Clear mutters with a hesitant smile, twiddling his fingers absentmindedly. "I thought it'd be rude to call you out myself."

Clear thanks the other third-year, showing one of his textbook bows, to which the boy answers with a carefree wave of his hand and a polite smile before returning to the classroom. Aoba looks over his shoulder for a moment, catching a glimpse of his classmates teasing Mizuki, and turns back to Clear.

"What you were saying...? Ah, about calling out to me. Don't worry about it, no one cares about these seniority rules. But... wait, you have my number."

Aoba is frowning by the end of his sentence and Clear shakes his head.

"I have it, but my phone is not on me. My grandfather needed it."

Aoba stops himself from asking why is Clear sharing phones with his Grandpa. It's not important; Clear evidently sought him out for another reason.

"Okay, remember to tell me that story later. Now, do you need something?"

Clear beams, then shifts his bag to his front, opening and rummaging through it as he speaks.

"See, Wilhelm-kun missed class today. It's the first time since he hurt his head!"

"Yeah, I do know he's not missing classes since you message me every single day," Aoba mumbles, pushing away the anxiety niggling at him.

"That time, I was the one responsible for taking homework and lecture annotations to him. I can't do it today because I have to go straight home and I'll be helping my grandfather until late, so can you take it in my stead?"

Clear takes a thin stack of papers out of his bag and pushes it on Aoba's chest. The third-year grabs the papers numbly, staring down at the copies of Clear's fine handwriting.

"What about your classmates?"

"Well... not everyone in class has Wilhelm-kun in good opinion. Since he's always so withdrawn, some people avoid him completely while others seem to... enjoy watching him from afar and speculating. No one volunteered when I asked them."

Aoba feels a weird mixture of conflicting feelings inside. On one side, he wants to take Noiz aside and shake him because what would you do if Clear wasn't there, you idiot, please, make some friends, he wants to fight and kick his ass because no matter what Aoba says he keeps isolating himself.

On the other side, Aoba wants to redirect this violence to those further isolating Noiz, those having fun gossiping behind his back, but denying him the smallest of kindnesses for no good reason. Aoba wants to apologize to them in Noiz's name, and Aoba wants to keep them away from Noiz because he's right to not give the likes of you the time of day. Can't they see? Can't they see him?

It all tastes bitter in his tongue.

"Why don't you just give it to him tomorrow? Not like he'll need it ASAP," Aoba says weakly. There's no real heat or objection behind Aoba's voice; he's already resolved to do what Clear's asking of him.

Clear smiles kindly. He's realized it. "What are you saying, Aoba-san? A student can't be late even one day with his assignments. You probably don't know, but Wilhelm-kun is a very diligent student."

Aoba sighs, pushing his bangs off his forehead. "Yeah, yeah. Figures, since he's in one of the advanced classes." The stack of papers rustles when he waves it in the air. "I'll take these to Noiz, then. Only after cleanup is finished, though, and it looks like it'll take a whi- Ugh!"

"Hold up, hold up, I heard everything just now," Mizuki drawls, draping himself over Aoba's shoulder. Clear's smile takes a more nervous edge at his sudden appearance. "Aren't those people just cruel? Noiz might be better off not trusting them, after all. "

"I wouldn't go as far as saying they're cruel, but..."

"Mizuki, you bastard, get off-"

"It's a good thing he has Aoba." Mizuki turns his head to catch Aoba's side-glare. "You can go now. I'll do your share and mine."

"With this kind of energy?" Aoba grits out, a hand braced on the doorframe. Mizuki is hanging off of him with all his weight; he'd fall face-first into the floor if Aoba stepped away.

"I've been revived by the strong Shoujo vibes coming off you two. I can't wait for the part you catch Noiz rescuing a stray cat in the rain."

Aoba thinks twice of moving away and letting Mizuki crack his skull. Perhaps sensing imminent danger, Mizuki finally peels off his back.

"How am I supposed to get there, anyway? I've never been to his place. If it's in the Old Residential District I can find it easily if you just give me a reference."

"Umm, no, it's here, in the Platinum District."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Mizuki comments. Somebody yells for them to stop skipping on cleanup and Mizuki brushes them off with a wave of his hand. "He doesn't really look like a rich kid, but doesn't look like someone who's been in the streets a lot either. Why the hell does he wander around the Old Residential District, though?"

Aoba lets out a heavy sigh, feeling prickly. "Well, I don't really know left from right in this place, so unless you give me a map or something..."

"Oh, I can draw you a map!" Clear chirps, then starts taking something else out of his bag... a sketchbook.

Mizuki and Aoba watch in mild curiosity as Clear uncaps a black marker with his teeth. Holding the sketchbook tilted away from their eyes, the first-year starts scribbling on the paper, humming a song under his breath all the while.

Not even three minutes later, Clear puts the cap back on the marker and rips the paper sheet out of his sketchbook, offering it to Aoba. Mizuki peers over his shoulder and they study the map together.

"This is... actually impressive," Mizuki says, eyebrows raised. Clear laughs sheepishly.

"I had to make this trip a couple of times when Wilhelm-kun was recovering from his injury, so..."

Aoba nods. "Well, this will have to be enough. I'll just get my stuff and go."

"Thank you, Aoba-san!" Clear says as Aoba goes to retrieve his bag and store the notes for Noiz inside.

Aoba says something to the effect of "don't mention it," before his voice is drowned out by their classmates, who immediately start to nag him when they realize he's leaving. Aoba slips out the door as Mizuki tries to pacify everyone with an easy smile.

"Ah! I forgot to tell Aoba-san," Clear blurts out, eyes wide at his own forgetfulness. Despite his classmates' yapping, Mizuki catches it.

"What is it?"

"I meant to tell him to be prepared for either Wilhelm-kun or his relative opening the door. Nothing too important, just so he won't get a scare."

"I'm sure Aoba is prepared to see Noiz's dad or mom. Woah, nevermind," Mizuki backpedals quickly, "I just thought of how weird the idea is. I can't imagine his parents at all."

Clear shakes his head, looking down. "I didn't see Wilhelm-kun's parents there. And his relative... he doesn't really look like Wilhelm-kun at all."

Aoba pushes his bike into the streets of Platinum District, feeling more and more like a kid lost in the woods and heading right into the witch's lair, the open mouth of the beast. The people walking around here are obviously well-off, adults and teens alike. Reflected on the window panes of pretentious stores, well-dressed couples roam up and down the sidewalks, some holding the hands of a child between them. In some instances, the child follows quietly. In others, the child is rowdy and uses their parents' grip as handles, leaping forward every few steps.

Sweat clings to Aoba's temples and the back of his neck. The more he ventures into the clean and pristine district, the harder it is to ignore the nausea that swirls at the bottom of his stomach. It's a familiar feeling; it will usually be brought to surface just by looking through his room's window at night, glimpsing the distant lights from the Platinum District's amusement park. The spotlights dance on the clouds and paint them pink and purple.

Until now it was never unbearable, but the farthest he has ever gone into this district is his high school, after all. Even in his first year, when he went into the Platinum District for the first time, it wasn't easy. Aoba sighs; he'll just have to push his limits again.

It's just because I know what this place used to represent and what it represents now, Aoba tells himself, catching a side-view of the amusement park through the passing buildings like a flip book, the huge Ferris wheel at its center turning slowly. Aoba wonders if they bar the entrance of people from the Old Residential District, just like it happens in some stores at the shopping mall and their fanciest five-star restaurants.

Sooner rather than later, Aoba finds his way to the apartment complex Noiz lives in. It's a white giant quite nearly touching the clouds, glass windows like sprinkles of glitter reflecting the mid-afternoon sunlight. Most balconies exhibit small gardens, displaying the eco-friendly architecture that's favored in most of Platinum District.

Aoba chains his bike to the metal railing surrounding a flowerbed because he didn't see a single bicycle parking rack nearby and he will not go looking after one. After walking up to the building and, once again, checking if he has the right apartment number, Aoba rings it up.

The intercom screen remains black, but a male voice comes through. "What is it?"

Aoba scrambles for a moment, his anxiety peaking at the roughness of the other person's voice and words. That's not Noiz's voice.

"U-uh, I'm from No- Wilhelm-kun's school, I have lecture handouts for him," Aoba stammers out, hating how squeaky his voice has gone with nerves.

"Ohh... Fine. Climb up."

It's all the voice says before the glass doors slide open. Aoba scurries into the building, fearing the doors will close on him if he's not fast enough. After stiffly greeting the receptionist, he enters the elevator and absentmindedly presses the button for Noiz's floor.

After more awkward greetings and once-overs in the elevator, Aoba stumbles out into the twentieth floor, near the very top of the building. A lot of natural light pours into the hallways and it still feels claustrophobic. Stopping in front of the door, Aoba breathes in, out, and raises his fist.

He doesn't get to knock. The door opens.

A blond man, taller than him by an entire head and with arms as thick as two of Aoba's own, is looking down at him. His eyes, as blue as the cool bottom of a pool in the hottest day of summer and just as damning, widen for a moment before falling half-lidded again.

"Hello," the man says, soothing like a velvet glove against Aoba's throat.

Chapter Text

"Good afternoon." Aoba gives a polite bow. He's surprised and relieved he didn't stammer; thankfully, his store-clerk mode kicked in. At least a greeting he won't mess up.

"I was expecting the mousy kid from last time. Who would've thought Wilhelm had so many friends?" The man gives a quiet laugh and opens the door wider, giving space for entry. "Come on in, I'll call Wilhelm."

A shallow frown clouds Aoba's features, but he does as the man say, glancing at him as he walks by.

What this man said... was it said with a teasing, older brother-like intention? Somehow, it carried a bit too much sarcasm to fit the bill. The man has a smirk in his face, which seems to bring out the sharpness of his jaw. In truth, he is all sharp angles, the line of his nose and cheekbones cut like expertly chiseled marble.

Only now does Aoba realize he's never given much thought to Noiz's life in home, completely away from the public eye. After Ren told him about Noiz being alone in the entrance ceremony, he always thought of Noiz living alone, but that's not realistic. He's only a fifteen-year-old kid (or sixteen already, for what he knows), there's no way he'd survive on his own. Now, he can see it.

The man closes the door behind them and Aoba gets one more glance in. He does look as foreign as Noiz does. However, there's no way they're as closely related as being brothers; the facial structure is wholly different, the shape of their eyes especially. His hair is blond like Noiz's, but it's the wrong shade.

Not at all resembling Noiz. Yet, that shade of blond and that shade of blue in his eyes...

Blue eyes and blond hair are a common combination for western people; nothing to get caught up on. Aoba nods to himself, but the thought echoes in the back of his mind.

After taking off his shoes, Aoba is conducted through a dimly lit hallway and expects them to go straight to Noiz's room. However, when they reach the end of the hallway, they're facing a minimalist, warmly illuminated living room.

"Sit down. I'll get some coffee." The man grins, and it doesn't look like his lips can curve in any way that won't make him look mischievous. Aoba hesitantly sits down on the pristine white couch.

Waiting, Aoba taps his fingers on his knee as he looks around the room. There's a flat-screen TV recessed into the wall directly in front of him, displaying a cooking show. Since it's muted, Aoba can't hear what the chef is saying she's preparing. There are curtains covering the wall to his left side, and cupboards to his right. Nowhere does Aoba see portraits or photos.

Twisting to look behind himself, Aoba sees the space doubles as a dining room as well, curtains covering the back wall as well. The blond man reappears around the corner directly in front of the dainty dining table, probably coming from the kitchen.

"Thank you," Aoba mutters, taking his cup of coffee. It's light brown with a heavy white cloud.

"You don't have a problem with cream, do you?"

Aoba shakes his head, keeping a confused smile from surfacing. Normally, people will bring it black, right...?

The blond sips on his own coffee, which Aoba notes he's taking with cream, as well. As soon as he lowers the cup, a subtle grin is back on his lips.

"I didn't get your name, Mr. Classmate."

Aoba straightens up. "I'm Seragaki Aoba. I'm not Wilhelm's classmate, in fact... I'm a third-year."

"Ohh, a senpai, then," the man marvels, a sparkle in his eye. "To even bring an upperclassman to our doorway... That Wilhelm is impossible to figure out."

"Um, and where is he...?" Aoba wonders aloud, grateful an opportunity to bring it up without sounding impolite presented itself. They passed by a few doors in the hallway; Aoba wonders if one of them opened to Noiz's room.

"He's in his room, barely showed his face today." He shrugs and Aoba wonders if Noiz even knows he's here. The phone he assumes belongs to the older man has been on the coffee table since Aoba sat down.

"Aoba," the man addresses casually and the student can't help the alarmed look that takes over his face. He wasn't prepared for the sudden familiarity. "Your hair is interesting. How did it get to be like that?"

Aoba gives a nervous laugh and pinches a strand of his hair self-consciously. "Interesting?"

"The color. Isn't it actually lighter on the tips?"

The man is still talking, but a door on the corner of Aoba's vision opens and his attention is helplessly drawn to it, to the edge of the dark hallway. The other man falls silent as well, following his gaze. His music teacher, Virus, stops in the doorway, blinking in mild surprise at Aoba.

 "... Ohh, right. Maybe Aoba is one of your students?" The other blond interrupts the awkward silence, leaning forward in interest.

"Somehow... I feel like I should apologize," Aoba mutters, dropping his gaze. It feels too much like he's invading his professor's privacy; Virus' hair is dripping and he's wearing a maroon bathrobe, clearly fresh out of a shower.

Then, it hits him. Just as he thought, the man who received him at the door is somehow related to Virus, and—the subsequent connection he should've made immediately, really—Virus is related to Noiz. Aoba runs through all of the two-hundred words exchanged between him and Noiz to find whether he should've figured this out earlier.

"Although I feel I'm losing some important context here," Virus starts, drying his hair with a white towel, "you don't need to apologize to me, Seragaki-kun. I believe you didn't come here looking for me...?"

"Oh, no. I didn't know you lived here, sir. I'm bringing lecture notes to Wilhelm-kun in his classmate's behalf."

"And Trip is taking up your time, I see. My apologies," Virus sighs, tossing a withering glance the other man's way.

"Did you know Wilhelm has not only one friend, but two? I was impressed." Trip pressed his cheek against his palm with a lazy grin, elbows braced on his knees. "Don't you think we have to make a good impression?"

"You're not doing a good job of it, apparently."

"That's because you only got here now."

"You two look like twins," Aoba finds himself muttering, almost captivated by their banter. They hear him.

"We're not twins," Virus and Trip answer in perfect unison. Aoba would think he struck a nerve, but their firmness never bleeds into exasperation.

Virus sighs again. "Trip, call Wilhelm at once. I'm sure Seragaki-kun doesn't have all day to drink coffee and chat with you."

Trip pushes himself off the couch with a grunt. Aoba goes to pick up his cup of coffee for the first time in what feels like ages, but he catches a glimpse of Trip closing in on Virus, as though kissing him on the cheek. Virus half-heartedly punches him on the arm and Trip leaves the room. The coffee feels tepid at best on Aoba's tongue.

"I had no idea you were on such good terms with Wilhelm, Seragaki-kun," Virus comments, casually taking Trip's cup of coffee from the center table. He wrinkles his nose at the surface briefly, but ultimately sips on it.

"I wouldn't call them good, per say." Aoba laughs, bashful. "There hasn't been a single time we talked to each other and he didn't tell me off."

Virus stares down at the cup with a light smile, stirring it in circular motions. "Still, you care enough to visit him."

Aoba blinks owlishly at Virus' enigmatic expression, but his attention is quickly turned towards heavy, fast footsteps growing in volume and proximity.

Noiz emerges from the hallway, and his face looks nothing like any of the expressions Aoba has seen him put on. He's seen Noiz's neutral face more times than he cares to count, and he's seen his frustrated face. Once, Aoba even saw how Noiz looked when he was about to pass out. Right now, his expression is completely different.

Right now, Noiz's face is distinctly flushed, his lips stuck in a snarl and eyes fizzling with anger and something too close to panic. Trip is following him slowly, arms crossed over his broad chest and a curious smile lighting up his face. Noiz stomps into the living room without a word and Aoba rears back just as the first-year moves on him like a war tank.

Instead of punching him or taking him by his jacket's collar—which is what Aoba expects—Noiz grabs his wrist. Aoba yelps as he's yanked out of the couch, his other hand still precariously holding his half-full cup of coffee, the beverage sloshing inside dangerously. Trip expertly plucks the cup out of Aoba's extended hand as he stumbles after Noiz, who doesn't look back once.

The door to Noiz's room slams shut, echoing throughout the apartment. Trip glances down the hallway, one hand on his hips, then looks down at Virus, who's sitting on the couch and silently drinking his coffee.

"Always suspect a teenager full of secrets, mm?"

Aoba has no time to take in his surroundings when Noiz pulls him into his room; it's all a blur and he's immediately thrown into a soft surface. Noiz's bed, he's quick to realize.

Despite the comfortable mattress, the impact knocks the air out of Aoba's lungs. The momentum causing his bag to hit him square in the stomach don't help matters, either. Aoba breathes heavily for a few dizzy moments, blinking at the ceiling centering in his vision. The light spilling into the room is clearly natural, painting everything in pleasantly warm orange.

Recovering from the whiplash, Aoba slowly pushes himself to a sitting position, braced on his elbows first and then his hands. Noiz is standing in front of him, still looking distinctly frazzled but his usual coldness is there, softening the tension in his face.

"What are you doing here?"

Aoba stares at him for one long moment, then drops his head with a heavy sigh.

"I'm tired of you being so defensive every time I show up in front of you."

Though I am the one showing up at your house after you said for the third or fourth time to not show my face to you. Thinking back on it, Aoba is sure he'd be just as bothered. If not more, but he never even gave Noiz a reason to be so...

"I told you not to come near me-"

"I know, I know!" Aoba explodes, eyes wide set on the floor and his face burning because this is so embarrassing. He's coming off as some creep stalking their love interest and he's having enough of a hard time admitting to himself that he even likes Noiz. "Look, it's just that Clear asked me to bring you lecture notes, alright? I've been more than willing to stay out of your way, believe me."

Honestly, not even Aoba believes in himself. But his feelings regarding Noiz are so conflicting, his worry for him constantly clashing with his exasperation, his self-doubts. Aoba glances up and Noiz is giving him a difficult look, like he's trying to evaluate whether he's being told the truth. Then:

"Show me the notes."

Aoba huffs and opens his bag, ruffling through the contents briefly before taking out a neat stack of papers. Noiz takes it when offered and Aoba gets to his feet, zipping his bag shut.

"I'm off, sorry for the intrusion."

"Wait."

"Wait for what?" Aoba laughs derisively, already moving past Noiz. "You want me to get out, I'll get out."

Noiz lets out a harsh sigh and goes to pull at Aoba's wrist again, but he's shaken off.

"Stop grabbing me and shoving me at random," Aoba hisses, turned only halfway to glare at a flat-faced Noiz, who stands with his hand frozen mid-air.

Then, Noiz straightens up and takes Aoba's seething gaze head-on, his own carrying none of the heat. The bomb drops over Aoba's head without warning.

"Sorry."

Although low as Noiz's voice tends to be, it's clear and perfectly pronounced. The shock is so strong Aoba's anger is all but forgotten, leaving him gaping at the suddenly honest Noiz standing before him.

"Stay. I need to tell you something."

Aoba looks him up and down for a moment. Doesn't he look rather... haggard? Noiz's green eyes, though ever striking, appear sunken in dark circles. He seems thinner, not by much, but his collarbones jut over the loose collar of his shirt in a pronounced way they didn't seem to before and his wrists look so delicate as to easily break. Aoba feels that now familiar tug at his heart, sharp and thawing at the ice of his own awkwardness, and at last, he gives a single, hesitant nod. Noiz sits down on the edge of his bed, leafing through Clear's notes.

Now, Aoba is able to look around Noiz's room. Not different from what he's already seen of the flat, it looks like it's mostly keeping the original décor, showing no personal touch of its inhabitants. It follows the same color palette as the rest of the place, as well; walls and ceiling are cream-colored and, in contrast, the floor is dark, stained hardwood. Behind him is the rich wooden door leading out of the room and in front of him are impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, taking over the entire wall and displaying a panoramic view of the Platinum District's rooftops and the far horizon.

The double bed is set parallel to the windows, headboard pushed to the wall and positioned roughly one meter away from the thick, forest green curtains. On the opposite wall is a large closet, which looks about as blank in personality as the rest of the room. There's not even an article of clothing familiar to Aoba thrown around, not even Noiz's uniform hanging somewhere.

This room could belong to anyone else, could belong to no one. It feels as impermanent as all the places where Aoba met Noiz before, a passing ghost.

It sets a feeling of unrest in Aoba's chest.

"Don't just stand there. Sit down."

Aoba flinches, taking a moment to process Noiz's words. They're harsh on their own, but there's no bite to his voice; what's more, Noiz scooted to the side as he spoke. Aoba slowly walks back to the bed and sits down, putting a reasonable amount of space between them.

This is not a situation Aoba foresaw when he was dragged into this room.

"Well... what is it you want to tell me?" Aoba asks, not bearing the silence any longer. The arm too far and too close to touching Noiz's tingles like he's holding it to an old TV screen.

Noiz sets the papers on his lap, looking down at them. Aoba notes he looks reluctant, though still in that muted, straight-faced fashion of his. A brief pause follows, and then, he says, "You should stay away from those two."

Aoba frowns, blinks at Noiz who doesn't look like he sees the obvious need for elaboration on that statement, even after several seconds of silence have gone by.

"Those two...?"

"You shouldn't get too close to Virus and Trip."

Aoba laughs something uncertain, forced. "Alright, alright, you were going to tell me something and just jumped to the conclusion, I see. That's something you do a lot, now that I think about it." Aoba clears his throat, turning to face Noiz completely. Their knees knock together. "Anyway, why would you say that? Aren't they your family? Or your guardians, at least."

Noiz scrunches his nose like a picky-eating child. Aoba purses his lips to smother an oncoming smile; how can this guy be so endearing in the strangest, most irritating of ways?

"They're just my watch, I'm not blood-related to them at all."

"Your watch... So, like caretakers?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Noiz says, but he sounds more like Aoba's way off the mark and he doesn't have the patience to properly explain. Perhaps he's simply unwilling to disclose this much. Aoba tries and fails to not let it bother him.

Noiz continues with, "Did something strange happen around you during the last couple of weeks?"

Aoba pulls back slightly at Noiz's intense stare, rid of the animosity so common to their interactions. If not concern, there's actual interest in his gaze.

"No, nothing happened," Aoba answers at last, the crease etched deep into his brow alleviating as Noiz considers this information.

Suddenly, Noiz drops back on the white bedspread, taking Aoba by surprise. The blond boy heaves a sigh at the ceiling, the tired lines of his face like a layer shed of his armor, showing him vulnerable, calm and unperturbed waters unseen by Aoba until now.

No, he saw him like that once before; at the rooftop, falling back as if being pulled by the sky. Aoba breathes in, chest tight.

"I could be wrong. Still, even though you can't help being such an idiot," Aoba groans, but Noiz doesn't stop talking, "make the effort to not be so trusting around them."

"You know, I'm not as defenseless as you think I am," Aoba complains as he turns his eyes to the ceiling, leaning back with his hands bracing him. "I have a sense of self-preservation just like everyone else. I'll stay away from things as long as I can tell they're dangerous."

Noiz doesn't miss a beat in his retort. "Then, the problem lies in your perception of danger."

"My perception of danger is alright, thank you," Aoba grumbles, much too child-like.

There's an intake of breath, but then a pause. When Aoba risks a glance at Noiz to see why he stopped, he's already talking. "So, will you stay away from them?"

Aoba thinks of how sudden and out of blue Noiz's insistence sounds. That's simply par for the course, sure; every time he sees Noiz, the boy seems to enjoy himself throwing Aoba's expectations upside-down and leaving him dizzy. Aoba is not as gullible as to simply do as he says simply because he's saying it, though. For one, he barely knows Trip, and Virus has always been a perfectly normal professor.

Mizuki's and Ren's warnings, however, echo at the back of his head.

"... My elective is Music, I can't really avoid Virus-sensei completely."

"Ugh, don't call him sensei. Creeps me out."

"He's my teacher, that's his title!"

Noiz stays quiet. Aoba breaks under the oppressive silence and sighs heavily.

"It's not like we're close to begin with. I won't go out of my way to be alone with him, either."

There's a sound like shifting against fabric; Noiz nodding, probably.

"That's enough. You won't see Trip as long as you stay away from this place."

Aoba pauses. The golden tones pouring into the room have become darker, weaker, and pink undertones start joining in.

"I won't avoid you in order to avoid them, though."

"Huh?"

"I would've come today even if I wanted to stay away from them. Clear asked me to bring you something you needed, so I did." Aoba sighs and drops his head, braces himself. "I won't ignore you. Honestly, you kind of drive me insane, but if I know you need something, I'll help you. Even if it's just to bring over some stupid notes."

Aoba breathes out the last of his sentence under a self-conscious laugh. Noiz doesn't make a sound, not even a scoff. The silence alone can almost be perceived as accepting and Aoba relishes the peace of the moment, keeping his gaze pointed down.

In the next second, Aoba's wrist is snatched from under himself, stealing his balance. Not a peep leaves him; Aoba merely stares wide-eyed as the ceiling comes over him fast and his shoulder blades bounce once on the mattress.

There's only time to catch his breath—not enough to catch his bearings, maybe sit up and yell at Noiz because he's the obvious culprit.

Noiz shuffles closer and presses his arm alongside Aoba's, successfully cutting off his breath once again. Not moving his head, Aoba glances to the side, barely glimpsing Noiz's perfectly neutral profile. Thinking of saying something, maybe calling out to him, coming up with nothing.

Birds fly by the sunny windows, shadows coming and going across Aoba's visions as quickly as their song navigate his ears. It's the closest Aoba has ever been to the sky, now that he thinks about it; perhaps, that's why the sunlight feels so pure, unfiltered. The songs of wandering birds seem to reach deeper into him.

For some reason, the surge of sensory stimuli lulls his mind into a state of tranquility instead of overloading him. In silence, Aoba thinks of all the things he doesn't know. The details of that fateful event on his birthday are still shrouded in mystery. Scratch, a Rib team Aoba previously had no association with, has taken a sudden interest in him and what happened that day. And now, giving little to no explanation despite promising one, Noiz demands him to not get close to a man he's only just met and Virus, a teacher who's been the target of Mizuki's and Ren's distrust, to Aoba's puzzlement.

An onslaught of questions has dogged Aoba since his birthday and he's been dancing around them for fear of what he'll find out. There's a number of people to whom Aoba should voice them; Granny, whose reaction to Aoba's story and wandering gazes keep on eluding him. Ren and Mizuki, who are obviously so much more perceptive than him, not that he would ever admit to being ingenuous. Akira and Takato, a far-fetched possibility, but the most likely to guard all the answers he needs, given their last encounter. At last... Aoba could ask Noiz, who's unwittingly fallen in the middle of this mess—or, from another perspective, dragged Aoba into it—and is lying beside him now.

They lie side by side on the bed, legs dangling off the edge, knuckles bumping together and it all feels so unbearably ephemeral; the silence that wants to be treasured, this short, ambiguous moment before night drowns daylight. The touch so faint between layers of fabric, and yet, so warm. It's young and foolish, choking yet freeing.

When Aoba turns his head to look at Noiz, his bruised eyes are closed. Drops of sunlight shimmer in his eyelashes like morning dew. Aoba doesn't speak up, doesn't question whether he's asleep or awake—doesn't question anything. At this time of the day, at this moment, it feels alright not to know some things.

Mizuki pushes the front door open and closes it behind him, standing in the genkan while slipping his shoes off his feet. In the end, he was the last one left cleaning up the classroom; punishment for lying around being useless for half an hour, said his classmates. Their relationship really is way too good, damn it.

The exhaustion weighing on Mizuki's shoulder has nothing to do with that, though. It's still the exact same reason why he was so lethargic to begin with. His body is still stiff from the little sleep he got, and the conditions of his sleep; the wooden floor was not gentle on his back.

And then, he spent the entire day wracking his mind over the possibility of his parents finding his unplanned guest. For how slight and delicate they are, Sei is the kind of brilliant existence that Mizuki would expect to be felt by the weight of air alone. His parents will walk by his door and just know; they'll feel a living presence in Mizuki's absence. This belief was the driving force of his paranoia throughout the day.

Mizuki shakes his head, glancing around the silent house as he pads up the stairs and towards his room. If anything had happened, his mother would've called him yelling her head off in the middle of class, for sure. There's no meaning to keep on panicking as he's right in front of his room already.

And his room is empty. The curtains rustle quietly in the wind, sunset cooling into nighttime beyond his open window.

"Fuck," Mizuki spits and it pushes him towards his window, expecting maybe to see Sei hiding in the roof or running up the street.

There's no Sei in sight, not shrinking themselves against the tiles, not running barefoot on asphalt. A litany of swears follow and Mizuki dives to peer under his bed, inside his closet, behind the fucking door. His school bag lays abandoned somewhere on the floor.

Nowhere. Mizuki leaves his room and bites his tongue when he feels the instinctive urge to call out to Sei. If at least one of his parents turns out to be home, that'll only cause more problems.

Mizuki wanders further into the second floor corridor, swift and silent, opening doors as he goes. The storage room is deserted, as well as the cleaning supplies' closet. Mizuki hesitates in front of his parents' bedroom door and decides to leave it for last, as the least likely possibility and most dangerous place to search. He goes down the stairs.

At the heels of one heavy exhale, Mizuki opens the bathroom door. Immediately, a disembodied giggle and faint murmur trickle into his ears, pushing him past the vacant toilet cubicle and sink, towards the bathing area.

The frosted glass door is open and Mizuki finds Miraku, his plus-ten years old temperamental Akita Inu, sitting next to the bathtub, tongue lolling out of her mouth almost in a smile. And, gracefully sprawled in the full bathtub, is the current bane of Mizuki's existence with the devastating good looks to boot.

Sei is propping up their chin on their arms, which are folded over the edge of the bathtub. Thick ropes of inky black hair float in opaque water, stick to the wet skin of Sei's face, shoulders and arms. The wide grin Sei was pointing Miraku's way falters just as dark-brown eyes flicker up, finding pale green ones.

"What the hell," is all Mizuki is able to get out in a wisp of breath nearly inaudible, rooted to the doorway.

Sei's grin goes close-lipped, but still perfectly pleasant as they greet, "Welcome home."

"What are you doing here?" Mizuki nearly shrieks, recovered from his shock-induced muteness. "You should stay in my room!"

Sei indulgently peers up at him from under wet lashes, their eyes almost brighter for it. "This is my first bath since yesterday. Believe me, neither of us would like it if I stayed there."

Unable to argue with that, Mizuki purses his lips and grumbles, "Okay, that couldn't have been pleasant for you. But you should've waited until I was home!"

"I'm not stupid." Sei rolls their eyes and Mizuki hates that he feels both offended and chastised. "I could tell when there was no one around and left the room then. This girl intercepted me but we were fast friends, right?" Sei boops Miraku on her button nose. The dog lets out a heavy huff, almost in reply, and licks Sei's hand. Mizuki stares down in horror at the sheer betrayal.

"By the way, how did you even end up here with Miraku?"

"Oh, that's her name? It's beautiful," Sei says and looks up at Mizuki, very nearly blinding him with their radiant grin.

Mizuki clears his throat and looks away. "T-this could've gone so wrong, she's not very friendly to strangers, you know?"

"Well, you could have fooled me. She wouldn't leave me alone to the point I had to bring her with me..."

Mizuki misses half the sentence because he hears a door closing outside. The last of Sei's words fall slowly from their lips as they gape, blinking wide-eyed when Mizuki shuts the door to the bathtub area with a rushed pull, making sure to twist the lock.

"Mizuki-"

"Shhh!" Mizuki crouches next to the bathtub, clutching at its edge, eyes stuck to the door as he listens for noise.

The silence stretches for seconds, then minutes. Mizuki's wandering gaze finds Miraku at some point, her black, beady eyes blinking slowly at him. He puts his index finger to his lips, though she is perfectly silent already.

All three of them jolt when the bathroom door opens. Footsteps pitter-patter on the floor tiles and Miraku bares her teeth at the door, leaning forward on her front legs. Fearing she will start growling, Mizuki promptly pets her back, placating.

"Mizuki?" calls out a feminine voice—Mizuki's mother, Michiru.

"Yeah?" It's a miracle he manages to not stutter out this single word.

"Oh, so it's you," she says, blissfully ignorant. "I thought your father had come back for some reason. Did you get home from school now?"

"Uh..." Mizuki scrambles for an answer, glancing at Sei for a sign that he should lie. Sei blinks flatly at him, ever helpful.

"... Yeah, it hasn't been too long. I just got into the bath."

"I see. Don't stay in there for too long; I have to head over to the restaurant in a few."

"Sure. I'll be out in a bit."

Footsteps again, this time making their way back out. The door opens, then clicks shut, and Mizuki remains looking at the door, eyes wide and heart kicking up a race in his chest. His hand falls away from Miraku's snow-white hair; she's completely relaxed, as opposed to him.

This is not going to work.

Hardly more than a minute goes by, but it feels like an eternity until Mizuki's eyes leave the door and find Sei, their head tilted to the side and cheek pressing against their forearms. Sei is staring at Mizuki, dark eyes half-lidded and lips curled in an entertained little grin.

This is so not going to work.

"You look like you've just seen Death."

No, not Death, Mizuki thinks. Rather, the spitting image of a siren, sent to wreak havoc in Mizuki's life. Worst, even; make him want to stay and watch it all fall apart, because it would surely be the most beautiful kind of destruction.

Chapter Text

Just as a head of blond hair pokes into the small restaurant, a bell rings above it at the door. Noiz halts in his motions for a surprised moment, glancing up before finally moving in like he's expecting to be jumped. The layout of the store suggests it functions as a bar as well, but at this time of the day, there are only dots of silent, lonesome patrons eating soup at their tables. They give him little to no attention, and Noiz is only so happy to respond in kind as he disregards them and sits at the nearest vacant table.

People walk up and down the narrow street outside, safe from the unforgiving sunrays thanks to the tall buildings, but still unable to escape the sweltering late morning air. On the other side of the street, lines of decayed graffiti glimpse through the passing silhouettes, darkened paint oozing down the age-worn wall. Political and borderline pornographic illustrations are indiscriminately mixed together, but it's the innumerous renditions of Scratch's tag art that catch the eye, explicitly laying down Scratch's claim on the Kisaragi neighborhood and the Southern District as a whole.

"My, a face I haven't seen in a while..." says a familiar voice moving from behind Noiz, deceptively soothing. Noiz turns his eyes away from the windowpane and surely enough there's Akira, Scratch's leader, standing as tall and outrageous as the last time Noiz saw him, braid of brown hair resting on his shoulder and a cunning smile on his lips.

Before Noiz can do more than stare blankly at him, Akira perkily continues.

"An entire week! I must say, I didn't expect you to miss me so badly." Akira moves to sit across from him, shoulders set straight in perfect posture but head tilted in consideration of the boy before him.

"I don't miss anything about our last meeting," Noiz dryly says, remembering how irritating it was to be tied up by those idiots under Akira just for the hell of it. As well as being played by Akira, who just wanted to get to that guy.

"Then it sure makes no sense that you're in Kisaragi again, despite all of our warnings!" Akira says, chipper, but there's something sharp in the edge of his grin and eyes.

Noiz's eyes lazily roam the bar. "Nothing will happen here. This is your aunt's shop, isn't it?"

"Oh?" Akira's smile barely falters, but the sharpness of his expression becomes increasingly dangerous. "I see you've been doing some research. Is that why you have those horrid bags under your eyes?"

Noiz scoffs and ignores his question. "That's why I'm here. I had to find you in a place you couldn't try and snatch me away again."

"Hah, how cute." Akira laughs, good-natured, but his tone quickly darkens. "Though you are mistaken; I can snatch you away anywhere, anytime in the Southern District."

Noiz opens his mouth to retort, but a shadow falls over the table.

"I hope," a feminine voice starts just as a fist descends over Akira's head, "you don't think just because you help out here you can bring your friends over to just sit around and order nothing."

"Yuu-chan," Akira whines pathetically, rubbing at his hair whorl. Noiz glances up at the woman who drove him and Aoba out of the Southern District a week ago. The restaurant's name and logo emblazoned on the side of her van is what drew him to investigating this place and linking it to Akira. Given that she is family, Noiz presumed it would be the most likely place where he wouldn't be found around his Rib team.

"Here, he'll have this. Right, Noiz-kun?" Akira picks the menu up from where it's been sitting ignored at the center of the table, pointing at a random item as he shows it to his aunt. Yuuko looks at Noiz for confirmation; a shrug is all she gets, and that seems to settle it. She lifts a small notepad and scribbles on it.

"Avocado and chocolate cake coming up," she sing-songs dully.

"Oh, and a glass of tomato juice! He's a growing boy," Akira says brightly. Yuuko doesn't look at him, but she seems to be writing it down as she walks away.

Akira turns his attention back to Noiz, propping his chin on his palm. "With that said, there's no use for me to do that again. Snatching you away, that is."

"Got everything you wanted out of it?"

"Why, want to negotiate with me again?"

Noiz frowns and looks away, leaning back on his seat. "That was never a good idea."

Akira blinks at his sullen tone, amber eyes narrowing with a curious smile. "Well, aren't you tame? You do look scrawnier and half-dead compared to last week. What have you been up to, other than sniffing around for me?"

"None of your business," Noiz retorts almost as a knee-jerk reaction. Though he is looking away, he can feel the weight of Akira's stare.

Although Noiz can't confirm or deny Akira's observations, he does know he's been sleeping less and less as time goes. Curiously, it seems that's made him sharper—made him realize things that hadn't alerted him up until then.

Like the fact that he feels more and more like an afterthought in his apartment. Not in the same way he's used to feel, being disregarded by everyone. Virus and Trip are always focused in the task they are given and Noiz thought their task was to keep him on strict watch. It used to be like that at home. It became crystal clear to Noiz, however, that their goal is different this time.

"I bet it is my business, though," Akira says, unmoved by his brashness. "You ended up here again, despite my kind warnings. I can't guarantee your safety this time, you should know that."

Noiz finally looks at him, his face pinching in a grimace. It pulls a snort from Akira, who raises his hands in a placating gesture.

"I don't mean to offend, just saying. You may think it's easy to come in here, but getting out is the real problem."

"I don't care about that."

"Doesn't look like you do, yeah," Akira says carefully. Then he sighs and straightens up. "But you went to the trouble of finding this place, so I guess I can hear you out, at least."

"Huh?"

"You came here because you had something to talk to me about, right? As beautiful as my face is, I doubt that alone would be reason enough for you."

Noiz scoffs. Yuuko returns with a plastic tray, putting a plate with a slice of cake and a glass of juice in front of Noiz just as Akira says, "Come on, surprise me."

This time Yuuko says nothing and leaves them to their conversation. Noiz stares for a moment at the tall glass of tomato juice in front of him, one side of his face faintly reflected on the polished surface.

"I want to know everything there is to know about this island," Noiz says.

Akira's eyes open wider, twinkling with interest. "Oh?"

Noiz easily identifies Akira's goading tone and side-eyes him. "That's it. I don't need to elaborate now."

"Ehh, but that's awfully broad," Akira nags, slouching forward and leaning on his elbows. "Where do you presume we start?"

"We can start by what Scratch is," Noiz says evenly, proceeding carefully as Akira gives him space. "And how do you know so much about that guy's... voice."

"What Scratch is? We are a Ribsteez team, you already know that," Akira tells him, eyes wide and brows raised in faux-innocence. Paying no mind to Noiz's souring gaze, Akira tilts his head to the side, pensive.

Golden eyes flit over the crown of Noiz's head. "As for your second topic, mmmm. Let's just say... Seragaki Aoba represents what's been tormenting me since I was born."

Silence persists in the wake of his words, the lightness of the tone at odds with the bitterness at their core. Akira's eyes flit back to him, testing, and they spark with something that makes Noiz scowl.

"You look worried," Akira says, openly amused.

"Huh? Why would I be?"

Akira gives an airy laugh. "Don't fret; I wouldn't be able to touch him. I'm his ally, actually."

The words click with a memory that has been lying dormant in the back of Noiz's mind. "You did say something like that, last time."

"I did," Akira confirms easily.

"What does it mean?"

Akira lets out a laugh, then breaks into a fit of giggles that he uselessly tries to muffle with his hand. Noiz's glare seems to be a permanent fixture to his expression in Akira's presence.

"You can't seriously expect me to spill the beans to you just like that, right?" Akira says breathily, theatrically wiping at the corner of an eye, brows furrowed in disbelief. "I'm not so nice and so free as to sit with you all day to discuss Midorijima's history."

Akira starts to get up from his seat, smiling at Noiz. "But it was nice seeing you, Noiz-kun. Be careful on your way home."

"You don't need to tell me yourself, then," Noiz says and relishes when this succeeds to stop Akira in his tracks. Amber eyes fix on his face, scrutinizing.

"What do you mean by that?"

Noiz already knows from first-hand experience it's a stupid idea to make deals with Akira. There's no such thing as keeping his word or playing fair when it's the kind of deal in which Akira can easily take what he wants and give nothing back.

Except Noiz has figured out some things about Akira with the small scraps of hints he was able to gather. It won't be like last time.

"I'm sure Takato already talked about this with you."

Akira's eyes narrow. "What Takato has to do with anything?"

"Takato would be glad, wouldn't he? He did make me an invitation." Noiz shrugs, leaning back on his seat. "Or perhaps he wants Aoba the most?"

"That's not how you ask for favors, Noiz-kun," Akira says sweetly, but his syrupy smile is darker than ever.

"Don't you want to hand me over to him? That's what I'm proposing."

Something flashes in Akira's clear eyes. Then, he quietly sits down again, making a quick motion towards the food in front of Noiz.

"You should start eating before the flies come have it."

An upbeat ringtone interrupts the silence blanketing the room. Noiz doesn't move a finger or an eyelid; he keeps still even as Aoba flinches beside him, fumbling quietly and cursing under his breath.

Noiz only frowns when the compulsive twitching of Aoba's fingers against the back of his own ceases. After all his shuffling, Aoba picks up the call one-handed.

Aoba's voice floats around the room and into his ears, subdued but clear. Noiz has never cared about this kind of thing and he doesn't think there's any praise he would give to this guy's voice. There's nothing to put a finger on, not a word to tack on and make it a universal concept to everyone's appreciation.

And yet, however unremarkable it is, the sound alone alleviates the exhaustion weighing down on Noiz. It wasn't always like this and it didn't start now. It's infuriating; the more tired he is, the more soothing Aoba's voice is—the stronger his siren song becomes. For once, Noiz doesn't fight it.

Noiz wonders if he should, for his own good.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?" Aoba says, sounding worried.

Noiz almost rolls his eyes behind closed lids. Although he hasn't been listening to the conversation, Aoba is probably pushing his nose into something he has no business meddling with. Noiz still can't tell if such solicitude is heartfelt or plain vanity.

Noiz's eyes flutter open to the ceiling. Around the room, the sunflower yellow of afternoon light has dulled to a cooler golden. The sun continues its descent, plunging Midorijima into gradual darkness.

There's no point in thinking about his intentions. They are nothing but strangers to one another.

"Uh..."

Noiz turns his head to the side, green eyes meeting hazel. Aoba blinks owlishly at him, seemingly done with his phone call.

"Sorry I woke you up...?"

There's an awkward smile in Aoba's face as he unnecessarily whispers at him.

The state of constant unrest that's accompanied Noiz for the past few weeks, the meticulous combing through Virus and Trip's e-mail addresses which revealed that, regardless of Noiz's presence, they were always set to come here, looking for something... It culminated in him swallowing his pride and joining Scratch, no matter how much it resisted the notion of being under Akira.

Although Takato and Akira seem to be the only ones that really know the nature of Aoba's voice and they have yet to say a word to Noiz, he's learned enough to connect the dots. Midorijima is behind other Japanese islands on most things—infrastructure, natural beauties, local economy, quality of life. Except it's the place where a project of mass mind control took place. If Virus and Trip came to this island after something, it would be as unique as that, or at least, the last trace of it.

That's what likely makes Aoba, this stranger, a defining factor in Noiz's freedom.

Freedom means staying in Midorijima, but even more so, it means not returning to Berlin. A purpose was planted within Noiz the day he came to this realization, and it's reaffirmed as those hazel eyes closely stare into him.

Virus and Trip won't lay a finger on Aoba if Noiz has any say in the matter.

"Noiz?"

He was never asleep. "No problem."

Aoba's smile widens, something like relief surfacing in his expression as he turns his face upwards again, leaning back. It's a far cry from his earlier explosion.

"That's good. I thought I was this close to dozing off, to be honest."

In Noiz's life, there's only been feelings he has no words to attribute to, and words he can't connect feelings to. It's a distance as great as the one between his touch and the world around him. Noiz gave up on closing the gap a long time ago.

Noiz knows as much about warmth as he knows about the cold. If he had to define, however, the feeling of a body—this body—lying next to his own, shoulders touching and a hand at the precipice of holding on, never taking the last leap but never going away, Noiz would say it's warm.

Well, that doesn't matter.

"It'll be dark soon," Noiz says, slowly getting up and sliding away.

Aoba gets to his feet as well and smoothes over the wrinkles in his uniform, laughing to himself. "So that's all the explanation I'll get out of you?"

Noiz looks over his shoulder to stare at Aoba, who responds to his gaze by simply raising his eyebrows.

"I'm giving you a heads-up so you won't get hurt; isn't that what your whole spiel on helping people is all about?"

Aoba's eyes open wide, blinking in shock at him. To Noiz's puzzlement, he proceeds to double over and laugh, one hand on his knee and the other flying up belatedly to stifle his cackling.

Noiz scowls. "What..."

"You're pouting!" Aoba wheezes, righting himself and brushing a knuckle at the corner of his eye. He raises one hand and pinches Noiz's lips, consequently deepening his frown. In contrast, Aoba's smile is softening, the mirthful flush lifting from his cheeks.

"Now I know how you look when you lie. You suck at it, by the way."

Aoba doesn't wait for a retort and leaves him behind, heading for the door. Noiz contents himself with glaring at the back of his head as he follows him out.

"Why did you miss class, even? I was expecting to see you laid down with a cold or something."

"Slept in," is all Noiz says as they move through the hallway and towards the front door.

"And Clear said you were a good student..."

A distinct voice comes from behind them. "Ohh, you're going already, Aoba?"

Noiz turns halfway around to glower at Trip, who's soundly ignoring his animosity—rather, ignoring him entirely. The man is smiling amiably at Aoba, leaning a shoulder on the wall with his arms crossed.

"Yes, it's about time I get back home. Thank you for the coffee."

Noiz can almost tell Aoba is bowing by the faint rustling he hears, but he doesn't bother looking back to confirm. He's still studying Trip through narrowed green eyes.

"No, thank you for coming all the way here to help Wilhelm. I can tell you're already good friends, so I was thinking..."

Noiz rears back slightly when Trip closes in, but there's nothing he can do to stop the man as he drops heavy hands over his shoulders, whirling him around to face Aoba. The third-year seems alarmed and, just like Trip, is not looking at Noiz.

"How about taking this stray kitten back home?" Trip proposes as though he's bargaining at the fish market. "He never said anything about you and I'm sure you'd like the quality time together."

Aoba laughs nervously and has a hard time putting an answer together.

"Huh? What are you going on about?" Noiz tosses a glare upward, unable to stare Trip in the face. The older man bends down to mutter in his ear.

"I'm planning a romantic getaway; let your parents have some fun, will you."

Noiz doesn't bother changing the volume of his voice. "You two were screwing each other on that couch less than two hours ago."

Aoba looks significantly paler on the corner of his vision. Oh, right. He was drinking coffee with Trip on the aforementioned couch earlier.

"Oh, you heard that?" Trip tilts his head in what looks like theatrical surprise. Noiz presses his lips in a thin disgusted line just as Trip clicks his tongue, shaking his head in mock-lament. "See, this is why you need to get out a bit."

"I'll just go somewhere else."

"No can do," Trip's voice booms as he straightens up. "We let you roam around unchecked for too long. This once, we want to know where you are. Right, Virus?"

Footsteps near their location. Silence stretches in a shared look until it's broken by a huff. Noiz can't turn around and look at Virus, so he orients himself through Aoba's expressions. The third year looks tenser under the stare of his teacher, Noiz notes with a grimace.

There's a smile in Virus' voice as he says, "Sure. I feel like you're a good influence on our Wilhelm, Seragaki-kun. We will pick him up at the end of the night."

Noiz ignores the irritation at being treated like a pet or child. There's something bigger at play here.

"No, I can walk back by myself."

"Don't talk back to your parents," Trip retorts gleefully. Noiz wants to punch him—and it's precisely because he can't do so that Trip even opened his stupid mouth.

Aoba is still smiling, nerves pulling at a twitching corner of his lips.

"Um, I wouldn't mind?"

Noiz represses the urge to growl.

The polar opposite of Noiz, Trip slaps his hands on his shoulders to emphasize his triumphant declaration. "That settles it! Have fun, you two." Then, slightly lower, "We'll be over around nine p.m. Don't even think about ditching us, Wilhelm."

The ill-concealed threat in his tone doesn't faze Noiz. At long last, he looks over his shoulder at Virus while Trip is pushing him out of the door with Aoba, who's scrambling for his shoes and hissing at Noiz to get his own.

Whatever they truly want Noiz out of the apartment for, there's not a shadow of a doubt in Noiz's mind that he's playing right into their plans. That's the only moment he becomes truly frightened, even if he would never admit it. Trip bids them farewell with absentminded goodbyes and take-cares and Virus watches them go with a serene smile, eyes squeezing shut behind green-rimmed glasses.

Noiz walks ahead of Aoba, hands tucked into his pants' pockets as they leave the elevator and step into the lobby. The waning sunlight pours through thick glass upfront, painting the marble-white tiles amber.

"You should've made some excuse," Noiz says, his first sentence since they've been out the door of his apartment. It snaps Aoba out of his distracted staring at the back of Noiz's head, and he sighs.

"Virus is really intimidating when he smiles like that, and Trip was pushy..." Low, he adds to himself, "I think I finally understand what Mizuki has been saying all this time."

"What are you talking about," Noiz huffs, still never looking at Aoba. The building's automatic doors close behind them without sound but for a soft woosh, sunset fully bathing them. "Aren't you worried at all that they're gonna know where you live?"

"Virus is my teacher; he has access to that information," Aoba says with a bit of a teasing tone. Noiz should know that much, shouldn't he? "So, really, if you're worried about them killing me in my house or something, believe me, they could do so either way."

Noiz lets out a scoff and gives one brief glance behind him, a sneer twisted with annoyance. "You're so damn flippant. Let's go already."

Of all people, you are telling me that?! Aoba gapes at Noiz as he marches towards the sidewalk. As dangerous as Virus and Trip suddenly looked to him once paired together, he's still mostly playing Noiz's game and getting no explanations. How could he take this seriously?

And now Noiz is going in the opposite direction Aoba is taking.

"Wait, where're you going? My bike is over here."

Noiz turns around, frowning in confusion. "Bike...?"

Aoba is pointing at the flowerbed by which he chained his bike by way of explanation. On sight, Noiz seems to remember the one time he saw Aoba with the bicycle, expression clearing with understanding. Aoba is slightly relieved the bike is still there; the railing is clearly not meant for bike parking.

Together, they bridge the few steps separating them from the flowerbed. Noiz blinks at the nameless pink buds and shrubbery, unimpressed. "And you put it here? There are bicycle racks not even a block away."

Aoba's face heats up ever so slightly. "Shut up, I didn't want to wander around this place too much."

Noiz raises an eyebrow, one corner of his lips tugged up. "Mm? Afraid?"

Aoba grimaces at Noiz, then busies himself unchaining the bike from the railing. "I just feel like something is about to jump at me around every corner. Got a problem with that?" He can't help the defensive tone his voice picks up, glaring back at the first-year.

The challenge doesn't seem to ruffle Noiz's feathers one bit. If anything, he's mysteriously pleased; his faint grin doesn't budge as he lets his gaze wanders.

"No. Just seems like your self-preservation instincts are not that terrible, after all."

Aoba laughs dryly and faces the street, throwing one leg over the side of the bike. "Yeah, I got it, it's a funny joke to you, ha ha. Hop on."

A couple of expensive-looking cars pass by the building in very moderate speed, their engine going nearly unheard. An old lady rides up the street in a bright yellow eco-bike, multi-colored plastic bags overflowing from the basket—and from this much, Aoba can gather she's from the Old Residential District. Aoba idly wonders about what she would bother coming to the Platinum District for while he waits. And he waits.

"What the hell are you doing?" Aoba spits out at once, looking over his shoulder.

Noiz is still standing a couple steps behind, giving the bike's back seat a complicated look, all hesitation and reluctance. Aoba's eyes narrow on him gradually.

 He's embarrassed. The idiot is actually embarrassed, after all the unexplained physical contact just half an hour ago.

Aoba drops his head and sighs. It tapers into a laugh, a touch of hopelessness weighing on it. How come exasperation has to be accompanied by fondness wherever this brat is concerned?

The third-year picks up his head, shining a teasing grin Noiz's way.

"Mm? Afraid?"

Noiz doesn't seem ecstatic at having his own words tossed back at him. Aoba gets the silent treatment accompanied by an icy glower for his troubles.

"Come on, I'll only drop you once or twice."

"You promise?"

Aoba has to splutter at Noiz's deadpan face and straight answer. Laughing curtly, he turns back forward, straightening up and tightening his hold on the bike's handles.

"Yep. So hold on tight."

He doesn't look back as he waits for Noiz to do as he says. Shortly, he senses the shift of weight as Noiz climbs on the back seat and only one hand grabs hold of his uniform jacket, around his waist. Better than nothing, Aoba thinks, as he gives the first push with his foot and pedals into the street.

The wind is not too chilly on Aoba's face as they navigate the glimmering streets. The air is just getting the murky quality of summer, making the sweat cling to his skin in that way that, in higher temperatures, begs for four or five showers over the course of the day.

In just a couple weeks, spring will be officially over. A quiet end to an unimpressive season.

Never once does he see a cherry blossom tree, Aoba catches himself realizing as nondescript shop fronts and hazy conversations pass him by.

So lost in his own musings, Aoba nearly misses Noiz's grumble behind him. For a heartbeat, he thinks he's imagining things.

"Did you say something?" He asks for good measure.

"I hate this song," Noiz says, almost too low to hear again.

Aoba blinks at open space, attuning his ears to better take in the sounds around him. Indeed, there is music humming from loudspeakers somewhere, maybe a nearby clothing store? It's a mix of heavy drum beats and weird synthesizers; probably good for sweaty grinding in night clubs, but just a racket even to Aoba's admittedly lenient tastes. He can't help but agree with Noiz's declaration.

It's too good an opportunity to tease Noiz, however.

"So you're that kind of music snob?" Aoba wonders aloud and lets it go over his shoulder, trying to make himself heard over the passing cars. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who only listen to rock and hate anything else?"

"I said the song, not the genre as a whole," Noiz says evenly. Aoba should've known it wouldn't be that easy. "I like electronic music just fine, but I can tell good stuff from garbage. Can't you?"

And of course Noiz would turn it around on him. Aoba smiles to himself with an exhale.

"I can, actually. I don't have my headphones with me now, though, so I'll owe you the evidence."

Noiz scoffs, clearly doubtful.

Aoba could get used to this kind of banter.

They don't realize when they leave the headlights and cacophony behind, passing by their school and riding down the sloping street. Entering the Northern District is like blowing off the flame of a candle; the tall and decrepit buildings tower over them and block what little sunlight there still is, the silence and faulty light poles flickering gloomily around them greatly contrasting with what they left behind.

The center of the Old Residential District floods them in sound and color again; some of the neon signs overhead are already lighting up and there's a sluggish current of people moving in and out of stores. They either crowd the bus stops or head home by foot, noisily talking to each other all the while. Aoba breathes in and nearly chokes on the heavy smell of grease from food carts piling on every corner.

Yes. That's home.

Chapter Text

They don't need to go far into the Eastern District to get to the Seragaki household. The last of sunlight fractures across the street and over the houses in splotches and sharp cuts of soft golden, broken by the shadows of trees and roofs. Aoba slows down, hands steadily pressing down on the brakes. Noiz doesn't waste time jumping off the back seat when they stop in front of the unassuming house.

"Well, come on in," Aoba says over his shoulder, pushing his bike up the steps and into the front gate. "Just wait by the door, I'm gonna put this thing away."

Aoba locks up the bike beside the house, as usual, and returns to the front porch. Noiz is waiting, just as he asked, studying the potted plants and the sliding front door with careful curiosity.

Stifling a short laugh, Aoba slides the door open.

"I'm home!"

No one answers, but Aoba is used to it; he generally greets his grandmother only when he gets to the living room or the kitchen. Noiz follows him silently as he leaves his shoes at the genkan and pads into the living room. As expected, his grandmother is sitting on the couch watching TV.

"Hey, Granny. Sorry I'm late," Aoba greets with a thin smile, eyeing her carefully.

The old woman looks away from the screen and Aoba can pinpoint the moment she registers the presence of a third person, the subtle movement of her gaze between Aoba's face and Noiz peeking from behind his shoulder. The surprise barely surfaces in the rugged lines of her face before it's nowhere to be seen again.

"Don't worry about that. You're having a friend over?"

"Yep." Aoba glances over his shoulder, measuring the possibility of Noiz introducing himself. It's the back seat plight again; he looks uncomfortable, but passes it off as disinterest. Aoba shrugs internally and smiles at Granny. "This is Noiz. Don't mind him, he's just shy. Is Ren home yet?"

"He went out on a grocery run, he must be coming back now."

Aoba hums in thought. "Got it. We'll be upstairs!"

The old lady snorts and leans back on the couch, returning her attention to the variety show she was watching. Aoba lingers just a second longer, his smile faltering, and turns back to take the stairs. When he glances behind himself, he catches Noiz waddling on his heels.

Just like a little duckling.

"What's so funny?" Noiz asks when he catches Aoba laughing silently into the back of his fingers. From his sour tone, it's evident he already knows it's at his expense.

"Oh, nothing," Aoba says breezily and opens the door to his room, stepping back to make space. "Well, make yourself comfortable."

"What the hell is this ancient thing?" is Noiz's first comment upon entering, grimacing at the robust computer monitor on the corner of the room, resting on a low table.

Aoba huffs indignantly. "Say whatever you want, I've had it forever and it's still working perfectly- Hey!"

Noiz has gone straight for the machine, pressing the power button on the CPU and plopping down on the cushion as the screen lights up. Aoba rushes after him.

"Oh my god, are you a little kid? Poking and prodding at people's stuff without their permission, geez." Aoba kneels right behind him and closes a hand around Noiz's wrist, but the first-year shakes him off.

"Relax, I won't look through your browser history or something."

Aoba turns a faint shade of red. "I'm not worried about that!"

The system finishes booting up. The icons load quickly over the background picture of an Akita Inu staring into the camera, their tongue lolling out in what looks like a smile.

"Now I get why you didn't want me to touch it."

"I won't apologize for loving dogs."

"Isn't this just one of the system's default wallpapers, though?" Noiz muses, moving the mouse over to the control panel. "Looks like an office computer."

Aoba gives him a dead-eyed stare. "It's not, that's Mizuki's dog."

Noiz hums in vague acknowledgement and opens random programs, even loading up an online game Aoba hasn't played in ages. "Well, it really is not that bad, apparently."

Although Noiz does as promised and doesn't go through his browser history, he looks into everything else. Aoba's pictures, mostly comprised of pets and silly selfies with his friends, receive harsh criticism—unfortunately, Aoba can't help but laugh until he's wheezing at Noiz's jabs, because he finds an easy target in Mizuki's ever-changing hairstyles throughout adolescence. Aoba's music folder is thoroughly rampaged as well, but he's happy he manages to make Noiz concede his tastes aren't "complete trash".

It goes dark outside the balcony and Noiz is still going through his favorite albums, never listening to each song entirely before skipping to the next. It's not normal for someone to be so shamelessly curious and nosy, but Aoba lets him be, finding it vaguely cute. At some point, he doesn't bother to look at the screen anymore, sprawling on the carpet while tapping at his phone.

A couple of soft knocks come from the door and Noiz stops the song currently playing. Aoba sits up and says, "Come on in!"

Ren slips halfway into the room, holding the door open. He's about to say something to Aoba, but then his gaze floats towards Noiz. Ren closes his mouth and nods at the blond boy.

Noiz stares with a blank face and Aoba wonders if he'll just ignore Ren, but he nods back. If there are people capable of fully appreciating an exchange wherein no words are needed, it's these two. Bypassed the quick formality, Ren turns his attention back to Aoba.

"Help me prep for dinner in a few?"

"Oh, sure!" Aoba gets to his feet, groaning briefly at his stiff back. "I'll just take a shower and I'll be right there."

Ren closes the door and Aoba fishes his towel from the hook behind it, opening his closet and getting a change of clothes without really looking.

"Don't you dare mess with the settings," he threatens, narrowing his eyes at Noiz as he heads out.

"You wouldn't be able to stop me," is all Aoba hears before closing the door.

Aoba sighs as he leaves the bathroom, thin vapor spilling into the hallway and swirling around his feet. He didn't realize how grimy he was until the water hit his back; he almost melted into a puddle himself. The air stings in his warm skin and Aoba suppresses a shudder, closes the door behind him as he sluggishly towels his hair dry.

The muffled clattering of pots calls his attention to the kitchen downstairs. Ren is already going at it, or it's Granny, perhaps? Aoba opts to take a look at Noiz before heading to the kitchen, maybe drag him over so he'll try a hand at being sociable. The thought alone pulls a snicker out of him.

Aoba opens the door to his room. The tranquility that found him in the shower and followed him out of the bathroom goes up in smokes.

"Aoba, who the hell is this little kid?!"

Koujaku is standing in the middle of his bedroom, head tilted towards Aoba and glaring daggers at him, but grabbing one handful of said little kid's hoodie. Noiz is staring at Aoba as well, but the flatness in his gaze is proportional to the fire in Koujaku's. Aoba doesn't miss, however, the sure fist closed around Koujaku's wrist and the careful hunch of his shoulders, hackles rising like a threatened beast.

Aoba has half a mind to turn around and close the door. In any other day, he might've started yelling. Instead, he heaves a sigh.

"First of all, step away from each other."

"Oh, no, he's been talking a lot of shit, he's gonna get some," Koujaku grits out, turning his blazing eyes back to Noiz, who snorts.

"Feel free to prove my point."

"Alright!" Aoba shoves himself bodily between the two just as Koujaku is pulling his fist back. While he does drop his hand, he keeps the glower firm on his face as he stares Noiz down over Aoba's shoulder. "I'd hate to have you two kicked out through my window, so calm down."

"It's your fault I'm here in the first place, do whatever you want," Noiz grumbles behind him. Aoba's mouth is open around a retort but Koujaku crowds over him before it can be given voice, pushing him against Noiz.

"So this is the kind of guy you're dating now, Aoba?" Koujaku demands in misguided indignation, flashing eyes swerving between the two of them.

Pressed for space, Aoba rears back his head as much as he can, face burning and trying not to mash their noses together. "There's no dating happening!"

"Then it's just casual sex?!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt whatever this is, but," says Ren's smooth voice from the door, which Aoba just realized he's left open. Aoba turns wide eyes to his brother from where he is sandwiched between Koujaku and Noiz. Ren looks as unimpressed as ever. "I really need a hand at the kitchen."

Ren's unblinking flat gaze cuts through the uncomfortable silence like a knife. Koujaku quietly steps away, hands on his hips and averting his eyes. Aoba sighs out of exasperation and relief for the newly-regained space.

"Well, let's all go to the kitchen, then." Aoba throws a half-hearted glare Koujaku's way. "I know you must be here after dinner."

"You make me sound like some kind of leech," Koujaku mutters just as Ren leaves the doorway, officially removing himself from the situation.

"Better than the asshole you'd be if you had come here just to harass me. Good thing I know you better."

Aoba gives a couple of teasing slaps to Koujaku's cheek. He can see his friend's shoulders relax and the frown lift from his face.

The tapping of keys calls Aoba's attention to his computer, to which Noiz has returned.

"I meant for you to come, too, you know," Aoba says to Noiz's back. He never turns to look at Aoba.

"I'm not going."

Noiz ignores the emphatic grumbling of his stomach, fingers moving almost mindlessly over the keyboard. Aoba sighs and crouches next to him.

"I'm a shitty cook, but Ren is almost a god. Not gonna twist your arm or anything, but good food is good food."

Clicking the window closed, Noiz finally twists around to regard Aoba. Then, he glances over the third-year's shoulder, at Koujaku.

Noiz's eyebrows move up ever so slightly, a challenging twinkle flashing in his gaze before he huffs and gets to his feet. Aoba follows suit, just as Noiz drawls out a lazy, "Alright."

Aoba smiles reassuringly, only barely catching Koujaku's sour grimace on the corner of his vision. Choosing to ignore the silent but heavy animosity looming at his back for as long as he can, Aoba leads the way out of the room.

"So you're some kind of obsessed ex-boyfriend, huh?" Noiz muses lightly as they walk down the stairs and Aoba squeezes his eyes shut. Not for as long as he would've liked.

Koujaku scoffs. "Aren't you too young to talk about that?"

"I'm sorry I frustrated your plans to go through this guy's drawers and sniff his boxers."

Aoba pinches his face in an ugly grimace at the mere mental image.

"Keep your fantasies to yourself, bean sprout."

"I'm not a bean sprout."

"You sure talk and act like a bean sprout, bean sprout."

"Anyway!" Aoba interrupts as he feels their back-and-forth steadily descending into third-grade level. They cross the doorway to the kitchen. "Just sit at the table and please shut up."

"I may have something to help with that," says Aoba's grandmother out of nowhere. He turns back just in time to see the old woman heavily setting a wide basket on top of Koujaku and Noiz's head. The height difference between the two is reduced to nothing when Koujaku bends down slightly under the weight.

"Keep their stomachs and mouths full and they won't be yapping their heads off." Aoba blinks in shock but quickly takes the basket from Granny's hands, finding it overflowing with golden-brown doughnuts. Freed from being the basket's perch, Noiz and Koujaku have twisted back to face the woman's sharp eye. "I don't want to hear a peep from the living room."

"Yes, Tae-san," Koujaku answers, subdued when faced with Granny's threatening tone. How is it that you try to act like a reasonable human being in front of everyone in my family except for me, Aoba wants to shoot at Koujaku, but keeps his mouth shut.

Letting out an impatient huff, the old woman turns around and leaves the kitchen. Aoba knows she must've baked these doughnuts right after he came home with Noiz and the thought makes him smile.

Peace and quiet are restored thanks to Granny. Noiz and Koujaku sit across from one another at the table without a word, which is quite the progress for Aoba, who sets the basket of steaming doughnuts between the two.

"What are we making, chef?" Aoba asks cheekily when he sidles up next to Ren on the sink, tying up his apron at the small of his back.

"Sukiyaki. Can you chop these for me, please?" Ren glances quickly at him as he motions towards the vegetables he had already put aside for Aoba to work on. Aoba hums with a light grin, which Ren misses as he's already busy slicing up a chunk of meat.

"Tae-san's doughnuts are excellent as always," Koujaku praises from the table, his voice mingling with the constant hissing of knives against cutting boards. Aoba looks over his shoulder and finds him munching on a doughnut with a joyful grin on his face. Letting his gaze wander to the side, Aoba catches Noiz regarding the basket with a suspicious look.

"You should try one," Aoba says. Noiz glances up at him without dropping his guard. "I said we'd have good food, right?"

Noiz's mint-green eyes drop back to the basket and he ultimately fishes for a doughnut. Aoba watches on, amused by the clear reluctance so easily defeated by curiosity.

Noiz bites into the doughnut, a shallow crease ever present between his eyebrows.

"... It's sweet."

Aoba blinks. Out of all things he expected Noiz to nitpick, this was not one of them. Aoba huffs out a surprised laugh, momentarily at a loss for an answer.

"Well, they're supposed to be sweet. Doughnuts."

Noiz shoots him a quick glare. "It's still too sweet."

"That's like complaining about the sky being blue, you know," Aoba says slowly, one eyebrow up in question.

Ignoring his words, Noiz proceeds to bite into the doughnut again and again, never stopping until only crumbs are left on his fingers, each and every bite less hesitant than the last. Aoba shakes his head with an indulgent smile and turns back to the half-cut cabbage before him.

Aside from a small squabble when Koujaku and Noiz try to reach for the same doughnut and refuse to give it up—Koujaku eloquently explains to Aoba why this particular doughnut is superior to all others, Aoba agrees and takes it for himself—dinner preparations progress smoothly. Aoba puts the nearly empty basket of doughnuts away and replaces it with a portable stove and an iron pot, quickly putting it to heat up.

They are just sitting down when Granny finally joins them at the table. Ren's movements bespeak confidence as he sears the thin slices of beef and carefully places the cut-up cabbage, pieces of green onions and shirataki noodles around it. Although Aoba is responsible for chopping most of the ingredients, the sliced tofu and decorated carrots and mushrooms are Ren's own handiwork; Aoba could never be patient or dexterous enough to cut stars and make flowers out of food.

As soon as the lid is off the pot and the vegetables are cooked through, many hands are moving over the table, fishing for pieces of meat and putting more to cook, passing the bowls of remaining vegetables to one another. That's the beauty of sukiyaki; it's food made to eat with people and the more the merrier. Strangers become friends and you're left warmed up from inside and out with great food and great company.

This is why Aoba quickly glimpses Noiz, who's sitting across from him, carefully observing the others as they eat and staring down his own half-full plate.

"What is it? Something you don't like?" Aoba asks over the noise of conversation, absentmindedly dipping a strip of beef into his little bowl of raw egg and taking it to his mouth.

"Does that seriously taste good?" Noiz shoots back, badly concealing a grimace. Aoba blinks in confusion.

"What exactly? The meat, or..." Aoba looks around the table, then down at his own chopsticks and he realizes. "Oh... you mean the egg?"

Noiz simply stares at him through the steam that clings to his temples, but Aoba doesn't need any reply because he's struck by the second realization that Noiz probably never had sukiyaki before. Hell, it's likely he'd been a stranger to doughnuts as well, if there's a reason for his unusual comments. Aoba knew he couldn't have been living in Midorijima before this year, but now he's left wondering how long Noiz has been in Japan at all.

Aoba pushes his questions aside, however, and laughs good-naturedly.

"Well, try it out, if you're not used to it. I like it, but Ren's not into it. That's why he doesn't have a bowl, see?" Aoba vaguely motions towards Ren, who's sitting beside Noiz and is immersed in conversation with their grandmother and Koujaku.

When Noiz doesn't say anything or moves, Aoba's grin turns into a lazy smirk. "I'll cover for you if you want to throw up."

That does the trick. Aoba holds back his laughter as Noiz plunges a slice of meat into his untouched bowl of raw egg; Noiz may like riling people up, but he's completely oblivious to how easily he's manipulated by his own rebellious streak.

Noiz gobbles down the piece of meat, chewing with a pensive frown.

Aoba looks on with raised eyebrows. "Well?"

"Not as nasty as it looks," Noiz answers vaguely as he plucks another slice of beef from the pot. Aoba has to throw his head back and laugh at that.

Granny was right. Of course she was; keep everyone's stomachs and mouths full and there's no reason for fighting. While Noiz doesn't become any chattier, Aoba recognizes a sparkle of genuine interest in his eye as he listens to the conversation at the table, though it's a dim one. Bowls pass between Koujaku and Noiz like a second thought, done without overt amicability, but the lack of scathing words and glares alone reads as a victory in Aoba's book.

"So you're here because your mom and Beni are in a trip and you're too lazy to cook for yourself?" Aoba asks, holding back a blissful hum at the sweetness and saltiness mingling on his tongue as he chews on the beef.

Koujaku groans, half-lidded eyes and chin propped up on his palm, already exhibiting the signs of post-meal lethargy but still pushing food into his mouth. "You don't get to judge me when you just play kitchen assistant for Ren. You're as bad as I am."

"You're going to look really bad if your eight-year-old brother starts cooking for you," Ren remarks in his patented calm but deadly judgmental tone, munching on a piece of tofu.

It deals damage, as it usually does; Koujaku pouts and shrinks ever so slightly on his seat, even though Ren's not even looking at him. Aoba catches Noiz snorting into the back of his hand; even though it's clearly mocking, it only contributes to the light atmosphere.

Aoba finds himself wishing they always had noisy, hearty dinners like this. There's nothing wrong with the everyday quiet banter shared over meals between himself, his brother and Granny, but this is exciting; elbows and fingers bumping together around a small table, catching up with Koujaku, who he doesn't see quite as often as before, and getting to know Noiz's mannerisms as his long fingers grip the chopsticks and he picks at flower-shaped carrot slices.

"We should call Mizuki over next time, as well... Oh, and Clear, too," Aoba wonders aloud, mostly to himself. Ren blinks away from Granny, who keeps on talking to Koujaku, and takes a moment to absorb Aoba's words.

"... Maybe we should." A smile blooms in his face and fills his cheeks with faint color.

A person fooled by Ren's cool demeanor would be surprised on first glance and quickly chalk it up to kindness or even courtesy. However, the thing that makes Ren the most happy is surrounding himself with people he cares about. Aoba knows this and grins back at his brother.

Granny is the first to get up from the table. Every plate is polished off and there's not a single string of udon noodle in the bottom of any bowl to speak of their filling meal. She starts gathering her plate and bowl, but Aoba stops her.

"I'm gonna take care of the dirty dishes, Granny. Just leave it there."

She narrows her eyes at his careful tone, but ultimately relents. To Aoba, that's another reason to worry altogether, but he simply sighs in relief that she didn't yell at him for treating her with kid gloves.

"I better not find a speck of food left in these plates tomorrow," she threatens gruffly. "I'll go to bed now. Make sure you tell your mother to visit when she returns, Koujaku."

Koujaku nods his assent and she leaves with a cursory "goodnight, boys", her hands on her hips as she stretches back her spine with a low grunt. The door slides shut just as Koujaku slouches back on his chair, completely giving up on looking respectable now that Granny is gone. She would've definitely scolded him on his posture.

Just as soon, Aoba and Ren get up and start gathering the dirty dishes. Before Aoba can get to him, Noiz gets up with his own plate and bowl, moving towards the sink. Aoba opens his mouth to call him out, but he's interrupted.

"Aoba, I'm sleeping over," Koujaku announces from where he's leaning back on the chair to the point of nearly spilling into a pool of drowsiness on the floor. Aoba looks down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I have no spare futons for lazy gluttons."

"You're so cold nowadays." Aoba rolls his eyes and takes Koujaku's dirty dishes. He's not done sulking, however. "If this was six or seven months ago, you'd be asking me what side of the bed I'm taking."

Aoba's face goes hot despite himself and his mouth twists in a snarl. "You little..."

Koujaku tilts his head to the side, trying to find Ren with drooping ruby eyes. "You vouch for me, right, Ren? You want us to be brothers-in-law, don't you?"

Ren turns around with the portable stove and dirty sukiyaki pot in his arms, slowly blinking at Koujaku with stony golden eyes. A gaze like this is not dark enough to make flowers wilt, but it'll most certainly make a man feel shame for the first thing his memory provides him.

Koujaku's expression is unchanged as he nods, eyelids descending at once. "You're absolutely right."

Noiz returns to the table after putting his dripping plate and bowl to dry and Aoba can't find it in himself to nag him anymore, simply letting out an exasperated huff. Koujaku is righting himself up in his seat and pulling his phone out of his pocket, thumb sliding one way and the other over the screen. Aoba twists the faucet.

Under the bubbling of running water, there's a faint hum which gradually increases in volume. It buzzes in Aoba's ears, somehow hard to discern between human and electrical—though he's truthfully not trying to. Chunks of shungiku and napa cabbage stir in the bottom of shallow plates, quickly washed away by the current and down the drain. It's completely silent.

"Aoba."

Soap overflows between Aoba's fingers as he squeezes the sponge in surprise, snapping his head towards his brother. Ren is regarding him carefully, eyes narrowed, a crease between his brows. As he blinks dumbly at his twin brother, it feels as though he's broke through the ocean's surface. The water is still running from the tap, Koujaku is complaining about "stupid ads" as his phone screams in his hands and Noiz grumbles something under his breath.

"... Sorry, did you say something?" Aoba answers at last.

"Just noticed you were spacing out. Everything alright?"

"Um... Yeah, sorry."

Ren makes a face at the out-of-place apology, but Aoba doesn't have time to feel embarrassed as a car horn comes from the outside. Both brothers look out over their shoulders, different levels of surprise displayed in each face.

Koujaku raises his head with little interest. "That's for you?"

"That's them," Noiz says flatly, not as a reply, and gets up. Aoba scrambles, hands sudsy and dripping.

"I'll walk you to the door! Ren, can you...?"

"Sure."

Ren takes his place in front of the pile of dirty dishes. Aoba shoots a quick grateful smile his brother's way, wiping his hands on the nearest towel and striding after Noiz. They pass by a wall clock on their way to the front door: it reads ten and thirty p.m.

"They're a little late," Aoba comments in a weak attempt to fill the silence.

"I can think of one or two reasons for that," Noiz says in a tone which suggests Aoba does not want to know details. Truthfully, he doesn't.

Aoba sighs and clears his throat. "I know this happened out of nowhere and you didn't, uh, want it to happen, but I hope you had a good time. Granny... she's a little down because she has a friend in the hospital. I think it was good for her, having more people around today. Koujaku really helped, as well, but," Aoba gropes in the dark for words, tongue-tied. He's not very articulate to begin with; forming sentences that won't go in and out through Noiz's ears is another challenge altogether. "What I mean is, it was fun having you over."

They've stopped in front of the door. Noiz is turned halfway towards him, listening with a sort of disinterested patience. Aoba knows he can hear the question hanging from the end of his statement.

"Well, the food really was good," Noiz says at last.

Aoba huffs out a laugh and walks past Noiz, putting on the closest flip-flops and sliding the door open. "Don't need to be a stranger, then. You're welcome here anytime."

A silver car is parked in front of his house, all sleek and sharp lines under the faulty light poles. They walk down the short steps of the small porch and through the gate just as the passenger window rolls down, revealing a smiling Virus.

"Hey, Wilhelm." Trip's head pops up by his shoulder, on the driver's seat, echoing the greeting. "Did you behave yourself?"

Aoba glances to the side, but is unable to catch Noiz's reaction. However he feels, he doesn't voice it, so Virus turns his attention to Aoba.

"I hope you two had a good time."

"Yes, it was great having him over," Aoba assures him with a polite smile, gaze flickering to where Trip is waving at him.

"Where are your parents, if I may ask? I want to apologize for imposing."

"Oh... They're not here," Aoba says, his smile faltering ever so slightly.

Concern flashes over Virus's features, smooth planes shifting around a frown. "I'm sorry, I said something insensitive."

"No, not at all," Aoba is quick to reassure him. Noiz is watching him intently from the corner of his eye. "My family was glad to have him visit."

Virus nods solemnly at him and Aoba faintly hears the click of the doors unlocking. "Well then, we should leave now. Wilhelm, hop in. Good night, Seragaki-kun."

"Good night, Aoba!" Trip echoes in his oddly flat cheer, the tinted glass rolling up and hiding the two men. Noiz says nothing, leaving it at a fleeting glance shared between the two. It's one heavy with significance. Aoba bows politely, bidding them farewell as the car reverses and departs from the badly illuminated and narrow street, back the way it came from.

The front door is half-open. Aoba pushes it the rest of way and finds Koujaku at the genkan, leaning back on the wall with his arms crossed.

"What are you looking all serious for?"

Koujaku says nothing, ever cryptic when he has no business being so. Aoba watches on with a raised eyebrow as Koujaku puts on his shoes, eyes turned to his feet.

"Do you even know where that guy came from?" it's Koujaku's question, at very last.

Aoba blinks at him in mock-confusion. "Do you mean geographically or...?"

Koujaku raises his head to give him one tired, withering stare. Then, he puts one hand on his hip, looking deceptively patient.

"Fine, humor me. Geographically, where did he come from?"

"... I don't know."

"Then, biologically. Philosophically, if you will. Where did he come from?"

Aoba's eyes skirt away. "I'm pretty sure we all know where he biologically came from, Koujaku."

"Stupid." Koujaku roughly ruffles Aoba's hair, drawing out a startled squawk out of him.

Aoba snarls at Koujaku and swats his hand away, his hair a mess. "You asshole-"

"Something is about to happen in this island," Koujaku cuts him off, his playfulness nowhere to be seen again. Aoba bites his tongue. "That's the feeling I've been getting lately. It's in the air and it's in the looks of that shady trio."

"That's your gut feeling, it has nothing to do with me," Aoba tries to counter, but the weakness in his tone doesn't go unnoticed.

"But you know to trust my gut feeling. On the other hand, you know nothing about that guy. So don't trust him that easily."

Koujaku's face is deathly serious as he makes his statement, so much so Aoba can't find the will to retort for a long time. Still, he holds his gaze with hollow stubbornness, lips stuck in a thin line. Ultimately, Koujaku lets out a sigh through his nose and smiles almost apologetically. Again, his hand is on Aoba's hair, but sloppily trying to smooth it over this time.

"Right now... might've been a bad time to say all this, sorry. It was great talking to you, Ren and Tae-san again. If anything happens, you know how to find me."

With one last glance, Koujaku silently slides the door shut on his way out. Aoba returns to the kitchen and helps Ren finish the dishes, supposedly unaffected by the conversation but feeling his mind buzz with unexplained disquiet.

Noiz, Virus and Trip return to the flat. Virus busies himself locking the door and turning on the lights as Noiz walks right past the two men. Trip quickly turns his attention to him, shoes dropping from his feet at the genkan.

"So, about your boyfriend-"

The door to Noiz's room bangs shut around the corner. Virus blinks, looking unimpressed but for a glint of amusement in his eyes. Trip's smile, though close-lipped, is as wide as it can get.

"Touchy, touchy."

Chapter Text

"Haga-san, you knew mom and dad?"

Aoba is scampering around the shop on short little legs, like a baby bird nipping at the customers' ankles and making a general nuisance out of himself. The question steals Haga-san's attention away from him and towards the small Ren, sitting on a tall stool next to the desk. The earnest attention of Ren's expression almost covers up the nervousness present in the incessant jiggling of his leg.

Haga-san smiles at the boy.

"I did, naturally. In fact, I saw your mother sprout up from a little seedling just like you into a fully grown tree. As a girl she was free-spirited, unstoppable. As a woman she was strong and tenacious, just like your grandmother."

Ren straightens up a little, eyes alight with curiosity and nails digging into the fabric of his pants.

"And... and dad? How was he like?"

The curve of Haga-san's lips takes on a more apologetic tilt, brows upturned.

"I didn't know your father as well as I did Haruka. But during the short time we spent together, I could tell Nine was very strong as well. Your mother wouldn't have fallen in love with a weakling, of course."

Haga-san keeps his mouth open for a second too long, hung up on an unspoken sentence, a suspended idea. Even at the young age of seven, Ren knows when people are keeping things from him; how adults will indulge his questions, then nod to themselves and decide, yes, this little kid doesn't need to know any more.

That's exactly what Haga-san does, and he clamps his mouth shut in a tight smile. Ren is tired of seeing this happen.

Aoba would throw a tantrum at this. Ren keeps quiet.

That is, until he has another question.

"Granny... She never talks much when we ask about mom and dad. She only says they went far away. Haga-san, when she says that, she doesn't mean they died... right?"

The man sighs and, unexpectedly, pats Ren's head. The little boy frowns in confusion.

"Don't think badly of Tae-san for not talking much about it. I'm sure it must be scary, not knowing a thing, but she's still hurt by Haruka's parting."

Ren clenches his jaw and his chin wobbles, predicting the worst for Haga-san's next words. However, the man assuages his fears.

"Don't worry your little head. Your parents are alive and well. They really are just... very far away. As soon as they're ready, they will come back, I'm sure of it. You're their beloved boys, after all."

Again, Haga-san pats his head, but his hand is heavier, his fingers ruffling through Ren's hair and messing the black strands. Ren squeezes his eyes shut and Haga-san laughs.

"Grow strong and protect Aoba, alright? It's your duty as the older brother."

Usually, Ren would remark he's only older by a few minutes. This time, he only gives a single, sharp nod.

Ren opens his eyes barely a second before his alarm starts ringing. As soon as his brain gets assaulted by the blaring noise, the dream is already dissipating like smoke in front of his eyes.

Waking up at this exact hour and minute of the morning is an everyday occurrence for Ren. It's not every day, though, that he gets to revisit an old memory this clearly. It's been ages since the last time he thought of this specific moment. Yet, Haga-san's last words have resonated with him ever since.

A single hand is extended to the bedside table and Ren turns off the alarm clock, emerging from under his duvet with his hair a mess. The sun peers through a crack in the curtains, and though reluctant to do so, he pushes them open first thing after getting up.

The sun is barely up outside and heavy grey clouds hang from the sky. The house is completely silent; not even Granny must be up yet. If one were to try hard enough, they could hear Aoba sleep-talking in the next room.

Ren opens the glass window, and the kiss of breeze against his skin is chilly.

"It's going to rain again."

Bike tires cut through the thin sheet of water over the asphalt and send it splashing to the sides. Thunder rumbles overhead, sending heavier and heavier rain down onto roofs, plastic umbrellas and the heads of unfortunate ones.

"Ahhhh! Seriously, what a pain!" Aoba yells out to the uncaring skies, legs working overtime to take him and his worthless back seat rider under a proper roof.

"Can you stop moaning for one second?" Grumbles the worthless back seat rider, Mizuki.

"This is your fault, I could be perfectly dry and at school already!"

"You only woke up because I called you and you know it! I'm doing you a favor here by holding the umbrella over your stupid head."

"Shut up!"

It's completely Mizuki's fault and not Aoba's at all... even if he, indeed, only woke up because Mizuki called him begging for a ride. Aoba made it to his house with just enough time for his friend to hop on the back seat, the heavy grey clouds making an even more ominous display than the blinking numbers on Aoba's cell phone screen.

And yet, instead of leaving the house immediately, Mizuki yanked him inside and promptly threw him into a conversation with his chatterbox of a father before slipping away. Aoba didn't even get the opportunity to kick his door down and ask why the fuck he was taking so goddamn long. By the time Mizuki merrily grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him out the door, it was drizzling already.

Aoba is definitely considering on the back of his mind how weirdly Mizuki acted earlier. However, at the forefront of his mind, Aoba is pissed at everything, including his impossible-to-figure-out biological clock and the rainy season rushing over Midorijima—it's not even June yet, what the hell. When they finally get to the shoe lockers, they say nothing; there's only enough time to change shoes and hurriedly shake off the rainwater weighing down the sleeves of their jackets and the cuffs of their pants while running to class.

Over the course of the morning the rain keeps beating a monotonous, but oddly lulling rhythm on the glass windows. Aoba does like rain, but that's only when he can actually nap to the sound of it at home. Right now, it's sweet temptation when he's supposed to be paying attention to Math. Even the movement of raindrops sliding down the windows is much more interesting than the lecture.

"Aoba?"

At the call of his name, Aoba startles and quickly whips his head to the side. He finds Mizuki, leaning towards him from his seat and mouthing the straw of his tiny juice box.

"Sorry, I dozed off."

Mizuki raises one eyebrow. "And my voice woke you up instead of the bell? I'm gonna feel important if you do that, Aoba."

"Shut up," Aoba snorts, just now taking in his surroundings. Not only did the bell ring as Mizuki has said, but it seems to be recess already—just when did he nod off? The teacher is nowhere to be seen and his classmates are talking and moving about, but they're all looking as sluggish as Aoba feels. It's still drizzling outside, after all.

"Hey, I heard about it," Mizuki starts after a short bout of silence, sounding hesitant. "How is Haga-chan doing?"

Aoba frowns, rolling the question around his brain, and lets out a faint worried hum.

"Well, I don't know much more than you do," Aoba says, scratching the back of his head. "I only saw him Saturday morning, when I went to the hospital with Granny. It was pretty shocking when I got there and the doctor told us he broke his hip-"

"Holy shit."

"Yeah. Apparently he fell over last Wednesday night, but we only heard about it the next day. I was at Noiz's when he called me to say he was at the hospital and that I wouldn't have to go in for work while he's recovering."

"So he's conscious and everything?"

"He is. He looked just as light-hearted as he sounded over the phone when we went to see him, but I bet it must be painful. He had to have surgery and everything."

Mizuki visibly shudders.

"Granny's been trying to act cool, but it's obvious she's worried sick. She went to the hospital yesterday and I'm pretty sure she'll go today as well. I try not to talk about it and just alleviate her mood when she's home, so I don't have much else to tell you."

"So... there's no danger of him just turning and, uh-"

Aoba lets out a snort of humorless laugh instead of swatting Mizuki over the head. For that level of maturity, Aoba gives himself the metaphorical pat on the back.

"No, I don't think there's any immediate danger. But the possibility is always there. He's not much younger than Granny, after all."

Mizuki sighs, leaning back on his seat and turning his face skyward. "Man, that sucks. How something like that even happens? Does Haga-chan live in a place where he can fall this badly?"

"His house is two-storey high and has a basement, so there are plenty of stairs to fall off from and whatnot."

"Damn. I may pay a visit to the man; I've barely seen him ever since we grew up and I stopped filling my pockets with the candy he had in his shop."

Aoba laughs at the fond memory. Haga-san stopped having a jar filled with free candy for clients at the front desk directly because of Mizuki and other kids who'd tear the thing apart in mere hours. To this day, Aoba denies any involvement in the thievery.

"Maybe you should."

Mizuki sucks on his straw, which makes a raucous noise against the bottom of the juice box. He leaves it on his desk and looks at Aoba. "Anyway, recess will be over soon. You should eat your lunch already."

Aoba raises an eyebrow; oh, right. The discomfort he feels in his stomach is hunger, even though it feels like it was just an hour ago that he had breakfast. God, he's completely thrown off by this who-knows-how-long nap he apparently took.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm giving you any."

"I didn't ask, cheapskate."

Outside, it doesn't stop raining even after recess is over.

Other than the low sound of music, the apartment is perfectly quiet and has been since Noiz returned. For quite a while now, paying attention to class has been too much of an ordeal, so much so that he'd rather slip away after recess than spend half the afternoon listening to some boring lecture he doesn't even understand.

If this was still a week or so ago, he would've gone straight to the Southern District's arcades. It was much easier to navigate Kisaragi and the surrounding neighborhoods after he became a member of Scratch, but as it happens, Takato got angry at him for asking around for Usui, the Tournament Event's champion, and forbade him from playing Rhyme.

"After Hiroto's incident, that's something I'd like to enforce for the whole team." Takato told him then, arms crossed over his chest. "But too many people play this stupid game and we are not so big that we can cut people off on those bases. You, however, will have to listen to me."

Noiz tossed some snide remarks at that, but there wasn't much he could do. Now that he had been introduced into the team, it was much harder to sneak around like he used to before. Furthermore, Takato had assigned him a partner—the cattish girl from the time Hiroto attacked him and involved Scratch, he recognized after she teased him about the event—and Noiz was sure that she was keeping tabs on him.

With that said, it would probably be easy for him to simply play on the Platinum District machines. There were arcades at the Green Playground Amusement Park and some scattered around the shopping malls downtown, but Noiz hated the gaudy kids trying to get chummy with him. At least the guys from the Old Residential District just watched over his shoulder, throwing one or two off-handed comments about his gameplay at best.

So, as much as Noiz itches to play the game and, most of all, find this Usui person and drag them into a 1v1 match, he's now sprawled on his apartment's couch, limbs in disarray, eyes turned to the ceiling. When he came back, he hoped he could kill time by sleeping, but after spending half an hour lying in his bed in the dark, it became clear that it wouldn't happen. It felt too annoying to stay in his room after that, so taking advantage of the fact that he was alone at home, he easily claimed the living room.

While the rain had lightened considerably, the sky was still pleasantly grey with heavy clouds hanging over Midorijima. It made the sunlight shining through the windows much less aggressive. Noiz's heel is thumping lightly on the floor, following the rhythm of the songs he sneaked out of Aoba's computer, playing from his laptop on the coffee table.

The high-pitch ringing of the landline phone cuts through the music. Noiz props himself up on an elbow, looking at the screaming thing attached to the wall as though willing it to shut up, but ultimately pushes himself off the couch.

After hitting the pause button on his laptop, Noiz picks up the receiver and ignores the caller ID display; he won't recognize it anyway.

"Hello."

"Wim?! Is that you?"

Noiz blinks at the wall, wide-eyed. In a fraction of a second, however, his surprise is gone, shoulders slouching and eyelids falling heavier.

"What are you doing, Theo? Does our father know you're calling here?" Noiz asks flatly, switching languages accordingly.

It's been a while since Noiz heard German. Virus and Trip have always talked to him in Japanese, long before they came to Japan. Noiz knows his younger brother is more comfortable with German, his Japanese stilted here and there, but their parents' preferred language puts Noiz in a sour mood.

The fact that Noiz's preferred language is different speaks to who's always been preferred by their parents, really.

"I got a maid to dial you up!"

Noiz chuckles despite himself. Contrary to his outward compliance, Theo is impressively stubborn—almost crafty, though in a clumsy way. Noiz could never resent his brother for having the freedom he never had, especially considering how much he owes Theo. The younger boy is the only reason why Noiz is not locked up in his bedroom anymore, after all.

"It must be very early in the morning there, though."

"That's the only time I can do this and not be caught... It's what I did last week, too."

Last week, huh... The time Trip said he was crying. "Is it the same maid, too?"

"I can't tell you that!"

"Right," Noiz huffs. It's a good thing Theo is protecting her identity so adamantly; if their parents caught wind of this, this woman would be fired promptly.

"Wim, how is Japan like? It feels like ages since you left."

"I can hardly use this place as an example for what Japan is like," Noiz says, looking out the windows. It shows the damp and grey Platinum District, buildings and skyscrapers reaching for the sky with the amusement park's Ferris wheel peaking just so over them.

None of the windows of this apartment face the Old Residential District, Noiz notes distantly.

"It's nothing noteworthy. There are some interesting places, though."

There's a trickle of soft laughter at the other end. "What about the people? Have you made friends?"

"Huh? No," Noiz says matter-of-factly, almost sneering as he turns away from the window.

Theo sighs. "I'm always alone now, I miss you."

Noiz blinks down at the empty space in front of him, furrowing his brow. Although Theo is undoubtedly his only family member who gives a shit about him, the thought of his younger brother actively missing his presence never really crossed Noiz's mind.

Growing up, he wasn't much of a big brother to Theo; they barely played together like siblings would, since their mother kept them away from each other as much as possible. Despite being two years younger, Theo was the mature, reliable and polite son, while Noiz has only ever been a problem to their family.

This is the best possible outcome for everyone. Their parents can go on pretending he doesn't exist, he can get away from them and Theo can get away from him and the burden he represents. If anything, he should be relieved.

"Wim? Are you still there?"

Noiz blinks, the glaze clearing from his eyes. "Ah. Yeah."

"Anyway, it'll be June 13th soon!" Theo says, and it's almost audible through the phone that he's inflated with excitement. "Do you think you can at least come back for that?"

"Coming just for my birthday? That's ridiculous," Noiz scuffs, looking at the calendar hanging on the wall of the dining area. It will be two weeks from now.

"It's not ridiculous!" Theo protests, surely pouting. "I'm going to ask dad about it later!"

"I'm pretty sure he wouldn't like that idea," Noiz says, not feeling nervous for himself but for his brother's misguided willfulness.

"What are we talking about?"

At the sound of that voice Noiz promptly whirls around, naturally finding its owner walking out of the hallway. Trip comes into the living room wearing black from head to toe, brows raised and smiling lazily at Noiz. One hand tries to fix his hair while the other holds his motorbike's helmet and places it on a table next to the wall.

Noiz feels himself souring down to his tongue. He never heard the front door's lock. When did Trip come in and how long has he been listening?

"Wim?" Theo calls on the line, but Noiz doesn't pay him any attention.

Trip walks up to Noiz, dropping his keys on the coffee table on his way. "Come on, don't clam up on me."

Resigned, Noiz doesn't even try to forcefully hang up when Trip reaches for the receiver. This is not so important as to earn such a despaired move on his part. Trip is only doing this to get a rise out of him.

"Hey, Theo!" Trip greets in his flat baritone. "Mhm, glad to see you in high spirits this time. Forget about that, how're you feeling today?"

Trip nods to himself as he listens to Theo, then his gaze slides to Noiz, who's standing around waiting for his chance to escape. Trip's faint grin gains a sharper edge.

"Oh, sorry, Theo. We are keeping Wilhelm from the conversation. You can go on."

Trip presses a button under the display. Theo's voice clicks into existence in the living room.

"Uh? Oh, alright... Anyway, I was telling Wim that I really miss him and that he should definitely come back for his birthday! Wim says dad wouldn't like it, though."

"I don't know where he gets that idea from. Your father would be on board with that, birthdays are special!" Trip insists, only fanning the flames of Theo's excitement. Noiz glares at the back of Trip's head as he continues, "But Wilhelm is still in the middle of the school term."

Theo grumbles slightly. "I know he goes to school there but he can take a weekend off, right?"

Noiz sighs heavily while Trip hums beside him.

"We all have lives here, little Theo. We can't just drop everything and go," Trip says and Noiz only stares at him, wondering why he's almost being sensible about this. Especially since it'll just make Theo upset when his hopes are crushed.

"Is that so?" Theo says, stuck somewhere between sullen and resigned.

"... Which is why you are in luck," Trip comes in again, like a salesman talking up his product. "Because we might be done here by then. June 13th, right? We could make it back to Berlin just in time."

"Huh?" Noiz interjects sharply.

"Really!?" Theo trills on his end, fully animated again.

"Yes, yes. We might be back to stay by then!" Trip tells him confidently. Noiz scowls at Trip's profile; it's one thing to tease him, but giving false hopes to Theo like this is even more irritating. Trip tilts his head to look at him, naturally taking in Noiz's dark expression with a smirk. "And if we can't go back, we will make sure to at least send Wilhelm back. This is our present to both of you."

Noiz's stormy gaze and Trip's cool one remain locked all while they listen to Theo's gushing at the good news and as they exchange farewells. The line is cut and they're plunged into silence.

"Don't pull those kinds of cruel jokes on Theo," Noiz quietly seethes at him. "He's not sharp enough to see through you yet."

Trip scoffs and turns his back on Noiz, pulling down the zipper of his black leather jacket and shrugging it off his broad shoulders.

"A joke? Was it funny?"

Noiz narrows his eyes at him, but instead of prolonging that useless conversation, he turns his face away and stomps to the hallway, fists clenched.

The last few days have been one of the most confusing in Mizuki's life. Never once before did he sway between panic and relief this frequently. The reason is that, for the past week, he's been keeping a virtual stranger in his room, unbeknownst to his family.

A very alive and not at all kidnapped stranger, Mizuki specifies, because even in the privacy of his own head he sounds like a serial killer.

Somehow, he, who couldn't even hide a tiny Miraku from his parents for an entire day when he was a kid, is now sheltering a whole human being (debatable; might be some sort of fox spirit) with nearly translucent skin, thirty inches long black hair and an attitude.

"These are some unfortunate test scores," Sei said as soon as Mizuki came into the room with a bowl of instant noodles. It was the first entire day Sei had been in his house and he was still figuring out how to take care of them in complete secrecy.

Especially after the bathtub stunt. Mizuki was still recovering hours after.

Mizuki pushed the door closed with his foot and frowned down at Sei, who was sprawled on the floor of his room, Miraku's head resting peacefully on their stomach as they held his last year's final exams over their face. Good reminder; Mizuki should burn those.

"Played around too much last year," was all the explanation Mizuki provided, since that was as simple as it could get. While he was never a diligent student, he really let himself go too much; his mother was furious.

"It says 'Class 3-1' here." Sei's beetle-black eyes peeked over the sheet of paper and skittered towards the wall, where Mizuki's uniform was hanging. "But you're still in high school. So you-"

"Yes, yes, I'm repeating my last year of school, I'm a dumbass," Mizuki droned with a roll of his eyes as he knelt on the floor next to Sei and pulled the sheets of paper out of their hand. Next, he motioned with the bowl of noodles towards Sei. "Here, dinner."

Miraku grumbled as Sei made to sit up and went to her pink doggie bed on the corner of the room. Sei took the bowl in their hands, looking down at the noodles soaking in broth. A crease formed between their eyebrows.

"Instant noodles? This is not what you had for dinner, was it?"

Mizuki frowned back at them. "No, but my mom never cooks more than enough for the three of us. I had to actually cook those after they left the kitchen."

Sei looked up at him, critical. "And you only know how to cook instant ramen? I thought you said your family runs a restaurant."

Mizuki threw his hands up and he really wanted to yell, but couldn't, so he did the next best thing: whisper-yell. "Why is everyone so sure I should be a prodigy chef just because my parents have a restaurant?!" He's one step away from messing his hair and falling back on the floor. Thankfully, he stopped himself. "Will you eat it or not?"

"I will," Sei sighed, shimmying back to lean against the side of his bed. Despite himself, Mizuki felt a twinge of guilt at Sei's pout as they stirred the noodles with the chopsticks. "Just saying, all I had to eat today was the snacks you keep stocked here. A bag of chips and a chocolate bar aren't much of a lunch."

Mizuki groaned. How was it possible to want to grab someone by the shoulders and both shake them and hug them at the same time?

"It's just for today. Tomorrow I'll work something out so you'll have proper lunch and dinner. Also, don't just go walking around the house on your own again! You'll get to shower, so just wait for me to be home."

Sei nodded, slurping their noodles as quietly as possible.

So, the two of them set up some sort of system in order to keep the risks of Sei being found at a minimum. Over the weekend it's easy game; Mizuki makes sure to be home for every meal so he can take food back to his room. However, there's no way he can be home during lunch on school days. They come to the agreement that Sei will settle for two slices of pizza for lunch, which Mizuki can safely keep stored in advance, but...

"Learn to cook a proper dinner, will you? I'm not asking for anything fancy, just actual food once a day," Sei said, petulant.

Mizuki had then begrudgingly started his path to mastering the arts of fried rice, omelets and tofu.

"Did you get a girlfriend?" His mother asked him when she caught him in front of the stove, her eyes narrowed into slits. Mizuki yelled at her, but she was laughing at his expense. Horrifyingly so, Mizuki caught his father conspiratorially winking at him from behind her.

For baths, Mizuki is sneaking Sei along with him whenever he himself is going to take a bath. It's been an uncomfortable arrangement; Mizuki never entertains the possibility of them going in the bathtub together, even if it's the most convenient, and Mizuki never so much as glances in Sei's direction when they're undressed. Even though Sei finds it unhygienic and voices this opinion every chance they get, it's been decided Sei uses the tub first and Mizuki goes second, using the same water.

"Both of us wash up before going in, idiot, and I'm the last one, so zip it," Mizuki tells Sei every time.

And they have slept together in Mizuki's bed every night after the bedroom floor didn't treat Mizuki's spine too well the one time. Back to back in a tiny single. Mizuki doesn't think too hard about it—no, really, he doesn't.

It's Friday and Mizuki is strangely calm as he makes the walk from school to home. Much more than he was over the week, that's for sure. Mizuki wonders if his emotions have been yanked in so many directions over the past few days he's finally become numb; if so, he must admit it feels pretty good. Sei is not going to laugh at his expense today. Mizuki breathes in the crisp afternoon air, shaking his arms and enjoying the looseness of his shoulders.

Mizuki's phone rings in his pocket. Changing his furled umbrella to his other hand, he plucks it out in a languid motion.

"Hey," he says into the speaker without looking at the contact's name.

"Mizuki, can you talk now?" It's Sakazaki. Mizuki frowns at the graveness of his second-in-command's voice.

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Well... It's just something that's been bothering me. Nobu hasn't shown up to the hangout at all for the last three or so days. I was wondering if you heard anything from him?"

Mizuki feels immediately self-conscious; he hasn't been to the hangout much himself. Since he rescued Sei, it's become risky to stay out of home for more than strictly necessary. Furthermore, he's been so preoccupied with his current predicament that he didn't notice Nobu's absence.

"No, I don't know about him," Mizuki replies awkwardly, keeping his pace as he weaves through the crowds at Aoyagi Street. "I, uh... have my hands full right now, I should've been looking into it already. Sorry."

"Hey, it's alright. I noticed you've been a little gone lately. Is everything okay?"

Mizuki smiles guiltily. Sakazaki is a great friend. "Yeah, just some stuff. It's temporary; I'll be back in full swing soon. Cover for me, okay?"

"Sure. I'll let you know if anything happens."

"Right, thanks. I'll see what I can do about Nobu."

"Don't worry about it, I'll have the other guys looking into it," Sakazaki tells him. They exchange goodbyes and hang up. Mizuki sighs, already at his street.

Those are actually some concerning news. In the past, people suddenly dropping out of Rib teams was not something unheard of, but it was only common for smaller, more disorganized teams that would dissolve in a couple of weeks anyway. Now, while it's not always, from time to time people will seem to drop out of the face of Earth, even in groups as big as Dry Juice. While Mizuki lamented every time, in numerical terms, it wasn't much of a blow when it happened. This time, however, it's someone he works closely with. Mizuki can't help but think that there's nothing voluntary about Nobu's disappearance.

The house is quiet when Mizuki unlocks the front door and slides it open, leaving his umbrella in the genkan. The first thing he sees when he comes into the living room is his father napping on the couch, Miraku draped over his torso and sleeping just as heavily. Mizuki lets out a breathy laugh into the back of his hand; his old dog is so heavy, how can his father even breathe?

Mizuki walks up the stairs and to his room. The door opens... and there's no one there. Mizuki's bag slips off his shoulder and falls to the floor with a dull thud.

The steady crescendo of Mizuki's heartbeat is the only sound filling the silence as he gapes at his empty room. I can't believe this.

The back of Mizuki's desk chair, where Sei's towel usually stays, is empty. Mizuki storms out of the room as quietly as he can, because he can't afford to wake up his father now. His steps are stifled but his heart kicks up a vicious rhythm in his chest.

Mizuki clambers down the stairs and heads straight to the bathroom, pushing the door open in one swift motion.

Sei is standing in front of the sink, staring at the mirror before them and seeming utterly unruffled by Mizuki's sudden entrance. In their right hand they have sharp, silver scissors, glinting dully in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. Water is covering them from head to toe and, from head to toe, they're completely naked.

The shock and surprise of it is so great Mizuki can't immediately turn his eyes away, instead blinking down at their body before he can help it. That... is a strong argument towards Sei being a boy, after all. Mizuki's inability to confirm Sei's gender, however, is the last thing in his mind now.

Movement at the corner of his vision draws Mizuki's attention back as soon as it left. Sei bunches their long hair in their left hand, holding it up almost as though they're about to put it up in a ponytail. They raise the scissors.

"Sei!"

The blades snap. Black strands of hair fall on the wet floor.

Mizuki closes the door and rushes one step forward before stopping. Despite their weird closeness, he still doesn't know Sei at all; they have expertly dodged every attempt at prying from Mizuki. Now, they have a sharp object in their hand and, what's more, they're cutting their own hair in complete silence. The warning signs are all there.

And yet, Sei doesn't look scared, angry or unstable in any degree. If Mizuki looks deep into it, there's determination in the straight line of their lips.

"Sei, what are you doing?"

"I think you can see it, Mizuki."

Mizuki's eyebrow twitches, but he overlooks their sass. "Reformulating, then. Why are you doing it?"

"I realized it's not very practical in my current state. The long hair, that is." Snip.  More hair falls. "I was attached to it, you see. But it garners too much attention and... They saw it, that night."

"Who are 'they'?" Mizuki means to tack on a scathing unless this is another top secret you can't tell me, but Sei sends him a sharp glance, dropping the hand holding the scissors. Their hair falls in odd angles and butchered cuts to their shoulders.

"I don't know, either. But they know exactly who I am, and they are looking for me." Sei's eyes glide away for a moment, nearly forlorn. "No matter how hard I want to ignore it."

Mizuki shudders at the cool edge of Sei's voice, sharp as glass shards glinting in the moonlight. His tongue weighs a ton in his mouth. Something about them feels incredibly familiar, but also unsettlingly alien.

"... And who are you?"

Sei holds his gaze silently. Mizuki can't see even a speck of brown in his eyes, only pure black. It's a bottomless well, an endless tunnel which draws you in, only for you to turn around too late, too deep in, and find no way back.

Around Sei's pale feet, twisted and sinewy strands of hair gather like lustrous black snakes.

Chapter Text

The nurse pushes the door open and gestures Tae into the hospital room with a polite smile and a curt bow, making almost no sound as she closes the door. There's no need for words at this point; it's not the first or second time Tae has visited her old friend.

Haga is lying back on the bed, eyes closed and breathing regularly. The light that pours through the window is grey and subdued as the sun is choked by heavy rainclouds.

"You sigh so heavily every time you come around, Tae-san," Haga says, his eyes still shut. Tae's eyes go wide, more in response to his observation than because of his voice. She knew he was awake. "It's not possibly because of my health still, right?"

She actively tries not to sigh again. It's annoying not only to have to cut off a bad habit, but also have it pointed out by someone else.

"Of course it is," She grumbles and sits at the lone chair by the bedside. She pauses for a moment. "And because of everything. After all these years, I didn't expect something like this to happen, so I can't help but feel on edge."

Haga opens his eyes slowly and looks out the window, hands clutching at his blanket almost convulsively. "It's already been eighteen years since that day, huh."

Tae looks around the stale room, at the heart monitor beeping steadily by the head of the bed, the IV drip connected by tubes to Haga's arm. She can't help the bitterness in her voice. "I thought that, as long as we made it out of Oval Tower alive that day, we could leave the past behind and live on."

Haga's eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he keeps looking at the rain falling outside. "I never thought of that. The heat of that small body in my arms as we ran under raining debris... I remember it every time I talk to Aoba-kun." Only now does he look back at Tae, his eyes full of an old sadness. "We could never leave it behind, senpai."

The woman grimaces at the honorific and the memories it brings about. She looks down at her lap, away from Haga's eyes. "For so long that boy didn't show any signs of having the power Toue was willing to kill for. I hoped to never have to talk about it with him."

The frown that was weighing on Haga's features lifts gradually. "There is something good to take from this, however."

Tae raises her head, her brows knit together in incredulity as Haga simply smiles.

"Sei was very happy to finally get to meet his brother," he says at last. "Things ended up in such way they had to live separate from one another, but at the very beginning they were like one being. Sei has been waiting for this day forever."

Tae recognizes something behind Haga's smile. The worry there resonates with her and she asks in a low voice, "No sign from him yet?"

Haga shakes his head, his smile still intact, but it's heavy-hearted. "No. But I know he's safe. Just as I told him to, he left me behind and escaped. He's become so strong."

There's no lie in his words; he truly believes Sei. But Tae identifies all too well with the ever-present fear one feels for their children, especially after they grow just too big to keep attached to your hip. In the case of these two children, especially, there's so much they can't be protected from. Tae knows she's tried her hardest.

"If I knew..." Tae frowns down at her rugged hands, clutches at the fabric of her pale yellow dress. "We should've had them meet as soon as you came back to the island, after all."

Haga purses his lips. "If Sei was right, it might've been better that things happened like this. At least... now we know to be careful."

Tae doesn't know what to say to that; even though she wants to deny that Haga getting hurt and Sei running away is the best outcome, there's no changing what already happened. Soon enough, they say their goodbyes in low voices, as if even this hospital room where there's only the two of them is a danger zone.

The battering of heavy rain, previously muffled by the hospital's walls, washes into Tae's ears like crashing waves as she walks out the automatic glass doors. She peers up at the tempestuous sky from under the cover of the porte-cochère and unfurls the red umbrella she is carrying.

Just as she leaves the shelter of the hospital's entrance and takes to the sidewalk, a vision of drenched strawberry-blonde hair and familiar pierced ears cross her.

Aoba's eyebrow twitches, hand gripping the doorjamb for much-needed support.

"Yo."

Noiz blithely greets him from the kitchen table, Granny sitting across from him and silently sipping at her ceramic cup like it's every day Aoba walks into the house and finds his grandmother having black tea and doughnuts with the most unsociable guy he knows. They didn't even say two words to each other when Noiz was over last time, did they?

Aoba's eyes zero in on Noiz's clothes; those are common sweatpants, but a familiar tattered band t-shirt catches his eye. Those are my clothes!?

"H-hey..." Aoba doesn't how to gently ask what the fuck are you doing here and he definitely doesn't want to push Noiz away, even though it's embarrassing how actually happy he is to see his face. So he keeps quiet for everyone's sake and his own, especially.

"Ren didn't come with you?" Granny asks him, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

"He's still busy with the student council. So, uh..."

Granny flatly blinks at him, and follows his gaze to Noiz. Completely misunderstanding his confusion, she says, "You two can go upstairs if you'd like. I was just having this careless kid drink some tea to warm him up."

"A-ah, um..." Aoba's hands flail and his eyes flit in panic between his grandmother and Noiz, who's calmly getting up from his seat. At last, Aoba sighs and his shoulders drop. "Yeah, okay."

Noiz looks at him weirdly, in that way Aoba already recognizes as "you're acting stupid and I don't get you". Well, if Aoba wants to know how this situation came to be, he thinks it's better to ask Noiz—and if Noiz is going to talk about anything extensively, Aoba kind of prefers it to happen away from his grandmother's eye. Just to be on the safe side.

"Take some of the doughnuts with you," his Granny says around the lip of her cup before they can leave the kitchen, eyes closed. "There's more tea in the kettle, as well."

"Ah, right..." Aoba thinks of declining as it's too much trouble to carry trays up the stairs, but he can feel when he'll be yelled at if he doesn't do as told. He puts a few doughnuts in a sizable plastic bowl and gets a tray for the cups and kettle, stalling for one second too long before deciding to get a glass of milk for himself; he's already going to the trouble of carrying all this, might as well drink tea the way he actually likes it.

Aoba hesitates for a moment before looking back at Noiz, who's lingering by the doorway.

"Can you...?" Aoba raises the bowl and motions it towards Noiz, who catches his unspoken words and comes closer, retrieving it from him. Satisfied, Aoba takes the tea set, which he was honestly worried about having Noiz carry instead. They leave the kitchen.

Aoba fidgets for a moment in front of his door, unable to free even one hand in fear of dropping the tray. That result is almost achieved anyway when he starts at the arm reaching around him to slide the door open. Aoba glances at Noiz's blank profile, the faint glimmer of his eye, the sharp angle of his nose and the drops glistening in his hair. Averting his eyes, Aoba mutters a quick "thank you," and walks into the room.

They place the doughnuts and tea on the low table at the center of Aoba's room, sitting across from one another. Silence follows, and while Noiz seems happy to continue that way, Aoba's skin crawls. Is he the only one feeling awkward? Rather, why is he feeling awkward?

"Okay, first," Aoba starts slowly, putting in the tea and milk in a cup for him. "How did you end up here drinking tea with Granny? And my clothes! How did you get in my clothes?"

"Didn't you say I was welcome here anytime?" Noiz asks lightly as he fills his cup with tea, not affected or seemingly offended. Still, Aoba stops drinking his tea and hurries to make himself clearer.

"I'm not saying you aren't! I'm, um, glad to see you here again. I'm hard-pressed to believe you just came around and decided to play dress up in my wardrobe, though."

"You're right," Noiz says after a long swig of his tea. "I was just minding my business when your grandma started yelling at me in the street."

"Eh," Aoba utters in flat shock, dropping the doughnut he'd been holding while Noiz tosses back the cup of tea without a care in the world. A complete contrast to Aoba's crumbling mind as he pictures all the ways this situation could've gone wrong. Noiz has to be exaggerating.

"She called me stupid for walking around in the rain--"

"Ehhh?!"

"--And told me to dry up here and to hold up her umbrella on the way because her arm was tired."

"Oh, god." Aoba drags a hand down his face, feeling it burn with second-hand embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I don't know why she would do that."

"Funny you would say that," Noiz says, his lips a flat line but his eyes blatantly leering. "Because she acted just like you do. I expected you to be able to explain me why."

Aoba stumbles on his retort and Noiz actually smiles—though mockingly, and at his expense. Aoba snarls in frustration, his cheeks bright red.

"W-well, you're here, so that means you couldn't just tell her no, could you?" Aoba accuses, his mouth twisting into a sloppy, victorious grin.

Noiz raises his eyebrows slightly, "She's much more persuasive than you are, obviously."

"Why are you so annoying? Even though you're right," Aoba grumbles, looking away as he brings his doughnut to his mouth and takes a bite. It's hard for anyone to tell Segaraki Tae no; you either feel too chastised or too scared to do so.

"You know," Noiz says, and Aoba flinches at the cool touch of fingertips on his face. He turns his face towards Noiz and finds him studying his expression. "How come your skin goes pink so easily? I've never seen that before."

Noiz's sharp green eyes sting as much as his fingers on Aoba's skin. Aoba makes a weird noise in his throat and blames genetic predisposition, psychology and everything he can come up with on the spot, because the warmth pooling on his cheeks spreads until he's sure he's red up to his ears and down his shoulders.

"That's annoyance, annoyance- eh?"

The tea cup thuds sharply against thick glass. Aoba's eyes open wider as Noiz gets up on his knees, leans over the table and fists one hand on the collar of Aoba's gakuran. The pull, although strong, is not forceful.

Aoba thinks, very distantly, that he would've never expected Noiz to have such soft lips. It's almost completely drowned out by the static like that of an old television buzzing in the forefront of his mind. Aoba only realizes his eyes are still open because he's captured in the steadfast, observing green of Noiz's own.

With the twang of a long abused guitar chord, Aoba's brain snaps as a warm tongue presses on his bottom lip. A violent shiver rides up his spine and he squeaks, lurching backwards and losing his balance. The utensils on the table shake and Noiz blinks down at Aoba, who fell in a contorted heap in the tight space between the edge of his bed and the table. The base of Aoba's neck protests at the uncomfortable position.

And then, Noiz actually smiles. The edge of his smirk is definitely mocking, but there's undeniable warmth there.

"What an ugly mug."

Aoba, unable to muster any other reaction, simply rolls over to the side into a less painful position, covers his face and groans in frustration behind his hands. This course of action is slightly—slightly—regretted by Aoba as he hears Noiz let out a short laugh. Then, there's a huff and a rustle of movement; Aoba peeks through his fingers to find Noiz getting to his feet.

"Where the hell are you going?" Aoba asks, stifled.

"Home," Noiz says lightly as he moves towards the door. Aoba springs up into a sitting position, hair falling haphazardly around his flushed face.

"What?! Already?"

Noiz looks back at him, standing by the doorway. "The rain stopped. I didn't plan on staying too long, to begin with."

"Well, are you not going to explain?"

"Explain what?"

"This!" Aoba motions towards his mouth stupidly. "The k-kiss!"

Noiz raises his eyebrows. "There's nothing to be explained, is there? It's a kiss, like you said."

It seems like Noiz has a lot of fun making Aoba spell things out to him. Aoba indulges, because what choice he has? "Explain me why you did it!"

"Because you're a weird guy," Noiz replies, purposefully petulant.

"Huhhh?!" Aoba interjects, affronted.

"... But I feel like I can understand you now. A little," Noiz mutters, almost to himself.

Aoba barely has time to process the words before Noiz leaves the room. He stays there, staring at the closed door and hearing the echo of Noiz's voice.

"Going already?" Tae asks gruffly through the open living room door, glimpsing Noiz in the middle of descending the stairs.

"Mm, I just need to change clothes. Thank you for the tea," Noiz gives a curt bow. Although Noiz harbors no particular fondness for Seragaki Tae, there is something in her that inspires respect. That's more than can be said for many of the adults he has met, be it in Germany or here. Noiz doesn't bow his head to these people, which is probably why his parents were so convinced he had no manners.

"It was nothing." Tae lets out a huff. "This time of the year kids can get sick so easily. Don't forget to take a hot shower when you get home."

Noiz nods silently and resumes his path to the bathroom, where he's left his clothes to dry. Even though her words are forceful and her attitude falls under what he would classify as meddling, they feel genuine enough that Noiz can't bring himself to feel irritated. He vaguely wonders if that has anything to do with him being exposed to Aoba beforehand.

I can see... how that guy turned out the way he did.

Be it from his parents or grandparents, Noiz has never seen this attitude. Theo is the only one who ever gave a shit about him and that seemed more like some kind of abnormality, a shift in his genetic code. Something that had always been there, but to which Noiz couldn't assert a motive, a reason for being. Noiz never thought Theo fake, but he wasn't something Noiz could ever understand, so he didn't try to.

Noiz pulls the shirt from his back and stares at it for a moment, holding it at arm's length. It's a well-worn black shirt with a colorful, abstract design, the only understandable thing about it being the word "GOATBED" in bold, sharp-edged lettering.

It's just as stark in his mind; Aoba's wide hazel eyes shining like pebbles on the bottom of a river, the deep pink flush emanating from his face, almost forming heat haze over his cheeks. The lines of his lips, twisting so easily between snarls, pouts and, at last, falling slack in shock.

Pressed onto Noiz's own lips they felt dull, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a world of sensations bloomed on his tongue, like he'd finally reached through a barrier. Aoba's lips were warm. That sweet, unique flavor of Seragaki Tae's doughnuts and the earthy quality of the tea are all mingled in Noiz's palate as well, but there's a hint of the milk Aoba mixed into his cup that pierces through it all. Then, there's the texture; soft, supple skin, but the presence of odd cracks here and there make it less uniform, more of something worth exploring.

Then, how Aoba threw himself back and fell into a mess of limbs on the floor, face lit brighter than a red paper lantern, hair wild and mouth gaping open. The panicked, frustrated noises he made and the way he covered his face.

Noiz huffs out a laugh and puts his own shirt back on.

"Interesting," he says, unwittingly fond.

"Ahhh, so boring..."

Sei whines, sprawling on the floor of Mizuki's room like a starfish. They've just taken their after-dinner bath and Mizuki is making peace with the fact that he will have a mountain of dirty clothes to wash much earlier than usual. More so, finding the moment to wash them without his mother catching him and making questions will be a quest in and out of itself.

Now, Sei is wearing white basketball shorts and a thin, light-green shirt, one Mizuki hasn't worn since middle school. Sei's stomach peeks between fabrics as they stretch up their arms. Mizuki, sitting at the edge of his bed, looks away. Miraku is sleeping on her doggie bed, so oblivious to her owner's struggles.

It's been hours since Mizuki got home and found Sei cutting their own hair. The largest part of the black, silken curtains is gone now, their chopped bob cut fanning around their face where they're lying. Mizuki asked Sei "who are you?" but was never properly replied. Instead, Sei asked for his phone. Mizuki was banned from his room while Sei used his phone, which pissed him off a fair bit, but it's not like he could make a fuss about it.

Admittedly, it didn't take long; five minutes later, Mizuki returned to his room and Sei's heavy mood was gone like storm clouds parting before the sun. Mizuki thought there was something like resignation lurking in their eyes.

"The only things you have here are sports magazines and old manga. Don't you have a TV, a game console or something like that?"

Mizuki makes a face. "I don't know where you were raised, but we don't have a television in every room around here. We only have the one in the living room. Also, I'm not really into games."

Sei turns sideways to look at him, dark eyes blinking curiously. "You're not? Who's not into games?"

"Well, I'm not," Mizuki turns his head to the side, like a little kid willing a plate of bell peppers away by sheer force of disgust alone. "I've always been more of a hands-on kind of guy. Sitting in one spot pressing buttons makes me restless."

"Games aren't just like that anymore, you know, grandpa," Sei teases as they push themselves up to sit with criss-crossed legs. Mizuki frowns down at them, ears hot.

"I didn't know I was talking to an expert."

"Indeed!" Sei proclaims with false pomp, puffing up their chest and putting their hands on their waist. "I even had a gaming room at both my grandma's and grandpa's place. So," Sei drops the showy act, staring up at Mizuki with a studying look, "I assume you really don't like the retro types like, say, Rhyme, huh?"

Mizuki blinks, his frown lightening but taking an edge of confusion. Why does it sound like Sei is fishing for a specific reaction from him? Regardless, Mizuki answers sincerely.

"Yeah, I don't like it. Right when it came out, there were people from my team who started getting into it and quit Rib all of a sudden, so I like it even less for that."

Sei smiles. It looks sweet and good-natured on the surface, but there's something different simmering just underneath it.

"That's good. Don't ever play Rhyme, okay, Mizuki?"

Mizuki scowls openly; there's only so much playing dumb he can do. "What do you mean? Did you play Rhyme?"

"I did." Sei drops their eyes. They turn their next words over in their mouth for a couple of seconds too long. "You may have even heard about me. My Rhyme name is Usui."

"... You're joking," Mizuki weakly laughs out, rearing back his head in incredulity. He does know that name, simply because that's all everyone in school talked about until just a week or so ago; how some guy named Usui swooped in during the last few weeks of Rhyme's Event Tournament and snatched the prize money from people who'd been grinding for months. Even one of the favorites to win: Noiz.

"I'm not. Though I don't really have a way to prove myself right now, so you can believe whatever you like."

"And why you, the tournament champion or whatever, is telling me not to play the game? It's not like I'm a threat; you already won."

Sei keeps their eyes trained downwards, fiddling with their fingers and wiggling their toes restlessly. "I started playing the game out of innocent interest—the arcade machine was already there and at my disposal—but I quickly realized there was something wrong with it. On the surface, it's a game full of wild colors, weird patterns and shapes, hard to understand at first glance and even harder to master once you get into it. As I solved more and more puzzles and broke my best scores, I found the game trying to draw me in."

"Drawing you in..." Mizuki repeats hollowly, as if it'll start making sense if he's the one saying it.

"Yes. It was playing tricks on me, trying to get into my head and get me hooked."

"What, like some kind of brainwashing game?" Mizuki says, openly sarcastic. Sei is dead serious, however, and nods firmly.

"I could tell that was happening and could resist it, but I'm sure normal people will simply suffer its effects without knowing a thing. You said it, didn't you? That your teammates played the game and suddenly didn't care about anything other than playing it. It's not exactly a brainwashing game, but it definitely manipulates people's hearts." Sei looks up at Mizuki, who's as pale as paper as he sees reason in Sei's explanation. "I believe, however, that there's a threshold they can't go through, no matter how much they play the game; I reached a point where I didn't have competition anymore, despite the game's popularity, and kept climbing. I won... and I think that's how those people found me."

Those people again; the ones who are looking for Sei. The ones Sei says they don't know, but "knows them". Sei, who just put themselves in one category and "normal people" in another, like it's a natural fact. Sei, who pushes Mizuki around, drives him crazy and just told him the weirdest, most unbelievable story he's heard in a while.

Yet, Mizuki is believing them, because Sei keeps secrets, but hasn't lied even once. Because Sei is looking right at him, their eyes so dark and deep but incredibly reflective, and Mizuki has been wrapped around their little finger from the moment they met.

"Aren't you the one trying to draw me in?" Mizuki asks stupidly, words without reason simply plopping down from his lips like marbles slipping through a hasty child's fingers.

Sei's eyes go wide for a moment. Then they smile, and it's all soft edges and fondness.

"I wouldn't ever. But if you felt drawn to me even so, I'd be very happy."

Mizuki lets out a long sigh and scoops his legs up, lying down on the bed in one hefty impact.

"All of that was... way too much for my head," Mizuki says, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. Stars are popping in his vision.

"Sorry, but I figured you should know this much. For your own safety." Sei makes a grunting noise; Mizuki can tell they are getting up from the floor. Their steps are so silent, however, that Mizuki is not surprised that his parents were never alerted to Sei's presence.

So it still comes as a surprise when Sei lies down on top of him, the whole length of them flush and parallel to Mizuki. The redhead lets out a pained groan and peeks from under his hands.

"You know, I've never had a slumber party before!" Sei imparted cheerfully, chin resting on the back of their hands atop Mizuki's collarbones. "Let's have one now, since Mizuki's room is boring!"

"What slumber party, we can't even make noise and you already stuffed your face with nikujaga." Mizuki casts a weary gaze down on Sei and pats the top of their head. He can't help running his hand through their hair once, mournful of never working up the nerve to do this while Sei still had long hair. "Just go to sleep already, troublemaker."

Sei simply smiles at him, eyes pinching shut and cheeks flushed an innocent pink, but their legs swing to-and-fro like a mischievous kitten's tail. Whatever they are, fox spirit or something else, Mizuki figures it's about time he accepts he's at their mercy.

Chapter Text

The sun is high in the sky, but no more than stray shafts of light penetrate through the crooked buildings. There's not a lack of space for groups like Rib teams to work away from the public, what with the still great number of abandoned building spread around the Old Residential District, not only in the Northern District. In one such space, the thick of Scratch's members is gathered; a little over a dozen teenagers and young adults, some talking in small groups, other hovering by the leather couch where the leader, Akira, is lounging. Takato stands at his shoulder, unaffectedly looking on as Akira talk to each and every member that came to bring some matter to their attention.

Takato does a good job of ignoring the glare pointed in their direction. The same can't be said for Akira, who glances at Noiz's green, narrowed eyes and gives a mocking smile from time to time.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" A voice muses next to Noiz, who finally looks away from Akira and Takato to find Kaede, arms crossed and grinning curiously at him. Noiz can't tell where the girl came from, but as always, she's acting too familiar.

"None of your business," Noiz retorts, looking away from her.

"Oh, come on, it's almost been, what, a month since you joined us and you're still as prickly as ever," Kaede nags, tilting her head of messy purple hair. "Even more so, we're partners."

"I didn't choose you as partner," Noiz says, staring holes into Takato's unconcerned profile. While people in this team do team up in duos and trios, Noiz knows the intentions Takato had when he assigned this girl to him.

"No one ever chooses, genius." Kaede rolls her eyes and looks in the same direction as Noiz. "What, are you still mad at them for not listening to that whole story about Seragaki being in danger?"

Noiz's head snaps to her, his brow furrowed. "How do you..."

They are practically alone in this corner of the room, but Noiz still glances around to see if anyone's heard what she said. Kaede laughs.

"Takato told me, of course."

"Didn't realize you were such close friends," Noiz says bitterly, though that's only half true. Even on the day she came with Takato to find Hiroto attacking him, she seemed to be on his utmost trust.

Kaede scoffs. "Takato doesn't have any friends he'd be that open with. But even that guy can't hide anything from his sister."

Noiz frowns at the wall behind where Takato and Akira are. "You said nothing about that before."

"You didn't ask!"

"That piece of info surely could've fit somewhere in your monologues."

Noiz picked up a lot by listening to the conversations around him when he joined Scratch, but he reluctantly admits that much of what he now knows is owed to Kaede. While the girl certainly shares Akira's delight for teasing the curious, she eventually gives Noiz the information he wants. That's how Noiz got to know about Toue Tatsuo, Platinum Jail's purpose and the annihilation of a remote indigenous village for the secret of their ancestral medicine. How Toue's project came crumbling down at the hand of the village's sole survivor, Mink, who came to Midorijima and gathered people in Scratch for his revenge.

"Now that I think of it, there's no way you would know so much if you weren't close to Takato," Noiz says, glancing at Kaede. "Scratch's former second-in-command had another kid, then."

"See, you were the one not piecing it together," Kaede says cheekily.

"I thought you told me you were in Ribsteez because it's fun. Are you just carrying out your duty like Takato?"

"No way, I'm not that stuck-up," Kaede huffs, sounding offended. "I was born after Platinum Jail's fall; I only heard the stories from our dad. Takato was just a little kid back then, but he's still adamant in his loyalty to Mink. And now, to Mink's son."

Akira laughs obnoxiously at something the guy in front of him says and the sound booms in the stuffy room. All parallel conversations meet a lull as people throw looks of confusion at their leader. Takato's gaze has turned withering but resigned as he stares down at Akira, who's recovering from his fit of giggles and babbling like he's repeating the joke to himself.

Kaede raises an eyebrow. "You know, now that I think of it, your protective boyfriend act really reminds me of him."

"Cut it out," Noiz spits out, turning his back on her and walking away.

"Oh, please," Kaede scoffs, hot on his heels. "You can't expect them to believe it when you say something horrible will happen in two weeks but refuse to give any details."

"Like I could trust them with that."

"Well, it goes both ways."

Noiz closes a hand around the doorknob, but at the slightest creak of the hinges Akira speaks up from the front of the room.

"Hey, hey, I didn't dismiss anyone, did I?" Noiz turns around to narrow his eyes at Akira, while Kaede side-eyes him judgmentally. "Just when we got a resolution."

"Then you'd better spill," Kaede says at length, turning her sleepy gaze Akira's way. "Because we've been cooped up in here for two hours and I'm starving."

"I'm sure you'll survive." Akira dismisses her complaint with a wave of his hand and gets up from the couch, looking around the gathering. The young man who'd been reporting to him quietly steps back. "Takato and I heard all of the issues you guys brought up. We will focus on the threat of smaller Rib teams hanging around our turf, since we've noticed a pattern in your reports."

"This is not about those people curled up in the street corners and around the arcades, is it?" One guy with a buzz cut questions, hands in his pockets.

"There have always been kids who don't really live at home because of family problems," Kaede pipes up, leaning back on the wall and crossing her arms. "Sometimes that can end up with them living in the street, but usually these people end up joining Rib teams and getting some support, if they weren't in one already. We've been running into those randoms loitering about our territory more often than usual."

"Some of you did report on that, and I saw it myself a few times." Akira shrugs. "It may all be related, but it also may not, so our stance on this matter is that you guys continue to shoo them away without aggression. As for the issue at hand, though..."

Akira gives Takato a meaningful look, to which he nods curtly.

"Our team is small, which is why we have to take every possible threat seriously," Takato says and the shift in atmosphere is palpable. Everyone in the room straightens up at the tone of Takato's voice. "We are putting our full power into patrolling and identifying attacks. You'll be working in your usual groups, but we will set up proper schedules for each one. We can't afford to be lax anymore, so I hope I won't be seeing some of you still slacking off at the arcades all day."

The weight and sharpness of his last statement causes a ripple of apprehensive gulps in the crowd.

"Does that mean our little Noiz's probationary period is over?" Kaede slaps a hand on Noiz's shoulder, making him sway on the spot and glare at her.

"Indeed," Takato confirms after showing the slightest of grins, stony brown eyes moving to Noiz. "You've been mostly working from the inside, but from now on you'll go on rounds with Kaede and participate on meetings with other Rib teams when needed."

"Want me to take you to the guy who did my tattoo? He's pretty good," Kaede offers Noiz with a sharp grin, flashing Scratch's tag art painted on the inside of her forearm.

Noiz reserves to simply scoff at that.

"We have to maintain constant communication during our rounds, and should you find hostile groups, you have permission to respond in kind," Takato says, jaw squared up, cutting through the parallel conversations blooming around the room. "As you all know, call for help if you're outnumbered. And even if you're not, you should communicate the possible need for reinforcements to the rest of the team."

"Not like Hiroto, right?" Someone jokes from the other corner of the room, provoking some hesitant laughter. Takato rolls his eyes at that, but doesn't seem miffed by the reminder of that situation, to some people's blatant relief.

"We will work out the schedules until the end of day. Any questions?"

There's a dissonant echo of no's and heads shaking around the room.

"Then, now, you are all dismissed."

Noiz barely hears the tail end of Takato's sentence before opening the door and taking the lead on the crowd leaving the room. The buzz of unintelligible conversations soon catches up to him, but Kaede's voice rushes louder into his ears, irritatingly so.

"Where're you hurrying off to?" She asks, knocking shoulders with him. Noiz steps away.

"Somewhere else."

"You know that, even if Takato says we're dismissed, we have to hang around to hear about our assignments, right?"

"He has my phone number."

"You're really overestimating how much Takato likes you."

A heavy body knocks against Noiz's side just as an arm weighs down on his shoulders. Surprised, Noiz pitches forward a little, stumbling before recovering his balance and stopping in place. For one insane second, he thinks it's Kaede but he can see from the corner of his eye that she's standing at the same distance as before, wearing a bewildered smile.

When Noiz turns his head, he finds Akira's revoltingly bright grin.

"How can you glare at me the whole meeting and then just run off?" Akira whines. "You had my heart racing the whole time, I couldn't relax at all!"

Noiz bodily shoves Akira and his pouty face away, scowling. "Gross."

Their teammates pass by them without batting an eyelash. They're all too used to Akira's shenanigans, especially when they're targeted at Noiz.

"Oh, yeah, I guess you're not mad at me anymore. You were eager to get some real work, after all." Akira muses to himself, tapping his index finger to his chin. With a twinkle in his eye, he asks, "How did you like the news?"

"You're not taking what I told you into consideration."

"That's because you told us nothing," Akira says, all cheer seeped from his voice and expression. They're all alone in the dark hallway. "You said something dangerous will happen to Seragaki Aoba in two weeks. I can't do anything with that information."

"You can put people to watch over him." Noiz ignores the burn of Kaede's stare on the side of his face.

Akira scoffs. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you are his ally. Isn't that Scratch's duty?"

Akira's eyes go wide, before narrowing and drilling a glare into Noiz. "You don't know anything about that."

"I do. I found out for myself just as I said I would."

Akira sighs. "We won't bend over backwards to keep that guy safe from some trivial danger. His importance starts and ends in our shared history and Midorijima's own safety."

"It is related to Midorijima's safety," Noiz bluffs. He can only guess at what Virus and Trip plan to do with Aoba, after all.

"That's only according to you," Akira counters easily and turns his back to Noiz. Walking back to the meeting room, he waves lazily. His voice echoes in the hallway. "You can't hoard all the information, Noiz. I took you in and gave you space to learn. It's your turn to give something back."

The door bangs shut and as the echo dies out, silence reigns for a blessed moment.

"You know, for someone who acts so cold, you sure are unabashed about protecting Seragaki." Kaede breaks the quietness in the hallway. At some point of his conversation with Akira she settled back against the wall to watch it.

Noiz sighs through his nose and resumes his walk out of the building. He doesn't look back and it doesn't sound like Kaede is following him.

"It has nothing to do with that."

It doesn't, but Takato and Akira probably think the same as Kaede. Noiz thought everything would work out in his favor when he realized how closely his goals and Scratch's own align, even if his motivations are very different. The current internal turmoil is happening at the worst possible timing, though, and Noiz won't get the support Scratch can provide for Aoba's protection if he can't sway Akira.

Noiz avoids the thought that his involvement with Scratch might be his undoing. In two weeks' time, Virus and Trip will strike and he will be ready, no matter the cost.

It's happening again.

"Open your textbooks on page fifty-two, chapter..."

Tick-tock-tick-tock, goes the wristwatch on the girl sitting in front of Mizuki. Aoba thinks he can hear every tick counting every second, hands moving steadily over the numbers. It drowns out even the booming voice of their teacher as he reads an old poem before the class.

The room is stifling; something wrong with the air conditioning in this floor, apparently. Aoba can only hope they'll fix it soon, as open windows can only help so much. They're already in June, so the days are only becoming longer, warmer and more humid as summer begins in earnest. Aoba is waving cool air at himself with a sloppy notebook-paper fan when the bell rings.

"I almost dozed off there, holy shit. This class is so boring," Mizuki comments, pulling his chair to Aoba's desk as per usual.

"Don't know how you could sleep with this weather." Aoba hasn't stopped fanning himself all the while.

"Heat makes me even drowsier," Mizuki declares and places a lunch box wrapped in a light-yellow towel on the desk. For a moment, Aoba says nothing.

Then, it dawns on him as he sees the colorful contents of the lunch box, carefully placed out tamagoyaki, cabbage leaves, hamburger steak and fried rice.

"Wait, what's that?" Aoba laughs, eyebrows knit together. "That's not store-bought lunch. Don't tell me you had a girl give it to you or something?"

"Of course not, idiot," Mizuki tells him off immediately, but under the sheen of sweat covering his face and neck, Aoba can tell he's blushing. "I made it myself."

"Woah, that's character development if I've ever seen it."

"Shut up, you still have Ren cook for you so I'm one step ahead now."

Aoba hums in absentminded acquiescence, pulling his own lunch box from under the desk. Clicking chopsticks float appraisingly over its contents before it goes for a cherry tomato, which Aoba pops into his mouth with a satisfying sound. At least from now on he'll be able to eat his lunch in peace without Mizuki begging for scraps.

"... So, you're learning to cook for a girl?" Aoba teases, unable to help himself.

"You're sounding just like my mom, now."

"Michiru-san is usually right, though."

Mizuki lets out a sullen huff through his nose just as Aoba's phone vibrates in his pocket. A hand slips downs to retrieve it.

From: Clear

[12:46pm] Aoba-san! Wilhelm-kun has been constantly skipping the afternoon periods, do you have any idea why?? ( >_< )

Aoba barely sees the dots symbolizing that the other person is typing before the phone vibrates in his hand. Another message has popped up.

From: Clear

[12:46pm] I've been trying to cover for him but the teachers are getting impatient. I can't placate them much longer.

Noiz. How many days has it been, Aoba wonders, since he returned home to find that impossible to understand boy sitting at his dinner table, hands warm around a cup of tea and cheeks cold from rain, filling Aoba's tattered clothes as if they were his own.

How many days has it been, Aoba wonders, since Noiz kissed him like it was only a matter of course. Like it was the next step on a dance between the two of them, a dance Aoba feels he's stumbled all the way through. No one kisses someone who's stepped on their foot more times than they could count, right?

To: Clear

[12:47pm] i don't know.

I don't know why, Aoba thought as he stared at the closed door of his room and listened to Noiz's disappearing footsteps. Nevertheless, he clasped both trembling hands over his lips. They still felt too much like Noiz's own were still pressed against them.

"I feel like I can understand you now."

Then tell me how to understand you!

Aoba can't understand, try as he might. And yet, he longs for it—he longs for every moment of careless warmth hidden between furrowed brows and distant looks, even if the silence that accompanies it every time kills him little by little.

This time, though, it's too much. It goes so deep into the things Aoba has ignored and has denied himself that he wonders if Noiz knows about everything. Maybe Noiz knows and he's making fun of Aoba. Maybe he's been doing it all along and even though Aoba considers himself to be quite good at laughing at himself, this time he wouldn't be able to do it. Not when he's...

"I..."

Something shoves roughly at Aoba's shoulder. Taking a second to wince at the ache pulsing from it, he whips his head up, ready to tell Mizuki off. Except Aoba's not at his classroom, neither is he sitting down.

Waves of people pass by him—rather, push by him—as he, alone, sways in every which way in the middle of the sidewalk, a bottled message drifting in the sea. It's incredibly hot, more like the heavy airs of August and its screaming cicadas than June. Sweat clings to the back of Aoba's neck, sticking his hair to his skin unpleasantly. The street around him swims in his vision, an illusion of heat.

Amidst muddled and super-exposed colors, Aoba's eyes catch at one single point of clarity; a head of messy strawberry-blonde hair. It's only a moment, a flash of color emerging from the other side of the street as he sees Noiz diving into an alley, followed by a tall figure with long black hair. They're gone from sight half a second later.

Noiz... and Takato.

"Fuck," Aoba swears under his breath and he rebels against the crowd. Pointy elbows find the ribs of more than one unfortunate passerby as he tries to unearth himself from the squirming bodies, though they seem to only seek to swallow him further, not unlike quicksand.

It's happening again.

Aoba manages to wiggle his way out of the aggressive tides of flesh and sweat, but he does so right into the traffic. The sun glares down at him and he doesn't waste time as he runs to the other side, so close to making it safely to the sidewalk until a car rushes into him, who was blindsided in his haste.

The driver hits the brakes just as Aoba turns and instinctively, stupidly, tries to brace his hands against the hood. While he's not hit full-on, the impact still makes him stumble and throws him a couple of meters to the ground, hot asphalt mercilessly dragging against his skin. Aoba yelps, half-lying on the ground, at what's sure to be an ugly, bleeding bruise on his arm.

"Are you fucking crazy!? Get off the street!" The driver yells out from his window. Aoba barely registers his face, red and bloated with anger, before staggering backwards and towards the safety of the sidewalk. The man drives off in a flurry of insults and tires screeching.

"Noiz..." Aoba mutters feebly as he cradles his arm to his chest, pain sending everything around him into a thicker haze. People's voices feel like they're pressing against the sides of his head but Aoba doesn't mind them and walks along the edge of the street, wary of getting himself stuck in another crowd but far enough away from the cars.

Still, he tries to look over the heads of the other citizens, hoping to find a gap he can safely slip into. The quicker he makes through, the best.

Aoba bites his bottom lip, feeling it dry and cracked under his teeth. Looks like Noiz got himself into trouble with Scratch again and Aoba has no idea what he can do now. Will Akira help them again? Or maybe Aoba should call Mizuki; he's much more trustworthy than that cunning guy. Where's his phone?

Where he is, is a better question. Aoba narrows his eyes at the neighboring buildings, the shopping mall, the walls covered in graffiti—that's not the Eastern District. When did he come to the South...?

Aoba stops at the noisy intersection, lost. Cars and motorcycles race by in all four directions, stopping only when the flickering traffic light shines red. At this point, Aoba has no hope of finding Noiz; should he just cross the street and find his way back home? He can always alert Mizuki to what he saw, and he does know where Noiz lives. It'd be easy to pay him a visit and check out whether he's safe at home... Then again, it was Takato.

Sunlight beats harshly against the cars' windshields, reflecting white-hot into the eyes of those idling by. Aoba's vision flashes vertiginously as he stands at one end of the crosswalk waiting as the speeding vehicles send his hair flying.

Colors and silhouettes have become washed out in Aoba's abused eyes, but he's sure that he's seeing something directly across the street that shouldn't be there.

Staring right at him is a lithe figure with bright blue hair, chopped around the face and falling over their shoulders. The same clothes, the same hazel eyes and facial features... but not. Aoba looks at that too-broad smile in too-familiar lips that are opening to say something... and his vision blurs into white.

Aoba covers his face and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to chase away the blinding light. While not absolute, the dim darkness brings some reprieve, to which Aoba sighs out in relief. It's like balm over a fresh wound, so he stays like this and waits until he feels less like his head is splitting apart.

So focused Aoba is on relieving his oversensitive eyes, it takes longer than it should for him to register the annoying music assaulting his ears as it plays in an infinite loop. Aoba opens his eyes slowly and drops his hands to his sides, hoping to find the source for the repetitive 8-bit tune and, if possible, stop it.

Right in front of his face, instead of a busy street, is an arcade machine. Around Aoba are many others like it, distributed in rows all around the dark shop. It's quiet, if not for the sounds of fingers mashing on buttons and muffled 8-bit tunes mixed with video-game characters' voices as they yell or grunt.

Aoba turns his eyes back to the screen and really looks at it this time, where bright and colorful shapes are breaking and morphing dizzily around a showy text box.

NEW HIGH SCORE!

110,594

Congratulations, Sly Blue, you're now in 15th place!

Sly Blue? Who...?

"Woah, that's amazing!" Someone says over his shoulder. Aoba snaps his head in a start, finding some kid with shaggy, dirty-blond hair looking at his screen. His screen?

"Huh?"

"I thought you were here awhile. So you're grinding Rhyme, huh?"

Aoba looks back at the screen, eyes blown wide. That's Rhyme? He's never even seen pictures of the gameplay, in all honesty. "Umm, no, that's not me..."

The other guy laughs. "What you're saying, dude? It was only you playing here for the past few hours. Unless that's some new form of cheating I don't know about, in which case, let me in on it too because I want a score like that for the next event!"

"Aoba," comes a whisper. It sounds slightly like Ren.

There has to be bile rising in his throat. Aoba feels sick. There are tears springing at the corners of his eyes.

It's happening again.

"Aoba-san." This one is Clear's voice.

Sick sick sick sick sick. His head is like an empty chamber, hollow, full of echoes.

"Aoba!" Mizuki.

"Aoba," says Noiz's voice, even though Aoba doesn't remember him ever calling his first name. It's soothing in the most wrong of ways.

"Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba."

Stop.

"Hey, you okay?" says the guy in the arcades, distant already, drowned out by the voices that aren't really there.

"Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba. Aoba."

Aoba can't see anything anymore. He's closed his eyes at some point, he realizes, and now he's falling to his knees, heaving, head clutched in his trembling hands.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"STOP!" Aoba cries out.

"Then destroy it all," says a new voice. A... new voice?

"Bring it all to ruin. Break it apart. And destroy everything."

Des... troy?

"Yes. Throw everything and everyone into chaos. It'll feel much better once it's all in shambles."

No.

"... Then I will do it for you."

Aoba lets out a gasp like that of a drowning man, eyes flying open.

All around him, his classmates are looking at him, some with eyebrows raised, others with concerned frowns. Aoba breathes heavily, nearly doubling over his desk.

It was a dream. A stupid fucking dream. As it dawns on him, Aoba wants to scream, but most of all, he wants to lie down.

A hand is on his back as soon as he hears Mizuki's voice somewhere above his head.

"Teacher? Aoba is not feeling well, can I take him to the nurse's office?"

Aoba doesn't look up, but he can hear the mix of doubt and resignation in their teacher's voice.

"Take care of that, Mizuki-kun."

"Yes," Mizuki answers shortly with a bow of his head. Then, his voice goes lower as he talks to Aoba. "Can you get up? Here, I'll help you."

Aoba pushes himself up in trembling legs, wincing when Mizuki grips his right arm.

"Shit, sorry," Mizuki apologizes hurriedly, his hand slipping away as he adjusts his hold to Aoba's other side. Gingerly, he pulls his left arm around his neck, grabbing on to his wrist with one hand and bringing his other hand around Aoba to hold on to his waist.

As they stagger towards the door, Aoba lets his half-closed eyes roam towards his right arm. There's a bandage wrapped around half of his forearm, next to his elbow. It stings and aches, almost nauseously so.

Aoba hangs his head. Leaning almost the entirety of his weight on Mizuki, they leave the cool interior of their classroom under hawkish eyes.

Chapter Text

A low hum of American pop music permeates the interior of the small café, a backdrop to intermingled conversations between couples and groups of friends huddled together in their tables. It's pleasantly cool inside the shop, especially in regards to how sweltering the weather is outside. If it wasn't like this, Ren would've never asked for a mug of hot cocoa and it wouldn't feel so good to cradle between slightly chilled fingers.

Over the rim and amidst a thin cloud of steam, Ren's eyes settle on Clear's shoulders as he stands at the counter, animatedly talking to the girl at the register. She's laughing along easily, in that familiar way people always surrender to Clear, helpless in sharing his enthusiasm even if they themselves can't explain why.

Ren gets a glimpse of Clear's smiling profile as he looks to his side and down, where Beni is tugging at his cardigan and nagging at him with a pout. Whatever he says, it makes Clear laugh, which, in turn, makes Beni mad. The small boy squawks at him, hands closed in shaking fists and cheeks turned red enough to make his fiery hair look dull.

Clear is undeterred and picks Beni right up into his arms, grinning widely as he placates the little boy. The girl at the counter giggles behind a hand as Beni fumes and squirms against Clear's hold, though half-heartedly so.

He's really good with kids. Or rather, he's just good with people in general.

Ren closes his eyes and takes a long sip of his hot cocoa.

"I wonder if that's a sign of maturity," Clara muses, sitting across from Ren with a tall cup of green tea latte. "Back when he was a baby, he was so moody; he wouldn't let Mizuki get near him with a ten-foot pole. Now look, he took to Clear so fast."

"Yeah."

Clara's already thin smile falls further, her purple-colored eyes regarding him in reticence.  Ren doesn't see it; he watches as Clear puts Beni down and they get their own trays of food.

"Ren... you've been acting like this for a couple of days already."

"Acting like what?"

"You're brooding! I almost didn't get you to come out here with us." Clara says, worry heavy in her voice and in the crinkled forehead Ren's eyes catch in one quick glance. Quickly, just before he looks away.

"What's happening?"

"It's nothing for you to worry about it."

Clara stops at the edge of a word, mouth gaping open. A pang of guilt resonates from Ren's stomach; he offended her. It's on the flashing of her almond-shaped eyes, the steady flush rising in her cheeks. Despite her clean and poised attitude, Clara has always been shameless and meddlesome to a fault. It's true that Ren might be partly responsible for her bad habits; they've been friends forever and he's always been too soft on her.

It's also true, however, that she has the best of intentions at all times. If she worries too much, clings too much, speaks too loud, it's because she cares that much.

Sand-blond hair cascades around Clara's face and sends her visage into shadows as she drops her head, jaw locked momentarily before saying in a small voice, "That's my choice to make. Idiot."

It's small, but not weak at all. Clara is fuming. Ren worries distantly about the three-quarters full cup of green tea latte staring at him menacingly.

Clara does nothing. Clear returns to the table with Beni like the most awkward ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds and into a wrecked city.

"Listen to this, everyone, we got pretzels on... um, is everything alright?" Clear's excited tone skids to a halt and he smiles uncertainly between Ren and Clara. Beni peeks from behind Clear, big brown eyes blinking up curiously.

Clara sighs heavily and gets up from her seat.

"I'm going to the toilet."

"Oh, okay..." Clear says as his eyes follow Clara, a concerned frown forming over his features. Ren watches her leave, but she never looks back at him. After a long indecisive second Clear and Beni finally take their seats, Beni at the bench where Clara was before and Clear beside Ren.

"Ren... were you being mean to Clara?" Beni glowers at the older boy, who blinks wide-eyed at him.

"No, that's not it. It was just a misunderstanding."

"Making a girl cry is the worst! Right, Clear?"

Clear flinches, his lips almost on the rim of his latte cup. "I think... making people cry in general is bad..." Ruby eyes flit back to Ren for a second before he clears his throat. "Drink your bubble tea before it cools down, okay, Beni?"

Beni stares down at his tall cup of tea, then he gets up just as Clara did.

"I'm gonna go see how Clara is doing!"

Clear makes a panicked squeak, raising a useless hand as the little boy scampers away. "Beni, you can't go into the ladies' room!"

Beni looks back at him, face red. Whether it's due to indignation or embarrassment, it's hard to tell. "I'm not gonna try, stupid! Stupid jellyfish head!"

The boy runs off as Clear lets out a soft "eh?", looking almost comically disheartened.

"I'm really glad about being compared to jellyfish, but 'stupid' is a bit..."

Ren snorts lightly despite himself. "You're worried about that?"

Clear seems to stop breathing for the short second he stares at Ren. Then, he scratches the back of his head, flustered. "Well..."

Just like this, they fall into awkward silence again.

"Please, don't be mad at Clara-san. She's just really worried."

Ren sighs, his brief mirth evaporating as centuries-old exhaustion weighs down on his shoulders. "I'm not mad at Clara."

Clear looks down at his cup of latte, fingers twiddling nervously on the plastic. "Is it about Aoba-san being sick?"

Ren blinks up at him from his drink, the slightest crease in his brow. "You talked to Aoba?"

"No. I went to his classroom the other day because he didn't answer my texts and Mizuki-san told me he got sick during class on Wednesday." Clear takes a sip of his latte, barely keeping eye contact with Ren. "I thought it was all related, because you didn't go to the council office that day and you have been... kind of listless ever since."

Clear looks up at Ren and holding his gaze seems to be a laborious effort.

"I thought of asking you about him before, but I..." Clear falters, blinks away for a moment before bringing his eyes back to him. "Point is, Ren-san, you don't need to bottle it all up. Clara-san feels like that, too."

Despite Clear's good intentions and the fact that he's not wrong about the source of Ren's unease, it's definitely not as simple as he thinks it is, either. Ren doesn't even know where to start explaining, doesn't know how to not resort to stock phrases like "that's now how it works" or "that's not what this is about".

"It's personal," Ren ends up saying and it immediately feels like the worst thing he could've said.

Ren can tell as much, because, just as Clara did, Clear flushes red in embarrassment. Whereas Clara was explosive, however, Clear recoils into himself.

"Right. Sorry, Ren-san."

When one wants to draw another out of their shell, they have to step out of their own. Clear and Clara made themselves vulnerable in order to reach out to Ren only to be pushed away. Ren never meant for Clear and Clara to feel shut out, but there's simply nothing to let them into.

There's no relief to the restlessness Ren feels, not in anyone's words or consolation. The least he can do is try not to give it shape.

The air conditioner in the room is turned off despite the warm, damp air coming in through the half-opened balcony doors. Cicadas scream in the distance, crickets going unseen but not unheard in the moonlit night. Aoba is sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he's been doing for the past couple hours and the past couple days.

It feels like something essential was broken the day Aoba realized he was losing himself and he didn't know to what, something which had been cracking under pressure for quite a while now. Whether it's his grandma's low chatter or Ren's furtive glances, Aoba feels everything through what seems like thick, fogged-up glass. It's all numbly felt and numbly responded to.

After getting sent home from school last Wednesday, Granny told him to rest. Aoba told her nothing and it still looked like she knew something, knew it, maybe. Ren had dropped everything at school, his classes, his student council president duties, in order to take Aoba home. Aoba thinks he made dinner that day, too, but he got his plate from the microwave at three a.m. after sleeping through the evening.

Aoba has been sleeping a lot and every day he's relieved when he wakes up in his own room and not in a completely different place. When he doesn't remember large patches of the day, it's easy to mix it all in with his slightly-too-lengthy cat naps. At some point he thought of locking himself up in his room and hiding the key, but in the end, he decided against it. If he found the door open the next morning, it wouldn't do him any good.

It seems like he finally exhausted his storage of sleep, however, because ever since he woke up at sundown, another day of school skipped, he's been simply staring at his same old ceiling. It's well past midnight. There's an itch under his skin, nervous energy he hasn't felt until now. Maybe he's finally grown tired of lying around being useless.

Or, perhaps, something inside is trying to come out.

Aoba swallows dry, taking in one deep, sharp breath. Slowly, he sits up and maybe it's because sweat is properly running down his nape and chest now, but the air feels heavier in his lungs. For a moment Aoba curls up into himself, knees against his forehead, hand pressed to his chest, measuring his breaths.

Will it happen again? And if it does happen again... will he ever come back into himself?

The steady chirping of the insects outside is broken by a neighborhood dog's barking. Aoba starts at the loud ruckus, unfurling, frowning at the doors to his balcony. The shrill bark is that of the nervous Yorkshire Terrier from the house across the street, a little ball of fluff that loves to toddle around the grass and yap its head off at anything moving in front of the railings guarding the front lawn.

Aoba gets up, carefully moving towards his balcony. His hands pause at the doorframe, considering just closing the door and ignoring the dog. It'd be easy; his pink headphones are lying on his coffee table, unused for days but always at hand.

This neighborhood is far from safe, however. Considering the police's apathy and their loose hand for easy money, the community has always had to cover for one another and violence never fails to arise time and again. Aoba bites his bottom lip.

If there's someone suspicious hanging around and alerting the dogs, then the sooner the better to chase them away and let everyone know.

Aoba silently and slowly slides the door further open, heart picking up speed at the possible danger creeping up at him from the street. On light feet, Aoba walks forward and peeks over the edge, hands clutching the wooden railing.

There definitely is a vaguely human-looking figure... and it's slumped against the gate to his house.

"... A drunkard?" Aoba mutters to himself, eyes narrowing down at the dark street. They're crumpled to the ground, tousled hair glimmering faintly under moonlight and however little of the street light it catches. A shade of blond washed out in the dim lighting, but still familiar.

It's hard to run out of the room and down the stairs silently, but Aoba does a pretty good job of it. Skipping steps on light but agile feet, Aoba slips into old sandals, unlocks the front door and leaps out of the house.

Aoba's suspicions are confirmed as he closes the distance between himself and the other figure. Aoba frowns down at the crown of the head, the width of the shoulders; he doesn't need to see the face to know that's Noiz. He is facing the house but his head is hanging down, shoulder sagging against the wall as he sits in a heap in the entrance.

The dog's incessant barking snaps Aoba out of his reverie and he swears at himself. In one swift movement, he kneels before Noiz and grabs his shoulder.

"Noiz! What are you doing?!"

Despite his emphatic shaking, Noiz merely sways in his hold. A cold shiver runs up Aoba's spine and he takes one hand to Noiz's cheek, lifting his head.

A bout of déjà-vu knocks the breath out of Aoba, leaving him suspended over two different points in time. It doesn't take long for Aoba to pinpoint the moment alluded to him by that nauseating metallic scent, the wetness under his fingertips. As Aoba's eyes grow accustomed to the dark, colors are still vaguely discernible, but he can just barely make it out—the contrast between sickly pale skin and pitch-black liquid, like tar, covering Noiz's face.

Aoba only gapes, eyes wide, his voice completely evaded. Noiz makes a faint noise.

"W-wha..." Noiz tries to croak out before breaking into a coughing fit. Aoba takes one steadying breath into his starved lungs, then holds on tighter to Noiz's shoulder.

"Noiz, can you get up? I'm taking you inside."

"Huh?" Noiz interjects, his voice still low but clear. He turns his head and spits on the ground before his face turns up, taking in the house behind Aoba in what seems to be a laborious effort.

Noiz frowns and mutters to himself. Aoba doesn't understand him and wonders at how conscious Noiz is. Light has flickered up in a window a few houses away and the dog hasn't stopped barking in Aoba's ears. It doesn't help the urgency he already feels.

"It's me, Aoba," he says, trying to center Noiz's attention on him with the hand on his bloodied cheek. Noiz's dazed eyes are still wandering somewhere over the side of Aoba's head. "I'll take care of you, so, can we get inside the house?"

Aoba lets his hand slide away from Noiz's face and to his other shoulder, pulling at him beckoningly. Noiz seems to understand him this time and goes along easily, pushing himself up as Aoba leads him, hands closing under his arms for support.

Just as they've gotten up together, Noiz's knees buckle and Aoba rushes to close an arm around his back, keeping him upright. Noiz doesn't react for anything other than a barely audible exhale and Aoba grunts as he pulls Noiz's arm around his neck and moves them towards the house.

Aoba instinctively tries to keep quiet as he helps Noiz stumble into the genkan, but he doesn't bother taking Noiz's shoes off, only slipping out of his own sandals. Granny will definitely throw a fit at the dirt covering the hallway's floor, but Aoba can't bother with it at the moment. No one needs to know Noiz is here now, but come morning he has no intentions of keeping him hidden. Considering the state the boy is in, Aoba thinks just washing away his blood won't cut it. In a best-case scenario, his grandmother will know how to mend him.

The ascension up the stairs is a never-ending and exhausting ordeal; Noiz is heavy and the landing seems to never come. It's made worst by the fact that Aoba is trying to be quiet, but eventually they make to the second floor. Noiz's head is lolling on his shoulders, but he seems conscious and is not leaning on Aoba as heavily anymore when they finally reach his room.

Aoba crosses the doorway while gingerly steering Noiz into the room and reaches for the light switch, pausing when he briefly thinks that his window illuminated so late at night might call attention from neighbors. It is very brief, however, and Aoba decides he doesn't give a fuck if old Suzuki-san from down the street gets curious. He needs to assess Noiz's condition and he needs light for that.

The lamp flickers to life in the ceiling, forcing Aoba to squeeze his eyes shut momentarily at the stab of bright light. Squinting at the room around him, Aoba sits Noiz down on the edge of his bed, letting out a sigh as he kneels in front of the boy, holding on to his arms.

Sometime during their trek it seems Noiz has properly come to, but his left eye is almost swollen shut. His nose is considerably swollen as well and bleeding down to his lips, which are quite clearly busted. His cheek is bruised as though he's been held down and pressed against concrete, knuckles bloody like he hadn't gone down without a fight.

But it's different from the time he fought with Hiroto and even if he was ragged and bloody then, it all was coming from a lucky hit to his head. When Aoba looks at the blood caked on his chin, over his swollen eye and his scarred cheek and his ear, he knows this fight was one Noiz couldn't have won. And yet, he's somehow here, regarding him with sharp eyes, undoubtedly alive.

"Why... are you so damn crazy?" Aoba sighs, voice elevating in a frustrated groan, dropping his head.

Noiz doesn't answer, not that Aoba was hoping he would. Chances are, not even Noiz knows.

Instead, Noiz makes to get up from the bed. Just as quickly Aoba sits him back down, his hold never faltering. While it isn't expected, it doesn't surprise Aoba anymore, either; the evasiveness that is so contrary to Noiz's stupid straightforwardness and yet, they coexist in some kind of strange harmony.

"No, no. You came here on your own, you're staying."

"I wasn't supposed to," Noiz says, his frown barely visible in his mess of a face. His voice betrays his confusion, however.

"What are you talking about? Did... someone drop you off here?" Aoba asks, his impatient frown slowly morphing into wide-eyed alertness. Did he hear any kind of vehicle in the street? It was only the dog barking that shook his attention. Who could it be?

"No," is Noiz's answer, however, and he doesn't elaborate further.

It's hard to tell whether he's just throwing a convenient lie. Aoba sighs; they don't have time for this.

"Well, sit tight. I can at least clean you up for now and see where you're hurt. After that... uh, we'll see."

Noiz is scowling in that way Aoba has come to find cute rather than alarming, because in every occasion he will just end up doing as said regardless. And he does.

Aoba leaves Noiz in his room and goes down to the kitchen. Before anything, Aoba washes his hands in the sink, watching the blood swirl down the drain with a grimace. Water sprinkles at the hem of his long sleeves and Aoba gives a good look at the black fabric for the first time in a while, finding it not clinging to his skin because of Noiz's sweat as he thought, but instead, because of blood. Aoba pales as he rolls up his sleeve, finding blood covering the whole length of his arm.

After filling a basin with water—shaking his leg nervously all the while—Aoba cleans up the sink as quick and thoroughly as he can, steals away hand towels from the cabinet's drawer and returns to his room at a fast pace.

Noiz is not sitting on the bed anymore. Instead, he's sprawled on the mattress, arms thrown carelessly at his sides—but his eyes are open and blinking at the ceiling, to Aoba's instant relief.

It's too early to be relieved about anything, Aoba quickly reminds himself. The blood is still pumping furiously at his veins and he doesn't waste time putting the basin of water by the foot of the bed, towel dangling on his shoulder.

"Noiz, are you okay?"

Noiz ignores him, so Aoba grabs his arms and slowly pulls him up, wary of hurting him. Noiz doesn't make a sound, however, as he's made to sit up.

It instantly catches Aoba's eye. Where Noiz was lying back is now a pool of blood, stark against Aoba's teal-colored sheets.

"What the fuck," Aoba gasps and leans over Noiz, staring down between his blood-stained duvet and the back of Noiz's shirt. At the corner of his vision, he glimpses Noiz turning his head to look behind himself, seemingly none the wiser. It looks like the blood isn't his, which Aoba is not sure is much better than the other option.

"What kind of massacre did you come from?" Aoba asks, gaping at Noiz, who's not even slightly perturbed.

"It wasn't that bad," he says, which Aoba finds infuriating because he can't make shit out of this stupid answer.

"Okay, get up first," Aoba pulls Noiz up and keeps a cautionary hold on him, watching him warily until he lets go and finds Noiz standing up, lightly swaying, but otherwise stable. Aoba proceeds to peel the bloody duvet off the bed, folding it half-heartedly but careful enough not to get it any dirtier before putting it out of the way. Thankfully, the blood hadn't soaked though the duvet and into the dressing.

"This is gonna be a pain to wash," Aoba mutters to himself, mournful, before turning back to Noiz. "You have to take your shirt off, too. Should I-"

"I can do it myself," Noiz quickly interrupts him and reaches for the hem of his shirt. While he does scramble for a moment, he pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to Aoba.

Aoba turns the dark-green cotton shirt in his hands. Blood soaks the back of it into a deep red, but the natural color peeks through one long gash like that of a knife, showing the mostly unsoiled front of the shirt. Quietly, Aoba places his other hand on Noiz's arm, motioning him to turn around and sit on the floor.

Noiz's naked skin is covered in blood. Aoba settles behind him, wetting the towel in the basin of water between them and surely, as the blood is washed away, he finds the same gash across Noiz's back, a thick diagonal line etched deep into his skin. Thankfully, it's not as deep as to make more than surface-level damage, but the slash brought forth enough blood for Aoba to understand why Noiz was so weakened and disoriented at first. His head injury was child's play next to this.

While Aoba works, all that's heard in the room is the sound of water trickling down from thick ropes into thin drops as he wrings the towel over the basin. Aoba's hands feel as though they're moving mechanically, his mind stuck.

It's not long before Noiz's back is clean, making visible clusters of smaller cuts and scratches. Blood keeps blooming from the raw pink gash, however, so Aoba spends significantly longer pressing clean towels to it, his hands trembling. The basin of water next to Aoba's knee has turned a rich red, quietly rippling from the center.

"You're crying," comes Noiz's voice, which startles Aoba back into attention. The blond boy is turned halfway towards him, studying Aoba from over his shoulder. And, indeed, Aoba finds himself crying. No big hiccups or pressure at his throat forcing him to whimper, just a crushing weight in his chest and tears that can't seem to stop.

"I just... thought that it must hurt a lot," Aoba blurts out, empty-headed. Slowly, he removes the towels from Noiz's cut. There's little to no blood and no more is surfacing.

"It doesn't hurt."

"Why do you have to keep getting hurt like this?" Aoba asks, mostly to himself but hoping Noiz will have a good answer to that because it's not normal and at last, it seems Aoba has reached his limit. How can he bear it all quietly and with a straight face?

Noiz shrugs. "I have some kind of predisposition, I guess. Don't know when to stop."

"You should know!" Aoba is too bewildered to wince at the volume of his voice, but his next words are lower, pleading. "Don't you care about yourself?"

Noiz scowls, lines etched so deeply into his features he barely looks like a kid anymore. He growls, "There's no way I could know."

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't hurt."

It's said slowly, painstakingly, like Noiz is saying this for the first time and it's already one too many. Like Aoba is being slow in the uptake and he does feel slow, words piecing together in perfect syntax but the semantics is lost on him, an idea without reference in the world. Rather, Aoba's world, which has been shrinking down to a pint's size since meeting this boy.

"... Huh? Wait, you don't..." Aoba trails off, a last couple of stray tears dripping from his eyelashes. The furrow between his eyebrows softens as his eyes go wider, puzzled expression steadily transitioning to shock.

"No matter if I'm punched, kicked or stabbed, it doesn't hurt. I don't feel pain," Noiz completes for him, his scarred back turned to Aoba.

Chapter Text

"No matter if I'm punched, kicked or stabbed, it doesn't hurt. I don't feel pain."

Noiz's voice is perfectly even and he can be almost mistaken for nonchalant, but there's a tinge of resent that rises and thrums underneath, seemingly not at what he's saying, but, rather, at the fact that he's spelling it out loud.

Aoba asks, a wisp of breath, "Since when?"

"Since always," Noiz answers in a smooth snap, barely after Aoba has closed his mouth. "Other than my tongue, my sense of touch everywhere is dulled. My skin... it feels like it's covered in something thick, so I can barely feel anything."

And just as the truth of his statement settles over Aoba, past words and gazes and gestures link to one another in perfect sense. Things Aoba passed up as bravado or downright ignored because he simply never went looking for expressions of pain from Noiz—when someone bleeds, they're bound to feel pain. And somehow, through the cuts and bruises Noiz sustained and the blood Aoba has seen him shed, he's telling Aoba he felt nothing. It's hard to even fathom.

"So you don't need to wreck your brain over me getting into trouble," Noiz continues easily, still not looking back. "It's always been like this."

"Of course I'll worry!" Aoba protests, grabbing Noiz's forearm and maneuvering himself to face him head-on. "What are you gonna do if something like this happens again and there's no one around to help?"

"I don't expect anyone to help me when I fight and I don't need it to begin with." Noiz lets out a huff of humorless laughter. "Even if I'm bleeding I can still go on, while everyone else screams as soon as I twist their arm a little. I'm much stronger than all of them."

Aoba has to let out a deep sigh at that, shaking his head. For someone as world-weary as Noiz makes himself to be, he's as simple-minded as a child. Aoba feels his world so small when he looks at Noiz, but the boy's own seems to lack even more fundamental things; more importantly, the self-awareness needed to recognize his vulnerability.

On the surface, pain seems like something most people would be happy to say goodbye to. Staring at scars old and new alike covering Noiz's skin, hearing his distant voice, however, Aoba never thinks it's that simple. When a child is learning to ride a bike, it's a given that they will fall, scrape their knee and cry. It hurts. But it teaches them what not to do next time, gets them worried hugs from their parents and a kiss to make it go away. Because they, themselves, have been that child once and know that same pain.

All this time, Noiz has been stuck in that first bicycle ride, the first reach of fingertips towards a lit flame. Bleeding, burning, never knowing when to stop, be it for his own pain's sake or another's, because how can he know? It's no wonder Noiz never understood the tug at Aoba's heart, the sink of his gut when he sees him hurt. Even so...

"... Are you stupid? Even if it doesn't stop you, if you bleed enough, if you get hurt gravely enough, you'll die. Look at you; you didn't even realize you were getting slashed at." Aoba's eyes roam over the bloodied piercings on his ears, dark bruises blotched about his torso, the features Aoba can already recognize from a mile away, lacerated. A frown forms on Aoba's face, stricken.

"You're not immortal, Noiz."

Noiz's eyes wander away from Aoba's face. "That's obvious. If I die, I'm just getting what I deserve. It's fine."

"Would it hurt to fall from up here?"

The words, like the echoes of a past life, prick and ring by Aoba's ears like the chilly wind that day, dancing in Noiz's light hair as he fell. The phrase, which sounded solely like a jab at Aoba then, makes sense at once. Noiz never had a death wish, like Aoba bitterly thought that day; his own life is simply that unimportant to him, easy to dangle at the edge of luck.

"That's not fine with me. I don't want you to die."

Noiz snorts. "What does that matter? There has never been someone there to treat my wounds and I won't look for it now. I..." Noiz falters for a heartbeat of a moment, eyebrows knitting together. Just as quickly, he continues, "I won't count on it."

Maybe, what gives Noiz pause is the same thing that flashes by Aoba's eyes during this moment. Noiz, battered, bloody and barely conscious, stumbling from someplace else right to Aoba's doorstep. Reaching so easily for Aoba's helping hand, in a decision not made perhaps by a clear mind, but an honest one.

Noiz is looking down at his open hands, palms up over his crossed legs, seeming deep in thought. The patch of hair hanging over his eyes, stiff with dried blood, brings Aoba back to what he should be doing.

"I have to change the water and wash these towels. Don't move a finger; I'll be right back."

Aoba gets up with the basin as Noiz does little to acknowledge him. This time, when he slips out of the room, he walks down the hallway towards the bathroom, his steps growing lighter than a cat's as he walks by Ren's room. Aoba slides the door of the bathroom open slow and carefully, not bothering to close it until he's done.

Praying that the stench of blood won't stick, Aoba dumps the crimson-tinged water into the sink, making sure it's squeaky clean before turning to the towels he used. The palms of his hands tingle slightly after vigorously scrubbing them clean.

Noiz looks up when Aoba returns, brandishing the basin of clean water and towels. A light breeze is blowing through the half-open door to the balcony; the room feels cooler, but comfortably so. Not minding himself, Aoba smiles, happy Noiz is staying put even if he's probably still too weak to try and leave anyway. Unsurprisingly, Noiz narrows his eyes at him in response.

"Just wait a bit, I have to change out of this shirt, too."

Aoba momentarily bends down to put the basin in front of Noiz, then moves towards his wardrobe, carefully taking his dirty shirt off. After folding it and leaving it over a pile of old magazines next to his computer, Aoba retrieves a ratty grey shirt and puts it on. He's just closing the door when he stops, opens it again and plucks a loose, dark teal shirt.

"You can put this on after you're clean." Aoba says, putting the folded shirt on the edge of the bed. "I'll borrow you a pair of pants, too; the ones you're in are filthy."

Noiz doesn't answer for much more than the slightest rise of one of his eyebrows, barely observable through the mess of his face. Aoba doesn't mind him, instead sitting in front of him and getting to work. Even though his chest and stomach aren't splattered in blood, Aoba cursorily moves the wet towel over his bruises, ignoring the heat irradiating from his face at Noiz's staring. Even as Aoba slides the towel across Noiz's brow and his cheeks, the boy's gaze seems to sear through him.

"You've been staring," Aoba accuses, tossing a glance Noiz's way.

"It's watching," Noiz corrects vaguely and Aoba can tell he's not quite listening. He huffs in exasperation, but gracefully bows out of this one.

After Aoba finishes cleaning the blood caked on the shell of Noiz's ear and his hair, all that's left behind is the swelling and the fresh cuts and scrapes on his face. Noiz's eyes, which were glazed over as his mind seemed to wander away, clears just as Aoba places both hands on his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to see your teeth," Aoba tells him, thumbs brushing by his piercings and pressing on the corners of his cracked lips. "Your mouth was bleeding; you could've gotten one of your teeth knocked loose or something."

Noiz's eyebrows knit together, but he lets his chin drop. Aoba's fingers move to push his upper lip up, frowning at the bloodied gums. The pad of his thumb presses against Noiz's canine and the flesh gives under the tip, sharp like a dagger on his skin. The effect is strangely fascinating. Aoba moves on to Noiz's other teeth, checking for looseness.

"There are a couple of cuts inside your mouth, but your teeth seem all stuck in place, thank goodness." Aoba sighs and picks up the towel again as he looks down at the last bits of blood on Noiz, dried on his knuckles which are bruised raw.

Aoba can't help but grimace as he slides the towel over the torn flesh of his left hand.

"I wonder if we should bandage you up... I don't think it's good to keep these wounds exposed, but I don't really know how to do it, either." Noiz looks blankly at Aoba, who's staring down at his hands and earnestly evaluating his options. Aoba raises his head.

"Hey, you can't tell if you have broken bones or something, can you?"

"No. Only if I can see it, like these." Noiz wiggles his pinky and ring fingers, which brush on the palm of Aoba's hand. Only now does Aoba realize how those fingers seem to be slightly bent, not grossly so but still shaped in a way that they shouldn't be, naturally. They're broken.

"Wait, that was now? We have to-" Aoba starts to get up, not sure what they have to, but knowing a trip to the hospital is now more than recommended. However, Noiz pulls at his wrist, not forcefully, to keep him at bay.

"Chill. That's from when I was a kid."

Aoba looks between Noiz's crooked fingers and his cool expression, dumfounded. "You broke your fingers like this as a kid... and it just stayed?"

"Because I didn't realize at first. And then I didn't bother with it."

"That's so dangerous..." Aoba frowns, gingerly dropping the cleaned-up left hand and changing to Noiz's right one, which isn't looking better. "It must've been hard for you; kids already get hurt a lot as it is."

"I didn't mind that. The thing that was annoying was the other kids."

"Mm? How so?" Underneath his focused expression, Aoba feels a light pin-prick of excitement, something similar to when he found out Noiz's real name.

"I hurt them without realizing, so they'd go sniveling back to their parents, who would go complain to mine."

Aoba freezes, blinking down at Noiz's hand. "Oh... That's..."

Noiz's parents were a strange thought from the beginning and since Aoba found out they really didn't live with Noiz, they were firmly pushed to the back of his mind. Virus and Trip joked about being Noiz's parents and although that was far from serious, they are the ones responsible for him, as said by Noiz himself. Are his parents maybe not present, just like Aoba's own father and mother?

"Then they'd come and yell at me," Noiz continues, eyes glazed over like he's seeing it all happen again. Aoba notes it's not being told fondly. "It didn't have to happen too many times until they stopped letting me around the other kids. Not that I minded, though."

Aoba is done washing the blood off Noiz's right hand. He keeps holding on to it, eyes downcast as though, like this, Noiz won't realize.

"Um, where are your parents now, Noiz?"

"Back home."

Oh, so they are around. Somewhat. "Home?"

"Germany."

"Ohh..." Aoba blinks, eyes opening wider as he processes what Noiz just said. That's pretty damn far. "Wait, woah. Isn't that amazing?"

"Is it?"

"It is! I didn't expect you to come from that far away... then again, I didn't really think of this kind of thing."

Noiz says nothing to that. In a nervous flurry Aoba rushes to keep the conversation alive.

"Do... do you miss home?"

Noiz's fingers twitch in Aoba's loose grip. The air around them becomes heavy, so much so that Aoba doesn't have to look up to know he just said the wrong thing.

"No."

"Ah... Right." Slowly, Aoba lets go of Noiz's hand.

Aoba wants to slap himself, though he couldn't have known. It sounded like Noiz had issues with his parents, sure, but he thought there had to be something else there. Something that truly made it home for Noiz, something more permanent than the impersonal walls of his apartment and the distance between him and Virus and Trip, who seemed to Aoba the closest to him.

If it's like this, is there even a place Noiz can truly call home?

"Nothing can be done about before..."

"Huh?" Aoba flinches as Noiz's voice cuts through his thoughts, eyes snapping back to him. Noiz is just poking his head through the collar of the shirt Aoba loaned him, distractedly adjusting the sleeves around his arms.

"... but now you know I don't feel pain. You never needed to treat my wounds and you didn't need to get involved in my fight with Hiroto. Deep down, you regret it now, don't you?"

Aoba's eyes nearly pop out. "No! You... Why do you have to say those kinds of things..." Aoba breathes in, lets it out in a heavy sigh. "Knowing that you don't feel pain... it just means I understand some things now. I won't stop looking out for you and if I had to protect you like that again, I would."

Aoba reaches an arm towards the bed, groping about until his fingertips catch the rounded edge of his phone. It reads three a.m on his phone's lock screen. Not too bad, but no one will be waking up for the next two or three hours. Aoba frowns at the numbers; he was thinking of having Granny look Noiz over, but he might just bike him to the hospital.

Noiz snorts, doubtful. "You don't mean that."

"Why would I lie, idiot?" Aoba says, flicking Noiz's unwounded forehead. "Didn't I say thousands of times already? I'm not after compensation. I could stop any time, but I won't. Now, stop grumbling and let's go."

"Huh? Where?" Noiz's eyes follow as Aoba gets up and stretches his back, hands on his hips as he groans low. There's a satisfying pop somewhere in his spine.

"To the hospital, of course. I'm pretty sure you need stitches and you could've broken a rib or something. Oh, but," Aoba's frown dissolves and he blinks owlishly, like he's coming out of a trance, "you should call Virus and Trip, right? Now that I think of it, maybe you'd rather be taken to a hospital in the Platinum District."

Aoba scratches the back of his head, embarrassed that he was once again getting ahead of himself. Noiz scoffs, arm propped up on his bent leg.

"I doubt they even noticed I'm not home."

"Well, isn't that more reason to call them and let them know?"

Noiz rests his chin on his arm, eyes wandering. "Not really. These days, when they're not out, they have their faces stuffed into their laptops..." Noiz raises his eyebrows at Aoba's confused frown, full of questions he can't elaborate but Noiz somehow understands.

"They don't really care, you know. They just work for my father and I was never his priority."

Noiz doesn't sound resentful; in fact, he seems calculating, even interested in whatever has Virus and Trip's—his father's—attention at the moment. For his part, Aoba is growing increasingly frustrated. The little he has gotten to hear about the people around Noiz has shown Aoba he can't blame him for becoming so jaded.

"Well, that's their problem. We are going to the hospital. But first, I have to throw away the water, clean up the hallway..." Aoba's voice almost fades out completely as he talks to himself, then his head snaps back to Noiz. "Oh, do you have your health insurance card with you?"

"I have this," Noiz says as he lazily pulls out a thin, nondescript wallet from the pocket of his jeans. Narrowed hazel eyes bulge out when Noiz pinches a black credit card between his index and middle finger. Aoba has seen enough Hollywood movies to understand this single gesture.

"Did you rob someone?" Aoba wheezes, eyes stuck to the expensive card, then mutters to himself. "I was sure you were the one getting mugged."

"Of course not," Noiz replies flatly, eyes heavy with impatience. "It's my father's."

That just confirms it isn't yours... Aoba sighs. Well, at least they're not getting arrested for credit card fraud or something like that. When his eyes focus back on Noiz, he's looking up at him in some sort of way; like he's testing Aoba, studying his reactions. Aoba scowls.

"What is it?"

"You're not curious?"

Aoba stares down at him for a charged moment. Noiz holds his gaze as he smiles lazily, like he's watching Aoba walk into his trap. For every piece of Noiz's story that he's been able to gather over the past few months and tonight, Aoba understands his distrust more and more. It's not any less offensive, however, that Noiz still doesn't believe in Aoba, even after all this time.

"I am, in fact."

Noiz opens his mouth, but Aoba doesn't let him get a word in.

"What did your parents do to you? Why don't you miss home? What were you doing tonight, for you to get hurt like this? Why did you come here, even though you still think I'm looking for some kind of reward when I stand by you? Why do you get so close to me, then act so distant? How do you even see me, Noiz?"

Aoba speaks at a steady pace, firm in each word and every meaningful pause between his questions. Noiz holds his unruffled facade, but his apple-green eyes look the slightest bit wider than normal as he looks at Aoba, who has his jaw locked.

"The last fucking question in my mind," Aoba continues, steadfast, only the twinkling of his hazel eyes betraying his agitation, "is about how filthy rich you are or not. I don't care. You're still the same stupid brat who's always in my head and always giving me trouble."

Noiz glowers at him and starts to get up from the floor, as it seems, finally bothered by the figurative submission of looking up at Aoba during this argument. "If I give you so much trouble, then why--"

"Hey," Aoba cuts him off, "you asked me if I'm curious, let me make my questions."

"--Why don't you push me away?" Noiz asks, ignoring Aoba's interruption and coming to stand chest-to-chest before him. "If I'm so damn inconvenient, why keep me around?"

"Because I'm happy!" Aoba snaps, eyes blazing into Noiz's as he grabs the collar of his shirt without any pull. "I'm happy when I get to see you and yeah, most of the time you're being stupid and getting yourself hurt, but it's alright because I'll always help you."

Noiz huffs, bemused, "Always, that's..."

"It's how I feel." Aoba drops his hand, looks down at his feet. "Even if it's inconvenient to help you at times, it pays off in the end because I know for sure that you're okay and you're safe. That's what matters most. That's my compensation, if you will."

"... That doesn't sit well with me," Noiz mutters after a while, a complicated look forming on his face as he plops down on the edge of the bed. Aoba blinks at him, wide-eyed, and a gasp escapes him when Noiz subsequently drops on his back.

"Careful-"

"That's stupid," Noiz continues, ignoring him. "Not only you're getting nothing out of it, you're actually losing."

Aoba takes a second to take in what he said. His eyebrows knit together and upturn, his next words leaving him with a bit of laughter under them. "I'm losing nothing. Yeah, I was scared when I saw those guys chasing you and cornering you and it hurt when I went against Hiroto, but wasn't I always okay after looking out for you?"

"Now you're being hypocritical." Noiz is scowling, something of genuine confusion but mostly frustration clouding his features.

"Hypo... Why?"

"What makes it okay for you, someone who knows pain, to get hurt covering my ass, and what makes it not okay for me to get hurt for losing my own fights? It doesn't even matter since I don't feel pain anyway."

"It's not about it being okay or not. Besides, the way I get hurt is not the same way you get hurt. You don't take care of yourself, you let yourself bleed out simply because you can't feel it and then you tell me off for trying to help. When I get hurt, I let people take care of me..." Aoba shortly battles himself for words before sighing at his own incapacity and scratching the side of his head. "I don't really know if I'm making sense, but it's not only about me being in pain and them knowing what pain is like. I want to accept their care, too, because when they're the ones in trouble, I want to help them."

Noiz glances at him, then glares at the ceiling, mouth shut in a thin and severe line for a long time, before saying, "You really make no sense."

"Maybe, but you're not even trying to understand, are you?" Aoba looks at Noiz, who seems to be at his wits' end, and can't help a cheeky smile. "If you think of me a little more, you'll know what I'm talking about."

"Huh?"

Aoba's smile softens and he sits beside Noiz. "What I'm saying is that it's good to care about someone and be there for them, but it's better when two people have each other's backs. For both of them, it's important to think of the other and also know that the other person takes them just as much in consideration. It's important to trust. It feels good and it's not at all about compensation, really."

Aoba doesn't mention that, to him, it looks like Noiz has been getting there for a while.

"I don't think anyone does that," Noiz says. As childish as the words alone may look, he doesn't sound like he's being contrary just to antagonize Aoba, doesn't sound like he's trying to win the argument. That's simply how he feels; it's what the people that should care about him have shown him. And yet, Aoba can see it in him; see that despite everything, he wants to care, and does care, even if he doesn't realize.

Aoba sighs and lets himself drop back onto the bed as well, eyes closed. Even like this, Noiz's gaze on the side of his face is palpable, searing. The touch of his arm against Aoba's tells him Noiz remembers just as well as he does; the day he pulled Aoba down to lie beside him as sunlight died away around them. It feels like a question, or since it comes from Noiz, a dare. They were never great with words.

This time around, Aoba doesn't hesitate. Knuckles bump together as he reaches and gingerly takes Noiz's hand in his own. Aoba wonders if he feels the same warmth, if that's the reason why he doesn't move away. As drawn to the descent of the sun as they are to its oncoming rise, birds outside give their first tentative chirps of the day, hesitantly trilling one or two notes as though their songs can only be offered in the presence of the sun.

They were never great with words, but touch has been an even more unreliable language. So Aoba opens his mouth, clumsy but earnest.

"There may be only one thing I can teach you," Aoba says, eyes fluttering open to the ceiling. "Maybe... the fact that the world is not as bad as you think it is."

A beat of silence goes by unperturbed, then Noiz says, "I haven't thought of what kind of place this world is in the first place. I'm not interested."

"That's just because you don't know. Because there are an awful lot of things you don't know about."

"Is there a reason I should know?" Aoba can practically hear Noiz's raised eyebrows in his doubtful voice. His barely-there smile grows more pronounced and he glances at Noiz's profile.

"To put it in your words, it's more profitable to know rather than not knowing, right?"

Noiz stays quiet again. Aoba thinks the conversation will drop right here, but then Noiz speaks up.

"Then are you going to teach me about it?"

Aoba's thoughts come to a stumbling halt. Noiz has only ever acted rebellious and contradictory towards him. Now, however, he's asking something from Aoba. That's not something he was expecting to happen any time soon.

Masking his nervousness with a cheeky hum, Aoba lets his gaze roam across the ceiling. "Let's see, if you can promise to think about me a bit more and promise not to do anything reckless, I will. So, can you?"

Silence follows. When it stretches too long, Aoba worries that Noiz might've fallen asleep.

"Noiz?"

"I don't know. I don't understand this kind of thing... If I feel like it," Noiz mumbles at last.

Aoba blinks. "That means you don't know when I should start teaching you, right?"

"I don't know."

It's the same as his usual uninterested, flat replies. Except now, he sounds dismissive. Almost...

Aoba turns his head to look at Noiz, who tilts his own head the other direction, but not before Aoba sees the dash of color on his cheeks.

He's embarrassed. Aoba preens, an unbeatable smiles overtaking his features as he faces the ceiling once more. If Noiz is acting like this, maybe he's really taken his words to heart. Maybe, after months of dancing around one another, butting heads and bumping knuckles, they finally understand each other. Their hands are still intertwined all the while.

"Don't fall asleep, okay?" Aoba alerts Noiz, who snorts at him.

"I won't."

"We're leaving for the hospital in a bit. Just five minutes," Aoba says and he tries to feel every second like they're each one-minute-long. Aoba commits every breath and detail of this moment to memory and for the first time in a while, he's anchored.

Chapter Text

The sky outside his window is a delicate, washed-out blue. The breaking dawn looks like Mizuki feels—bleary-eyed, all soft bones and loose muscles and definitely not ready for the clarity of daylight, yet still being slowly invaded by it.

Why is he, though? The curtains should've been closed.

Mizuki blinks the sleep away from his eyes, clumsily reaching for the tendrils of his consciousness. Through the mist, he confirms what he's seeing is definitely his window, the early morning shining dully through a modest opening in the curtains. The weight of awareness brings along a feeling of cold that once was the norm to him; wasn't cold at all then, but now simply is. Mizuki feels too loose, too... empty.

With a jolt, Mizuki springs up on the bed. Stars pop in his vision and the room around him goes in and out of focus for a moment, but he can see the silhouette in front of him flinching in reaction. Can see the person with whom, for nearly three weeks, he has been sharing his bed and who didn't once wake up before him. Now, however, Sei is up and perfectly awake, head tilted in alarm towards him, eyes wide as they clutch the collar of a coat that seems to have just been wrapped around their figure.

"What are you doing?" Mizuki croaks out, more or less rotating between glaring at Sei with his left and right eye, because it's still hard to keep both of them open at the same time.

"Mizuki," Sei lets out, almost a sigh, almost a laugh. Mizuki instantly can't stand their soft smile; it looks too indulgent. It's completely different from their teasing grins, because all they've done since they showed up is toss Mizuki around.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Mizuki blinks. The full potential of his two eyes can finally be put to use. "You didn't?"

Sei turns their smile to their feet. "Well... I guess I'd have to, eventually."

"What..."

Sei smoothes a hand over the fabric of the coat—Mizuki's coat, he realizes—and squares their shoulders. The shirt they're wearing as well as the pants... all of it is Mizuki's. Which is not new, but they've never put on the clothes Mizuki wears to go out. There's never been a need.

Mizuki's hazy thought process is cut short by Sei's voice.

"I'm leaving. Thank you for everything, Mizuki."

Sei gives a perfect ninety-degree bow before Mizuki's crumpled self, silky black strands swishing against the fluffy collar of the coat.

"Huh? What are you..." Mizuki laughs breathily, furrowing his brow as Sei straightens up. "What are you talking like that for? Like a goodbye."

"It is a goodbye," Sei affirms, their eyes as dark and still as a frozen lake nestled between snowy mountains. Their voice, to Mizuki, is equally chilling. "I know I overstayed my welcome, but surely you didn't think I'd stay here forever?"

Something sinks between Mizuki's heart and stomach. Sei is standing right before him, yet they're very distant. It started with that indulgent smile, Mizuki belatedly realizes. While he was still grappling with consciousness, before even saying goodbye, Sei was already creating this distance.

Mizuki's eyes flicker down. "Of course not. It's a miracle we managed to keep this charade up for so long."

It's how he feels, truly. It's logical, and yet he's not feeling like a host bidding farewell to a guest. Even if their situation up to now has been risky and impossible to maintain, Mizuki has gotten used to Sei. To the extent that, at some point, he stopped thinking of when they'd leave.

"Yes. It was all thanks to you."

But it was all for your sake.

Mizuki lets out a heavy sigh, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. It doesn't do the trick, so he presses his heels against his eyelids before blinking back at Sei.

"Alright. And where are you going now?"

Sei's composure falters. They bite their bottom lip. "I'd... rather not tell you."

"What?" Mizuki hisses, a heavy scowl settling into his features. "Even at the very end you'll keep hiding things?"

"There's no way I could tell you now." Sei sighs. "It doesn't concern you, in any case."

It doesn't concern you. Doesn't concern Mizuki, even as he saw Sei chopping off their long hair like they were giving up on something. Even as they quite literally fell into Mizuki's life and begged him for help, looking for all like their only other option was death. Even as they revealed some sort of dark scheme being played out in the island Mizuki was born and raised in, even as now, in their last moments together, there's still no end to their dangerous secrets.

"I'm going with you." Mizuki swings his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up in one swift motion and marching over to his wardrobe.

"What- No!" Sei grabs Mizuki's shoulders and stops him on his tracks. They stare into each other's eyes, silently pushing their points onto the other before Sei opens their mouth again. "You can't go."

Mizuki closes a hand around Sei's wrist, more out of agitation than actually intending to push them away. "You expect me to let you go alone when all I know about you is that someone is after you and possibly wants to kill you?"

"You'll have to. I... can't drag you into this, Mizuki."

"You already did."

"No," Sei hisses, their hands moving to the sides of Mizuki's face. Holding him square to them. "Believe me, I didn't."

Mizuki swallows dry, captured in their gaze and all it tells him. The earlier distance, precariously held in place, has crumbled away long ago. Mizuki marvels at how expressive Sei's dark eyes are and how clearly he sees into them; how clearly he sees the worry, the affection and the longing there. Sei's hands fall away.

"The situation is not as dire as it seems. It's just that... I don't know what will happen when I show my face outside. It's more likely that nothing will happen, but if it does, I wouldn't bear to put you in danger."

"You needed my help last time."

"I did. And because you helped me, I can finally do what I came to do in this island." Sei stops for a moment, taking in Mizuki's unchanged frown. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. What you did for me... it won't go to waste."

For a moment, they only stare at each other. Then, Mizuki drops his gaze and sighs.

"So I'll just have to believe in you?"

Sei's eyes widen. Before long, a grin takes over their features, one that is first fond and then turns teasing, just like Mizuki has grown used to. "I suppose so. Can you bring yourself to do that?"

"It'll be hard, honestly," Mizuki affects a wince when Sei punches his arm, "But... Yeah, I can."

Sei's smile opens to reveal rows of brilliant teeth as they laugh. Soon it smoothes out into something smaller.

"I hope I can at least take you to the door?" Mizuki prods, one eyebrow cocked up. Sei rolls their eyes.

"Of course, you doofus."

"Don't act like that when you looked like you were going to sneak out while I was asleep!"

"I wasn't going to, I swear! It's just... you looked really comfortable. Honestly, I was just stalling."

"Is that why you didn't tell me a thing about leaving until now?" Mizuki asks, inevitably sharp even as he tries not to sound accusatory.

Sei avoids his eyes, guilty as charged.

"I... didn't want to put a damper on our last days together."

"Yeah, I think I got that, but," Mizuki sighs, threading his fingers through his disheveled hair. "You're such a handful until the end."

Sei smiles something apologetic, then they perk up. "Right. There's one last someone I should give my regards to."

Mizuki blinks as Sei walks away, but his confusion doesn't last long as Sei kneels next to Miraku's bed. The Akita Inu keeps on blissfully dozing as Sei softly pets her head and lets their hand follow its course down her back.

"Miraku, I loved knowing you," Sei whispers, so low Mizuki can barely hear. They are probably trying not to wake Miraku up, maybe not as much out of consideration as it's not certain she won't make a fuss about them leaving. "Thank you so much for helping keep our secret. I wish we could laze around together one last time."

The dog huffs in her sleep and Sei laughs silently before getting up, needlessly dusting the legs of their pants.

Mizuki opens the door of his room. "It feels like it was just yesterday that you almost broke my spine falling on top of me in the middle of the street."

"Nostalgic already?" Sei taunts, following him out.

"Yeah, right," Mizuki scoffs, not really watching the volume of his voice. Right now, he doesn't really care even if his parents come out of their room and catch them. "I was confused as hell, first because you were so... unique-looking. You looked like a guy but you also looked so much like a girl, especially because of your hair. Then you up and decided all on your own to live in my house and looked like you had fun walking all over me and I didn't know how to stop you."

"Right... my hair." Sei combs the fingers of a hand through their hair, coming short on their shoulder. Mizuki starts at the forlorn look on Sei's face.

"Oh, sorry, is that a sensitive issue or...?"

Sei shakes their head before dropping it. "No, not really. Just... Um, this is the first time I've had my hair short for as long as I can remember. I've always had it long."

"Any special reason why?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Sei raises their head and their eyes seem very far away. Mizuki keeps a hand out in attention, just in case they stumble. "My grandma... She really liked it and because I realized that, I never let people cut it short. I didn't know why for quite a while, but then I saw pictures of her daughter."

"You mean, your... aunt?"

Sei just smiles at that and continues their story. "It seems she died a long time ago and she was just a child. The maids told me she drowned." Mizuki grimaces at both the cause of death and the mention of maids. Really, where did Sei come from? "That explained why grandma would sometimes refer to me as a girl to other people. She's... ill, you know? Sometimes she gets lost between the past and the present, so it's not surprising she'd mistake me for her daughter at times. I really did look like her."

"So you lived with your grandmother all this time?"

"Yes, all my life."

"Where?" Mizuki asks, knowingly pushing his luck but unable not to at least try.

"Nichinan, at the coast of Miyazaki prefecture. I really love it there."

"Oh," Mizuki interjects. The mainland, as expected. That doesn't tell him much, but it tells him something.

Mizuki makes a mental reminder to look up pictures of Miyazaki prefecture and Nichinan on Google later.

"Didn't it bother you that your grandmother mistook you for your aunt?"

"No. In a way, I felt like I was doing something good for her. She missed her daughter, so I liked to believe I was helping alleviate her grief. It's still like that today." Sei smiles lightly and looks at Mizuki. "So it's not strange that you were confused about my gender when we met. I am a man, as you probably know now, but to be honest, I don't feel a lot like either a man or a woman."

"I see," Mizuki replies blithely. He's the one making questions, but he feels suddenly overloaded; like he bit more than he could chew. Just as much, he feels satisfied—if only for now.

Mizuki opens the front door of his house. The chilly morning air kisses his cheeks, the sun peeking in the horizon just so. Sei passes by him, hands in the pockets of their coat, stopping at the top of the stone steps leading out the gate.

"Why did you decide to tell me all that now?" Mizuki asks after a while, allowing a shiver to ripple through him as he looks at Sei's back.

"I wonder?" Sei laughs. It's tinged with nerves. "I spent so much time worrying about the things I should and shouldn't talk to you about, I didn't ever think of the things I wanted to tell you. Thinking back on it, I regret it. It must've been so boring living with someone you knew nothing about."

Sei inhales and lets it out in a big sigh, their shoulders loosening as they look at the gloomy sky. Then, they turn halfway around and glance almost bashfully at Mizuki.

"Now that we are here, I'm panicking a little. If we never see each other again, I want you to have more things to remember me for. I... want you to remember me as more than the person that fell on top of you in the street and lived in your room for a few weeks before disappearing."

Sei can barely finish talking before Mizuki is closing the distance between the two of them, gingerly taking Sei's face in his hands and lifting it to look at him fully, sea-foam green into dark coffee brown. Sei's eyes are closing before Mizuki leans forward and presses their lips together in a chaste, so soft but heart-rending kiss. It could've lasted anywhere from one second to a life, but either way, it does end.

Mizuki keeps his hands on Sei's face as their foreheads rest together, eyes still closed. At some point, it seems Sei wrapped their own hands around Mizuki's wrists. All around them is warmth.

A sigh. A smile gone unseen, but well heard. "I already do."

Low and non-disrupting, a radio tuned to a local station sits on the windowsill. It fills the room with a kind of white noise that is probably meant to soothe the itch of hospitals' chronic silence. The unintelligible hum coming from it can probably be turned up to understandable speech if the patient feels like knowing today's news, which is not very likely with its current occupant.

"This is stupid," Noiz sighs, barely audible over the radio. Impatience is clear in his voice and in his withering stare, and yet he's completely relaxed as he lies back in bed, head nestled in a white pillow.

"Noiz," Aoba chastises him, throwing a quick look at the doctor who's fiddling with the IV drip. It's connected to Noiz's arm by a couple of tubes; treatment with fluids, she said, for the blood loss.

"You're young for someone with a doctor's diploma," she says with a tired, yet indulgent look. She's a heavy-set woman with dark-brown, curly hair; she strongly reminds Aoba of Yoshie-sensei from school, but she looks much more severe whereas the school nurse is bubbly to a fault. The similar warmth he feels around the woman, however, immediately makes him feel reassured by her presence. The name plate on her chest reads "Dr. Yamamoto".

"Don't worry, this part won't take too long. Your bleeding probably looked scary, but it wasn't that bad."

Aoba looks away, feeling the nudge in her words. Now that it's behind him, it's embarrassing how panicky he was when he got to the hospital. Noiz did almost fall off the bike on their way there, though.

"He was so woozy. I thought it had to be worse," Aoba mutters.

The doctor shakes her head. "The blood loss was a factor, but that was mostly the exhaustion talking." Then, she frowns at Noiz. "You look like you haven't slept in a year, boy."

"Something like that," Noiz drawls out. It looks like he's thinking of solving this problem now, his emerald eyes closed.

Aoba feels a pang in his heart. Noiz is all stitched and bandaged up after Dr. Yamamoto properly cleaned and treated his wounds—the woman patted Aoba's back when he bashfully said he only washed the blood away with water, congratulating him on not trying to do anything fancy and fucking something up. The way Noiz is laying back, wearing a hospital gown, the bags like bruises under his closed eyes... he looks more fragile than ever.

"Kids these days look like they don't want to live for long." The doctor sighs, then puts her hands on her hips. "Take this moment now to rest. It didn't look like you had broken anything earlier, but we'll have you take some x-rays as soon as we have machines available. And you--"

Dr. Yamamoto turns her sharp brown eyes towards Aoba, who jumps in surprise.

"--Look like you could use some shut-eye, as well. Go home, come back when you're rested. Those bandages look awfully old, also."

Aoba blinks down, looking from her pointing finger to the bandages wrapping half his right forearm. Oh. The wounds from when he... Aoba sighs inwardly; if he's to believe his dubious memory, it's supposed to be from when he was almost run over by a car. How long has it been since he's had these dressings on? Aoba grimaces; this can't be healthy.

"Y-you're right, they kind of are. I'll stay a little longer, though. Thank you, sensei."

The doctor shrugs one-shouldered, acquiescing, and leaves the room. Aoba catches her last worried glance towards Noiz; on arrival, she asked about the circumstances of the wounds and about Noiz's parents or guardians. When Noiz responded vaguely, it was obvious that she was concerned about him. She even fielded questions on Aoba, who felt at some point like he was kind of being suspected of involvement in Noiz's beating. After hearing him out, however, she believed his innocence.

Aoba wonders if Noiz's vulnerable condition, as perceived by her, had any weight in the doctor's decision to keep him in the hospital. Considering that, at this point, not even Aoba can tell if Noiz will be well taken care of at his place, he thinks she definitely has the right idea.

"They're just trying to get more money out of me, since insurance is not covering it," Noiz replies to what Aoba quickly realizes must've been himself thinking aloud.

Aoba gives him a defeated look, his smile wry. "Of course you would say that. Well, it's not far-fetched." His voice comes out distant as he pulls the chair next to the bed closer and sits down.

Noiz stares at his face for a moment long enough to start making Aoba nervous. Then, his gaze drops. "How did you get that?"

"Huh?" Aoba follows Noiz's line of sight and finds him looking at his bandaged arm. "Oh... This was a, uh..." Aoba fights with himself momentarily, finally settling for what his faulty memory provides him. "I got distracted while crossing the street. Just some scrapes."

"What's with that?"

Aoba sighs heavily. "Even I think that's pretty stupid, so go off."

"You should be more careful," Noiz says, eyes still stuck somewhere around Aoba's hands.

It's not said patronizingly or as a jest, which is why Aoba gapes at Noiz, who doesn't even react to his befuddlement with the usual mocking grin. Instead, he raises his gaze and holds an expression as open and transparent as Aoba has ever seen.

"I... yeah, you're right."

Aoba averts his eyes first. That's an unforeseen consequence of a thoughtful Noiz; Aoba doesn't quite know how to answer to that, especially with how his heart is starting up a race in his chest. He'd like to play it off, but something in Noiz's face tells him he won't get away with it. It wouldn't be fair, either, after all the big talk he got up to.

But damn if it isn't embarrassing in the warmest of ways.

"You want to sleep, right? Stop stalling," Aoba tells him, admonishing on the edge of teasing.

"I'm not," Noiz says, petulant, but without heat as he closes his eyes. The fondness in Aoba's smile is unabashed with only the walls as his witness. Outside the window, the pinks and oranges swirling in the sky are clearing into blue, nearly turned white by the rising and overpowering sun.

Aoba's phone vibrates in his pocket. Only when he retrieves it and turns on the screen does he realize he had a missing call; he left it on silent again. But his messages are always on vibrate, which is why Ren didn't bother calling more than once and instead sent a message. Aoba laughs silently at how well his brother knows him.

From: Ren

[5:57am] Do you know how close I was to a heart attack between seeing your blanket covered in blood and finding your note?

Aoba winces and quickly types a reply.

To: Ren

[5:57am] i'm sorry! i didn't want to leave without talking to any of you but it was an emergency. you saw it.

Another message comes in not long after Aoba's hit send.

From: Ren

[5:58am] I did. How is he?

To: Ren

[5:58am] he's gonna stay here today, but he's okay. sleeping now.

The message is read but there's no typing on the other end. The screen blacks out and Aoba is just slipping his phone back into his pocket when it vibrates again.

From: Ren

[6:00am] I'm going over to the hospital. Tell me where you are.

Aoba's eyes go wide before they narrow under a furrowed brow.

To: Ren

[6:01am] what? no way, you have to go to school.

From: Ren

[6:01am] And you don't?

Aoba sighs at the prod, the hands with his phone dropping to his lap. It'll be a week tomorrow since he had to leave school early and has stayed absent ever since. Now that Aoba thinks of how worried he probably made Granny and Ren during these last few days, he feels horrible.

The thought of Ren continuously throwing everything aside because of him, however, makes him feel much worse. Ren is the student with the brightest future ahead of him in that damned school, quite possibly. He's much more responsible, much smarter than Aoba ever was and Aoba couldn't be prouder.

"Didn't you want to know," Noiz speaks out all of a sudden, shaking Aoba out of his reverie like a lightning bolt, "the answers to those questions?"

Aoba blinks at Noiz, who he thought was fast asleep for the past few minutes. Aoba remembers all of the questions he made Noiz, a word-vomit of all the things that have been piling up on him over the past couple of hours, over the last couple of months. In all honesty, he didn't expect Noiz to ever sit down with him and speak of all those things he so desperately wanted to know.

But now, Noiz looks willing, patiently waiting for Aoba's yes. A hand extended for Aoba to know him, to meet him halfway. Even more so, however, Noiz looks exhausted.

Aoba's astonishment dissolves into a smile. "We have all the time in the world. Just rest," he says.

"I'm fine. You're the one that looks dead on his feet."

Aoba laughs a little. "I'm a little tired, but I want to stay."

Noiz huffs, looks at the widow. "Never said anything about leaving."

Aoba gapes as Noiz persistently stares at the bright window, seeming determined to fend off the claws of sleep. It doesn't last long, as his blinks get longer and longer until his eyes stay shut. His deep, regular breathing is that of someone who finally fell in blissful unconsciousness. Aoba, on the other hand, is still parsing through all the things unsaid in those last few words.

Noiz wanting him to stay, wanting him to sleep even if right here... Aoba is way too tired to be thinking so deeply into all this. At least, it looks like Noiz won't be bothered if he takes a nap braced on the edge of his bed.

Ren steps out of the bus, bundled up in a coat that will probably become useless as soon as the frigidness of early morning dissipates. For now, though, it's cold enough that Ren can faintly see the breath puffing out of his nose and mouth. Maybe it'll be just one of those lost spring days, reluctant to let summer in.

The population is just waking up and sluggishly moving through the motions to start the day. Students and workers sleep with their cheeks pressed to the bus' windows, foregoing any pretense of solemnity, while some fight off the soreness in their muscles biking to their destinations. The rattling of shutter doors being rolled up echoes up and down the streets; the smell of bread just out of the oven spreads from the nearby bakery and fog up their glass cases; black boards with hand-written menus are set up in front of cafés by yawning baristas.

Ren's stomach rumbles low in response to the sensory stimuli; with everything he woke up to, he couldn't take the time to cook breakfast. Although they are barely acquaintances, even Ren is worried about Noiz after seeing all that blood. Still, he has to make sure Aoba won't try to spend the day in a hospital room without eating or sleeping properly.

After his last message, Aoba didn't reply and Ren didn't insist. No matter how stubborn Aoba is, he'll end up telling him where he is once he knows Ren is already there, so he walks the last couple of blocks to the hospital with his hands tucked into his coat's pockets, one of them wrapped around his motionless phone.

To think this is how we would have a proper conversation again... Ren shakes his head. Silence has been choking the life out of the Seragaki household ever since the day Aoba collapsed during class. When asked, Aoba said he just got sick but looked like there was much more to it; Granny looked like she knew exactly what happened but said nothing and Ren sat somewhere in the middle, not knowing and not asking. Although Ren thought it couldn't be helped, now he sees he's just as responsible for the walls they erected between each other over the past week. Now that Aoba is coming out of his shell again, maybe they can go back to how they were.

Step by step, Ren approaches the gate to the Midorijima General Hospital, the building towering over a modest courtyard. The gate only really serves as a symbolic divide between the sidewalk and the hospital's property, an open entrance between walls worn down by age and the sun's aggression. There are two guards who are standing by the doors to the hospital itself and the few people milling about the area at this early hour are ambling by the doors as well or in the courtyard.

Ren crosses the gate and takes his phone out of his pocket. A few odd trees pass by him as he walks the gravel path bisecting the lawn and he opens his message thread with Aoba, finally typing a callout.

To: Aoba

[6:26am] I'm at the hospital. Where are you?

An answer doesn't come readily, which Ren can say he was expecting. Ren looks up and around the courtyard, seeing benches here and there under the shade of the trees. People are mostly concentrated close to the doors, which is why the lone figure sitting in a distant bench calls Ren's attention. And he heads towards it.

"Haga-san," Ren calls as he approaches the old man, smiling amicably.

"Ren-kun!" Haga-san's eyes go wide, blinking at Ren like he expects him to go up in smokes, a figment of his imagination. Still looking incredulous, he inclines his head in response to Ren's polite bow.

"It's been a while. I never got to visit you, sorry about that. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing good, I'm doing good." Haga-san smiles, more like his usual open and kind grins. "Being discharged later today, in fact, so don't think too hard about it. Healthy boys like you should avoid hospitals while you can."

"That might be a little too much," Ren comments with a light laugh. When he was little, they used to always talk like this; easy back-and-forths, questions steeped in that overflowing curiosity of childhood, by which Haga-san was never intimidated, giving creative and wise responses. When Ren thinks about it, they haven't talked one-on-one in a long time.

"That being said, what are you doing here?" Haga-san asks, never as snappish as the words alone might sound.

Ren lets his eyes wander up the building. "I'm meeting Aoba. He's here accompanying a friend and I'm afraid he's intending on spending the day here without proper sleep and food."

Haga-san shakes his head with a thin smile. "That sounds just like him. Aoba-kun's tendency for going over and past the limits for the people he cares about... It's both a quality and a flaw."

Ren only stares at Haga-san, frowning at the weight of his somber statement and the foreboding twist in his gut.

"Hey!" greets a voice from behind Ren, prompting him to turn around. A tall, built man is standing there with them, sunglasses shielding his eyes, but his smirk is bare for all to see. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Who...?" Ren starts to ask just as the man plucks the shades off his eyes, which reveal themselves to be an electric blue, ringing familiar along with his light blond hair. Haga-san gasps and successfully pulls Ren's attention to his face, drained of blood and wide eyes screaming panic.

"Looks like you made a good recovery, old man," the stranger drawls out, sounding like what a prowling lion looks. "I'm glad. Sorry if we were a bit heavy-handed; you know it was an accident, right?"

The words, as soon as they sink in, send all alarms blaring in Ren's head. The story he heard from his grandmother was that Haga-san had fallen on his own, alone in his house, and broken his hip. It was believable; such a thing is not uncommon with the rowdy elderly of the Old Residential District, especially. So why is it that, now, this man is claiming responsibility for it? Ren looks at Haga-san and knows he wouldn't look that frightened if this man was lying.

Someone is definitely lying, though.

Regardless, Ren places himself between the man and Haga-san, an arm extended out protectively. That seems to greatly please the stranger, who smiles wide.

"Aren't you brave, now? Last time you were so quick to run away."

Ren furrows his brow. "Huh?"

"You should've kept the long hair. It was quite the beauty."

Ren doesn't know how to answer that; something's at play here and it looks like he's the only one out of the loop. There's an exhale behind him.

"That's enough," Haga-san says tremulously. "Just take me already. I'll-"

The blond man scoffs. "You're not important to us, old man. This one, though..." In a swift motion, he pulls at Ren's arm and brings him almost chest to chest with him. Ren feels something pressing against his rib.

The grey, glinting barrel of a gun. A chill descends over Ren's whole as he looks down at where the stranger is prodding it at his shirt.

The few people that are scattered about the courtyard are close enough that they could hear him scream, but he doesn't. They are also far enough that they wouldn't even see much of this man's face, far enough that Ren would already be bleeding out by the time they turned their heads.

"This one is coming with me today. Kept us waiting long enough."

Ren gapes, air too rare in his lungs. It's likely that not enough of it is going to his brain, because he can't think of anything to say, anything to get him out of this inexplicable situation. So many people have called him smart, intelligent and sharp that, along the way, he started believing them. Right now, however, faced with the fragility of his life and, worst of all, Haga-san's, he can't think of a single way out of this.

"I'm... i-important?" Ren stammers, arms trembling. It feels as cold as though he's already dead.

"That's a weird way to put it," the stranger muses. "But sure, you are."

"An..." Ren swallows through a dry throat. "And you'd still kill me?"

The man smiles lazily. "I'd like to avoid that. Not the same can be said for the old man, though, if you resist. I can kill him right here and get away with it. "

Ren believes it. This man can get away with it, because he can see the brand name of his clothes, knows he could pay his way out of jail if his strong legs failed him on his escape, which doesn't look likely. If there's one thing Ren has never been good at is gambling.

A huff of laughter. "You wanna see...?"

The muzzle of the gun drags lightly across Ren's skin and it's a sickening thing. It's moving away from his body and towards another.

"No!" Ren gasps, his voice mangled in a way not even he had ever heard. "No. I-I'll go with you."

Haga-san makes a noise behind him. Sounds like an aborted attempt at his name.

"If I do this, you won't touch Haga-san, right?"

The blond man, this time, grins full of teeth, boyish in a way that speaks less of sandcastles in the beach and more of cats gone missing around the neighborhood.

"Right. Then, shall we?"

Ren swallows again, nods, and feels relief as the man slips the gun back under his coat. Despite that, the hold on his arm is a constant reminder that he can't run away even if he's not at gunpoint anymore. Ren glances back only once and finds Haga-san staring at him, mouth open in a silent cry, eyes wide and flashing with so much raw emotion that Ren's gaze is unable to linger, lest he breaks down right here.

"Don't look so scared," the man says when they're only a few meters short of reaching the gate. It doesn't feel like Ren is in the same place he went in. "We won't do anything to you. You're in safe hands."

Ren looks at him, forcing himself to keep his eyes open because he suddenly can't bear to see things. It's still hard to breathe, a sunken void where once were Ren's lungs, his heart at a stagger like it got tired of racing. The man is smiling at him and Ren feels like he's staring down at the gun barrel again.

Chapter Text

Aoba flinches when a hand squeezes his shoulder. It comes to him slowly; the pain on his lower back and his neck, the buzzing where he's had his forehead pressed against the back of his forearms.

"I told you to go home and rest, didn't I?" says a voice from somewhere above his head. Aoba lets out a groan as he straightens up, then yawns gracelessly, mouth open wide. Before his teary eyes open up, he already knows it's Dr. Yamamoto.

"Sorry," is all Aoba's still booting-up brain is able to come up with, tongue thick in his mouth.

"Yamamoto-sensei," a different voice says, this one unknown, "the patient's asleep as well. Should we wake him up?"

Aoba wipes the moisture away from his eyes and twists around to see the doctor, who's frowning at him, and the male nurse accompanying her. Yamamoto sighs.

"We will have to. And you," she points down at Aoba, "are banned from here for the remainder of the day."

"Huhhh?'

"Punishment for not listening to doctor's orders." She puts her hands on her hips and stares down at him, resolute.

"I'm not even the patient, though..." Aoba sighs, long-suffering, and gets up from his seat, stretching up his sore muscles and rigid bones. She's really not at all soft-hearted like Yoshie-sensei.

There's music playing on the radio now. Dr. Yamamoto and the nurse are talking and bustling about in the background as Aoba takes his phone out of his pocket and turns away. The screen lights up at once; the time tells him he slept for three hours, in that position no less. No wonder he feels vaguely like he's been run over by a truck. Under the digital clock flashing in his lock screen, there are two notifications; the first of them for three lost calls, all from his grandmother.

"Oh, shit," Aoba curses, tapping his thumb on the notification. The last call was almost twenty minutes ago. Aoba lets out a heavy sigh, plastering his free hand over his face before rushing to change his phone settings to vibrate on calls, lest he forgets about it again.

 "Adl... Adle... I can't pronounce his name," the young nurse says somewhere behind him, bashful.

"Adlersflügel." Dr. Yamamoto parses through the syllables carefully. "Just stick to his first name. Now," and it's audible in her voice that the receiver for her next words is different, "how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Noiz says, his voice croaky. Aoba's head snaps towards where Noiz is sitting up, foggy eyes blinking around the room.

"Uh, Wilhelm-san, we will have your x-rays taken now, do you think you can walk?" The nurse says, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands.

"Yeah."

"Noiz," Aoba calls, stepping back to his bedside. "Sorry, I have to go home now. Granny is calling me, she might need me for something."

Noiz blinks at him, brow furrowed. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I... I hope it is, at least." Aoba scratches at the back of his head, because he can't help thinking about how rare it is that his grandmother would call him, especially multiple times.

The worry must show on his face, because the frown on Noiz's own deepens. Then, he plasters his hands on each side of Aoba's face and pulls him down.

Aoba gives a muffled shriek just as Noiz presses their lips together. The first thing the gesture inspires in him is shock, of course, that's just how Noiz does things. Then, at the hands moving to cup his jaw line and the softening of the contact between their lips, Aoba feels comfort. It's probably what Noiz was going for from the beginning, he realizes as his eyes close naturally, in Noiz's own clumsy way.

They part and Noiz's features have softened into his usual poker face. There's a hint of something different there, however; something impatient, something indulgent.

"Just go see your grandma, but fix your face first."

Aoba laughs a little, almost too much when he thinks, really, it wasn't that funny. "Yeah."

Someone clears their throat behind Aoba, who jumps in his spot. The nurse, who's standing at the opposite side of the bed, is looking at the wall with a pair of wide eyes and tight smile that scream discomfort. Aoba slowly turns around, finding Dr. Yamamoto who's actually staring right at him, but has an eyebrow cocked up. Aoba's facial muscles tremble around an attempt at a smile, heat spreading up to his ears and down to his collarbone.

Dr. Yamamoto lets out a harsh sigh through her nose and adjusts her round glasses. "I suppose you can come back in the evening."

Aoba blinks owlishly. One heartbeat later, when the statement fully sinks in, it doesn't help the reddening of his cheeks, lighting him up like a glow stick.

"R-right. Then, I'll be going. Thanks for your work."

Aoba bows briefly and turns, doesn't look back when he leaves the room, letting the air sweeping by his face cool his skin. One female nurse chides him for running in the hallways and he makes a quick apology over his shoulder. When he reaches the elevator his hand is already moving for his phone, tapping on his grandmother's number and taking it to his ear.

The call is picked up on the first ring.

"Aoba?" It almost sounds like Granny usually does, but his name leaves her lips in too much of a rush. There's a tremble to her voice Aoba knows he's not imagining.

"Granny? Is everything okay?" Aoba asks around a dry throat.

A deep breath. "Aoba... you need to come home."

The elevator doors open and Aoba all but flings himself out and into the hospital's lobby. "I'm going, I'm going now. Something is wrong, isn't it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. You just need to be home."

"Alright... alright." The hospital's automatic doors close behind Aoba and he walks into the courtyard. On broad and swift steps, he reaches the bicycle racks.

"Be careful, Aoba."

Those last words make Aoba stop on his heels, confused. The line goes dead, but Aoba is not paying attention to that; he's only thinking of how uncommon this plea is coming from his grandma. It's not the casual take cares thrown around when one of them is leaving the house.

Aoba moves his phone away from his ear, stares at the lit-up screen. Then, for the first time, he looks at the other notification he had. It had completely slipped his attention.

It's a text message from much earlier in the day.

From: Ren

[6:36am] I'm at the hospital. Where are you?

The words lose meaning after a while of staring at them. Without thinking, Aoba turns around where he's standing and looks at the courtyard extending between him and the hospital gate. None of the faces there are familiar to him, but then again, they shouldn't be. Ren isn't here, but at some point, he was.

Aoba presses the call button on Ren's number. It rings for a while and Aoba is readying himself for it to go into voicemail when the dial is cut short. Aoba stares down at the screen, stunned. The call was rejected.

Something twists in the bottom of his stomach. Aoba has a horrible, foreboding feeling about all this.

"Granny?" Aoba calls out as soon as he steps into the genkan. Footsteps soon follow and the living room door slides open.

"Aoba..." it's said in a relieved sigh as his grandmother rushes over and rests her hands on his shoulders. In regards to making him worried, it does as much as if she had given him a bone-crushing hug.

"Nothing happened on your way over?" she asks, a concerned frown upturning her eyebrows, lips pressed together in a tense line.

"No... Seriously, what's going on, Granny?" Aoba steps off his shoes, glancing down at his feet for a moment. It jumps at his vision; the loud absence of Ren's sneakers and two pairs of shoes he's not familiar with. When he raises his eyes again, they are imploring. "Where's Ren? Whose shoes are these?"

The hands on his shoulders squeeze a bit tighter before falling away. Granny takes one step back.

"We don't know where he is."

This sentence, allied to Granny's pained expression, pulls Aoba in so many directions he's momentarily confused as to which piece of it he should pick apart first. Then, he asks, "We?"

Granny takes in a deep, slow inhale, and moves her body to the side, making space in the hallway.

"Come on in, Aoba."

Aoba presses his lips in a thin line, impatient and increasingly scared, and says nothing more as he follows her back to the living room.

It's less than half a second of relief that punches Aoba in the chest when his eyes settle on a head of neck-length black hair. It's enough for Aoba to halt at the doorway, then his eyes drop lower, take in the full picture. The dull ache that follows when he sees the wrong fineness of the features, the wrong eye color, lasts for a while longer.

Confusion acts as a good numbing agent, however, and it kicks in as soon as he sees Haga-san sitting in the sofa with the unknown boy (girl?) that looks his age.

"Haga-san? What...?" Aoba frowns, lost. Granny silently walks past him and his eyes track her movements as she disappears through the door to the kitchen, returning with a chair. She places it opposite from the sofa, where she proceeds to take a seat beside Haga-san. Aoba doesn't even look at the chair.

"Aoba-kun," Haga-san greets him and his smile is only a ghost of the real thing. "It's been a while."

"Yes," Aoba answers vaguely, standing in awkward limbs.

Realizing that was the end of it, Haga-san's weak smile falters further and he sighs as though he's trying to shed a soul-deep heaviness.

It's felt so keenly by Aoba that he finally sits down on the chair.

"I don't know how I should start," Haga-san says, eyes fixed on his lap. Aoba distantly notes that he looks very pale, his hands clutching at the legs of his pants and trembling from the force of his grip.

"I'll start," Granny cuts in. Her voice is sharp, gruff as always, but it takes an edge of bitterness as she continues. "It was always my job to tell this story, no matter how hard I wanted to believe I would never have to."

"Story?" Aoba gasps out, bemused. "Isn't... isn't this about Ren? I called him and it got rejected, and you don't know where he is. What-"

"You won't understand what happened to Ren unless I tell you this," Granny interrupts, looking straight at him, unyielding. "It's about something that's been troubling you. It started when you told me you heard yourself saying things when you weren't fully conscious. And I know it happened again last week."

Aoba rears back, eyes wide and unblinking. Granny continues.

 "Though I arranged with Haga to bring Sei as soon as that happened, I was happy to stall. I wanted to let you live without this burden for as long as I could."

"Sei?" Aoba asks.

"That would be me," says a light, small voice. It's the first time the stranger beside Haga-san has manifested themselves. They look up to Aoba's eyes for a second before dropping their gaze again, looking resolutely at the area around Aoba's chin.

Aoba interjects with a nearly inaudible "oh".

"So listen carefully," Granny says and squares her chin as though she's steeling herself.

Aoba swallows dry. Granny looks away from his face for a moment and her vacant gaze seems to be travelling much further away than the wall behind him.

"You already know about Platinum Jail and what it represented for this island. Toue, the man that bought this land and built Platinum Jail, planned to turn it into one big experiment for his methods of mind control, the first leap before he took on the rest of the world. You also know that, one day, Oval Tower collapsed without explanation and the walls of Platinum Jail came down with it."

Aoba nods faithfully despite his confusion. People older than twenty lived it and the younger grew up hearing about it; that's the biggest chapter of Midorijima's relatively young history, a horror tale hidden from the rest of the world by miles and miles of water. The twilit skyline of Platinum District flashes behind Aoba's eyes like an after-image and that familiar sickness stirs in his gut.

Granny's shoulders curl in on themselves, her hands wrung together on her lap. "What most people don't know... What you don't know is that all of us in this room had a role in its construction, as well as its destruction."

"A role," Aoba repeats dumbly, like he can force down the weight of the words that desperately elude him. Granny nods and the image too abstract to fathom is put together before Aoba's eyes, one puzzle piece at a time.

For twenty years, I worked as a neuroscientist under Toue Tatsuo. I was fresh out of university, getting turned away at every lab and research interview because I was very obviously pregnant and Toue showed up at the perfect moment. He called me personally for an interview, said he read my thesis on brain plasticity and that I could help build a happier world with him and his team, that he needed me. I was swayed by his charisma, relieved that I could keep working in the field I loved... so I believed in him.

I continued my research, working on ways to save people with damaged brains and testing drugs on brains that had lost their functionality. A few years after we were established, I was the head of the Neuroscience Department and I firmly believed I was helping save people's lives. Haga soon joined us and we were fast friends. Being regarded as a prodigy, he quickly climbed the ranks to become the head of the Mechanical Engineering Department. Toue's laboratory was slowly but steadily growing.

Things eventually got big enough that we couldn't pretend to not know Toue's real purpose, even if we wanted to. The tone of the researches and reports we were asked for started shifting. People as young as children were being brought in, sometimes held captive, being drugged and experimented on in ways that were far from ethical. All of us... we were crafting ways to destroy human brains and make them into things we could manipulate at our convenience. The scariest part was that when I looked around, all the people I had worked with for years were taking it as naturally as if they had always known things were like that. I was terrified that Haga would be the same way, but when I worked up the nerve to talk to him about it, I found that we were of the same opinion. I was relieved.

That didn't last long, though. I decided to quit, but when I went to hand in my resignation letter to the director of the Research Center, he led me right into Toue's office. When I saw him and remembered how he fooled me, I couldn't hold it in and confronted him. He was calm and composed as he shook his head and explained to me why my panic was unnecessary. Toue was truly terrifying; were I of a weaker mind, I would've believed him.

I was about to leave when he told me he had news he wanted to break to me before anyone else. Good news that would make me change my mind about leaving the laboratory. When I questioned him, he smiled broadly. We were moving the main laboratory from Miyazaki to Midorijima. "When you see home again I'm sure your stress will be gone," he told me.

I knew right then that my own home was being made hostage. I thought it was probably a punishment, and from then on, I put my tail between my legs and didn't say anything else. Cowardly, I know. I couldn't fault my coworkers' apparent coldness much after that. In fact, I started thinking many of them felt as powerless as I did.

I was a helpless observer as we moved our operations to Midorijima, as Toue tried to fully evacuate my island and how, when he failed, he abandoned the remaining residents to their luck and built Platinum Jail, blocking their entrance. It's common knowledge nowadays; young people from the Old Residential District disappeared only to be found later in a daze, brain-dead after being experimented on. Music and visuals with hidden properties were broadcast in Platinum Jail's night clubs, some of them getting to the Old Residential District as well. In a useless show of revelry, I refused to fix residence in Platinum Jail like the other scientists and moved back to my family's old home with my daughter.

Then, something that I could've never anticipated happened. A group of men ambushed me one day on my way home, whisked me away to some abandoned building in the Northern District, which looked even drearier back then. I was kept for hours without any word from my kidnappers; it was such a terrifying experience that you wouldn't imagine that it would turn out to be the light at the end of tunnel for me.

That's not to say it was pleasant. Soon enough I met their leader, a man named Mink that demanded that I cooperate with him in destroying Toue. It didn't look like he'd stop at anything to reach his goal, and he made it clear that he wasn't afraid of being violent. I had been afraid for my daughter and for my hometown for years already; he didn't have to twist my arm much.

I became that group's, Scratch's, spy. Following that man's instructions, I started looking into researches being led in the laboratory, much deeper than I had had the courage to do for myself in a long time. I was horrified to find that they... they were planning to create designer babies, born with the power of manipulating minds — "Scrap" was how they called it, and the project carried the same name. I wasn't involved directly, but like much of what Toue built over the years, it was on the back of my own work.

Scratch instructed me to sabotage that plan and to choose someone trustworthy to help me. I refused to get anyone else involved, just in case I got caught for conspiring against Toue. Eventually Mink made the choice for me. I should've expected him to know that, out of all the people in the lab, Haga was the closest to me. So, naturally, Haga got the same treatment as me, and just as I did, he agreed to Mink's plan.

We were able to discover the identity of the subject that would lend the male DNA material for the first batch of babies. It was a horribly risky plan, but we managed to open an escape route for him and make it look like an accident. The subject, a man named Nine, was known to be cunning and it wasn't hard to believe that he had taken advantage of a failure on the security's part and escaped.

It turned out that we were too late, though. Nine's genetic material had already been collected by the time he ran away, which was regarded as a silver lining by the researchers when he escaped. It was quite the hard blow, finding out that all of our hard work was for naught and that we actually did nothing to stop Toue.

To everyone's bewilderment, Mink's plans shifted; he decided they wouldn't meddle on the children's conceiving anymore, but they—we—would strike right as they were born. Scratch tracked down Nine, who was living in the streets after escaping, and brought him in as a potential asset. We discovered that not only he was a subject used to create the designer babies, but he also had a synthetic version of the power the babies were supposed to have. With his voice, he could plant ideas into people's minds. Though it was said to be something that wore him down and wasn't quite reliable, it made him... very dangerous to deal with, but Mink wasn't swayed by the apprehension we all felt.

That boy ended up in my house one day, after Mink put him through the grinder and he became sick from overusing his power. I was ordered to quickly nurse him back to health. I didn't want to do it at my house, but Scratch's headquarters were far from the best place to keep a sick person in, so I kept him here and in three days he was healthy and out of the house.

Except he never stopped coming over after that. I soon discovered the reason; he met Haruka while he was sick and after that they were like rubber and glue. The frequency with which he hung around my house could be dangerous, but he was already completely different from how he looked when he was in the facility. His jet-black hair was dyed red and he was better fed, healthier than ever.

I didn't want to believe it, but I knew they were in love with each other. I was completely against it; for years I tried so hard to keep Haruka safe and completely separate from my work, for things to then come to this end. I was never good at keeping Haruka from doing what she wanted, though. No one could clip her wings.

When she told me she was pregnant, my first reaction was despair. She was nineteen, so young and expecting the baby of a man who had nothing to his name, didn't even have a real name. But I couldn't keep feeling like this when I saw how happy she was—how happy both of them were. I could see that, regardless of what Nine had been through, he was a good man. And regardless of him, Haruka was strong.

Throughout the next months, we planned for our attack and the conceiving of the designer babies was put in track. It was shortly after my daughter's baby was born that the designer babies came into this world as well. And in that day, Mink struck.

Out of half a dozen babies, only a pair of twin brothers lived. Before the researchers could rejoice in what was considered to be a success, however, Scratch was already blowing the building to the ground. It was chaos; digitally-stored researches of years were being deleted and the cells of human subjects were thrown open. There was very little time before the whole thing came down; everyone ran for their lives. But Haga and I... we were unable to leave the two babies to their death, despite Mink's plans that completely ignored them.

We carried the living babies with us. During our run, Mink appeared with an unconscious Nine under one arm and a knife on his opposite hand, covered in blood. He told us Toue was dead and I knew he had been the one to do it; he looked lighter and calmer than I'd ever seen, his vengeance exacted.

Mink scorned us for taking the children, but in the end he did nothing to stop us. He only loaded up the passed out Nine on us and, in a blink of an eye, disappeared in the commotion. I still have no idea if he left the building alive, but I'm hard-pressed to believe a demon like him would die just like that.

Nine was initially uncertain about the twins, but he was influenced by Haruka, who took to them like they were her own children, still in the afterglow of her newly-acquired motherhood. We had survived the crumble of Platinum Jail, the walls were down and the collective response of the island was relief. Things stayed the same for a few days, but in the end we were worried about keeping the twins together. Whether or not Scrap would manifest itself and how, it was all a mystery to us.

So Haga took one of them, Sei, back to Miyazaki, where his wife had stayed even after the main laboratory was moved. We kept the other twin. By now you already know that was you, Aoba.

Aoba does know. Still, his eyes are glassy as they move down from his grandmother's face to his lap, sweaty hands clasping on the legs of his pants. Haga-san and Sei are not quite looking at Aoba and his grandmother now. Even though the story concerns them as well, this moment feels incredibly particular to Aoba and everything he thought he knew.

"So... my parents aren't really..."

"Your father is Nine for all intents and purposes and Haruka loved you as though she had given birth to you," Granny rushes to assure him, her voice gone hoarser for the length of her story. "That's why you and Ren were raised as twins to begin with. It may be hard to believe since they left, but it wasn't because they didn't love you."

"Then why?"

A shallow crease forms between Granny's eyebrows. "Nine, he... even years after the fall of Platinum Jail, he was still suffering the emotional and physical toll that Toue's experiments and Mink's demands put on him. He wanted to find peace, so he left the island and Haruka couldn't let him go alone."

"They haven't returned in years, though. I don't even remember their faces."

"That's just how those two are. Really, they are a bad mix," Granny sighs, something sad and something fond lurking in her tone. "They will come back."

Aoba scratches the back of his head and lets out a laugh, rough and hollow. "Honestly, this is all... too twisted. It's in bad taste to even say Ren and I are half-brothers."

"Aoba..."

Ren is the only true grandson of Seragaki Tae. He's a normal person and he's the opposite of what Aoba has found himself to be; someone without any blood ties to the woman that raised him, a puppet with his strings cut off but still being choked by them. Ren was conceived by love and nurtured in his mother's belly—Aoba was created in a Petri dish and his life is only an afterthought to the power that is his true reason for being.

Whether it's for Aoba's unnatural power or the circumstances of his birth... Can it even be said that he's human?

Chapter Text

Aoba stares down at his lap, hands closed in loose fists. It should burn—the gazes of three different people drilling into his face. Aoba is oblivious to it, however, and remains lost in his own thoughts. Silence coats the room like a viscous liquid, dampening even their notion of time. It stretches longer and longer until it snaps and Aoba whips his head up, eyes wide.

"Ren. Did he know about this? Is that why he's not here?"

Granny, who had tensed up in surprise, relaxes in her seat and shakes her head. "No. Ren doesn't know anything."

"So... what happened? He sent me a text saying he was at the hospital, but then he said nothing else and..." Aoba trails off, looks at all of them. Looks at Granny's facial muscles trembling as though barely holding back a frown, looks at Haga-san's pale face and Sei, who has simply plunged his face in his open palms.

Granny opens her mouth, doesn't let out a sound before closing it again.

"Ren-kun was taken," Haga-san speaks up and Aoba's tremulous yet fixed stare shifts towards him. The old man's fists are shaking in his lap, knuckles white.

A nervous fire roars to life inside Aoba, but he sweats ice-cold. "Taken? By whom?"

"By people who were after me," Sei is the one to speak now, voice only slightly muffled. His head is still bowed down, brow pressed to his interlaced fingers.

"After you..." Aoba has a hard time parsing through this information. "Why?"

"I don't know, but..." Sei hesitates, then slowly raises his face and lets out a heavy sigh. "They're after Scrap. Even though there shouldn't be someone like this... these people must've had access to researches that were made when Platinum Jail still existed and they want to give it continuity. It's the only way they could know about our existence and how they've created Rhyme..."

"Rhyme?" Aoba blurts out at the sheer shock of the seemingly unrelated game being thrown into the conversation. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Sei answers promptly, "Everything. You probably don't know this, but it's a game that's only really popular in Midorijima, because it is the only place where it exists. Though I can't tell how sophisticated it is, I know it is supposed to be a tool for mind control, as well as a measuring stick to find us, who will easily excel at the game while normal people would get stuck, overloaded with stimuli."

"You played it," Aoba states and Sei pauses for a fraction of a second before nodding, like he's admitting to a wrongdoing.

"It started off innocently, but I felt myself reacting strangely to the game. I knew it was Scrap; like it was squirming under the game's puzzles and visuals. I suspected I was dealing with something dangerous, but I had to get to the bottom of things. I needed to know if it was a real threat to us." Sei sighs harshly, lets his head hang from his shoulders. "I only realized too late that it was a way to track us down. The day the Rhyme Tournament ended, they attacked our home and I barely escaped. Today..."

Aoba's eyes navigate over the inky black hair, the pale skin and the similar bone structures. The differences jump starkly in Aoba's vision, but someone that doesn't know either Ren or Sei well could definitely mix them up.

"So you're telling me they mistook him for you?"

Sei raises his head and simply stares at him. He looks pleading, eyes fixed on to Aoba's, hands clasped together in his lap like a prayer. Hoping his gaze will speak of what his voice apparently cannot.

Aoba is undeterred. "How... how did..."

"It was my fault," Haga-san says, cutting off Aoba's stilted sentence.

"Grandpa," Sei starts, but Haga-san keeps going, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I was a coward. I... I used Ren-kun to protect Sei."

"... Huh?" Aoba interjects hoarsely. Granny closes her eyes.

Haga-san clasps his hands together in front of his lips, his eyes straining on to a scene only he can see. His voice drags against the walls of his throat. "Ren-kun was there when that man appeared and Sei would come back at any moment. When he confused Ren-kun for Sei, I could've corrected him, but... I didn't. I was afraid of what would happen if I did."

"Grandpa, they already hurt you like this, it's natural to be scared," Sei tries to reason with the old man, a hand held fast to his arm. Haga-san pulls away in order to hide his eyes behind his hands.

 "It had nothing to do with that. I am responsible for you, Sei; any kind of parental figure would gladly die to protect their children. But what I did..." Haga-san's shoulders shake just as much as his voice, becoming increasingly unstable. "The poor boy... he didn't know a thing and still tried to protect me. I failed to protect you and betrayed Ren-kun... I betrayed Tae-san and Aoba-kun's trust. That's all it was...!"

Pitiful, choked up sobs fill the room. Granny is not looking at Haga-san; her features are as hard as stone. Aoba is gaping at the man, shell-shocked and hurt. It never needed to happen.

Ren, his brother who has nothing to do with this mess, who's never hurt a fly and doesn't have a single malicious bone in his body, is off somewhere he doesn't know, with people unknown to him but who apparently had no qualms about landing a senior citizen in a hospital. People who think Ren is someone else altogether and will probably not be happy to find the truth and they will.

Ren is at risk of bodily harm at the very least and it never fucking needed to happen.

"I can't ever apologize enough for this, but now that Aoba-kun is here, I should at least-" Haga-san picks up a cane leaning against the couch and starts to get up, moving to the side of the coffee table and bending his knees.

"No!" Sei gets up and grabs Haga-san's arm, stopping him in his motions. "You're still healing, you shouldn't strain yourself-"

The old man frowns, blinking damp eyelids. "It doesn't matter, I have to do it."

"Then I'll do it in your place."

Sei kneels down on the floor swiftly. He bends forward until he has his forehead pressed to the back of his hands, facing Aoba and his grandmother as best as he can from the awkward angle.

"Sei...!" Haga-san tries to bend down beside him, but he winces and stops instinctively.

"I'm sorry for causing so much trouble to you," Sei says emphatically, thin strands of black hair poking at the edge of the carpet. "Rather... I'm sorry for making you go through this. I should've been the one to be taken... I know that's what you're thinking and you're right. So blame me, not my grandfather. Please."

Sei finishes his piece but doesn't move from where he is, his back parallel to the floor. Other than a gasped "Sei..." from Haga-san, his words leave silence in its wake. Then, before long, Granny heaves a long sigh.

"Lift your head, Sei."

The boy obliges, but doesn't get up from the floor, instead sitting in seiza while looking earnestly at Aoba's grandmother. She's softened from her earlier rigidness, but she's still severe.

"I can't brush off what happened. As a grandmother, there's not one day I'm not grateful for Aoba and Ren's safety and having them in danger is my worst nightmare... That's why I can't forgive it, but I can understand why Haga reacted the way he did. Regardless of how much I know he loves Aoba and Ren... You are his grandchild. For him, you come first."

Sei opens his mouth, but closes it just as fast, chin wobbling and biting his bottom lip. Light dances in the brimming tears about to spill over from his beetle-black eyes.

Though Granny looks ages-old, wise maybe beyond what she would like, she lets some kindness into her eyes, some quiet reassurance for Sei's sake. Then, her expression turns steely again.

"Looking for someone to blame now is useless. What's most important is finding Ren and bringing him home, safe and sound."

 Sei startles in the middle of a stuttered nod when Aoba pushes himself up.

"I'll just-" Aoba mumbles under his breath, head bowed down, before leaving the room on quick feet.

No one calls for him or follows him and Aoba is grateful for that. The silence in the hallway is salve to his pounding headache. When Aoba thinks of his grandmother scratching everything he thought he knew about himself like lines of misspellings and incoherencies on paper, Haga-san's tears and Sei's unsettlingly familiar yet alien features... Aoba can't say he feels anger.  He's definitely not calm either, though.

Emergency simmers low in his veins, sets his heart in an annoyingly fast pace that does nothing to make him move quicker, get out in the street and look for Ren like he really wants, because there's a numbness that starts at the tips of his fingers and toes and ends in the center of his brain. It makes thoughts slip through the cracks like water, impossible to hold on to. Everything that Aoba's heard for the past hour or so feels weirdly removed from him.

There it is again; that feeling of alienation. The feeling of walking up the stairs, looking down at his feet and hanging arms and seeing nothing of his. Whatever this body is, it's not an accurate representation of what he is, how he feels.

Aoba's room looks just like he left it in the early morning. It is supposed to, at least. Aoba ignores the blood-soiled duvet and dirty clothes folded up in the corner of the room and goes straight for his bed, lying down on his side and facing the wall. Slowly, he curls into himself. This is not where he's supposed to be, a frantic part of Aoba screams at him. A more sensible part of him reasons that he won't be able to put himself back together while being overloaded with information.

That's all this is; a well-deserved and needed moment of peace. A quick recovery before taking quick action, because the clock hasn't stopped ticking and Ren might be every second closer to never coming back.

Just... make everything go away for a little while.

To the general teenaged population, school feels like it does any other day. Those who bother to bring a notebook write the date at the top of the paper sheet—Tuesday, June 11th—and keep their eye on the magnetic board. Some others doze off with their head pillowed on the back of their forearms, reveling in the cool breeze of the air conditioner and the bliss of not being outside, where the temperature is gradually increasing as the sun reaches its peak.

To a select few, however, there's something different; a feeling hanging over them. A first-year girl boasting cuts and scrapes sloppily covered with bandages, elbow on the edge of her desk and chin propped up on her palm, staring at the tattoo on her forearm and wondering if she should go check on a certain idiot over lunch break, because she knows they're in the same grade and he hasn't picked up her calls. A third-year girl sitting prime and prim at her desk, long sand-blond hair brushed and uniform impeccably ironed, but she's frowning at the door, knowing it's too late, still waiting for him to show up. A third-year boy who's fallen in love for the first time and spent so much time dwelling on it that he missed the vacant desk beside him, now looking between his teacher and the phone he's holding under the desk, cursor blinking on a blank message to his best friend.

And one first-year boy clicking the tip of his pen on an empty page of his notebook, thinking of his usual good morning texts gone ignored and ignoring his classmates own glares. Throughout the many weeks since they exchanged contact information, his messages were always answered.

He looks out the window, sunlight dancing on hair like threads of snow, and studies that feeling which hangs over their heads. It hangs over all of them; the ones that can feel it, but can't elaborate on it and even the ones blissfully unaware.

It's as though the light bulbs on the ceiling are about to crash on them, as though a tsunami is rising and the ocean will swallow them whole. It's the feeling of being on the brink of something and being unable to stop it.

The room plays at the edge of suffocating. There's only one window that lets very little sunlight spill through its curtains, one bright beam that lifts the room just so from the depths of darkness. The fan on the ceiling spins lazily over the room, its sound encompassing the low hum of conversation and music coming from the bulky TV set in front of the sofa where Virus is viciously typing into the keyboard of his laptop. The washed out lights from the cooking show dance around his shadow.

A door clicks shut to the side. Virus doesn't look up at the sound or the voice following it. "Calmer now, I hope."

Virus huffs out of his nose, gives one final and hefty tap to a key and lets it echo out.

"I honestly don't know if I want to kill you or fuck you after this one."

Trip drops beside him on the sofa, arms draped over the back. "Do I get a vote?"

 Virus shrugs one shoulder, shaking off a creeping arm. Despite the harshness of the gesture, he's smiling. "You're a lucky one. Even when you fuck up you make it into something potentially better."

Trip tilts his head to the side, a laid-back, carefully curious smile still plastered to his face. Virus turns the laptop to him with a flick of his wrist.

"What am I looking at?" Trip asks easily.

"It's security footage from one of the arcades at the Old Residential District. Look closely."

Trip grabs the top of the screen and pushes it back a little, his brow scrunching over his eyes as he peruses the picture in front of him.

"This guy looks familiar. That hair color..."

Virus nods. "You know him. That's Seragaki Aoba."

Trip's face relaxes at once and opens in recognition. "Ohh, Wilhelm's boyfriend."

"Yes," Virus confirms, closing the lid on the laptop and putting it away. He jerks his head towards the room Trip just left. "And the kid you caught is Seragaki Ren."

Trip looks at him, his features slowly pinching again in confusion. Virus smirks a little.

"And he would be Aoba's..."

"Brother."

"Oh," Trip says. Then, just as flatly, "Oops?"

Virus scoffs. It's likely that Trip hasn't made apologies even once in his whole life, and if he did, they were probably not sincere. Well, Virus himself is the same.

"Right. That's not the issue, though. It puzzled me; why Seragaki Ren of all people and why the old man didn't stop you from taking him? So I remembered this." Virus taps his hand on the lid of the laptop. "Last week, I was notified of a player's sudden winning streak in Rhyme, but since it was cut off shortly and we were busy enough looking for Usui, I didn't bother to look into it until now."

Trip raises one eyebrow. "So you're telling me he has Scrap as well? Seragaki Aoba?"

"He didn't quite cross the threshold, but his score was impressive for someone who played for only a few hours over three days. That shows the mental capability present in those born with Scrap."

"The papers never said anything about there being more than one?"

Virus reaches effortlessly into his memory as his eyes are fixed but unseeing on the TV, lights flashing on the lens of his glasses. "It was always possible for there to be more than one. The reports said they would attempt to produce a total of six children, but the odds weren't very high and there's the Tower's crumbling to take in consideration. We could've easily come up empty-handed."

"You never really believed that, though, did you?" Trip asks, the cool quality of his tone at odds with his sharp glance. "Or else you wouldn't have done all you've done to get us here."

"Mmm, I wonder." Virus leans back and lets his head roll to the side, unconcerned with the arm pressed to his nape as he stares at the speckles of dust sparkling in the sunlight. His lips curl up in the corners. "I just thought it would be fun to come back here."

Trip snorts, the farthest thing from genuine mirth. "I didn't expect you to be nostalgic about this place. I sure ain't."

"If I were we wouldn't be doing this, would we?" Virus says lightly and gets up from the couch, squeezing the base of his neck and turning his head from one side to the other.

"Where are you going?" Trip looks up at him from under his eyelashes, arms still draped over the back of the couch, body wide open. Virus doesn't break character, indulgently smiling down at him.

"Properly greet my student, of course. And make some more questions; I'm not even close to satisfied with this much."

"Mm, then I'm coming with you." Trip gets to his feet on loose limbs, solid in the broadness of his shoulders and chest, languid in the hands tucked into his pockets and the tilt of his head as he stands almost flush with Virus, darkly smiling down at him, reveling on that height advantage he gained on Virus around his fifteen years of age and the older man never recovered. Virus holds Trip's gaze, icy blue eyes smoldering.

"Can't say I'm satisfied, either." Trip's tongue dampens his lips almost like an afterthought. Almost.

Virus scoffs at Trip's attempt to rile him up, pushing a hand onto his chest and stepping back, turning decidedly towards the door. "You're a hundred years too early for that."

"You never cared about that before," Trip says, but keeps a reasonable distance and follows him quietly into the other room.

Virus twists the key in the lock and slips it into his pocket as they enter the windowless room, the only source of lighting being a light bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling. It sheds deep shadows over Ren's features as he sits directly under it, on the bottom edge of a bed, head downcast and fiddling with his nails.

"Seragaki-kun," Virus speaks up with a pleasant smile, Trip hovering by his shoulder. "I'm sorry we didn't properly talk earlier."

Ren raises his head, lids bearing down on dull golden eyes. The shadows part to show a pale face contrasting almost sickeningly with pitch-black hair, his skin clammy under the incandescent light bulb.

"I believe this guy mustn't have introduced himself. This is Trip." Virus turns slightly to the side, gesturing towards Trip, who doesn't react for much more than the widening of his smirk. Likewise, Ren only moves his eyes from one to the other.

"Don't mind the mess, we didn't have time to decorate," Trip drawls coolly. While it is in livable conditions, the bedroom is as dim and derelict as the living room is, all stuffed into a cheap apartment that was surely made for the usage of a single—most likely financially struggling—person. It's a far cry from the apartment complexes in Platinum District's downtown, but it will do perfectly for what Virus and Trip needs it.

"Seragaki-kun, we are trying to clear some things up, so we would like to make you some questions."

"Why?" is all that slips through Ren's cracked lips.

"Why...?" Virus echoes in polite confusion, eyebrows raised.

Ren's voice is a little clearer, firmer when he elaborates. "I'm not the one you were looking for... You said that earlier. I don't know anything."

"Defensive, huh," Trip says through a tight grin. Ren's eyes flick to him, faltering.

"Don't worry, the things I want to ask you are things that you definitely can answer," Virus says, pulling the chair from the desk set next to the door and sitting in front of Ren. "You are confused, too, aren't you? About why you are here."

Ren averts Virus' eyes, but he can't pretend not to hear him. Virus adjusts his glasses and crosses his arms, measuring Ren, distantly registering Trip's hand on the back of the chair, standing behind him.

"If you listened to me, then you listened to Trip as well. You're only here because the old man acted like you were Usui. Well, rather, he didn't act at all and let Trip go. From what Trip said, it's clear you two know each other, as well... So, while you're not the one we wanted, it's not a coincidence that it's you."

Ren's barely put-together stance is quickly falling apart, even if his face barely shows it. His shoulders are curved in on themselves, interlaced fingers twitching and fiddling almost compulsively between his knees.

From this much Virus can tell; this boy really doesn't know a thing.

This frail, confused kid is nothing like the steadfast and quietly admired student council president Virus has seen in his class and around school. Virus always thought Seragaki Ren was awfully honest, even if his apparent poker face suggests otherwise. He doesn't possess the sophistication to lie and trick Virus with an innocent act. Of course, he won't go down without a fight, as pathetic as it is, so slowly, slowly... they'll break into him.

"You're thinking it, aren't you? Whatever that man is to you, you were afraid that Trip would hurt him... You came here willingly, so that he'd be safe. You were very brave." Trip snorts behind him. Virus leans back on his seat, looks at Ren almost down the nose as he sinks the dagger in, as sweet and syrupy as his voice. "And in exchange for your troubles, he consciously chose not to correct Trip when he thought you were the one we wanted and handed you over to us in a silver platter. How cruel, right?"

Ren keeps his lips in a straight, tight line, eyes firmly averting the solicitous upturn of Virus' eyebrows and the sympathetic spark in his eye, unable not to still hear it in his voice.

"We know that Usui was in the hospital. For some reason, he wasn't there with the old man, but you were. And you were very convenient; last time, that old man covered for Usui and let him escape from us. This time, he used you to protect Usui."

"I don't understand... a single thing you're saying." Ren raises his eyes and holds Virus' gaze, painstakingly so. He probably means it to steady himself, find the ground that's definitely escaping his feet. Instead, there's only trepidation in his wide eyes.

Virus smiles benevolently. "You will."

Aoba wakes up feeling like garbage. Nothing to do with the quality of his sleep, but rather, the fact that he's fallen asleep at all.

The pause for his brain was, admittedly, a blessing. He feels much more grounded and put-together after the shut-eye, but he also feels horrible for wasting time like this, deliberately ignoring the danger his brother is in when all of them have failed Ren enough today. The room is already lit up in amber light, pouring through the opened half of his curtains. Aoba moves to sit up and feels something jutting against his leg.

It's his phone; he probably dropped it on the bed without paying attention when he lied down. Aoba presses the side button absentmindedly, but stops when the screen stays black. It quickly dawns on him.

"Battery must've died..." Aoba huffs and pushes himself off his bed almost at a crawl. He kneels in front of his computer, reaching behind it for the charger connected to the socket on the wall and plugging his phone to it.

At once, the screen lights up with the pixelated graphic of the battery filling up and emptying. Aoba presses down on the side button again and waits as the system boots up.

When Aoba's familiar wallpaper shows up, there are notifications for two missing calls and a text, all from Mizuki. Aoba almost sighs, but there's no air to exhale. Be it his heart or his lungs or both, it all sinks inside Aoba when he sees another notification for a text. From Ren.

Just as quickly, Aoba feels a shock like lightning bolt striking him down and he jams his thumb on the notification, opening the message with shaking hands.

From: Ren

[image attached]

[6:49pm] come see me! ლ(・∀・ )ლ

The image... It's a photo of Ren, staring just off-center from the camera, shoulders lax and eyes dull. The picture cuts off right under his chest and behind him, taking most of the picture, is a somewhat far-off Ferris wheel. Aoba immediately recognizes it as the one from the amusement park in Platinum District.

It was sent less than ten minutes ago. It's a message so obviously not written by Ren, even if the picture wasn't there. It was never meant to fool Aoba, however. That's a taunt, a come-hither from whoever has Ren under their power. And Ren doesn't look like he's fighting it.

Timid knocks come from Aoba's door and he flinches in place, instinctively dimming the phone's screen.

"Come on in," Aoba concedes after clearing his throat. It only does a halfway good job of clearing his voice into something normal.

The door clicks open and in comes Sei, muttering a quick "sorry for the intrusion" under his breath. Aoba watches as Sei closes the door and slowly turns around, his face twilit and his frown shadowed into something even graver.

"Tae-san wanted to give you space... but she got worried when you didn't come out again," Sei explains, subdued, still hovering by the doorway. With the words still pitter-pattering out of his mouth, he finally looks at Aoba. His eyes go wide, his tone turning urgent next. "Are you okay? You're pale!"

Aoba blinks owlishly, clears his throat again. That may be a new nervous tick. "I'm feeling a little woozy, I think. I haven't eaten anything today." Half-lie, half-truth. It really is a marvel that his stomach hasn't started growling yet.

"Oh..." Sei's face clears up in understanding, then he frowns. Aoba is finding guilt to be the default in Sei's expressions. "Tae-san made lunch, but you wanted to be alone, so... She put away your plate for you to eat later; I'll bring it over for you."

"Wait, you don't need-" Aoba starts, but Sei is already turning around and leaving the room. Aoba is left to blink incredulously at the door, letting out a heavy sigh. Why does Sei have to feel bad about Aoba shutting himself away by his own choice?

Aoba looks down at the phone in his hand again, feeling something like a fever come over him. Objectively, he couldn't have wished for more. He had no idea where he should start looking for Ren and the time he wasted haunted him, but now he knows exactly where Ren is. There's no more excuse for him to lie around feeling sorry for himself and resenting the world for keeping him in the dark.

This is definitely a trap. It is all Aoba has, though.

Renewed knocking on the door makes Aoba leave his phone next to his computer's keyboard. This time, Sei comes in without being prompted by Aoba, carrying a softly steaming plate with him. The smell of nikujaga wafting against Aoba's face finally awakens the hungry monster in his stomach.

"I heated it up in the microwave. It might be a bit too hot," Sei warns, putting the plate on the coffee table.

"Thanks." Aoba twists around to properly sit at the table, picking up the spoon and almost gathering some of the nikujaga's rich and thick broth in it, until he realizes Sei is not moving to sit with him. He's still standing, hovering awkwardly between the table and the door. Be it the movements of his hands or eyes, everything in Sei bespeaks nervousness.

Instead of questioning him, Aoba takes pity on Sei and decides to get to the heart of the issue. "I'm not mad at you. You don't need to be so wary."

When Sei looks properly at him but keeps lingering away, Aoba realizes that the boy is not only afraid of rejection. He is sad, very genuinely so, and the well of Aoba's own barely capped despair threatens to overflow.

"I don't know how to talk to you," Sei says, his chest shallow. His eyes are imploring when he flickers his gaze up, before quickly turning them towards the floor. ”This is not how I wanted us to meet."

Aoba looks up at the other boy, the lither frame and darker eyes. The more he looks at Sei, the less he sees of Ren and more he sees of the person himself, rid of comparative terms. It doesn't feel like he's talking to the breathing reminder of his brother's absence as much anymore.

It doesn't alleviate the weight in his chest and in his tongue, the dizziness of all that's crashed on him in the last few hours. But it does make it easier to be around Sei.

"Meeting me... is it something you thought that much about?" Aoba asks, hoping he doesn't sound insensitive.

Sei nods and the smile that finally blossoms in his face is a sad one. "You were the one thing that made me feel like I wasn't alone in the world for the longest time. You had Ren, but I had no one. My grandparents loved me very much, but... I was always alone and it always felt like there was something missing, even before I knew about Scrap."

Aoba frowns. If Ren hadn't been there for him, he would have probably been that lonely, as well. As it is, he truly can't put himself in Sei's shoes, can't say he has yearned like that, but he feels very keenly that he doesn't like seeing the boy so sad.

"Sit with me? If you want."

Sei blinks down at him, shocked. Aoba smiles a little at that. "A-ah... Sure."

Without fanfare, Sei kneels on the zabuton and sits on his haunches across from Aoba, who's blowing on the nikujaga and slowly eating his way through it. If a stomach could sigh in relief, Aoba's would probably be doing that about now.

"Since when did you know about, uh, Scrap, Sei?" Aoba asks at some point, before plunging his spoon for more.

Sei blinks in surprise, then drops his eyes to the table, not looking as much sad as he does pensive. "I've known since I was around six."

Aoba almost chokes. That's not even close to what he imagined; how did a six-year-old kid deal with a reality that he, at the height of his eighteen years of age, is having a hard time wrapping his head around? "Really?"

Sei fidgets a little in his seat and turns his chin up, eyes trailing up the wall towards where the ceiling starts. "My grandfather was of the same mind as Tae-san; if it depended on him, I'd never know about anything. But then Scrap... it manifested much earlier in me. So it was safer for me to know everything as soon as possible and receive proper treatment in order to accept and control it."

Aoba feels spoiled, looking at the slouch of Sei's shoulders and the upturn of his eyebrows. Sei looks every bit the picture of a sheltered child. It is true that he must've been loved—Aoba didn't know his grandmother, but Haga-san looked at him like Sei was his own flesh and blood—but the loneliness in which he has grown is obvious in the fragility he projects to the world. What a luxury Aoba had, to have a childhood free of the burden he now feels, to have had Ren to understand and protect him while also doing the same for Ren—when needed, which, admittedly, wasn't often. Ren has always been that reliable.

Guilt stings at Aoba for feeling the slightest resentment towards his grandmother. However he feels about it, she protected him to the bitter end.

"I may sound like an asshole for saying this, but..." Aoba breathes deeply, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry you had to go through this so young. I wish... we would've met earlier."

Sei stares at him, wide glassy eyes almost blinding with the light shimmering in them. Letting out a wet laugh, Sei drops his head, shoulders tense and trembling. Aoba returns to his plate of food, giving Sei the space he needs to put himself together without being stared at.

Before long, Sei laughs again, sloppily wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Aoba turns his attention to him again and finds Sei smiling gently at him, face flushed.

"Meeting me always meant also ending your peace. But... or, perhaps, especially because of that... I really appreciate the thought. Thank you."

Aoba smiles back at him. "Ren will love to meet you, too. When we bring him back, I want to introduce you."

Sei's smile turns a little bashful. "To be honest, I've always been so focused in the idea of meeting you that I didn't think enough about Ren. That was very selfish of me; even if we were born differently, we are all brothers. I... I hope Ren will forgive me for all of this."

"Hey, stop shouldering all the blame on your own," Aoba chides him. "But don't worry. Ren is the kindest person in the world. He will understand."

Sei nods and his expression hardens a little, his brow furrowing in determination. "If we find those two, we will find Ren."

Aoba's heart stutters in his chest, having barely picked up his spoon to scrape the last bits of nikujaga off his plate. "Those two? Do you know who they are?"

Sei brings up his knees, resting his chin on them. He frowns down at the table. "I've only ever seen two men. When they came for me the first time, it was dark and I didn't stick around, so I didn't pay much attention, but they were foreign-looking. Grandpa had a better look at them and told me they look very similar to each other; one is more built while the other is slimmer, but they have the same blond hair and these... piercing bright blue eyes."

Aoba's eyes are fixed to Sei's face in no particular shock, no closure. There's no click between two puzzle pieces or "oh, he was right", but when Sei glances over, he sees eyes a hair too wide, glassy and as deep as an empty well. It's a weird mix of horror and resignation.

Sei is opening his mouth to ask, but Aoba's phone starts ringing behind him just as a fist comes down harshly on the front door of the house. It's so loud they can hear it clearly from the second floor.

"What the...?" is the only thing that ends up leaving Sei's lips when he looks out towards the balcony, just as Aoba twists around to scramble for his phone.

Aoba trembles as he looks down at the phone's screen, but the number calling him is not Ren's.

It's Mizuki.

"Seragaki Aoba, you piece of shit," Mizuki yells out, not from the still ringing phone but from outside, still banging on the door. "Pick up your damn phone and open the door right now!"

Chapter Text

Aoba falters in shock, but while the yelling stops at that, the banging continues. The phone drops from his hand to the desk and Aoba stumbles up and out of the room, his feet gaining speed as he nearly skips down the stairs and runs to the genkan.

 The banging stops at some point, but Granny and Haga-san still stand alarmed by the living room door when Aoba passes by. The boy only spares them a glance before turning the full force of his glare towards the door, which he slides open quick and swiftly. Surely, in front of him stands a bewildered Mizuki, bathed in the cool orange light of the sun, low in the cloudy sky.

"God, there you are! Do you know how fucking worried I was?!"

"I'm pretty sure missing class doesn't warrant you punching our door down and cussing me out for the whole neighborhood to hear-"

"Can you two be a little quieter?"

Aoba blinks at the interruption and looks beyond Mizuki's messy red hair for the source. Standing behind him are two people whom Aoba recognizes as members of Dry Juice. Their expressions are at varying levels of the same distress Mizuki is wearing. Aoba's attention returns to Mizuki, exasperation smoothened into unease. "What's happening?"

"You don't know? The fucking world is ending out here, that's what," Mizuki rasps out, dropping his head and pushing a hand through his hair. Then he lets out a harsh sigh and fixes a somewhat relieved gaze on Aoba. "But I'm glad you're okay. When I couldn't reach you, I really thought the worst. Now, please, tell me Tae-san is there, too-"

"Wait, what do you mean..." Aoba asks uselessly as Mizuki shoulders past him and into the genkan. As soon as he goes in, he catches sight of Granny, who's still hovering by the living room doorway.

"Oh, thank god, Tae-san is here and... Haga-chan? Why..." Mizuki frowns at the old man standing next to Granny, understandably confused. Aoba sighs, making some space for the idiot in the entrance since, apparently, he can't excuse himself in like a civilized person.

"Can I know why the hell you were trying to break my door down, Mizuki?" Granny seethes, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed to slits.

Aoba can pinpoint the exact moment Mizuki realizes his grave cognitive misstep; having Granny at home is the worst possible time to try and vandalize her front door. The boy laughs nervously.

A creak comes from the stairs behind Aoba, successfully bringing the laughter to a stop and drawing Mizuki's eyes towards it.

"Oh, good, Ren is home, too," Mizuki says, sounding relieved. Aoba winces, glancing behind him quickly and seeing Sei's descending silhouette from the corner of his eye.

"That's not... Ren is..." Aoba stammers, sighs; that's not an explanation he's willing to give right now. He's about to brush off Mizuki's following confusion and curiosity and tell him to get on with his explanation and whatever the hell he came here to do.

However, for the second time in as many minutes and much more aggressively, Aoba is bowled over by Mizuki.

"Sei!"

Mizuki bustles into the hallway without bothering to chuck the shoes off his feet, crowding all around a wide-eyed Sei by the foot of the stairs, hugging him tight for one entire suffocating second before stepping back and patting his face. Aoba is having a hard enough time processing the touching and the fact that he's called Sei by name, then it looks like Mizuki kisses him, if Aoba's disadvantageous angle is to be trusted.

"Mizuki..." If Sei means to make a more substantial statement, it doesn't matter in the face of Mizuki's enthusiasm.

"I looked all around for you!" While Aoba still can't quite see, Mizuki's next peck to his lips is noisy enough for visual confirmation to be unnecessary and Mizuki pulls him in for another hug. Aoba meets eyes with Sei over Mizuki's shoulder, the boy's pale face turned a vibrant red as he looks from Aoba to his grandmother and Haga-san, who looks frankly about to pass out.

"I was afraid you were caught up in one of those attacks. If we didn't have to make the rounds and guide people to the shelter..."

Aoba's eyes bug out. "Wait, wait, what the hell are you talking about?!"

"Mizuki!" One of the guys accompanying Mizuki calls out; Aoba thinks he's the second-in-command for Dry Juice. He has a hand on the gate of Aoba's home and a phone on his other, looking between the street and the house like he's waiting for an ambush. "We've gotta get going!"

Mizuki turns towards the door, raising a pacifying hand to his friend. Then, with his other hand still held fast to Sei's, Aoba finally gets his attention.

"There's some people making trouble all around the Old Residential District... Well, that's putting it lightly." Concern hardens on Mizuki's features. "For a couple of hours now, stores have been vandalized and people were attacked in the streets. The arcade shop in Kirasagi was up in flames the last time I saw it."

"W-why...?"

It sounds surreal to Aoba. Before Mizuki knocked on their door, it was like his house was containing a kind of silent chaos, an isolated tragedy encased in dark glass that he couldn't see through. If the world had stopped or kept spinning, what did it matter? The stunned silence coming from behind Aoba suggests everyone in the house was just as oblivious.

The street is still quiet, but now it feels much more ominous than the walls of Aoba's house.

"The song playing repeatedly in all the local radio and TV stations... That's when it started." Mizuki scowl deepens as he looks at the street beyond Aoba's shoulder. "I heard it was really bad at Aoyagi Street, where there're loudspeakers everywhere and it was just around the time people were coming and going from shops, leaving school and work... I wasn't there, but I heard the song. It played from the radio at our hangout and some guys- some guys from our team just went berserk."

"Oh, no," is the small sound Haga-san makes.

"There's always distant music coming from Aoyagi," Granny mutters, seemingly to herself. "I heard some noise but I just thought..."

Mizuki's eyes flick to Sei's and they meet halfway. Aoba may not understand, but he sees the line of communication between them before Mizuki speaks up again.

"I think it has to do with what you told me, Sei. The rest of us were okay, but... The ones who became violent were all people who played Rhyme before."

Mizuki is met with suffocated silence. Aoba looks at his grandmother and Haga-san and knows, immediately, that this is all related. It's the pages of history flipping backwards. It's Koujaku's sinister prophecy come true. It's the ghost of Platinum Jail, which he's felt like shivers every day since he learned to look in its direction, back with sharper teeth and a vengeance, and it already took someone he loves.

"The people who didn't get caught up in the chaos in the streets and could run did run back to their homes," Mizuki says with a sigh. "Everyone's saying you're safe as long as you hide at home and keep quiet, but the truth is even that is not a guarantee. Most people are ignoring us when we knock on their doors."

"What about the police?" Sei asks, frowning.

"Oh, I almost forgot you're new here," Mizuki muses, brushing fingertips on Sei's cheek and giving him a pitying look. "Of course, they're being completely unhelpful. Though, I'll say they're doing a good job of running after the vandals and keeping them busy while we do the real work."

"That's terrible," Haga-san says, eyebrows knitted together in affliction. "These people shouldn't be harmed, they should be helped. They were brainwashed!"

"I know that, Haga-san. I had to beat up and lock three of my best friends in a room earlier. There are the ones that had already quit the team and I know nothing about... Nobu has been missing for more than a week," Mizuki explains grimly, his hand gone loose from Sei's, his entire demeanor as quiet and heavy as Aoba has ever seen. Sei hesitantly reaches for his hand again, which has closed itself in a shaking fist.

"Our priority now is the senior citizens living alone and children," Mizuki continues after a deep breath, regaining some lightness. "We are checking out the surroundings of Aoyagi Street and leading those in potential danger to a shelter we set up. Koujaku's team is doing their part over at the Western District, too. After we're done with that, we can think about saving those affected by the song--"

"Mizuki!" Dry Juice's second-in-command calls out again in a hiss.

"--But now we have to go, also, where the fuck is Ren?"

"We can explain that later," Aoba says, edging on harsh. "We are the only ones at home. Lead the way."

They venture deeper into the Eastern District, taking back streets and alleys not even Aoba has ever roamed about, only the walls of old, abandoned buildings bearing witness to their quiet conversation. In the darkness between these walls, they barely notice when the night drops on them like the red curtains on a theatrical production. A flashlight flickers ahead of the group, in Mizuki's hand, to illuminate their steps more reliably than the faulty light poles lining the narrow streets.

A second group joins them along the way; another trio of Dry Juice members escorting two old couples, carrying futon bags just like them. Mizuki vaguely informs them that he was making sure people made it to the shelter through different paths, with enough Dry Juice members to ward off possible attackers and also avoiding big crowds.

After much insistence on Mizuki's part, Sei explains—conveniently leaving out any mentions of Scrap and Ren's kidnapping—to him what he was doing at Aoba's home. Mizuki frowns like he hasn't missed the holes in Sei's story and Aoba wonders how much he knows.

"So Haga-chan is Sei's grandpa, huh..." Mizuki muses, still wearing that complicated look in his face.

Sei nods, walking by his side. The rest of them aren't far behind. "Yes."

Mizuki snorts, self-consciously glancing behind him. "Now I'm a bit embarrassed." Aoba raises his eyebrows at that; he's surely thinking of that very public display of affection at his hallway.

"Mizuki-kun," calls Haga-san's somber voice from behind them.

"Huh?!" Mizuki interjects just as he swiftly snaps his neck and twists at the waist to look behind him, eyes wide in open panic. Even Aoba and his grandmother turn to look at Haga-san.

The old man is progressing at a slightly slower pace with his trusty cane, braving through the long walk despite his ongoing recovery. Dry Juice's second-in-command walks by his side, watchful for any stumble but respecting Haga-san's wish to walk unassisted.

Silence stretches long and awkward in the small group. Haga-san is scowling at Mizuki; it brings to Aoba's mind memories of snotty brats playing around the shop, blurting jokes about Haga-san's balding head and ultimately facing the old man's rare but overwhelming fury. Aoba almost thinks something dangerous is about to happen, but then Haga-san sighs heavily. Rather than anger, Aoba realizes, the deep lines of his face speak more of sadness.

"Sei told me before, the extents to which you went for him... Thank you for taking care of Sei when I couldn't."

Mizuki's eyes go even wider, if possible. "Oh, no, it was... woah!" Not looking where he's going, Mizuki stumbles and pitches forward, almost kissing the pavement if Sei didn't take a steadying hold of his forearm.

Granny huffs a merciless laugh under her breath and Aoba barely reins in one of his own. Mizuki clears his throat and adjusts the futon bag hanging from his shoulder, his face nearly fizzling with heat. "It was nothing. Sir."

So that's what happened, Aoba thinks to himself. Somehow, Sei ended up with Mizuki after Virus and Trip failed to capture him. It's beyond Aoba what that  entailed; how a guy who dedicates an almost stupid amount of his time to Ribsteez suddenly turns around and takes in an unknown kid? Is that what he suddenly learned to cook for? Did he even keep Sei at home and if he did, where did his parents stand in all of this? Aoba can't see Michiru-san taking too well to a stranger suddenly living under her roof.

Well, now I know why Sei's clothes looked a bit familiar.

Even if Aoba felt like going into this issue now, he wasn't going to get a chance. Mizuki chirps, "We're here!" and they stop in front of a gray, decrepit one-story building. Beyond the rusty metal gates is tall shrubbery, untended if not for the cleared path leading to the front doors of the facility. A board on the wall identifies it as a basketball club.

"That's the shelter?" Aoba questions, sounding more than a little skeptical, which he absolutely is.

Mizuki pushes the gates further open. "Yep! And don't look at me like that, this is being done under the wraps; we couldn't simply reserve the Elementary School building or something. It also had to be distant and hidden away so we are less likely to be attacked!"

"It's clearly abandoned, though. You might get bitten by a scorpion in there."

Mizuki gives Aoba a deadpan stare, lips pressed together in an impatient almost-smile. "What do you take me for? Of course I wouldn't use a place like that. I come over here with my friends all the time to play. Though it's been a few weeks since the last time..." Mizuki scratches his head, disconcerted, but quickly regains his bravado. "Anyway! We keep the place clean and while it doesn't have water or electricity, it's certainly good enough for a night. Hopefully everyone can return home tomorrow."

"I suppose beggars can't be choosers," Sei says diplomatically, smiling in a way that seems to beg them to stop bickering and blocking everyone's path. Aoba sighs in defeat.

As promised by Mizuki, the place is indeed clean. At least it seems to be, from what little Aoba is able to make out in the flashlight-lit darkness. The hallways look straight out of a horror movie, long and flickering in flashes of light and shadow. It's made even creepier by the distant voices they hear, which grow ever louder and closer.

Aoba is almost blinded when Mizuki pushes the squeaking doors open. When Aoba drops the arm he lifted in a reflex to shield his eyes, he sees a basketball court bathed in light, spotlights shining down on the forty-and-some people sitting around in futons and talking among family and strangers. It feels like he's entered a different dimension, the complete opposite of the grim-looking gates and dim hallways.

Aoba's eyes slide to Mizuki, suspicious. "I thought there wasn't any electricity?"

Mizuki shrugs and clicks his flashlight off, a devil-may-care grin playing at his lips. "We broke the rules a little. The power company never noticed."

There's a quick exchange of snorts and disbelieving shaking of heads behind Mizuki as he leads them towards where everyone is setting up for the night. Despite the light-hearted moment they shared, Aoba only has to get a little closer to catch the concerned frowns worn by elders and the few middle-aged people there, likely parents to the children who, oblivious to the current situation, talk animatedly and run around until being told to sit down and behave. Aoba hears a few surprised gasps of Haga-san's name, people who haven't seen him since he was admitted to the hospital. Granny and Haga-san go into the sea of people, talking to neighbors and old friends while Aoba lingers by the outskirts.

"Sakazaki, have you heard from Makino and the others?" Mizuki says somewhere in Aoba's vicinity, almost far enough that Aoba could lose his voice under the weighted conversations happening in the room.

"It seems like locking them up wasn't enough, so I told Chitose to tie them up, as well. They eventually got tired of resisting," Sakazaki replies.

A heavy sigh right next to Aoba startles him away from the exchange. Sei, it seems, was listening in on Mizuki's conversation as well.

"It'd be impossible to go to everyone given the magnitude of this disaster, but maybe we could help Mizuki's friends," Sei says, low enough that the people sitting closest to them wouldn't be able to discern their words.

Aoba's brows come down on his wide eyes. "We could?"

Sei studies Aoba for a couple of seconds, then grabs his hand and pulls him away from the crowds, towards the edge of the court. Aoba awaits Sei's explanation as they stop and lock gazes again.

"We could... though I think you would be much more helpful than me." Sei smiles forlornly. "The product of the technology built into Rhyme and that song is very close to the effects of my own power, so I wouldn't do much on my own."

"I thought we had the same power? With our voice..."

"Not exactly. For starters, my Scrap is not in my voice; it's in my eyes."

Aoba's own hazel eyes open wider, almost frightfully holding Sei's gaze as its hidden potential dawns on him. "Your eyes alone? Aren't you much stronger, then?"

"No. We have the same power to subjugate people to our will, but at our core, we are like two sides of the same coin," Sei says, looking away but glancing at Aoba as though checking if he's still following. "In crude terms, I create and you destroy. When we truly mix our consciousness with someone else's, I can create out of nothing and you can completely destroy whatever is established."

Aoba laughs nervously, eyes blown wide in disbelief. "We... we are talking about brains here, right? That kind of power is..."

"You heard the story... We were supposed to be Toue Tatsuo's masterpiece." Sei says, sounding as heavy as Aoba feels. Two girls in pigtails run by them like a typhoon, screeching and laughing. "Grandpa once told me he thought we were the only successful result to the Scrap Project because we were twins. The fusion of these powers in a single human brain would be too much, so it was split."

"You said you received treatment in order to... accept and control it, right?" Aoba's throat is dry.

Sei nods, sadness crossing by his reflective eyes. "Being so young and having this kind of power... I was a danger to myself and everyone around me. I made some trouble back home and I could've seriously hurt someone, but grandpa took quick action when he realized what was happening. I'm glad nothing truly terrible happened."

"Y-you said I can destroy someone's mind, right? So I must be even more dangerous," Aoba stammers through tight lips. "I've... already used my voice on someone. I don't think I really 'mixed' my mind with his, but it was enough that he was pretty much in a coma for two days. Lately, I've felt so unstable and disconnected from myself and I've thought of those things... Something whispers to me about destroying and destroying everything, what if I end up doing just that? What if I hurt everyone I care about...!?"

"Aoba," Sei calls out soft but commandingly, cupping Aoba's face in his hands and squaring their gazes. After a sigh, he drops his hands to Aoba's shoulders and continues, "This fear of yours... is not unfounded. I won't lie to you. Because of how things turned out, it'll be a while until you can work on discovering your power and taking control of it like I did. But you won't be left in the dark anymore, so hear me out."

Aoba gulps as Sei breathes deeply, assembling his next statement.

"I said I, alone, wouldn't be of much help to Mizuki's friends, right? That's because I can't create where there's something already standing. I can't overwrite what Rhyme and the song did. So... I'm kind of useless here, right?" Aoba almost protests his self-deprecating smile, but Sei goes on. "You, on the other hand, can save them singlehandedly. I think that, when you hear that you can destroy something, it feels very scary. And it can be very scary, but... you can destroy things so something new and better will bloom in its place. It's good when bad things are destroyed, right?"

Aoba almost thinks Sei is waiting for a confirmation with that perky smile, but then it dissolves into a softer curve.

"If you truly face someone when they are shed from all pretense and appearances, you'll be able to give them a chance to rebuild themselves. Because I know you are honest and kind... I believe you'll be okay."

It doesn't lighten the burden Aoba feels. It doesn't, but... a grateful smile spreads in his face, which is quickly corresponded by Sei. While he's not even close to being out, it's a step further away from his darkness.

Aoba's cell phone burns a brand in his pants' pocket. Not even for a second has Aoba forgotten and that makes him feel both good and awful. It's been pulsating like a second heart poking out of his body, skin stretching tight over muscle. Urgent and life-threatening.

"We should set down the futons," Sei says and Aoba nods. When they return to the agglomeration, Aoba keeps his eyes away from the public, low-toned and worried recollections of what they witnessed in Aoyagi Street or elsewhere still circling around. Sei sneaks glances at him from time to time.

Aoba is kneeling on the linoleum floor, helping Sei lay down the futons they brought over from his house when he hears a familiar voice.

"Aoba-san! You're here, too! And-"

Aoba snaps his spine straight to look to the side, where he finds Clear, forever gangly and messy-haired. Distantly, Aoba notices Clear is still wearing his school uniform, forgoing his usual cream-colored cardigan for the sole white dress shirt with black pants.

What Aoba registers more keenly, however, is the quick transformation of Clear's expression before his eyes. First, it's excitement; that facial expression reminiscent of a Golden Retriever looking up to its owner and wagging its tail. Then, it's shock, which Aoba hadn't yet seen Clear wear in a way that wasn't nearly theatrical. This time around, it feels too raw. At last, confusion settles on his features as he seems to look through Aoba.

"O-oh... I thought you were with Ren-san. My apologies, um," Clear dilly-dallies, awkwardly looking between Sei and Aoba before sticking with Sei and giving him a wobbly smile. "Hello, my name is Clear, you are..."

"My name is Sei," the boy answers politely, probably confused but understanding enough of the situation that he looks vaguely guilty.

"It's nice to meet you," Clear says, bowing dutifully. Sei returns the gesture from where he's kneeling beside Aoba, sitting on his haunches.

"What are you doing here?" Aoba asks and winces at the brusqueness of the question. Clear doesn't seem to have taken it in bad faith, though, and smiles at him.

"People from Dry Juice passed by our house and I came here with grandpa."

A distant memory flashes by Aoba's mind. "Oh, that's right, you said you live alone with your grandfather..."

"Indeed. He's right there, see him?"

Clear points at the far edge of the crowd and waves. Aoba squints, not really knowing whom he's indicating specifically and no one really waves back. Clear drops his wave and scratches the back of his head with a shy smile.

"Sorry, he's not feeling good about this whole thing. I almost didn't persuade him to come here. You're with your grandma, right, Aoba-san?"

"Yeah."

They stay quiet for a while, not looking at each other. Sei gives them space and keeps himself busy, smoothing down everyone's futons. Aoba knows it's coming.

"Where is Ren-san?"

The cadence of the question almost lays it as a whisper, weak and fraying at the edges. Aoba closes his hands in tight fists on his lap, throat closing again as he slides a glance at Clear and sees the eviscerating worry there, swirling in those ruby eyes. Aoba knows he and Ren are close enough to text regularly, knows that Clear is already aware that something is terribly wrong.

Aoba knows from the way Clear looks at Ren. He knows from how Clear entered the student council just to be close to him and from the gifted yellow scarf from their birthday... Outside their family, the one most hurt by anything happening to Ren will be Clear.

Aoba smiles and it's like stretching scar tissue.

"Something came up, but you'll see him tomorrow."

It backfires—horribly so. Clear's ruby eyes go wide, quickly flashing under the spotlights as tears surge and swirl like rainclouds. Aoba flinches, hands snapping up in an aborted attempt at placating the other boy. Sei slides a nervous glance their way. Clear lets out a hiccup and the dam breaks.

"W-why... are you smiling like that? It looks like you're going to cry," Clear barely gets out in a trembling voice.

"No, no, no, I'm fine, you're the one crying," Aoba says in a rush, hands still flailing around uselessly. "Um, calm down, Clear-kun?"

"How am I supposed to calm down? Ren-san didn't answer any of my messages today and I didn't find him at school. E-even Clara-san couldn't reach him. I thought... maybe, he was avoiding me, but I had a nagging feeling it was something else, so I wanted to see if he was home--"

"Huhh," Aoba interjects dumbly, glancing around at the people who are starting to look their way. Clear isn't losing himself to the point of yelling, but he can't help the way his voice is pitching higher amidst sobs and hiccups. Tears are flowing freely down his cheeks.

"--But then chaos broke loose in the street and I had to get home to make sure grandpa was okay and when I saw you with your friend I was so relieved because I thought Ren-san was here with you, though it also made me feel worse about being ignored, but... he's not here. And you're always together! Especially in this situation..."

The people sitting closer to them are getting increasingly nervous, older men and women alike not bothering to hide their insistent side-glances. There are also the ones still trickling into the court, stopping in surprise at the scene before resuming their walk, but not without looking warily at them. Aoba takes note of that and finally settles on putting his useless hands on Clear's shoulders.

Clear doesn't react, his drenched face flushed red and still blabbering. "What am I to think when Ren-san just up and disappears and you're lying to me with that face like something terrible happened..."

He's really taking this the worst way possible. Aoba sighs. "I get it; I'll explain it all to you."

"Aoba," Sei calls from the side, alarmed, eyes wide as if willing Aoba into silence. It's not even an overstatement that he could do it if he tried. Aoba wonders if Sei actually could, though, what with them being "two halves" of the same thing.

Leaving that aside, it would, indeed, be a terrible idea to say more to Clear when there are many ears aware of their conversation and straining to hear.

"Don't worry," Aoba tells Sei. "We're taking this outside. Come on, Clear."

Sei frowns, but it quickly dissolves; there's no devil cruel enough to refuse answers to a nose-running, sniffling and weeping Clear, no matter if one knows him for two months or two minutes. Aoba puts a hand on Clear's back and leads him out of the court. When the doors close, the last set of eyes staring at it is Sei's.

Since there's still an influx of Dry Juice members accompanying citizens into the court, Aoba and Clear wander further away than just the doorway, now with only the flashlight of Aoba's phone to guide them in the dark. Eyes gradually acclimatizing to the poor lighting, they navigate the eerie hallways until they end up at the edge of what seems to be a cafeteria.

Like in the court and everywhere else, the windows are plastered with thick layers of old magazine pages. Not for the first time, Aoba wonders when and why this place became abandoned. There are a handful of reasons for places around the Old Residential District to become no-man's land; places get defunded, small companies go bankrupt and either fail or refuse to sell their businesses to the bigger, oppressive companies that pretty much own Midorijima. This place is so out of the way that it probably didn't get too much attention, as well. It's a pity, Aoba thinks; the place is set up pretty nicely.

Aoba doesn't see it at first, but there, in the shadow of an empty vending machine, is a set of double doors. Its viewing windows are covered with magazine pages, but when Aoba twists and pulls at the doorknob, it opens easily. Beyond it there's tall grass, like the front of the building, and above the top of the looming trees is the night sky, clouds stained pink and purple by the Platinum District's lights.

The wind picks up for a split second, blowing cold against Aoba's cheeks. His eyes are fixed on the lights.

"Aoba-san?"

Aoba flinches where he's standing, turns around and finds Clear, tear-streaked face shining, blinking at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah. I just got curious, if the door was open and stuff," Aoba says nonchalantly, pushing the door only halfway closed as he turns off his phone's flashlight. There didn't seem to be anyone guarding it, either. Aoba purses his lips, trying not to let his breathing betray the speed of his racing heart.

Everyone talked about saving Ren like it would be a collective effort. Rationally, Aoba knows the safer course of action is informing Granny, Haga-san and Sei about the message he received, plan together and go to Ren's rescue, probably accompanied by Sei. No one even fathoms going alone against whoever wants Scrap in their hands. And yet Aoba hasn't said a word about the message he received—not even the fact that he knows exactly who kidnapped Ren. His decision was made even before he saw the message.

The things that are safer for them aren't necessarily safer for Ren. Deep down, Aoba can only trust himself to save Ren, can only put himself through whatever needed to bring his brother home. Granny and Haga-san's safety took priority in light of the chaos enveloping the Old Residential District, but that's taken care of. Sei's eyes aren't anywhere near him and now... the door is open.

With that said, Aoba is not completely alone.

"You... want to leave?" Clear asks, wholly rhetorical. Aoba was less than subtle in his eagerness. "Why?"

"I need to take a leak and I'm pretty sure the plumbing in this place is not working," Aoba explains, laughing lightly and thanking the heavens for his quick thinking for stupid but believable excuses.

Except Clear, the most gullible boy Aoba thought he knew, doesn't buy it for even a second.

"You're awfully distracted for someone with a bladder urgency, Aoba-san."

"Oh, you know," Aoba says dumbly, his lie crumbling and his wobbly grin sure to quickly follow.

Clear's expression pinches in something pained. "Are you going to where Ren-san is?"

"That's not it, Clear," Aoba sighs, looking at the first year like he's a difficult child.

Clear opens his mouth, then closes it again. After staring long and hard at him, he says, "You'll be attacked by the Dyed people if you leave."

"I'm not- what?" Aoba started denying preemptively, but then the words processed fully in his brain. He furrows his brow. "Dyed people?"

Clear's eyes open a smidge wider for less than a second. Then, he sighs. "So you don't know."

"I don't. What are you talking about?" Aoba has a good hunch if he considers the context. But why would Clear call them that?

"That's..."

Aoba grabs Clear by the shoulders. A surprised squeak thrums from the back of Clear's throat as he flinches. "What are you talking about, Clear?"

They've switched spots; Clear is withholding information while Aoba is left to wonder and question. Clear is conscious of that, as it's evident by the sharp gaze he turns Aoba's way.

"If I tell you, will you tell me the truth about Ren-san?"

Aoba narrows his eyes, but sighs in defeat. "I will." I'm sure I can still make one or two things up.

"Now get on with it," Aoba concludes, hands falling away from Clear's shoulders.

Clear looks away, not dismissively but like his mind is wandering. "The Dyed people are the victims of Dye Music. That song that made people become violent."

Like Aoba thought. He presses on, "Where did you get all that from? I didn't hear a single person saying these names."

Clear's eyes return to Aoba. Crickets chirp through the half-open door. "I know this—all of what is happening—has something to do with the old Platinum Jail. The songs that dyed brain chemicals and warped people's actions... they were called Dye Music back then."

"... Who are you, Clear?" Aoba asks after a long moment of silence, confused but mostly careful. Today has been such a day that, somehow, feeling threatened by Clear has become plausible.

Clear blinks owlishly. "What do you mean, Aoba-san?"

Aoba narrows his eyes at him. All of Clear's blunders and general silliness are playing back in his mind like a movie and Aoba can only wonder how much of it, if at all, was genuine. "How are you related to Platinum Jail?"

"I'm only related to it through grandpa. He worked at the Oval Tower."

Aoba raises an eyebrow. "Was he a scientist?" He questions, almost tacking on a bitter and unnecessary as well.

Clear shows a tiny, quiet smile. "He was part of the cleaning crew. Still, he saw and heard many things... I've been listening to his stories for a long time."

Aoba says nothing to that. Clear sounds like he's saying the truth, but Aoba can't find it in himself to regard him with anything but distrust. This is yet another person who's peeling away in front of his eyes to reveal something else entirely—including himself.

Clear sighs like he's tired. Perhaps he was expecting Aoba to say something, but it's evident by the hardening of his features that he's decided to take the word for himself. "Ren-san's absence is related to what's happening, isn't it?"

Oh, that's what he expected: for Aoba to carry out on his end of the bargain. A couple viable lies float around by his head. Aoba can say Ren is hospitalized like Noiz. It might just do the trick.

But honestly, Aoba is sick and tired of lies.

"It is," Aoba confirms at last, lips chapped. "And I'm going to get him back."

"Eh?" Clear interjects stupidly, gaping as Aoba pulls the door wide open again and walks out.

Aoba manages to take three steps out of the building before Clear snaps out of his dumbstruck state and follows him.

"What do you mean?" Clear urges behind him, shrubbery rustling around their ankles.

"He was taken away," is all Aoba grits out, never stopping his pace.

There's an intake of breath in the silence that follows. A hand reaches and holds on to Aoba's arm. "If you're going to save Ren-san, I'm going with you."

"No," Aoba shoots him down immediately, pulling his arm away.

"Aoba-san, you can't go alone! Even with your power, you..."

Aoba stops and swivels around immediately, eyes wide not in shock but something closer to betrayal. Clear's eyes bulge out just as much at his own words—a slip of the tongue. He brings his arms closer to his body where he stands stock-still, hands wringing at his chest. Aoba's tensed up shoulders drop in tandem with his eyelids.

"Oh. Of course." Aoba lets out a curt, dry laugh. "You were there when I told Granny and Ren about Hiroto. You knew it all this time."

Clear's gaze flickers between Aoba's face and anywhere else. "Not exactly. I did ask grandpa, because what you told us sounded very familiar. He said... what you did was definitely something born from Oval Tower's research. I do always take grandpa's stories with a grain of salt, but..."

"Well, your grandfather was right," Aoba confirms, his voice bitter as he stares dully at Clear. "Not even just this power... I was born in that place."

"That doesn't change anything," Clear tells him firmly, eyes wide. "No matter what, Aoba-san is Aoba-san."

Aoba stares dubiously at Clear, whose attempt at looking straight at him is frail and shaking at its basis. Clear's lips are pursed in a tight line, eyebrows scrunched and twitching over ruby eyes that would pass more easily for fearful than determined. Aoba lets out a snort and looks away.

"Well, thanks for that." Aoba's tone is so sarcastic it almost makes the turn and becomes sincere. "So you should understand why I'm the one who needs to settle this. They... the ones who took Ren and did all this, they called for me."

"All the more reason why you shouldn't go alone!" Clear cries out, grabbing Aoba's arm again and trying to capture his unfocused gaze. "They are setting a trap for you, Aoba-san. You don't know that much about Platinum Jail, right? I can make myself useful. So...!"

Aoba huffs and gives his back to Clear. "No. Sorry, Clear. This is something I need to do alone. I owe this much to Ren."

The grass hisses around Aoba's legs as he moves again, but he has barely taken two steps when arms snake around his torso and keep him in place, squeezing him.

"I won't let you!"

Aoba's eyes go wide, freezing on those distant lights above the trees. His chest shakes and warms up in a way that's not pleasant. It's too hot. It feels like he's about to throw up.

"Let me go."

Something like ghost vocal chords thrum under his normal ones. Aoba feels something like a fever spreading and the arms around his stomach jolt before loosening and falling away.

In the quasi-darkness Aoba can't tell if there's much of a haze in his vision, but he does feel unsettled, dizzy. It's the same thing happening again. He squeezes his eyes shut.

This is not a guy with ill-intention against someone Aoba loves. It's not Hiroto. This is Clear. It doesn't matter how disillusioned he's feeling, this is not something he should subject Clear to. Clear is a friend.

"Stay put, Clear. Are you listening to me?" Aoba says, his voice still echoing out of his chest weirdly.

"Yes," Clear answers promptly behind him.

Clear is an obstacle.

"When I leave your sight, wait for fifteen minutes before you go back into the court," Aoba instructs. The strange fever that came over him is converting into a chill. It's still burning inside, though, even as his skin becomes clammy. He's trembling. "Don't answer any questions from my family or Mizuki. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Clear confirms again, his voice dull.

"... Good."

Aoba takes a steadying breath. Eyes resolutely focused forward, he walks away, his pace gaining speed until he's running.

Chapter Text

Conversation simmers in the warehouse like low-boiling water. While definitely not a place projected for sheltering, people are well-accommodated and distributed around the broad space; all crates were piled up and pushed to the very corners and away from people's path.

On one such crates is sitting Koujaku, who's tapping sluggishly at his phone's screen and staring down at it with a frown. A couple of Benishigure members linger by him, looking at him and each other nervously. At last, Koujaku clicks his tongue and turns his head to the wall next to him, against which a girl is leaning her back, arms crossed.

"How long are you going to stand there, Clara?" Koujaku asks with a tight not-quite smile, glaring.

She blinks at him, impassive, brows raised. "Until you call Mizuki and ask him for the Seragakis. And put it on speaker."

Koujaku bristles, fragile patience snapping. "You don't have to be all over me like a bloodhound! God, I shouldn't have told you Mizuki had them..." Koujaku sighs and pushes his hair off his face, exasperated. His teammates trade awkward looks; it's rare to see such a testy Koujaku, especially towards a girl.

"Look, I have to talk to him about stuff that are not your business, so don't worry, I'll tell you what I know later, alright?"

Clara pushes off from the wall, staring down at Koujaku from up her nose. Between their locked glares, dark-purple against crimson, the air in that specific corner of the room seems to dip a few degrees.

"Don't play with me, Koujaku. My parents are in the goddamn hospital and I can't even go there because people are out for blood in the streets."

Koujaku falters a little under Clara's firmly held posture, seeing it for the pretense it clearly is. He knows that; he heard from Yoshie-san that her parents' car was involved in an accident exactly when hell broke loose in Aoyagi. That's a big part of the reason why he wanted to be patient with Clara and he's already regretting his temper.

He's saying something, but Clara is not done yet, her voice rising sharply over his.

"I won't rest until I know they're okay. Ren didn't even show up to school today, I... I have to hear him. Please, Koujaku."

By the end of it, her voice is hanging by a thread, pleading. Koujaku didn't notice when his teammates stepped away from them, trying to keep themselves at a distance Koujaku can reach them with a quick command but they won't have to stand in what has turned into an intimate conversation. Clara's arms have already fallen away from that impassive pose, her expression open and expectant.

Koujaku sighs again, but there's not a trace of its earlier harshness. It's resigned and, in a way, nostalgic; growing up, he lost a lot of arguments to Clara, the little sister he never had. Aoba, Ren and Mizuki, others that were like his younger siblings, were never quite as capricious and mouthy as she was. He turns his attention back to his phone.

"Geez, I get it. You're so spoiled," Koujaku grumbles.

Clara smiles with a relieved huff and doesn't wait for any kind of invitation before she slips into the spot next to Koujaku, shamelessly peering over his shoulder. Koujaku rolls his eyes and taps the call button on Mizuki's number.

It doesn't dial for long. A dampened click sounds from the other end.

"Hey, Koujaku," Mizuki greets promptly. He sounds tired.

"Yo. I've sent back the guys you lent us. Thank you."

"Oh, so you didn't try to swipe them from me."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Koujaku scoffs, but the mirth quickly evades his expression. "How are things on your side?"

Mizuki sighs. "I think we already have everyone we could get. The last few groups came back saying they almost stumbled on either the vandals or police officers. Seems like they closed the circle on Aoyagi Street."

"Fighting fire with fire, huh?"

"Yeah. It's just like I said earlier; the more chaos, the more they gather. If there's no one in sight, the zombies are likely not there either." Clara can almost see Mizuki scratching the back of his head, a difficult look in his face. "Aoyagi's looking pretty ugly, I hear."

"That's how it's looking on the western side, too," Koujaku informs him. "We stopped bringing people in an hour ago. We have more residential neighborhoods next to Aoyagi over here; I'm worried about the people we had to leave behind."

A pause follows. It doesn't last long enough for them to worry about Mizuki not hearing, and rightfully, he speaks up again.

"I'm gonna stake out with some guys to try and watch the development."

"You're insane," Koujaku is quick to shoot.

"Aw, it's okay if you're afraid," Mizuki teases and Koujaku makes an indignant noise in response, "you should stay put and watch out for your people anyway."

"Hey, hey..." Koujaku starts threateningly.

Letting out one last ghost of laughter, Mizuki continues more soberly, "Seriously, though, I don't intend on getting in trouble with the police. But someone has to do it and we are the only ones who can afford to split between taking care of the shelter and going outside."

Clara clears her throat, looking expectantly at Koujaku. The young man throws her a withering glance, but it's half-hearted. Considering Clara's complete lack of interest for Ribsteez and its affairs, it's actually surprising that she was patient up to now.

Koujaku huffs, stubborn on his display of reluctance. "Look, Mizuki. Can you call up the Seragakis? Clara wants to know how they're doing."

"And she doesn't wanna know about me? That's mean."

"You'd probably survive a nuclear apocalypse, Mizuki, I'm not worried," Clara pipes up from beside Koujaku, legs swinging flippantly.

"I'm not a cockroach!" Mizuki cries indignantly. Then, in mock-affront, he follows up with, "Wait, Clara, you could hear me this whole time? Koujaku, you should've said something, I feel invaded."

"Oh, shush," Clara interjects lightly, half going along with Mizuki's antics. A bigger part of her is quickly being overtaken by the speed of her racing heart, though. "Where are the Seragakis?"

It sounds like Mizuki will promptly answer, but then he stops. "Mmm, actually... I wonder. I kind of missed them after I brought them in."

Clara looks up at the warehouse around them, taking in the dozens of people either sitting around on futons or milling about, and sincerely can't blame Mizuki. After bringing people to safety, there's still enough in his plate that he can't exactly keep tabs on everyone.

"Was... was everyone okay?" Clara goes easier on him, glancing quickly at Koujaku. There has to be something in her look that she didn't mean to put there, because the Benishigure leader puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Clara doesn't shuffle away.

"They were," Mizuki says. That's all Clara needs to feel relieved, and yet Mizuki's tone keeps her on edge. He elaborates, "Aoba and Tae-san made it here safely, but uh... Ren wasn't at home when I picked them up."

"Huh? Why's that?" Koujaku is the one to question. Clara is frowning down at the phone.

"They wouldn't tell me. We were in a hurry, so I just..."

"What the hell," Koujaku interjects, not harshly but rather in confusion. "Ren is usually such a homebody and in this kind of situation, too..."

Clara is unseeing as she stares down at the screen, her brain going a mile an hour. She thinks of that café and her last conversation with Ren, which was more like a fight, or at least what a fight looks like when it involves someone as passive as Ren. In that café was Clear as well, who went to her class at noon today and looked as stricken as she felt as he asked for Ren, seeing for himself that he was nowhere to be seen over her shoulder.

"Well, I'm definitely gonna find that out now, because it threw me for a loop, too," Mizuki says decisively and grunts low, probably getting up from where he's been sitting. "Now, where's... oh, Sei! And... Clear?"

The name echoes with the images in Clara's head, like reality spilling into a dream and shattering it. The haze lifts from her eyes as they refocus into her surroundings.

"What? Oi, Mizuki?" Koujaku calls out, bringing the phone closer to his face and talking right into the speaker. Clara only frowns critically from the side.

"Do you know who he's talking to?" Koujaku whispers at Clara, tilting his face away from the phone. There's definitely a conversation happening on the other side, but not a single word can be made out from it.

"Clear is a kid from our school. The other name I don't really..."

Koujaku looks just as confused as he was before he asked, but he doesn't try to call out for Mizuki's attention again. For seconds as long as hours, they fidget in their seats, muffled voices mingling on the other end of the call and mixing into an unintelligible mess.

So Clear is with Mizuki... I'm glad, but what was the other name Mizuki said? Sei?

"Aoba went to the Platinum District?!" Mizuki's voice breaks clear through what were only murmurs before. Clara and Koujaku jump in their seats, his bark sounding sharper in their strained ears.

Koujaku shakes off his shock faster. His phone is pretty much on his face now. "Mizuki, are you listening? What's that about?"

"The Platinum District? Why..." Clara whispers at herself, baffled. The entire Old Residential District is in a state of panic from a sudden wave of vandalism and violence taking the streets. Everyone is hiding and just waiting, hoping that tomorrow this will just amount to a big mess to clean up.

Why, of all places, Aoba is going there? That hateful place...

Clara has heard Platinum Jail's story like any other child has in this island. It's like a legend until you grow up a little and see old pictures of Midorijima and the big dome that was Platinum Jail, a blister taking over one third of the island. Other than the fact that it was, indeed, Platinum District's former identity, its story is pretty outlandish. Scientists kidnapping and experimenting on people, researches about brainwashing and mind control... Some people believe it all faithfully while others dismiss it as a story that was made bigger than it should be. Clara never thought much of it, until now.

"Yes. The place with the big Ferris wheel." A new voice rings forth, strangely closer to the speaker than Mizuki. It's soft like the gentle sway of wind chimes. Its calmness feels at odds with the tension permeating both sides of the call, until Clara makes out the thin helplessness underneath.

"The... amusement park? Why would he do that?" Mizuki asks, seemingly oblivious to Koujaku and Clara's rising agitation. The thread, shaking and wearing away under pressure, snaps.

"To save Ren." Clara registers a sigh somewhere in the back of her mind, which has turned to white noise. "Alone."

Once Aoba reaches Aoyagi Street, he can't believe the silence by the edge of the Eastern District bothered him.

After he stopped running and the pulsing in his head eased away, what he found were street poles shedding light on quiet pavement, no buses or vehicles in sight, stores closed and engulfed in darkness despite the early hour. As Aoba walked by, the curtains on the windows of locked up houses rustled to reveal peeking wide eyes, which hid away before Aoba could turn his head. It doesn't mean he ever stopped feeling watched.

The quietness was alarming in itself, but it was hard to imagine the chaos Mizuki and the people from the shelter described when he found himself in silent and clean streets. Maybe this need to see things for himself is what led him to Aoyagi Street, despite knowing that he'd likely be unable to take his usual route to Platinum District.

The silence bothered Aoba, but it was much better than this.

There's no sign of Aoyagi Street's usually upbeat nightlife, the bodies moving under the neon signs, smoky and subdued, contrasting with the bright and loud daylight crowd. The few slouching figures Aoba caught roaming the streets next to Aoyagi were simply a prelude; it's the night of the walking dead out here.

The look of the Old Residential District's central area is something out of a blockbuster movie, boisterous in all the wrong ways. Charred and still fuming cars dot the edges of the street—some still up in flames. Very few are the stores seemingly left alone and when Aoba squints through the heat-haze, he notes that these shops' shutter doors actually had to put up quite the fight. The stores that favor some kind of nighttime aesthetic over safety are less lucky, though. Glass windowpanes left and right are shattered; the flower pots from a nearby shop spill dirt onto the sidewalk, joining the glass shards and overturned garbage cans.

And in the middle of the street, looking more like they own the chaos than the ones that are supposed to pacify it, there's a cluster of weeping police cars, one familiar figure in the middle yelling into a megaphone while groups of officers gang up on lone teenagers that are flailing uselessly on the ground. As a group they've made as much damage as Aoba imagined, yes, but is each one of them alone so dangerous that four grown men need to flatten them on the pavement?

"Hello?! Hellooooo?! I know you're out there!! Come here, you little terrorists!!!" Akushima, the police chief, shrieks into his megaphone, his lined and pale face stretched around its usual manic smile. Aoba sharply ducks out of line of sight, pressing his back against the dark alley's wall once again.

Just as Aoba decides he's seen enough, a sound and movement on the corner of his eye alerts him. Aoba twists just in time to catch a pair of clawing hands by its wrists before they find his neck. Aoba can't help the startled yelp he makes, his hold trembling as he finds himself pinned by a cold, inert stare.

"Yoshida, did you say something!?" Akushima spits needlessly into his megaphone. Aoba distantly hears a muffled response, but his mind is ringing with both the panic of being suddenly attacked and being potentially caught by the police. He knows they won't care whether he's one of the Dyed people or not.

Aoba doesn't even look at the face of his assailant, doesn't think twice before whirling around, switching their positions and kicking the guy towards the mouth of the alley, quickly releasing his wrists. The momentum nearly throws Aoba down on his ass, but he merely stumbles before turning around and fleeing the scene. Again he is running, not caring if he hears steps following him or not. Chest heaving and legs protesting, he weaves through the back alleys until he doesn't know where he started and where he's going.

This time Aoba only stops when he falls to his knees, getting down on all-fours and attempting to hack his lungs out onto the ground. While there's not a soul in sight, he wonders if the noise he's making might attract Dyed people his way. Just like true zombies in the movies.

Stop thinking of them as zombies. They're all people from the Old Residential District. They can still be saved.

That's what Aoba would normally think, but he's been thinking of only one person to save this whole time and he's many, many steps and strides away from his destination. Aoba raises his head and looks blearily at the grey and looming Northern District buildings, looks higher and sees the night sky, sees the dancing colors on the clouds.

Aoba feels dizzy, so he drops his head again. His legs are shaking, his chest is burning and the general exhaustion he's feeling is contributing to one mighty headache and subsequent nausea. I'm tired. I feel sick. I'm hungry. I'm gonna pass out.

One of his hands reaches into his pocket and Aoba is blinded by the brightness of his phone's screen for a moment. The battery only charged up to twenty-five percent.

Ren's message is still open, the sneering line of text and picture laughing at Aoba's sorry form, his uselessness. His weakness.

If Aoba could get to the top of one of these buildings, he would surely be able to see the far silhouette of the Ferris wheel that's sitting behind Ren in that picture. Aoba would see the lines of the roller coaster and all the sparkling light emanating from Platinum District center piece, the Green Playground Park. Then, from the top of that building, Aoba could fly if he had been gifted with a more useful superpower.

As Aoba slowly gets up, however, he thinks there's probably some meaning in making the path towards Ren on his own feet, no matter how much they ache or bleed.

While Aoba has walked to school before, it was always straight from his house. This time, he's run around plenty before making the path straight to Platinum District, and the amusement park is much farther than his school. No matter how drained he feels, Aoba can't see the distance closing between himself and Platinum District and not run, for once not away from it. They are only quick bursts of speed, only as much as his body can take before begging for him to slow down.

It's only when Aoba glimpses the still distant lights peeking through the buildings that he wonders if the people from Platinum District have any idea about what's happening beyond its little bubble. Once Aoba ducks into an alley and peers at the isolation cordon crossing the path before him, a handful of police officers standing around, he regrets his lack of forethought.

The regret goes as quickly as it came. Regardless of barricades, Aoba has to make into this godforsaken place. There's only one thing Aoba immediately crosses off his mind—using Scrap. Using it on Clear... even as dire as the situation was, he still can't believe it happened. How will he face Clear after that? Will Clear even want to see him again? Or maybe those are all the wrong questions. Aoba doesn't even know if he didn't seriously hurt Clear by using that unreliable power on him.

Aoba squeezes his eyes shut. There's surely something smarter he can do. Something better and less risky...

"Why did they send us out here? We're like babies, you know?"

A sigh. "We are not like babies, Miki. We've graduated the police academy last month."

"Fetuses, Tomoe, fetuses. I'm personally the worst spermatozoon of the bunch."

"That's not stuff meant to be yelled around! At times like this, your Old District upbringing truly shines through."

"And you're not doing justice to your Hokkaido upbringing. Don't you guys fight bears or somethin' up there? And you're here, afraid of some friendly human reproduction jokes."

The two police women bicker (namely, Miki pokes and Tomoe flies off the handle) to their hearts' content, which is how their days usually go if there are no superiors around to scold them. This kind of daily life is something Nao is well accustomed to and he won't meddle in his partners' fun. That's the most lively things will probably be tonight, he thinks as he sips on his coffee and tries to ward off the boredom and subsequent drowsiness this assignment incites in him.

"Help me! Help me!!"

The police officer almost chokes on his drink and jumps from where he was leaning against the wall. Glasses slightly askew, Nao's gaze roams about the dark buildings before him until it zeroes in on a boy in tattered clothes, eyes wild as he runs towards him and his two colleagues.

"Stand back!" says Tomoe, putting herself in front of him and Miki, one hand floating in warning on the holster of her gun.

The boy stops dead on his tracks, hands up in the air and shaking like a bamboo shoot. The man frowns a little at his dirtied face, his bright eyes; this kid is probably only two or three years younger than him.

"Tomoe-chan, why you always gotta act the hero?" Miki chirps, unbothered by the disturbance while sipping on her ninety-percent cream ten-percent coffee.

"Shut up!" Tomoe hisses and tosses a quick glare behind her, a light blush dusting her cheeks. Then, she turns her glare towards the teenager. "What are you doing out here, kid?"

"I-I-I, uh..."

Nao sighs, sets his cup down at the edge of a flower bed and steps forward. "Tomoe, you're scaring him." She huffs as the police man smiles reassuringly at the young man. "Can you tell us your name?"

"Se... Seiichirou. Ono Seiichirou," he answers, stammering but prompt.

"Seiichirou-kun, do you have your ID on you?"

"N-no. Sorry..."

By the tremble of his voice, the guy looks about ready to cry on the spot. Nao, feeling a twinge of compassion, rushes to nod and reach a hand towards him.

"That's alright, we don't need to check that now. Step closer and keep your hands up. Slowly, please."

Seiichirou stumbles, but watches his step as he closes the distance, until there's only one meter and the yellow tape separating them. At a closer look, Nao has to swallow dry; the guy is actually quite the beauty. Fine features, hair a striking blue color that Nao finds brighter and more natural than any dye job he's ever seen in his life. The eyes that looked a muddy brown at a distance reveal themselves as a brilliant, captivating hazel; if he didn't have a distinct male voice and figure, Nao could have mistaken him for a girl.

With that said, Seiichirou is truly in a sorry shape; one bloody scrape on his cheek with mud splattering his skin and clothes. His jacket is drenched and hanging off one arm and there's a deep cut down the neck line of his thin grey shirt.

"Miki, body-check?" Nao suggests, because he immediately doesn't feel right doing it himself.

Miki raises one eyebrow, but pushes off from the wall. "Yessir, Mr. Good Cop."

Nao clears his throat, taking off his cap and pushing his straight black hair back before putting the cap on again.

The short woman waltzes forward and ducks under the cordon. Miki instructs Seiichirou to keep his hands up just a bit longer, "sorry, that must be a pain both figuratively and literally speaking," and gropes around his waistline and his pockets. She stops only for a moment that has Nao's heart stuttering, but Miki and Seiichirou murmur between each other and Miki only extracts a phone from his pocket, which she promptly puts back where she found after a quick nod.

"What happened, Seiichirou-kun?" Nao asks after Miki has cleared Seiichirou and allowed him to drop his arms, already knowing the answer. That's why they've been stationed around the limits of the Old Residential District tonight, after all.

"I... I lost my b-brother in the commotion at Aoyagi Street. I couldn't reach him, so I just k-kept looking but I didn't find him anywhere. And then I was ambushed by some... weird people. They pushed me around and down on the ground and... I just ran when I got the chance."

"Oh, no..." Tomoe interjects wholeheartedly, her tough part nowhere to be seen again. Nao hopes Miki is leveling her with the deadpan stare he'd like to give her if he could turn around.

"I thought the Old Residential District's police was out in the streets tonight, as well," Nao says. They have been stationed here to watch out for possible troublemakers trickling in, after all, not to aid victims. "Why did you run out of the district instead of further into it?"

Miki snorts crudely. "The kid got the right idea, believe me."

Nao blinks quizzically at her, but then a rustle of clothes and a thump makes him swivel forward. Seiichirou has fallen to his knees and is just about to kiss the pavement when Nao reacts quickly and dives under the police tape, catching him by his forearms. Seiichirou's head hangs on his neck.

"Seiichirou-kun! Are you..."

The young man leans his head back with a sigh, eyes barely open. The motion displays a stretch of soft skin from his neck down to his heaving chest. Nao violently turns his gaze away.

"Sorry," Seiichirou says, nearly a whisper. "I just... I need to sit down."

"A-absolutely!" Nao almost cringes at the shrill quality of his voice. "We don't have chairs or anything here, so I guess the car's back seat will do?"

Seiichirou smiles, weak but candid. "Thank you."

Nao puts a hand on Seiichirou's back and helps him up and under the tape, leading him through the threshold between the Old Residential District and Platinum District. The police car is no farther than ten meters away. "If you're cold, you can have my coat. Do you want coffee?"

"Oh ho ho," Miki interjects behind him, her tone thick with leering. Nao ignores hers and Tomoe's hushed gossip. These two only see eye to eye at certain occasions, such as teasing Nao.

"... I will take it, actually. Thanks," Seiichirou concedes and Nao opens the back seat door.

"This looks like a health hazard. Let me get it off of you," Nao says, pulling the disgusting jacket the rest of the way off Seiichirou's arm.

"Ah. Don't throw it away. I can't dispose of it."

Nao frowns a little. Was it a gift from his girlfriend? From his boyfriend? Nao's tongue itches to make this dubious question, but he holds himself back. He's still this much of a professional, at least.

"Sure." Nao shrugs and, reluctant to put it on his lap, he leaves the jacket next to his feet. It won't get any dirtier. With that out of the way, Nao takes off his long black coat and puts it around Seiichirou's shoulders, motioning him to sit on the car's back seat.

"Oh, I left my cup of coffee back there. Mind waiting?"

"It's okay. Thank you, you know." Seiichirou is still smiling at him, looking tiny under his broad-shouldered coat.

He's said "thanks" so many times already... Nao fixes his glasses and nods solemnly, head bowed low to try and hide the hideous blush overtaking his face. He turns around and marches towards where Miki and Tomoe are sneaking obvious glances his way.

"What you're here for? Go get 'im, tiger," Miki says as soon as Nao is within ear-shot and he wants to groan because that's exactly what he expected her to say.

"It's not what you're thinking," Nao says, not at all a serious attempt at throwing them off his track.

Tomoe grins. "I don't know, Nao, you're all over the guy--"

"No, I'm not, what kind of police-"

"--and he looks like he's into you, too."

Tomoe holds her shit-eating grin as Nao freezes, mouth open until the possibility of it catching flies becomes real. Miki waits with brows raised.

"... Really?" Nao, damn him, is blatantly hopeful.

"Really," Tomoe guarantees him. "He's all sparkly-eyed when talking to you. And the coat thing? Nice move."

Nao laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. "You think so?"

"You should ask if he got that ugly jacket from his boyfriend," Miki pipes up.

Nao snaps his neck towards Miki like she pulled him by the ear, points and gasps, "That's exactly what I thought!"

"There's a thing, though," Tomoe says, sobriety falling over her features like a mask. "Are you sure he's even over eighteen?"

Nao stops. The blood in his veins stops flowing, the synapses in his brain stop popping.

That's right, you big doofus! You should make sure of that first before lusting after the poor guy! I did guess he was at least two years younger which would put him at eighteen or nineteen, but...

"Oh, I bet you're regretting not seeing that ID now, huh?" Miki teases.

Before Nao could think of a retort, a complaint to the Gods or a plan, they are deafened.

It's hard to tell at first if the screech of sound comes from a hurricane right on top of them or a building collapsing on the trio, but after the first two seconds, they realize they are listening to a song. It's blaring through every manhole and window, it seems, so loud their hearts thrum in tandem with the song's weird bass and synthesizers. It makes them sick before they realize what it is.

"Fuck," Miki's lips form, but Nao can't hear. She's pressing her hands to her ears, scowling at the buildings around her like she's hoping to single-handedly find the source to a sound that seems to be everywhere. Tomoe is invested in the same fruitless endeavor, one hand closed on Miki's elbow.

Nao distantly remembers the ruby-red beads of his Christian mother's rosary spilling over her intertwined fingers, the fear in her voice as she read about the seven trumpets preceding Judgment Day. She would probably fall to her knees praying if she was in the situation he is now, waiting for the world to be swallowed in fire. But this is man-made.

Nao snaps out of his reverie and swivels his head towards the police car.

His black coat is crumpled on the pavement. Seiichirou, and his jacket, for that matter, are nowhere to be found.

God, that was so embarrassing! So scary! I really did want to cry back there. What even was the family name I gave them?! What if they ask again?! I should've used Scrap after all!

These are the thoughts whirling around Aoba's mind as he watches the police officer walk away, relieved that he was somehow not shot but still trembling at the fact that it could have happened. Aoba was ready to play along with anything when he got to the police officers, and what he got was the "damsel in distress" role.

That police officer was so nice, though, that Aoba almost feels bad at the prospect of just running off on him after he was so kind. Aoba doesn't fool himself; that man was much nicer because he was clearly interested in Aoba, but he was gentle from the very start. The police force over at Platinum District is definitely much more like a real police, he's glad to find.

And then, just as Aoba's thinking of reenergizing with some coffee, the song comes. Aoba doesn't need to have heard it before to know it's the one.

There are surveillance cameras next to where the police officers are stationed. Aoba glanced at them, wondered if they were working and if he'd get in trouble later on for being caught on them. Now, it feels like someone was looking for him on them.

This song, twisted, viscous like hot soup spilling over his skull even as it does not affect him, is his welcome mat. A provocation. Aoba doesn't know what will happen to him if he takes up this fight, but he's got something to lose and it's not his own life or sanity but something much more precious. He can't say no.

So, exhausted in body and soul, Aoba lets the warm coat slip from his shoulders and picks up his filthy jacket. Against the will of his legs, but firm on the will of his heart, again, Aoba runs.

Chapter Text

The perfect, pristine Platinum District is in shambles. Any other day and Aoba would've cracked a joke at such news, not because he wishes any sincere ill upon the people who live in this place, but he can appreciate a good dose of irony like any average teenager. These people act like they're superior and turn up their noses at those from the Old Residential District at any chance they get; they can bear to be reminded that they are just as human once in a while.

Now that he's running through and shouldering past these same people, who are seemingly torn between running and staying rooted in their spot, Aoba has nothing to say. Not even a thought to spare. It's not his business at all as people stare dumbly at the LED screens on the buildings, in which reporters have just caught wind of the fact that the broadcast's audio was hacked and is streaming Dye Music instead of their words. Now, a written message ordering people to calmly head home if they're on walking distance or wait for the police to help them if otherwise is flashing up on the buildings.

Aoba doesn't stick around to see what will happen. Instead, Aoba has his eyes set on the vague glimmer of that huge Ferris wheel in the distance, seeing only what awaits him there. Following only its sillhouette, Aoba runs without looking at his feet.

The sight of intimidatingly tall white gates doesn't deter Aoba when he gets to the amusement park, though his burning lungs do a good job of doubling him over. Once he's regained his breath and stretched his limbs, because he needs to if he doesn't want to be impaled by the pointy metal shafts, he moves towards it. However, when Aoba closes his hands on the railings, the gates give under his absentminded push.

"It's open? Why...?" Aoba bites his own tongue and looks around. There are surveillance cameras here, just like the area where the Platinum District police officers were stationed. 

So those two can even open the doors for me...

During the whole time Aoba walks from the main gates and proceeds to jump over the turnstiles, he waits for some kind of alarm to start ringing. Aoba wonders what Virus and Trip had to do to render the Green Playground Park's security useless and, apparently, take control of it. Weren't there supposed to be guards at this kind of place? Then again, Dye Music has not stopped playing for even a second—not even here. Hearing the distorted song playing from every loudspeaker in the empty amusement park would have any sane person running, if Virus and Trip hadn't already dealt with them.

There's no movement anywhere, but the park is all illuminated like it has been just waiting for Aoba to come. The merry-go-round to Aoba's left is all sparkles, circles of beautiful horses as white and polished as marble glittering under the spotlight. The bumper cars, kamikaze, pirate ship, teacups and skydiver are all bright but perfectly still. And then, a metallic structure glimmering in shafts of neon greens and blues against the dark sky, the Ferris wheel burns a brand in Aoba's eyes, barely glimpsing the roller coaster uncoiling like a snake behind it.

Aoba doesn't know where to go at first. Though the Ferris wheel is the most obvious answer, it is quite a ways away and if no one's there, it'll be unnecessary legwork to come back and check everything from the beginning. So Aoba throws cursory glances at the open rides, seeing nothing out of the ordinary among the horses of the merry-go-round or sitting at the teacups.

On his way, Aoba finds an arcade shop, the burn of curiosity rather than actual expectation to find Ren there leading him in. Aoba jumps when the automatic doors open in front of him, lingering a while as if now, finally, it'll be the last straw and a guard will jump from the nearest bush at him. When that does not happen, Aoba walks in and frowns at the upfront confirmation of his suspicion; there are Rhyme machines in the Platinum District. A dozen, in fact, in this shop alone. So it wasn't an experiment using only the Old Residential District's people as lab rats. Seeing this, Aoba finds all the weirder that Noiz would rather go all the way to the Old Residential District to play.

Aoba sighs, clutching the phone in his pocket. Noiz. It feels like it's been ages and not hours since Aoba left his hospital room, promising to be back in the evening. Noiz will be safe there, but what will he think of Aoba never showing up? They never got to exchange phone numbers.

There will be time for apologies later. Aoba leaves the arcade shop with this resolve, locking it in his heart for after he gets Ren safe and sound.

Aoba enters the tunnel of love in a hesitant pace, finding it unlikely that they'd have such a cheap sense of humor. It's become somewhat easier to put Trip in the villain's shoes ever since he found out the truth, but Aoba is still having a hard time putting the teacher he saw nearly every week for two months in this role. Aoba finds himself almost wanting to say it out loud, say the words that will perhaps solidify this reality in his eyes and to his ears, but even alone as he is, it feels silly. Either way, Aoba can't confirm that he is not being watched right now.

The tunnel of love is a closed-off water ride, Aoba finds, so he doesn't need to go in further than the ticket booth. The last closed building is the only dark one Aoba has seen until now, its front lit in a dark-red light. The only part of it illuminated brightly is the purposefully precarious sign above its double doors, saying "House of Horrors".

Scowling, Aoba huffs and goes into the building, which is high for a one-story building, but not high enough to be a two-story one and much wider.

For a high-end amusement park, this "House of Horrors" is not much more advanced than the attraction the kids from school put up every year for the Cultural Festival. Aoba supposes his criticism is not very accurate when he's only seeing the walls splattered with fake blood and the fake spiders hanging from the ceiling, not experiencing the high-tech mumbo-jumbo that they must employ in this kind of ride when the amusement park is open— the sound design and the people with professional creepy makeup on and so on. At it is, however, Aoba is peacefully moving from room to room.

When he thinks he must be close to the end, Aoba arrives to a room that, right off the bat, gets him dizzy.

All around Aoba are mirrors, aged for the specific purpose of making them creepy, only enough to enable a feeling of seeing things that are not there. After the first shock comes the second one; Aoba looks absolutely filthy. He had no idea how he looked like after rolling around on the dirt to make his act for the police and now he wonders how the hell that cop mustered interest for him. Does it say a lot about that police man's low standards or about Aoba's apparently superior looks? Both? Even if he's not ugly, Aoba definitely can't see it being the latter.

After a deep breath, Aoba walks through what seems to be a very narrow hallway. How claustrophobic. The dizziness comes back with full force as dozens upon dozens of his copies pace forward all around him, sidling up to him, closing in on him. Aoba thinks maybe this is just a long hallway, wonders if there even is a door to a next room, but he finds a curve when he reaches the end of the corridor and comes face to face with himself. There's a scrape on his cheek that he didn't know was there; he probably hurt himself accidentally when playing around in the mud.

Aoba doesn't know at what turn he realizes that what he's walking through is a maze, but he soon notices that he's not taking the only available path each time. There are always one or two alternative corners that he can turn at. The panic settles in slowly. The seconds tick in, minutes flow by, sand trickles down the choked neck of the hourglass, hissing.

"I don't have time for this," Aoba whispers at his passing reflection, turning at every which corner, turning and turning and seeing no sign that he's moving forward and not walking in circles. "I have to find Ren. Ren..."

Infinite images of himself follow Aoba, closer and farther, becoming so natural at the peripheral of his vision that he does not become dizzy anymore, but hears the rhythm of endless footsteps echoing his own. He is everywhere.

Aoba collides straight with the cold surface of a mirror, stumbles back but does not lose his balance completely. He stares at him straight, eyes wide as saucers, sweat glistening on his skin. There are no corners to take. A dead end.

"Fuck," Aoba curses under his breath. He should turn around and go back the way he came. What Aoba does is let his knees buckle, pull him to the floor where he sits and proceeds to sprawl on his back. Above, the weak fluorescent lights wink at him, charmless. Aoba closes his eyes.

"How pathetiiiiiiic..."

Aoba twitches at the thin echo. Is there some device turned on in this ride after all?

"How pathetiiiiiiic..."

It's closer. Farther. Is it here?

"How pathetic it is, isn't it...?"

It's right on Aoba's ear. He snaps his head to the side, eyes flying open.

"How pathetic it is, that we are."

The words breath at him from the mirror, lying by his hide, curling moving lips and eyes sun-golden.

Aoba sits up straight with a soundless gasp, coming face to face with his reflection once again, knees pulled up. His eyes are hazel. There's a weird, mangled ghost of a smile in his lips.

In one swift motion, Aoba gets up from the floor and rushes back up the corridor, looking for the right path.

"Don't you know the trick to find your way out of a maze?"

Aoba walks faster, runs, breath huffing out of his mouth, shaking his chest. The mirrors follow.

"The best way to find your way out of a maze..."

Aoba closes his eyes, tries to cover his ears but it's useless.

"... Is to tear it all apart, of course!"

Aoba pushes at something solid, then falls through it and drops to the ground. Aoba stays curled up there for a moment, the floor dusty and cold against his skin, waiting for another echo, a laughter that will perhaps vibrate in his own chest.

When silence stretches infinite, Aoba opens his eyes, sits up. He's in the first room, in front of the ticket booth.

Behind him, a door that mixes almost seamlessly with the worn wallpaper swings back and forth, its other side a mirror.

The song has stopped playing, is the first thing Aoba notices as he leaves the House of Horrors.

The amusement park is almost entirely quiet, the only sounds being the rustling of tree leaves as the wind caresses them and Aoba's own footsteps. The first breath of fresh air and the clean silence are honestly sobering after spending god knows how long in the mirror room. After a while, though, Aoba becomes restless. As much as that ear-maiming song made Aoba yearn for his headphones, now that it's gone Aoba jumps at every sound. A lizard slithering through the grass, birdsong up in the trees, his own footsteps. Aoba walks faster towards the quickly approaching Ferris wheel.

Aoba walks by the front of another arcade shop. He doesn't intend on going in, doesn't even think about doing it as he paces straight past it.

But something weird passed by the corner of my eye, he realizes as his steps halt at once on the pavement. Aoba walks back, intending to quickly put the tricks of his vision off his mind so he can resume the path he should've taken from the beginning. But then, Aoba realizes what he saw. There's one screen lit up in that arcade, right in front of the glass doors. It's the screen of a Rhyme machine.

Aoba rushes in so fast the automatic doors almost don't open in time to allow him inside. Is that a hint, perhaps? Aoba's heart is racing up a storm as he comes to the front of the machine, grabbing its sides to either have something to grab or to steady himself, he doesn't know.

NEW HIGH SCORE!

16,256

REN , you're now in 1589th place! Keep at it!

Aoba sees the screen. It juxtaposes itself with the screen in Aoba's dream or memory, whatever that was. The colors are all the same and the message is similar, as well. Aoba doesn't understand it, until he does.

They made Ren play Rhyme.

Ren has never played Rhyme—of that, Aoba is completely certain. The only video game Ren has ever played for more than ten seconds after being forced to start is Kojiro the Cat Farmer, which is also, historically, the only video game he's ever finished. Ren has always been much more interested in playing Hanafuda with Granny.

There's no reason why his name should be here, but it is, and Aoba knows it can't be another person. Not now, of all times.

Is this a lie? Is it a trick to throw me off their track, scare me?

It's either that, or Ren has played Rhyme and probably listened to Dye Music. And he will be just like...

Aoba steps out of the arcade shop, eyes glazed over and glued to the floor. Just as the doors swish closed behind him, his gaze lifts to the main street and finds the profile of a sluggish, slouching figure facing forward. Aoba blinks the haze out of his eyes, which follow the expanse of the avenue and sees an increasing number of teenagers and young adults trickling into the amusement park, some carrying improvised weapons in their hands. Metal pipes, wooden sticks, broken glass bottles and, scarily enough, knives and big, sharp scissors are some of the things Aoba glimpses. He holds his breath.

While there are many Aoba guesses to be from Platinum District, some of them have faces Aoba is used to seeing around Aoyagi Street. So, like moth to the flame, they flock to the place where they hear that accursed song, Aoba concludes.

Before Aoba can decide on his next course of action, a pair of dull eyes zero in on him. Aoba inhales sharply as the boy stops in his heels, staring unblinkingly at him. Others are quick to follow and the parade of twenty-something comes to a collective stop with their necks twisted towards Aoba.

In the small interval of an exhale, Aoba takes one step back, knows that he will only be cornering himself if he runs back into the shop. Along with him, the crowd moves forward one step, eyes locked onto him. Just as they lunge for him, Aoba breaks into a run up the street.

Some of them scream at their escaping prey, making no attempt at human speech. Aoba doesn't dare look behind himself, lest the rhythm of his pace falters and he's run over by what sounds like a stampede of bulls following him. Instead, Aoba's eyes are locked onto the Ferris wheel that's steadily looming over him, as vertiginously enormous as to make him dizzy looking up at it.

It seems like his pursuers are quickly becoming impatient, though; a number of the wooden sticks they were carrying are being thrown in Aoba's direction, a couple of them hitting the back of his feet. It succeeds in messing up Aoba's stride, his foot tangling with the piece of wood and causing him to stumble and roll into the ground.

Aoba's elbows sting where his shirt tears on impact, blood surging up from scrapes on his wrists as well. Although his head is still spinning and the world is a blur of colors, adrenaline pushes Aoba up just as fast as he fell to the ground. The wild pumping of his blood can't quite muffle the scream of his ankle as soon as he puts weight on it, however, and Aoba yelps in tandem with it as he staggers and crumples onto the pavement again.

The Ferris wheel is a bokeh of bright lights filling his vision, coming in and out of focus. Aoba's fists clench on the rough concrete, scratching his skin. He's right there, if only he could just run a little more... They would likely still follow him, though. Aoba twists around for the first time, seeing the voracious crowd coming over him.

If I can't call on Scrap right now, they're going to swarm me.

Be it his mind or body, Aoba feels like he's hanging by a thread. It's hard to tell which parts of him are not hurting by now and his throbbing ankle is most likely sprained. There's no way he can run and no way can he simply bear with more aggression. The throng of hollow-eyed boys and girls advance towards him like a cackle of drooling hyenas, ready to take him apart.

A bluish-white spotlight shines over Aoba's head and washes over the faces in the crowd, obfuscating even the lights from the Ferris wheel. Aoba gapes as multiple groans of pain float up from the Dyed people, who cower and hide their eyes behind their hands and arms. A chain reaction goes through them as more and more are blinded by the beam of light, which swerves from one face to the other until they all turn tail and scatter.

The street is empty in a matter of seconds, like there never was an angry crowd under those colorful lights. Aoba lets out a heavy exhale in the silence that follows, his body nearly crumbling down at once from the relief he feels. I'm saved.

Still, his shoulders are tense; there's a distinct shadow covering him. A click comes from behind Aoba, who finally shifts around to survey the source of that mysterious light. Aoba finds leather dress shoes before lifting his gaze.

"Hello, Seragaki-kun," Virus greets him, looking down at Aoba with a kind smile not unlike the ones he usually greets his classes with, a flashlight in his hand.

Chapter Text

Summer, as it appears, has completely gone away with the sunset. Even under the warm lights of the amusement park, this night is as cold as the last was sweltering. The chill prickles Aoba's skin, which ripples with goosebumps that, admittedly, are there for more than one reason.

Virus' icy blue eyes stare Aoba down, but no judgment makes itself clear in them. When Aoba remains mute, Virus continues with, "It looks like you've been through a lot. How are you feeling?"

The difference in contexts around the same Virus is rattling. The Music teacher is acting like he usually does and Aoba didn't plan for that—didn't plan for much, in truth. That was the price to be paid for haste and now Aoba finally wonders if the cost will be too high.

It couldn't have been done differently, Aoba thinks. It had to be him alone, because he couldn't make someone else go through this. Be it Mizuki, Clear, Sei, his grandmother... Aoba wishes as wholeheartedly for their safety as he does for Ren's. As long as Ren—as long as everyone—is safe, whatever price is due and he will pay gladly.

It had to be Aoba alone, so he left everyone else behind. Now, he's sitting pathetically on the pavement, covered in sweat and grime, aching all over and likely sporting a sprained ankle. Ren is nowhere in sight; Aoba can only see that name in the screen, the dull eyes of that crowd fixed on him and now Virus, looking down at him.

What if I am not the one to pay the price in the end?

Staring up at those glacier-blue eyes, the echoes from the mirror room are still bouncing around in his ears.

Aoba's chest burns with an inhale, his mouth opens as though in a gasp.

"Go away." It leaves Aoba's lips.

A heavy pause follows. With a blink, Virus shines the flashlight onto Aoba's face. Aoba winces, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his face away in reflex.

Aoba hisses, "What...?"

"That was Scrap just now, wasn't it?" It's not Virus' voice.

One of Aoba's eyes opens a slit, the flash in his vision softening. Virus has turned off the flashlight again and Trip has appeared behind him, his familiar all-knowing smile in place as he walks over to tower at Virus' shoulder. Virus' eyes are only a hair wider than before as he regards Aoba with what looks like curiosity.

When Aoba registers what Trip said and looks back, he's shaken by the realization that yes, that was Scrap. For one second, there was the same vibration in his throat as when he talked to Clear, the throb at the forefront of his mind. The light on his face threw him off before he realized what was happening, though.

Again, Scrap's surfacing wasn't something Aoba had control over. But whereas before the shift crept in on him, now it was a snap; a complete panicked reaction to his helplessness.

Is that why Virus is visibly not affected by it?

Virus hums and lets his gaze wander up the street and over Aoba's head. "So I was correct. To think you were always right in front of us..."

"Well, catching you immediately would be no fun, so I'm glad you hid so well." Trip pipes up in his soothing baritone, their sentences weaving together like they're two bodies of one mind.

"But you," Virus' eyes descend to find Aoba, "You weren't confused when you saw me. You were in contact with Usui and the old man, right?"

Aoba ignores Virus' question. "What's that flashlight?"

Virus considers him for a long second before the flat line of his lips curl up at the corners. "It's nothing special for you."

Aoba scowls. "You're saying those kids' weakness is a regular flashlight to the face? Sure would've been a blessing if people back home knew about it."

A laugh bubbles up from Trip's lips. Virus explains, "No. This one is a specially engineered light, produced behind closed doors for self-defense against those affected by Dye Music. Since 'people to attack and not attack' is not something we were able to encode into this technology, having something that will ward them off is necessary." Virus clicks the light on and off again, pointing it at nothing in particular. "Artificial devices can't reproduce the arbitrariness of human choice. That's probably what led Toue to create the Scrap Project."

Aoba squints. Even as Virus speaks of "we", the way he talks is completely impersonal, detached. There's no weight to his words as he speaks, not even the weight of ill-intent and pride, even though Aoba feels heavy as he listens to them.

"Toue is dead. He has been for a long time."

Virus nods to Aoba. "Eighteen years, to be exact." He doesn't sound wistful.

A chorus of animated chatter and female giggling echoes at the back of Aoba's mind. "You told us you were thirty-two. In class. Was that a lie?"

"That was true. I was fourteen when Oval Tower fell."

"How is it that you're talking about 'us' producing something, then? You were just a kid, you couldn't have been working there," Aoba points out, feeling increasingly irritated. Virus has been saying a lot of things; maybe he's piling up lies in order to confuse Aoba. There's no use to telling him the truth anyway. Aoba can't run anymore, can't hide in plain sight. Can't use Scrap. He's caught and outnumbered.

That also means, however, that there's no use to telling him lies.

"We weren't," Virus says simply. "We were test subjects, not unlike the man who lent the genetic material for your conceiving, Aoba-kun."

Aoba gapes as Trip continues with, "We produced this light, the Rhyme game and this version of Dye Music, but not with Toue. This is all research funded by the Adlersflügel Group."

"Adlers..." Aoba stumbles on the mouthful of syllables. That's a familiar name.

"It's undeniable that what we have now was built upon what Toue created, however," Virus concedes.

"Wait, wait. That name. I've heard it before." Aoba mutters, half to Virus and Trip, half to himself, eyes fixed on the ground as he tries to place the voices in his head, the ones that come filtered in through soft noise or from somewhere far.

Virus smiles indulgently. "You surely have heard it before. The Adlersflügel Group's name has made news a fair amount of times, as they own more than half the businesses in Platinum District currently, whether directly or through affiliation. Naturally, they own Rhyme."

What Virus says rings true; Aoba has, indeed, heard that foreign name in the news more than once over the years. If Aoba was asked to say what this company owns in Platinum District, however, he wouldn't know. It's just another conglomerate that took a bite of what Toue left behind. Except that's not all.

"You see, after Oval Tower crumbled, Toue Inc. left behind an open field of economic potential, all lined up and free for investors," Virus explains as he tucks his hands into his pants' pockets, turns his body to the side and looks away. "Although Toue's disappearance was a mystery to the outside world, nonetheless it attracted quite a few millionaires to this island. One such man was Edmund Adlersflügel, a distant business partner of Toue's who travelled over with his wife."

Aoba frowns but listens intently, closing one hand around his aching ankle in an attempt to soothe the pain. It feels hot and swollen under his palm.

"One night, Trip and I just happened to save Edmund and Ursula Adlersflügel from a group of thugs. It was simply collateral; we had some problems with them, so we crushed them. Still, the couple was extremely grateful. Edmund said I was too smart to be in the streets and Trip's young violence probably looked like something that could be polished into intelligent strength."

"They were a couple of eccentrics," Trip comments blankly with a huff. "Seemed like they thought it was their duty to save us or something like that."

Virus continues, "Well, after escaping alive from the crumbling Oval Tower, we didn't care where the tide would take us. So, when the Adlersflügels offered housing, education and jobs if we went back with them to Germany, we had no trouble going along with it just as well as we would have living in the streets for another day. Right?"

"Right," Trip confirms with a drawl that accomplishes being both cheerful and flat.

Aoba's eyes widen. The mention of the country's name clicks in his mind.

"I told him Platinum Jail's story, the parts he didn't know as an outsider. Well, I told him many things." Virus shrugs one shoulder, a barely-there unapologetic smile in his lips. "I thought it would be interesting to test him, see how he would react to the potential in the scientists' reports and essays I smuggled out of the tower. While not driven by a scientific and philosophical curiosity like Toue, the man did have an eye for profit and opportunity. When I told him of the possible medical advances this research could bring forth, he slowly started making investments. Around that time, his wife got pregnant with their first child."

"That's our Wilhelm, Aoba," Trip informs him needlessly.

If Aoba wasn't on the ground already, he would be now. As Virus talked it came to him slowly; Dr. Yamamoto's muffled voice behind him at the hospital room, carefully spelling out Noiz's last name. Aoba feels utterly weak, sickened, as he hears of Noiz's birth in the awful timeline Virus and Trip have drawn, the sequence of events which led to this outcome. Noiz is not simply in an unfortunate relationship with the orchestrators of chaos; he is sitting at the very center of the pandemonium that has swallowed Midorijima whole tonight.

No. It's Noiz's father, not him. Noiz is not responsible for this.

Aoba remembers, in a flash, Noiz's face when he went over to his apartment. The franticness which, to this day, Aoba hasn't seen a repetition of. Noiz's insistence on Aoba staying away from Virus and Trip.

But he knew this would happen.

"While it was a merry occasion at first, things took a turn for the worst at the end. You see, Ursula Adlersflügel's psychological state took quite a few hits over the course of her pregnancy and all of it culminated in postpartum depression," Virus explains, still chillingly detached despite the quickly darkening story.

Trip's face opens as though in a flash of realization. "Oh, that's right. She tried to kill Wilhelm as soon as he was born, didn't she?"

Aoba stiffens, the shock that ripples through his body so great he jostles his ankle a bit too much and yelps in pain.

"It was quite the close call," Virus agrees with a nod. "Wilhelm would've likely been dead if I didn't safely take her hands off him."

"Even I got a little freaked out by that," Trip laughs.

With his eyes still squeezed shut in pain, Aoba wishes he could close his ears just as efficiently. He doesn't want to know any more of this. Doesn't want to hear about a mother trying to kill the boy whose wounds he cleaned just this morning.

Aoba wishes he could see Noiz right now. Aoba wishes he could be away from these voices and in that quiet hospital room, hold Noiz close and never let him know of loneliness again.

"She got her happy motherhood story, eventually." Virus says. "Two years later, she had a shot at a fresh start with a new baby, but Wilhelm grew up without a sense of pain. It must've been some kind of trauma from his mother's actions, but we all pretended it never happened. She couldn't ever forgive herself, but she reflected her contempt onto Wilhelm himself."

Virus looks down at Aoba for the first time in a while. "Funny, isn't it? Both of them treat Wilhelm coldly for not knowing how to behave, for not having a normal sense of sympathy, but that's something they, themselves, took away from him." Trip snorts at that.

The words, Aoba thinks, don't sound like they're supposed to. That's a comment Aoba could've easily made himself, but dripping with sarcasm, because he's indignant. Virus, however, says it like it's some curious anecdote, the touch of genius in a tragicomedy, and Trip agrees. Virus looks away again.

"That fact makes it even richer that, as cold as they both are to Wilhelm, when I offhandedly told his father that Scrap might fix his numbness to pain, he latched onto those words like a man drowning." Virus crouches to Aoba's line of sight, looking intently at his face. Aoba gulps as Virus gathers a strand of his hair between his fingers and studies it.

"It surprised me. I was just thinking that coming here would be a nice change of pace and tossed one little idea at him, and suddenly he was adamant. That was four years ago. I was entrusted with doing everything I could to find the one that could save Wilhelm, as well as bring them back to Germany as an asset."

Aoba swallows the deep-seated unsteadiness he feels. Virus never said Aoba could cure Noiz's insensitivity to pain—in fact, the way he talks makes it sound like it's simply a convenient lie. When Aoba remembers the grief this disorder has brought to Noiz's life, however, he can't help the flicker of hope he feels. After all, Sei did say Aoba's power could destroy not only good things in someone's mind, but bad ones as well. How would Noiz react, if he heard of this possibility?

With that said, when Aoba looks at Virus and Trip's eerily similar little grins, he doesn't believe that they're invested in such a generous goal.

"Did you need to do all this?" Aoba asks sourly, mentally motioning to the literally in flames Old Residential District and Platinum District. Virus stops fiddling distractedly with his hair.

"Surely you wouldn't come if we asked around, would you?" Virus retorts with raised eyebrows.

Trip complements with, "Besides, that would be boring."

Aoba's fists tremble where they are balled up against the pavement and he keenly feels the taste of blood in his tongue where he bites at his bottom lip.

"Well, setting up everything was a lot of work, and not very fun around the middle." Virus looks at Trip, who nods solemnly. "Coordinating the production of Rhyme and the song took a long time. We are here now, though. This island showed us a good time and we managed to find you and your brother. This is the best possible outcome."

"... Why did you tell me all that?" Aoba asks at last, teeth gritted.

Virus smiles wide, but still tight-lipped. "I wanted to see the faces you would make, of course. You didn't disappoint, Aoba-kun."

"Fucking bastard," Aoba cusses and presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids, the image of his Music teacher long gone from his mind. In front of him is only the man pulling the strings on the mess his life has become overnight. "It doesn't matter if I can't run right now. Whatever the fuck you two plan on doing, know I'm not going quietly."

"But you will have to, right?" Trip muses. "Since you came here for Ren."

Aoba looks up at Virus and Trip with renewed rage, fear thrumming just underneath. Virus has gotten up again, standing with Trip peering over his shoulder.

"Ren-kun was very hurt," Virus says with a sigh, pitying without his heart in it. "I thought he was in on the ruse, but the poor kid is too genuine to be deceitful."

"Ruse?" Aoba repeats, eyes narrowing as his heart picks up pace.

"I gotta say, having a stand-in for your real brother was damn smart," Trip marvels. Aoba goes cold, freezes in his spot. "That old man is pretty cunning if he's the one who came up with that."

... Is that what Ren thinks, as well?

Aoba opens his mouth and breathes out silently. He wants to scream, but the voice that leaves him is too thin, hoarse. "There's no stand-in. Ren is my brother."

"Don't lie," Virus counters calmly. "We already know Ren-kun does not have Scrap."

"Where's Ren?" Aoba hisses, as much as it feels useless to ask. He was supposed to find Ren by himself.

"So you care?" Trip taunts without disguise.

"Of course I care!" Aoba snaps. "I need to take him back home, he... he has nothing to do with this mess! You said it yourself, he doesn't have Scrap. And you made him play that- that fucking game..."

Virus closes his eyes momentarily and says, "You're right. We have attested that Ren-kun doesn't have Scrap, so he is of no use to us."

"But you can always find some use for a person," Trip muses. Then, he turns his bland smile Aoba's way. "Say, where is Usui?"

Usui... They really don't know Sei's name. "Who?" Aoba bluffs.

"You don't expect us to believe you don't know your real twin, do you?" Virus cocks one eyebrow up. "You knew we were the ones who took Ren-kun away. Usui and the old man are the only ones who know about that."

"You wouldn't be here if you weren't the culprits. It wasn't hard to put two and two together," Aoba rattles off, knowing damn well that's a lie. As Virus said, as suspicious as it was, Aoba would've been much more confused at first than as promptly defensive as he was.

Virus' brows come down over his narrowed eyes and Trip looks just as disbelieving.

"So you're saying you are the only one we can have, right?" Trip asks after a while.

"Huh?"

Virus exchanges a look with Trip. "Well, I'm sure one will do just fine."

"You did say we could've found no one, right?"

"Right."

Trip steps forward. "Aoba, you will come with us, won't you?"

"We will let Ren-kun go and we won't touch a hair of his head. That's what you want, isn't it?" Virus says, his smiling, unforgiving blue eyes piercing into Aoba. "In exchange, you will quietly come with us."

Whatever price is due and I will pay gladly. The thought ebbs into his mind again.

"Can I really bring back W-Wilhelm's sense of pain?" Aoba asks, low.

"I wonder about that," Virus answers, surprisingly honest. "I think it's possible, but my knowledge of Scrap is merely theoretical."

It dawns on Aoba. They don't need a comforting lie to lure me in. It may be more interesting to capture me even as I know what I'm walking into.

"What if I can't do it?" Aoba keeps on pushing.

"That's not important," Trip says, blatant.

Virus, grinning openly, complements Trip with, "The orders we received are just that: orders. We only do the things we find fun, after all."

They're not tied down by anything: law, morals, promises or orders. The things they told Aoba matter very little in their content—Noiz, his father, even Platinum Jail or Scrap are not relevant. Those are not the things that drive Virus and Trip.

There may not even be something that drives them. Aoba looks at them and knows that taking him back to Germany and turning him into a lab rat is only one of many possibilities, and none of the others kinder. But if they keep just this one promise, if they let Ren go...

"Aoba!"

The yell reaches Aoba's ears along with the roar of an engine. A headlight shines at the corner of his eye, nearly blindsiding him.

Aoba turns his head to the side and only sees a motorcycle running full steam ahead towards him. Behind the driver, the passenger is practically standing up on the foot pegs, holding onto their helmet. It takes a little too long for Aoba to recognize the voice, only before he sees the face peeking out of the front opening and another yell rings out.

"Ah! Virus, you asshole, I knew you weren't shit!" Mizuki hollers angrily, pointing at them while keeping his other arm around the driver's neck. Aoba watches on in shock, not sparing a glance to Virus and Trip, who he can only tell are not moving.

The motorcycle screeches to a halt less than five meters to their side. Mizuki skips off of it first, taking his helmet and tossing it carelessly on the floor before running for Aoba. This time, there is movement at the corner of Aoba's eye; Trip stands between Aoba and Mizuki, hands tucked into his pants' pockets.

Mizuki stops in his tracks, but Aoba can't see through Trip's figure.

"And who the fuck are you?" Mizuki spits and Aoba wants to grab his arm and drag him away from the danger he's sneering at.

Thankfully, Trip doesn't move a finger. Aoba, tense as a guitar chord on breaking point, keeps his eyes on the man's shoulders, watching for something as little as a twitch.

"You're the one barging in on people's conversation, stranger," Trip says.

"Can you please not throw my stuff around, Mizuki? Geez." The voice becomes clearer when the driver takes their helmet off and picks up the one Mizuki threw on the ground. Aoba inhales.

Akira hangs each helmet on one handle of his bike and turns to them, fixing stray hairs sticking to his face. When his amber eyes lie on Mizuki's back and Trip's threatening posture, the cunning smile Aoba remembers takes over his face.

"I apologize for my friend's manners. I swear, it's like he's been raised in a barn." Akira walks over and pulls at the crook of Mizuki's arm, pulling him farther from Trip. "His name is Mizuki, I'm Akira. Can I know you two gentlemen's names?"

"Virus."

"Trip."

The two introduce themselves curtly, their voices in varying levels of interest. Akira bows his head solemnly.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance. Oh," Akira inclines his upper body to peer behind Trip's silhouette, finding Aoba with blinking owlish eyes. "Aoba-kun, it's been a while. Bet you're relieved to see me this time, huh?"

Akira grins sharply at him, teasing. Aoba smiles back despite himself, though with a touch of irritation. Because yes, he is damn relieved to see him and Mizuki. A bit more scared than before, but also lulled by this traitorous reassurance of being in a bad situation with a friend.

It remains that Akira's face is the last one Aoba expected to find tonight.

"Now, back to business." Akira straightens up and Aoba can't see his face anymore. The courteous smile he wears, however, can be heard in his voice. "Trip, we appreciate your kind-hearted attempt to help our friend, but we came here to take Aoba-kun back home. So, if you could step aside, please."

Aoba hears the flapping of wings overhead in the silence that follows. When his eyes lift to the sky, Aoba sees a whitish bird—an owl, perhaps? Aoba flinches and snaps his eyes back down when Trip scoffs and steps forward.

"You're pretty cool-headed, kid."

"I've been told that before."

Aoba doesn't have time to even yell in surprise or warning when Trip swings his fist at Akira. With a heavy, sickening sound it hits square into Akira's cheek, pushing him back against Mizuki's startled open arms.

The surprise in Mizuki's face quickly morphs into anger. "You piece of...!"

"I can't stand cheeky guys like you," Trip says coolly, the corners of his lips still curling up despite the contempt in his eyes.

Mizuki makes to lunge at Trip, but he's held back. Akira's face is hidden from view as his head is downcast, one hand pressed to his bruised cheek and the other held fast to Mizuki's arm.

"Back down, Mizuki," Akira says, his voice slightly muffled, and raises his head to fix Trip with a bright-eyed, blood-stained grin. "This is Scratch's job."

Mizuki pulls at his arm. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

The sound of faint rustling reaches Aoba's ear and his head turns just as Virus makes a noise at the back of his throat. A throat which is, now, taut against the barrel of a gun.

After that, not even the wind makes a sound. Over Virus' shoulder, Takato's golden-brown eyes watch for movement like a hawk's, his hand firm on the gun held to Virus' jaw. Takato's eyes sweep over Aoba's form and he is reminded of their very first encounter. The transparent way Takato looks at things, as well the readiness with which he will resort to violence if he deems it necessary—it's all there and Aoba instantly knows this is not a bluff.

Trip turns around slowly, scowling at Takato, but he doesn't take a step towards him and Virus.

"You're earlier than I thought you would be." Akira breaks the silence, pushing away from Mizuki's steadying hold and wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his fist.

"Right on time, it seems." Takato's eyes narrow, going from Trip to Akira.

Akira waves his hand nonchalantly. "I could take two or three more of that easily. You just have no faith in me, so you came running, right?"

Takato visibly sours at Akira's brilliant smile. Just underneath the teasing there's something softer, but Aoba's attention is stolen by the sound of marching steps that seem to be closing in on them.

"I almost thought you guys wouldn't make it," Mizuki sighs in blatant relief, grinning sharply as he looks out at the circle of people surrounding their small group.

Aoba looks around. He does, indeed, find that he's acquainted with many faces—people from Dry Juice that he will regularly see hanging out with Mizuki—but there's also a handful that are unknown to him. They're nestled together, but not distancing themselves from Mizuki's team. It's only when Aoba meets the feline-sharp eyes of a familiar girl that he snaps to the realization that those are members of Scratch. The girl's cattish grin from two months ago is nowhere to be seen; she stands gravely with teammates and temporary allies alike, sporting bandages on nearly every exposed spot of her skin.

"We're on your side, after all."

Akira's confusing words from so many weeks ago surface in Aoba's memory. At the time, Aoba could have never imagined Scratch being something like an ally to him, not after repeatedly landing him and Noiz in trouble.

Seriously... everything has turned upside down.

"Seragaki," Takato calls out, nearly startling Aoba to death. Quickly recovering from his heart-stopping flinch, Aoba gives Takato his attention, silently urging him to continue. Takato slowly proceeds with, "You need to get out of here. Find your brother and hide, no matter what."

Aoba breathes out a feeble, "What..."

"We won't be left alone for too long. They will catch wind of this commotion."

A shudder ripples up Aoba's spine, because he needs no more elaboration to understand Takato. Virus and Trip's flashlight momentarily scattered the Dyed people, but they will undoubtedly come back when they realize there's a bigger crowd reuniting in the amusement park's heart.

"Mizuki, you help him," Akira says. "The first steps on that foot will hurt the most. Now..."

Aoba gulps as Akira pulls a gun from his own jacket's pocket and points it at Trip, slowly stepping around him and towards where Takato is standing with Virus. Trip's eyes snap to Akira when he enters his field of vision.

"Kyou and Tsukishima, keep him still. Kaede, clear them," Akira says and lightly swings the gun in his hold. Two men and the cattish girl detach from the circle around them, the men taking each of Trip's arms and locking them while the girl, Kaede, pats around Trip's waist. Before long, she extracts a handgun from his pocket.

"You two aren't leaving this place alive tonight," Akira states, his voice an unsettling mix of cold and giddy. Aoba shudders at his visible blood thirst. "But you can live for a little bit longer if you tell us how to clean up the little mess you made out of our island."

Akira's arrogant smile falls as he glances at Mizuki and jerks his head in Aoba's direction, motioning him to get a move on.

Mizuki frowns at Akira for a second longer, his look one that spells out his concern for what Akira may suffer and what Akira may do. Without any proper acknowledgement from him, Mizuki looks away and finally moves towards Aoba, his footsteps gaining resolve and speed as he rushes over to his childhood friend.

Aoba smiles a little as Mizuki helps him up. The way the redhead takes his arm and pulls it around the back of his neck reminds Aoba of the day he collapsed in class and Mizuki took him to the nurse's office.

"Let's go, Aoba."

Aoba has to grit his teeth and stifle a scream at the spike of pain in his ankle as he puts weight on it. As much as he wants to find Ren and remove himself from this situation, he finds a more irrational part of himself wanting to just sit back on the pavement. Through the haze of blinding pain, the warmth created in Aoba's core by Mizuki's unwavering friendship and the carefulness of his touch helps him forward, if only a little.

An uncountable number of eyes, including Virus' and Trip's, follow Aoba and Mizuki as they wobble out of the loose circle. Mizuki exchanges a few nods here and there with his teammates before he turns to face forward, the lights from the Ferris wheel reflecting on his skin. Aoba has his half-lidded eyes set on the amusement ride.

"You're thinking he must be there, right?" Mizuki asks when they've opened a good distance between themselves and the crowd behind them, lines of trees hiding them from sight.

Aoba's face is growing paler as they advance. The colors shift on his clammy skin as he turns his head to look at Mizuki. "How did you know?"

"They... Sei told me about the message you got." Mizuki glances at Aoba with something like an apologetic smile. "Looks like they snooped into your phone and they will probably apologize for that later. But considering that's the only reason we knew where to find you, we should be thankful for that."

"Oh..." Aoba knows that, had he heard this an hour ago, he would probably be angry. By now, however, it's clear that Sei was the smarter one out of the two of them. In fact, Aoba is surprised that Mizuki didn't yell at him for disappearing on everyone and needing rescue in the end.

Mizuki, perhaps sensing Aoba's inner self-deprecation, squeezes his hand reassuringly.

"We're gonna save Ren, Aoba," Mizuki guarantees him, as sure as Aoba needs to hear it. Together, they look up at the Ferris wheel and the night sky extending behind it. "And tomorrow will be a new day, yeah?"

It could be anywhere between 8:00pm and 4:00am now. Aoba doesn't reach for his phone to check the time; he has never been more anxious for daybreak.

Chapter Text

The ascent up the stairs to the Ferris wheel's platform takes longer than it should, considering they are not that lengthy. The first few steps are an awkward ordeal involving pained groans from Aoba and rushed apologies from Mizuki, but once they're halfway through their trek, it becomes easy enough that Aoba can hold onto the handrail and climb up unassisted. As expected, however, the process is hard on his bruised ankle, which is now exposed to the night air since Aoba rolled up the hem of his pants.

"How are you feeling?" Mizuki asks once they reach the top of the stairs, standing by the ticket booth. Despite the fact that he could've simply gone up and waited for Aoba, he walked by his side the whole time.

"I'm fine," Aoba breathes out, trying to keep himself upright on his own. Still, Mizuki crowds him in concern.

"Your ankle is really not looking good," Mizuki says, his eyes narrowed at his friend's feet. "As soon as we're done with this and it's safe, we have to get you to the hospital."

"We will have time for that later." Aoba pushes Mizuki to the side, careful not to be brusque. It clears the vision that Mizuki was blocking; the Ferris wheel, overtaking the whole of what his eyes can cover, a structure so colossal now that it is right in front of his eyes that it looks like it could touch the clouds.

The cabin right in front of him, different from all others, has its door open. Inside, slumped on the seat with his head leaning against the glass and fogging it with his breath, Aoba finds Ren. Mussed black hair is falling over half his face and his eyes are closed, but Aoba needs no more to identify his brother.

Aoba nearly falls over from relief, holding onto the side of the ticket booth. Mizuki notices the change in his expression and whirls around, eyes going wide as he makes the same discovery as Aoba.

"He's tied up," Mizuki observes in a low voice once the shock wears off.

Indeed, when Aoba looks further down from Ren's face, he glimpses the ropes coiling around his torso and arms, binding his wrists and ankles together as well. Aoba frowns momentarily. Before long, he turns his head to catch Mizuki's gaze.

"Mizuki... Thank you helping me all the way here. But you should go back now."

"Huh?" Mizuki interjects, looking just genuinely confused until exasperation makes itself known. "Why would I do that?"

Aoba averts his eyes. "I'm worried about Takato and Akira. Even if it looks like they pinned Virus and Trip down, those two are... something else. You should be there for your team, as well."

"I'm not worried about my team and you shouldn't worry about Takato and Akira, either," Mizuki says decisively to Aoba's weak argument. "They're doing their part and my part is making sure you and Ren will be safe until we can go back to the Old Residential District."

"It'll be alright. Ren and I will hide somewhere in the park until everything settles down."

Mizuki's frown deepens. "You make it sound easy. It was lucky that we weren't attacked on our way here, but what will happen if they come when I'm not here anymore? You can barely walk by yourself."

"They won't come," Aoba counters matter-of-factly. "They will flock to the crowd back there."

"We can't be sure of that, Aoba," Mizuki insists impatiently. "One of them could be wandering around and catch you and Ren."

Aoba simply stares at Mizuki, letting his silence speak louder. Mizuki, however, is equally unwilling to budge. When he sighs at last, Aoba thinks he won the staring contest.

Then, Mizuki says, "Can't you just stop hiding whatever it is you're hiding from me?"

Aoba gapes a little at his bluntness. Mizuki looks away, furrowing his brow.

"I already know Ren was kidnapped because he was mistaken for Sei. I didn't leave them alone until they told me this much, but Sei wouldn't say a thing when I asked them for the rest of the story. Why they had to be chased around by dangerous people and why you had to come here alone. They said that... since we are best friends, you should be the one to tell me all of this."

Something inside Aoba thaws at the slight hurt in Mizuki's expression. It's not fun being in the dark; Aoba can relate to that very keenly.

Still, it's neither the place nor the time for that. Aoba can't even summon that much energy to explain everything to Mizuki when he's barely come to terms with all that's happened.

"I'm sorry," Aoba says, as sincerely as he can. "I'm not hiding things from you for fun, Mizuki. It's just that so much happened today and I can't have this conversation right now. So I want you to wait. Can you?"

"It's not something you've been hiding from me for long time?"

"No!" Aoba is quick to assure him. "I'm as surprised as you are by all that happened. I've only discovered about Virus and Trip and everything else today."

Mizuki seems considerably relieved after this affirmation. Yet, worry shadows his features.

"I'll give you space, then. But you're not running off on me again--"

Aoba winces at the sharpness of Mizuki's jab.

"--So after you finish talking about whatever it is you can't say in front of me, wait for me here if you can. If it's dangerous, hide in that shop over there."

Mizuki points past the Ferris wheel at one of the few building in the park that is shrouded in darkness. It's small, probably some kind of gift shop.

"It will offer good cover and you won't have to walk too far. I'm definitely coming for you guys, so don't forget it, okay?"

Aoba smiles. Usually, they bicker and fight over the smallest of things. The people around them probably don't think they are as close as they are when they see Aoba and Mizuki on easy days, but when it gets hard, they are there for each other. Even when one of them is being stupid.

I have to properly apologize for being so single-minded.

"I won't. Thank you," Aoba says.

Mizuki lingers for one second longer, staring at him like he's waiting for Aoba to change his mind. Ultimately, Mizuki raises the side of his fist to Aoba, who instantly responds by bumping his own against it.

Tossing him a last smirk, Mizuki leaves. Aoba watches him ride down the steps they've climbed together, then turns back to Ren.

Aoba's brother is still lying quietly inside the cabin, towards which he staggers with his best efforts not to land face-first on the ground. A hand on the doorframe, Aoba takes a moment to soak in the relief of finding Ren, at least, in no bodily harm. The side of his face, pressed onto the cold glass, is lit up in a myriad of colors.

Contrary to what Mizuki thinks, Aoba didn't demand his absence because of a secret he needed to discuss with Ren alone. It's simply because, given the hints Aoba has picked up on his way here, he's inclined to believe he will be forced to do something he doesn't want to. Something he doesn't even know how to do, but knows that he wants no audience for.

Aoba sits on the seat opposite from Ren, bracing himself for what will happen next when he leans forward and reaches with scarred hands to cup his brother's face. When golden eyes open in a haze, Aoba hopes against hope to see reason come through in them.

Ren's usual temperate gaze is but a distant memory, however, when his eyes bulge out, wild, and he lunges for Aoba with a snarl. Aoba inhales sharply as he rears back and holds Ren at arm's length by his shoulders. Ren is far from deterred by that and wrestles both against Aoba's grasp and that of the ropes tied around him, nearly foaming at the mouth. Of all the things Aoba has seen tonight, this is the most alien of them. The most utterly wrong.

Aoba furrows his brow, his eyelids burning as he witnesses his brother so violently robbed of his composure and clarity of mind. Ren would have never wished someone to see him like this, Aoba is sure.

"Ren..."

His brother doesn't react to having his name called, still caught up in his vain attempts at freedom. Aoba's arms hurt; Ren is strong normally, but even more so once his inhibitions are done away.

"Ren!" Aoba calls out once again, his voice edging on desperation. Ren remains mute but for the groans and growls of exertion as he keeps on lurching his body every which way, apparently ignorant of how this will only take him as far as the floor. Aoba's fingernails claw into his shirt.

"Ren... I'm sorry." Aoba squeezes his eyes shut, trying to recall everything Sei said about their power. Until now, Aoba has been some sort of passive element every time Scrap surfaced and it can hardly be said that he was using it. It was never a phenomenon of which he was chief. It can't be like that now.

Aoba has to consciously command every step he makes into Ren's heart, or he won't be able to face his brother. Most grimly, he won't be able to face himself if he fails.

"I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry they... we hurt you like this. Please, let me fix it." Aoba takes Ren's face again and it becomes that much harder to keep him still. There's nothing else to do but to get up and press Ren's head against the glass window behind him, trying to get him to fix his gaze on Aoba. When Aoba speaks next, drawing a deep breath, he hears the echo of his voice. "Let me see into your heart, Ren."

Hazel and gold cross paths as the world disintegrates around them in a cloud of rust.

The first feeling Aoba has to come to terms with is one of having lungs empty and hunger for air. It's most disorienting that, even as Aoba conscious and continuously drowns, there's no faltering of his mind from the lack of oxygen. As there's nothing under his feet and pressing to his skin anywhere, it's difficult to even feel his own body and he's painlessly tortured in the complete suspension he experiences.

Whispers come to Aoba voiceless, shapeless. They are mere concepts that fill Aoba with meaning like air expanding his chest. Seamlessly, Aoba's feet find ground and, before he can become nervous at the persistent darkness and silence surrounding him, a single bright screen pops into existence before his eyes.

The scene before him is painted in colors of twilight. To Aoba's shock, he sees himself at, perhaps, five or six years of age, bawling his eyes out while sitting on a bench at a local children's playground. Aoba is distantly embarrassed at the memory of such instance not being rare when he was younger.

"What's happening? I just saw three or four mothers dragging kids by the ear out of the playground," A younger Koujaku demanded to know, out of breath. While unaware at the time, Aoba reasons now that he must've seen the commotion from his house, which was in front of the playground.

"They were teasing Aoba again." Aoba recognizes Ren's younger voice, but doesn't see him. The memory Aoba himself has of this moment and where they all stood, however, quickly tells him that he's seeing this from Ren's perspective.

Ren continues, "We were at home waiting for Granny to leave work, but Aoba ran off when I was drinking water. When I found him, he was in trouble with the other kids already. I thought of telling them off, but their mothers ran for us and started apologizing and asking to talk to our parents. Aoba said we had none and just started crying harder than he already was."

"Oh, man," Koujaku sighs at the conclusion of Ren's explanation, scratching the back of his head. "That's stupid. I thought everyone knew you live alone with Tae-san."

"Ren?" The little Aoba calls, his voice thin.

"What, Aoba?" Ren answers in an attentive, careful tone.

Aoba frowns at the ground, tears glimmering in his eyelashes. "Dad and mom died?"

Koujaku slips a meaningful glance at Ren.

Still cautious, Ren answers, "No. Granny said they're travelling."

"But she always says that!" Aoba cries out, glaring at Ren. "How can they travel for so long?"

Silence stretches long and longer with Koujaku looking nervously between the two brothers. Aoba feels a sense of apprehension that's not his own.

At length, without pretenses, Ren says, "I... don't know."

Another screen pops up next to this one. When the white noise clears, Aoba hears the whirring of an electric fan, narrowly muffling the cicadas from the other screen.

A younger version of himself is there again, but his complexion is far from the distress it was showing before. Now, the small Aoba is animatedly talking to a couple who are standing in front of metal shelves, kindly indulging the boy. The internal design, though much different from how it is currently, is easily recognizable to Aoba as Haga-san's repair shop.

Rightfully, there is the very man's voice.

Aoba eats up Haga-san's words, because he quickly realizes the man is telling a curious Ren about their parents. Aoba stopped asking about his mother and father very early on, because of how visibly crestfallen his grandmother would look when the topic was brought up. Although the lack of information is something he got used to over the years, he can't help but listen eagerly as Haga-san fondly describes his mother. Just as he mentions that he didn't know their father for quite as long as their mother, Granny's story floats back to his ears.

My father... and my mother. Although she didn't give birth to me.

Still, stubbornly, perhaps self-deceiving, Aoba knows her warmth was there in the beginning.

"Granny... She never talks much when we ask about mom and dad." Ren's young voice admits. "She only says they went far away. Haga-san, when she says that, she doesn't mean they died... right?"

Aoba wonders at the chronological order of these memories. Was it his own agitation that nudged Ren towards seeking information on their parents elsewhere?

"Don't think badly of Tae-san for not talking much about it," Haga-san says, sounding apologetic. "I'm sure it must be scary, not knowing a thing, but she's still hurt by Haruka's parting."

Haga-san's face, softer with the lack of expression lines, shows concern. Aoba feels it again; that spike of feeling that's alien to him, like smoke from someone else's cigarette burning his lungs.

As if dispelling all unease with a sigh, Haga-san goes on to softly say, "Don't worry your little head. Your parents are alive and well. They really are just... very far away. As soon as they're ready, they will come back, I'm sure of it. You're their beloved boys, after all."

Haga-san is petting Ren's head, it seems, but since Aoba can't see his brother, the scene feels incomplete. Not just that; it feels like the world around them is teetering off the edge, tilting out of angle.

"Grow strong and protect Aoba, alright?" Haga-san says, kindly staring down at Ren. "It's your duty as the older brother."

A flicker of light, and it's not the younger Haga-san there anymore. Now, he looks his current age and he looks horrified like Aoba has never seen him. It is very close, however, to how he looked as he related to them how he let Ren go in order to spare Sei.

A steady heartbeat thrums inside Aoba's body and echoes through the whole of the intangible world around him, in tandem with the disembodied whispers he has never stopped hearing. It all vibrates like bass from music playing on loudspeakers.

After that flash, the screen continues to normally show Ren and Aoba's day in Haga-san's shop, but another one is quick to appear above it. Aoba's body is further illuminated by the screens' glow, but everything else around him remains pitch-black.

This screen is silent, so Aoba studies the image; the flower ribbons on the chest of a uniform jacket, the sand-blonde hair and a pair of grape-colored eyes strained with never before seen nervousness. Held tight in Clara's hands is her middle school diploma tube. On the day of their graduation all of them looked like this, but Aoba can tell he wasn't present in this particular conversation.

"Everyone is waiting, Clara," says Ren's confused voice, much closer to how it currently sounds. "What do you need to talk about?"

Clara laughs and it's an obvious attempt at sounding nonchalant.

"Surely you're not as dense as to not know? We just graduated together and I asked to talk privately. You know, don't you?"

"I'm... sorry. I don't understand."

When Aoba gets a look at Clara's face again, she seems afraid. Not a trace of her fake smile remains.

"Ren... I like you." Clara says, so clearly nervous and yet looking straight ahead, her chin up. "I really like you and I always did. I thought... surely, you knew. Because you never pushed me away, that's why I gathered the courage to speak up. I want you to be my boyfriend."

Aoba is shell-shocked; he never knew Clara had gotten to confess to Ren. His brother definitely never said a word about it and Clara's behavior never changed in all the years he's known her. She always loved crowding Ren and teasing him and that never changed—be it for something more, be it for something less.

Even in middle school, everyone knew Clara liked Ren. Considering the creeping tension Aoba feels, however, Ren himself did not know. The rhythm of the heartbeat in Aoba's ears increases in speed.

"Ren?" Clara calls, frowning, when Ren makes no answer.

"I didn't know. I'm sorry, Clara."

Clara huffs out a laugh, incredulous. "By all gods, Ren. You don't need to apologize, but I am worried about your safety if you keep on being so oblivious."

"I can't be your boyfriend. I don't feel the same way," Ren says, hesitation eating at his stoicism.

Clara sighs and steers her gaze away for the first time. "Of course you don't, you didn't even realize up until now."

Ren has not stopped talking. Aoba can tell by his voice alone that he's trying to be open and reach out to Clara and soothe her, but it comes off awkward.

"I don't feel like that about anyone. The things most important to me are my family and my friends. And you are a really dear friend."

Clara laughs a little and raises a hand to stop his blabbering.

"I know you're trying to comfort me, but you're not doing a great job," Clara says with a guarded smile. "You don't need to do that, anyway. If anything, I just wanted you to know how I feel."

"Will you be fine?"

Clara only keeps on smiling.

Another screen blinks bright in the darkness next to this one, startlingly. Aoba trembles when the white noise clears.

In a dim room, Virus and Trip seem to stare down at Aoba. Their twin blue eyes drill into his soul through the screen and Aoba seethes when he thinks that the one to suffer this dissection was, in reality, Ren.

"So, we've told you everything about Platinum Jail and the experiment that created Aoba-kun and Usui. You must realize now, Ren-kun, that you don't fit anywhere in this narrative."

Ren says nothing to that. Virus doesn't look too crushed by his silence.

"Say, you have been with the Seragakis your whole life, right, Ren-kun?" Virus asks with an empty smile.

"Yes," Ren answers at last, his tone blank. It's so low Aoba has trouble hearing it over the background noise.

"Aoba-kun told me once your parents aren't around. How long has that been?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"So you have never seen them?"

"I saw a picture of my mother in an old album. I could only tell it was her because she looked a lot like my grandma."

"Does she look a lot like you?"

"... I can't remember anymore."

"So you have never really met your parents."

"I haven't."

At Ren's expressionless answers, Virus glances inquisitively at Trip.

"What do you think?"

Trip looks back at Virus. "Doesn't it look like they just picked him up somewhere? That old man easily handed him over to save Usui. That was probably his purpose from the beginning, don't you think?"

Even though Aoba heard them make such suppositions earlier, the anger he feels now can't be compared. Aoba's eyes burn and the pain he feels is visceral, and worse yet, mostly not his own. The whispers around him become more rapid, frantic, along with the heart beating in his ears.

"With that said," Trip looks down at Ren for a while and shrugs. "No one said it couldn't be triplets."

Virus scoffed. "Seriously? You're not wrong about that, I suppose." Blue eyes behind green-rimmed glasses turn back to Ren, sharp and cruelly merciful. "That would be good, wouldn't it, Ren-kun? You wouldn't have to be separated from Aoba-kun—you can still be brothers, like you have always been."

"Luckily, we have just the stuff to confirm or disprove this idea, right?" Trip says.

"Right." Virus and Trip take their eyes off each other and turn them to Ren. "I don't suppose you have played Rhyme before, have you, Ren-kun?"

The whispers are cut and the heartbeat falls into a flat line. All screens in front of Aoba snap into static, making him jump at the grating in his ears. What looked like a wall in front of him turns out to be just open space, as more and more screens pop up one over the other and above his head, like they are pictures hanging from the ceiling by strings. At times, a ghost of a memory common to Aoba will momentarily break through the static. Mornings at the table before leaving for school, Granny's face as she opens the front door when they come home.

There are also more specific moments that Aoba has to strain to glimpse and remember. The one day he and Mizuki got lost in the forest when they were seven and Ren and Koujaku were worried sick; their high school entrance ceremony and how they posed for pictures with their grandmother at the gates; their last birthday and how they unboxed gifts together when Aoba woke up from resting his wounded body... There are these and many more. Many, many flashes of memories that Aoba can't revive in his mind and he wonders at the things he doesn't remember and Ren does. How many moments are more precious to his brother than he realized up until now and how much did Virus and Trip tarnish?

Aoba feels a presence behind him before he hears a rustle. Whirling around, he finds the glossy bars of a cage faintly illuminated by the screens. Behind the bars, he sees a dark, crumpled figure.

It's impossible to recognize Ren in it. It could be a person, it could be an animal. Yet, Aoba walks towards the cage and kneels before it, his hands closing around the bars.

Aoba sweats. The memories, the non-words whispered at him since he arrived to this place... it spoke of Ren's suffering, his torture in this current state. This is the most honest Ren has ever been, because he can't help it. And Aoba has listened—there's no way he couldn't have understood it all, having peeled away every layer of Ren's skin and looked at his raw self.

Everything hangs on how Aoba will respond.

Aoba breathes deeply and leans his head on the bars, closing his eyes.

"Ren... you forgot yourself. No, you're denying yourself and that's not entirely the fault of Dye Music."

The silhouette inside the cage shifts around, causing Aoba's eyes to snap open, but it becomes still again soon after. Its shape is still difficult to discern, a visual representation of Ren's confusion. Aoba narrows his eyes at it, pursing his lips.

"You're Seragaki Ren," he says and it sounds close to a prayer or a spell. "You're eighteen years old and you're the Student Council President at school. You're handsome, smart and dependable. That's the image you give off to strangers. I'm your brother, so I also know that you have a dry sense of humor, your cooking is even better than Granny's and you're a worrywart despite every attempt at nonchalance. What only you knew, and now I know as well, is that losing family, to you, means losing your own self."

A growl, like a warning, rumbles from the slumped dark form and Aoba can't help a shudder going up his spine. After a gulp, he steels himself further.

"Family, to you, is a point of departure and destination, your place of birth and your place of rest. You're not jaded or prejudiced against people, but you're keenly aware of their fickleness, their unpredictability. Family is our lives' only constant, so why put yourself through the ordeal of loving without guarantee of return when you already have something that gives you meaning and provides safety?"

The bars shake in Aoba's grip and he feels something wrap over his hands—they feel too much like huge claws. When Aoba stares forward, he only sees a pair of golden eyes glowing in the darkness, peering back at him. Too familiar, too wild. Aoba's gaze doesn't stray away, even as his throat tightens and his chest feels shallow.

"You're kind and warm to other people, but only enough that you're still safe even if this one bond falls apart." Aoba breathes deeply, choosing the course of his words carefully. "You believed only in the solidity of our bond as family and never prepared for it to be threatened. Ren, you need to know this first; Virus and Trip are wrong."

Aoba feels something like a warm exhale against his face, his hands being nearly crushed onto the bars by Ren's squeezing hold.

"You are definitely our parents' child, I'm the one who..." Aoba sighs, furrowing his brow. "I'm definitely a product of Toue's experiments, along with Sei—Virus and Trip call him Usui. We are all linked by our father's blood, whose DNA was used for mine and Sei's conception, but that's hardly important. Even if we were born differently, we are brothers."

With some difficulty, Aoba slips his hands from under Ren's hold and reaches forward, towards the bright golden eyes boring holes through him. Looking for his face, Aoba only feels something like feathers or thick hairs under his palm. It's hard to tell whether Ren's vision of himself became so distorted solely because of Virus and Trip's thoughtless words or Dye Music has a greater fault in it. Aoba ignores any sense of strangeness; he knows he's talking to Ren and he hopes he's being heard.

"You, Granny and me... we are still just as much of a family as we were yesterday. Our parents are still Haruka and Nine. But there's more to it... You've heard part of it from Virus and Trip, but that was never how you were supposed to find out. We need to talk about what Haga-san did at the hospital and about Sei. About how you were hurt in all of this." Aoba stares as deeply as he can into those golden eyes. "If you come home, we will talk about it... as a family."

The static noise behind him comes to a stop. When Aoba twists around to look, his hands falling away from Ren, he finds that all screens are, once again, showing Ren's memories in clear lines and bright colors. Happy memories and past conversations once again fill the background of this persistently dark world.

"Aoba?"

At Ren's voice, Aoba snaps back to the cage again, finding it gone. There, kneeling across from him, is the completely human Ren, who's staring pleadingly at him.

"Is that true? Do I still... have a place?"

Ren sounds weaker than he's ever heard him. Aoba smiles softly. "You were never in any danger of losing it."

Ren closes his eyes, seeming to have at last found peace.

"Thank goodness. I always thought... the happiest day for me would be when dad and mom come back. If I protected you and Granny the best I could, we would be together until that day came." Ren opens his eyes, seeming close to tears. "And then... maybe they would even be proud of me."

"That day will definitely come," Aoba says with all the certainty he can muster, hazel eyes bright. Then, his smile becomes tamer. "But you have things a bit wrong."

Ren frowns a little. "What do you mean?"

Aoba furrows his brow, fighting with his tangled tongue and thoughts. "Granny and I... Family can make you stronger. We will always be there for you, but we are far from being the best part of you. You are your own best thing, Ren."

A silence filled with meaning stretches on as Aoba takes in Ren's shocked expression. It's a relief; Aoba is not quite there yet, but he's on the right track.

"Mom and dad will be proud of you for you, for the amazing person you grew into, not for what you did for us." As he continues, his smile is almost bittersweet. "You can definitely stand on your own. Be selfish, toss us aside a little. You won't be punished for not thinking of us first in every situation."

"I don't think that's..."

"And maybe," Aoba interrupts him, his smile growing cheeky, "you haven't realized it yourself, but you have already started to step away from us."

Ren's lips part slightly, golden eyes opening wider. Aoba is hinted to a change of scenes in the screens behind him, hearing the increasing echoes of a familiar perky voice. Ren can't deny it.

"Clear was really worried about you. He even cried, you know," Aoba explains, softening the curve of his grin. "You don't need to be so scared of this feeling. I've seen how you look at him, how you look even when he's mentioned. I'm the person who knows you the best, after all. You already let him into your heart."

"... I'm not sure he feels the same way," Ren says, full of that fear and timidity that has bound his wings for so long.

"You're only dense for this kind of thing, huh? It's a miracle Clear has been so patient." Aoba sighs heavily and takes hold of Ren's hands. They feel exactly as they should. "I won't tell you anything more, so make sure to talk to him properly, okay? As soon as we go back to reality."

Ren only stares at him, but his gaze is as open and yielding as to suggest to Aoba that he's agreeing. Holding hands tightly between each other, warmth circles in their core and Aoba looks deep into the vivid golden of his eyes.

"For that, I will destroy you. I will destroy this fear of vulnerability and the dependence that has been holding you back for so long."

It's only when they start cracking and crumbling down that Aoba sees the walls around them. Light spills through the growing fissures until, at once, the dark world around them shatters into blinding white, and even as Ren and Aoba can't see each other's faces anymore, they still hold on to one another.

Slowly Aoba comes to, first taking notice of his bruising knees on the hard floor and then the uncomfortable stretch of his arms and neck. Aoba raises his head from where it had been resting on his sloppily crossed arms, next to Ren's knee, finding his brother blinking blearily down at him.

Aoba scrambles and rushes up from the cabin's floor, hands flailing around Ren's frame until they settle for weighing down on his shoulders.

"Ren? Are you okay?" Aoba frets, wide eyes surveying his brother's face for signs of its earlier wildness.

"I... think so," Ren answers, his voice hoarse. Aoba lets out a relieved sigh, smiling brightly.

"I'm so glad. I was really, really scared I'd mess things up." Aoba sits down next to Ren and hugs him tightly.

"Uh... It's already a bit hard to breathe..."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry!" Aoba says, processing the words just as he registers the roughness of the ropes around his brother's body. Just as he draws away, he starts to work on the knots on Ren's back, which are tied strongly but not with any kind of expert technique.

"You look terrible," Ren comments when Aoba is nearly done, worried even as he's obviously still a bit out of it. Aoba shakes his head and drops the ropes from Ren's wrists, brushing off his battered state.

"It's nothing. I can barely feel it anymore."

As if to prove his point, Aoba gets to his feet. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, his ankle is starting to ache again, but it has become almost second nature to ignore it. After all, nearly every part of Aoba's body is screaming for relief. Ren doesn't look as willing to move.

"Mizuki promised to meet us here," Aoba explains, jutting a thumb back to the outside of the cabin. "I'll go look if he's coming and you can wait."

Ren nods, but grabs Aoba's hand just as he's leaving. Aoba turns back around, puzzled.

"Thank you for coming to save me," Ren says, guilt tingeing his voice as he frowns at Aoba's sweat-slicked face.

Aoba smiles warmly and squeezes his brother's hand.

"That's what family is for, right?"

Ren closes his eyes and releases his hand with a light smile in response. Aoba steps out of the cabin, sliding the door closed almost all the way.

The night is just as Aoba left it when he first went into the cabin; cold and dark in a way that would favor stargazing if the bright lights of the amusement park didn't get in the way. If anything, the chilly air has become more insistent in sticking to his skin, making the hairs in his arms stand on end.

Mizuki is nowhere to be seen, which is to be expected. As selfish as Aoba knows it to be, now that he has Ren safe and sound, he wants nothing more than to take him back home and forget about the chaos swallowing Midorijima. Right now, Virus and Trip feel like a problem from the past.

Well, I don't need anyone to tell me that's wishful thinking.

Aoba looks out at the wide courtyard in front of the Ferris wheel platform and the line of trees at its limit, wondering what is happening beyond it. Are Takato and Akira still fighting Virus and Trip? Did the swarms of brainwashed kids entering the amusement park find them? How are Scratch and Dry Juice doing? Impatient in his worry for Mizuki, Aoba trots down the stairs, wincing on every other step when his ankle smarts, one hand holding on tight to the metal handrail and the other reaching for his phone in his pants pocket.

While inclined to believe it a futile effort, Aoba means to call Mizuki or at least send a message. It's unlikely that he'll be promptly answered, if at all, but he can't sit around and do nothing. Aoba gets to the foot of the stairs and turns on his phone's screen, which is already dimmed due to low battery. It's already past midnight, the digital clock on the lock screen tells him. Completely ignoring the dozens of phone calls and text messages that were sent to him while he was on the run, he goes for his messaging app.

Aoba is not in the best of physical conditions, but he doesn't miss the movement on the corner of his eye. While not as graceful as he might've been otherwise, he still reacts quickly, turning sideways and stepping back with one arm raised just as a figure lunges for him.

This movement proves to be a bit too much for his ankle and Aoba pitches backwards, but not without fisting a hand on the collar of his assailant's shirt and dragging them down with him. Not without looking straight at said assailant's face and going cold as they fall to the ground together.

Aoba only closes his eyes when his back hits the pavement and he muffles a pained scream, teeth gritted, hands squeezing tighter on fabric. When Aoba opens his eyes again, even through the stars and black spots in his vision, he can see that bruised face that kissed him just this morning, apple-green eyes wide and fixed, but hollow.

"Noiz, why..." Aoba rasps out, even though he already knows.

Silent, Noiz pulls back his fist and Aoba is forced to let go of his shirt in order to block his punch. Just as Ren did, Noiz wrestles his confining hands away, trying to free himself and hit Aoba at the same time. Aoba snarls, anger springing from despair.

"What are you doing here, you big idiot?!" Aoba yells uselessly. "The hospital... Agh!"

Noiz frees one hand and reaches out to Aoba's loose hair, pulling hard. Aoba flinches under him, shoulders tight as he squints up at Noiz's empty gaze.

Fresh tears mingle with the pain-driven dampness already in Aoba's eyelids. He didn't come here expecting to use Scrap on Ren, let alone on Noiz. Like before, he knows that's what he needs to do, even though Ren has already taken a toll on him. Through the ache in his ankle, back and arms and the daze that barely lets him discern the lines of Noiz's face, Aoba reaches out.

"Noiz... I'm going inside you."

Their gazes are stuck to one another. Although nothing is sensibly moving around them, it all stops. Everything freezes, and then explodes into nothingness.

Chapter Text

Aoba finds himself in one end of a wide L-shaped corridor. It is unlike anything Aoba has ever seen before; the rich patterned wallpaper, deep cobalt and looking soft to touch, the dark wood wainscoting and the antiquated-looking lamps mounted to the wall. Even beneath his shoes, Aoba can tell the carpet is thick.

On one wall are expensive-looking paintings, and on the other are darkened windows. Aoba doesn't look at them too much, wary of what he could glimpse or think he glimpsed outside, and, instead, walks up the eerily silent corridor. When he turns the corner, he hears voices.

As Aoba slowly steps forward, he can first confirm that he's hearing a conversation between a man and a woman. It doesn't take much more walking to find a door cracked open and spilling the voices into the corridor. Now the words are clear to Aoba's ears.

"Honestly, how did this happen?" The woman says, regretful. "I wonder if it would be better if he never goes outside, at this rate."

Dark laughter in her voice rings out, inciting a flinch from Aoba. What dawns on him after a second is that it seems to come from the corridor itself, rather than from inside the room.

"The shame Wilhelm has brought onto our family will always linger." The man responds coldly. "It would've been better if he had never been born."

Aoba's lips fall agape as he hears that. The man's voice joins the woman's in malicious laughter in the corridor, at odds with the grave conversation coming from the room.

"Dear, you don't have to go that far..." Aoba doesn't know if it's his own rising resentment that makes Noiz's mother sound insincere.

"Even you don't want to let him outside, though, do you?" Noiz's father retorts.

"That is true."

The disembodied laughter has grown even louder. That's a manifestation of Noiz's mind, though Aoba believes the conversation to be something Noiz actually heard. The room, on the other hand, has fallen into silence, so Aoba proceeds into the corridor.

The way the couple was talking about Noiz chills Aoba to the bone, just as it makes him boil with anger. How can parents talk like this about their own child? Aoba can't be completely sure that they really said such things, but he feels like he can sort of differentiate between a real memory and a mere mental impression.

All other doors in the corridor are closed and Aoba hesitates to touch them, feeling as though that kind of interference would be ill-advised. Aoba doesn't need to force doors open; Noiz will show him what he needs to see.

The door at the end of the corridor is half-open. Aoba sees it as the path he should take and pulls at the doorknob, ignoring the laughter that follows him as best as he can.

Aoba closes the door behind him. It takes a minute of shocked staring to confirm that he is, indeed, in the same corridor he just left. It's not a case of decoration being too uniform around the house; it's the same L-shaped corridor, with the same wallpaper and lamps and paintings on the wall. Aoba tries to open the door he just came through and finds it locked.

Aoba turns back around and does not waste time; he marches into the corridor,  looking around him to check if there's anything different and never stopping until he turns the corner and reaches the same door from before. This time, the laughter is so loud all around him that he has to glue his ear to the crack of the door in order to listen to the conversation inside the room.

"Where did you find him?" It's the voice of Noiz's father again.

"He was on the passage behind the shopping mall overlooking the southeast side of the zoo, Master." This voice is a male's as well. By his tone, it's safe to assume he's some kind of butler or employee of Noiz's family.

"That's quite a walk away from the manor. What was he doing there?"

"I believe he was looking at the rabbits' breeding pen, Master. Families with children usually visit early in the afternoon, but at this time, it's a deserted corner of the zoo."

Noiz's father lets out a harsh sigh.

"Running away from his tutor to do such a foolish thing... Make sure he doesn't skip his classes again, am I understood?"

"Yes, Master."

Understanding the conversation to be over, Aoba tries to peek into the room but sees nothing but the same wallpaper and what seems like the edge of a portrait. Aoba turns on his heel and continues deeper into the corridor, finding the same half open door waiting for him at the end.

It's less of a shock this time around when Aoba finds himself in the same corridor after crossing the doorway. Before he could try and hold it open, the door harshly closes behind himself.

Locked again, too, I'm sure.

While it's not shocking, Aoba is certainly wary of being stuck in a loop. That wouldn't only be bad for him, but also a bad sign for Noiz's mental state. Aoba thought before that he wouldn't have to force entrance into parts of Noiz's heart, but if need be, he will do anything he can in order to open Noiz up. That's the only way he knows to help him.

Just as Aoba is rounding the corner, he hears a scream that manages to muffle even the hysterical ghosts of laughter that have been following on his heels.

"Do you realize what you did to your brother?!" It's Noiz's father shouting.

"I did nothing." Aoba's heart nearly stops. That's Noiz's voice, low and emotionless.

The man barely waits for Noiz to be finished, seething. "Very convenient for you to say that, when Theo is not here to defend himself!"

"You killed Theo! You pushed your own baby brother into the ravine!" Noiz's mother is the one to speak out this time, and her scream is one nearly blood-curling in its derangement.

The hairs at the back of Aoba's neck and arms stand on end, not only at her uncontrolled emotion but at what she's saying. Noiz killing his own brother, that's...

"Theo is not dead," Noiz mutters.

"Yes, he is not dead, Ursula." Noiz's father says. Aoba hates that he sighs in relief only once the man confirms Noiz's affirmation. "He will recover in due time. Which does not mean you'll go unpunished, Wilhelm!"

"I should kill you for what you did to Theo! Monster! MONSTER!"

"I did nothing," Noiz says again, his repetition almost robotic.

"It seems like homeschooling and limiting your time outside the house wasn't enough," the man says, more controlled but still imperious. "Things will be very different from now on, Wilhelm. You lost the right to the freedom you had up to now."

The door, which had been cracked open as always, bangs shut, nearly giving the hyper-focused Aoba a heart attack.

A few beats go by. After the door closes, Aoba expects, really hopes for, the yelling to stop, for Noiz to stop uselessly repeating that he did nothing, because the conversation should be over. It never stops. It only escalates in volume and violence, mingling with the already present laughter until the very walls of the corridor are shaking around Aoba, who tremulously stumbles backwards before bolting for the door at the end of the corridor. It can't come faster as Aoba closes a hand on the doorknob and pulls just as he shoves his way through the opening.

To Aoba's rising panic, the next iteration of the corridor is just a continuation of the same cacophony. Noiz's mother keeps on screaming bloody murder as Noiz's father keeps on coldly guaranteeing his son that he'll never see the sun again, and both continue to laugh. It becomes clear that there will be nothing new to hear, so Aoba never stops running, opening countless doors until he starts hearing a child's loud crying in the middle of the clamor. There's no way he can tell whether it's Noiz or not.

Then, Aoba opens the door and it's blessed silence—blessed at least for the first few seconds. It quickly turns eerie as Aoba realizes he's in the same corridor, but the lights are off. In their absence, the moonlight pouring in from the outside is all there is to illuminate the corridor, and it suffices. Aoba takes in the lines of the paintings' frames, the edge of the wainscoting and the deadened lamps, sharp and glistening silver in the dark. And then his eyes drop to a strong spot of light on the carpet.

A bright, fluffy white rabbit stands in the middle of the corridor, turned away but looking back at him with milky red eyes. It blinks unaffectedly at Aoba, ears flopping and little nose twitching. It's a vision so striking that Aoba can do nothing for a moment but stare, stunned. Oranges and greens rustle at the edges of his vision, juxtaposing with the gloomy night before him. And just as soon as it appeared, it disappears.

When Aoba finally twitches into liveliness again—whether it is to step forward or extend a hand towards the small animal, he doesn't know—the rabbit averts his attention and starts to quickly hop away. Before it can turn around the corner, Aoba promptly follows after the white rabbit, who's heading right for the door at the end of the corridor, which is wide open this time around. Beyond it is only darkness.

The pitter-patter of the small critter's feet and Aoba's own steps echo in the spacious hallway. The rabbit crosses the pitch-black entrance and disappears into the darkness, its glow leaving no trace behind. Aoba crosses the threshold without pause, teeth gritted and fists clenched.

The door bangs shut behind Aoba and now, at last, he stops. Chest still heaving, Aoba lets out an audible breath into the empty, invisible space all around him. There's a floor under his feet, alright, but that's about all he can confirm about this place he ended up in. When he hesitantly stretches his arms and walks to the sides, expecting to find the corridor's walls, he finds nothing. So this must be another room.

It doesn't take long for him to start blinking, wanting to confirm that his eyes are properly open. It's slow, but it eventually grates at him—standing in complete darkness with his eyes open, but feeling as though they're closed. How long will it last? This intense, never-ending darkness...

Aoba's eyes widen as realization dawns on him.

At the same time, a slit of light appears before him. On the other side of the room, what looks like a wall finally becomes visible as a door seems to open. Though the whiteness beyond the door is enough to make Aoba squint, the light projected into the room is only enough to show the edges of the floor and ceiling, like the black walls are sucking the light away.

Aoba takes one step towards the light, but static noise crackles at his ears. It's loud and grating at first before lowering in volume, coming from behind. Aoba whirls around to look for the source of the sound.

It messes with Aoba's spatial awareness to realize he's, somehow, further into the room than he thought he was. There's a wide berth between him and what seems to be a screen displaying a sandstorm of static—cut sharply into the silhouette of a person lying down on their side. What seemed to Aoba as a flat image, however, gains dimension as he steps closer and takes notice of the chains connected to the body and spreading to the sides of the room, disappearing in the darkness. Even before the noise starts to diminish, Aoba recognizes that figure.

Like Aoba's watching through a monitor, the image before him flickers and twitches in places. But he sees it all in vivid detail; the sweep of pale eyelashes resting on cheeks in apparent slumber, familiar strawberry-blonde hair its usual mess, thin wrists and ankles captured in manacles.

"Noiz!"

Aoba's pace picks up speed, but he hears something like a slither from behind him. That alone makes him stop on his feet, but it's the following sounds like dragging feet and joints popping and dislocating that make him turn around, face white in alarm.

While anything would be a surprise, nothing could've prepared Aoba for the mass of tall, white mannequin-like figures coming in through the door. They seem to be in well over a dozen, wearing masks with eerily grinning faces and moving on to Aoba, hunching over, stumbling and limping, heads gyrating in their necks and snickering.

The room, so empty not even a minute ago, now feels crowded, except for the complete absence of the human warmth of a crowd.

Aoba spins back around to Noiz with a sharp inhale. Faster than he can close the distance, however, the grinning figures are already swarming all around him, blocking him from all sides in concentric circles. They join hands and dance around him like children, even singing something in distorted, high-pitched voices. It's not like any nursery rhyme Aoba has ever heard.

"Get away!" Aoba lashes out, swinging his arm at the wall of humanoid creatures. The sensation at the moment of impact is unexplainable. Aoba can't tell if the discomfort and alien stretch of his skin is influenced by his vision or not, but he recoils in the same instant.

After a second's pause, Aoba brings his hand up to his face and it looks perfectly normal. Just a second ago, though, he thought he saw his fingers all bent out of shape and impossibly warped.

All the while, the circles around Aoba proceed with their dance, unperturbed. Their song never stops winding around his head, mixing with their distorted laughter and rattling bones.

Aoba can't reach Noiz if he doesn't bodily pierce into this mass of sneering faces. Not only his hand; he will have to grit his teeth through the disgusting feeling of his body becoming as distorted as those circling him. It's a test.

"... This is not reality. I have to go," Aoba tells himself, eyes moving between the masked figures. His hands close into tight fists. "If I go back now, I've failed."

Swallowing hard once, Aoba shoves both arms into a space between the white bodies before him. It doesn't hurt, but Aoba still gasps and bites at his lower lip, forehead scrunching as he delves in deeper, like he's sinking into quicksand. The resistance of the cold hard bodies around Aoba gives way under the insistence of his own fragile and soft one.

Aoba squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could just as easily block the sounds of bones clicking, rattling and grinding against one another, wondering how much of it is not from the creatures around him but from his own body. No matter how disconnected he feels from his limbs, how warped they may have become, his body still takes him forward.

It's first his hands which poke out of the wall of bodies and signal that he's close to the end. Aoba locks his jaw and, with a growl that rises from the back of his throat, puts all of his strength into one last push.

All of a sudden, the pressure coming from all sides is gone. The hard ground meets harshly with his palms and knees as he tumbles down on all fours and from behind him comes a much louder echo of his fall. Aoba's eyes open at last, first regarding the healthy shape of his hands plastered to the floor, and then he twists around to look behind.

The masked creatures crumbled to the floor at the same time as Aoba did, it seems. They're laying on top of one another with limbs scattered haphazardly, marionettes with their strings cut off. Aoba turns away from the pinched up, grinning eyes staring up at him, as lifeless as the grins themselves.

Aoba groans low as he gets up on one knee first and then on his feet. Noiz remains a grey, crumpled form on the floor, the grain and flickering of his image subsiding as Aoba steps closer and closer, until he stops. Noiz is now whole and solid in front of him, so still it doesn't look like he's breathing. Aoba holds his own breath. For the first time in what seems like forever, the room is silent.

The Noiz who's in front of him now doesn't bear the wounds and bandages the real Noiz did when they met in the park. Aoba doesn't think it weird; his own throbbing ankle is as good as rain in the half-reality of Noiz's mind. The clothes are still the same Aoba lent him, however.

Aoba flinches when Noiz's eyes flutter open under his distracted stare. They don't move promptly, green and dull and fixed forward.

"Noiz? Can you hear me?" Aoba asks despite his best efforts to keep calm. At the call of his name, Noiz's gaze finally seeks Aoba, who's quick to kneel down in front of him and have a closer look at the boy, though refraining from touch. Aoba nearly sighs in relief as he sees the flash of recognition in Noiz's eyes.

Without a word still, Noiz starts to slowly sit up, chains clinking from the manacles around his wrists, ankle and neck. As they face one another, sitting on their heels, Aoba takes in the strange transformation of Noiz's expression.

"You're here," Noiz says, devoid of all his usual defensiveness. Aoba's breath catches at such blatant happiness, unseen even in their last moments together in the hospital.

"Of course," is all Aoba musters with a bit of a laugh.

Noiz smiles and Aoba can't help following suit, cheeks warm. Maybe they are already on their way out, back to reality. Everything is resolved. Is it?

Aoba blinks in surprise as Noiz reaches forward, earnest, palms laying flat on either side of Aoba's face. The first thought brought forth to Aoba's mind is the warmth of the gesture. And then he's yelping and rearing back with a jolt, falling on his ass.

Noiz's hands hover uselessly in the air between them and Aoba's gaze locks on the fresh pink cuts on the palms of his hands. They are just starting to thinly ooze blood, right before Aoba's wide eyes. There were no such wounds there ten seconds ago.

Aoba reaches a hand to the burning surface of his own face and flinches instantly.

"Hurts."

Aoba's attention diverts from his wet, red-tinted fingertips and moves to Noiz. Uttering that short word, he is looking down at his hand, his brow furrowed but his smile wider than before.

"Eh?" Aoba interjects, sure that he heard wrong.

"It hurts," Noiz repeats without a trace of actual pain. There's not the surprise Aoba would have expected, either. Instead, Noiz sounds ecstatic.

"How..." Aoba starts, then snaps his mouth shut. The real Noiz doesn't feel any pain, but this is inside of Noiz's head.

"... Shed from all pretense and appearance..."

"What I really wanted was to feel pain," Noiz sighs, staring down at his bloody hands, "and Aoba."

Aoba feels the sluggish movement of the blood running down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. Dye Music seems to fabricate a prison out of the affected person's deepest fears and desires. In their mind, they are caged in illusions both torturous and soothing. Outside, that's reflected as a blind rage. The real world becomes an encumbrance.

Ren wanted to escape his complex feelings of loss and dependence and hoard memories like treasures, because he thought that was all he had left. As for Noiz...

Noiz's hands reach now for Aoba's wrists. Aoba gasps at the contact and tries to shimmy away, but Noiz holds him tighter, making him yell in pain. Noiz's face is pinched as well, but he doesn't shy away for even a second, pulling Aoba's hands to him.

A sob escapes Aoba and he bites his lower lip. Blood runs slowly from underneath Noiz's grasp and down his arms.

There's no other explanation—the cause for these spontaneous wounds is their mere touch. Wherever their skin comes into contact, it tears and bleeds out. It is as non-real as the sensation of his bones coming apart when he touched the masked figures, but nowhere as easy to ignore. The pain travels sharp to Aoba's brain and the smell of blood in the air is dizzying.

"Noiz...!" he whispers, his voice thin and breaking. Noiz places Aoba's hands on either side of his face, like he'd done earlier. Aoba curls into himself at the spreading sting of his hands, grunting low.

When Aoba reopens his eyes, which he had instinctively squeezed shut, he finds Noiz staring at him. The cuts that had erupted on his face at Aoba's touch are stark red against his pale skin. The green of his eyes is not as piercing and bright as usual. Even though Noiz's excitement hasn't worn off at all, his eyes are distant, faded.

Aoba sees it all again. The long corridor in the mansion, the closed doors. Listening to distant conversations as though one's living in the walls, not in the house itself. The twisted laughter and the screams of Noiz's parents.

At last, this dark room with a door that seems too distant, unreachable even as it is wide open. Is it less disgraceful, to pretend it is a choice to not reach out to it?

"This is how the world always felt to you...?" Aoba mutters, fingers trembling on Noiz's face as he stares at him, glass-eyed.

"A world where you can't feel anything is lonely," Noiz says, shoulders and gaze dropped low. He looks younger than ever. "I don't know what anyone else is feeling, so I don't know how to interact with them. If I don't feel the same as the others, I wondered if I even saw things the same way they did." Noiz closes his eyes. "I couldn't ask anyone. It's extremely lonely and hard... but no one ever understood that. Even my parents treated me like a burden because all I did was cause trouble."

Aoba swallows through the knot in his throat.

"That's why I decided to live alone," Noiz continues, opening his eyes. "I threw away the idea of relying on others, so whether I lived or died, it wouldn't be anyone's problem. It's great, not being a bother to anyone." While the words are said with something like hardened determination, Aoba feels the resignation of them much more keenly.

"But I knew from a long time ago... I am cut off from the world. If it doesn't matter that I'm there, the same can be said if I'm not. I don't have anyone and no one will come save me... So it's fine already, right?"

Aoba jolts on the spot, cursing his inaction as he realizes, I'm losing him.

"No! That's not fine!" Aoba tries to disentangle his wrists from Noiz's hands, only to yelp in pain as he feels the cuts go deeper. Noiz's expression twitches in pain as well, but he doesn't cease his hold.

"Why? Finally... finally, I'm not the only different one anymore. Like this..." Smiling, Noiz takes one of Aoba's hands and kisses the palm. Aoba's shoulders jump as the blood on his hand sticks to Noiz's lips and chin, mixing with the red droplets just budding there. "We feel the same pain now, no?"

Aoba's entire body is trembling, shaking with his despairing heart. I'm losing him. I'm losing him. "This... this is not the real world, Noiz. This is not real pain."

Where did I go wrong?

"I know that," Noiz says, voice breaking almost imperceptibly. Aoba doesn't miss it, and he doesn't miss the thin teardrop running down Noiz's cheek even as he smiles. "But I'm tired."

"Noiz, please..." Aoba tries to slip away from Noiz's grasp once more, but he holds on tight.

"Don't run away, Aoba," Noiz almost whispers, the slightest of pleas and the only one Aoba has ever heard from him.

Aoba feels like he's breaking apart from the inside, but he knows the pain Noiz feels is much worse. He is only a kid, and for as little years as he lived, he's carried this burden all alone, this unknown and unspeakable pain. Now, however, he's smiling at Aoba, rejecting the world for his company alone. Noiz is smiling... but it's not right. Not with those eyes.

I want to see you smile this openly in the real world. Free of this burden. Happy for the right reasons.

It's not over yet.

Aoba leans forward, hands reaching for Noiz's face of his own volition. Green eyes open wider at that. It takes a second too long for Aoba to realize that Noiz is not surprised at his endurance to pain. It's what Noiz takes away from this gesture—the fact that Aoba is staying.

When their noses are almost touching, Aoba stops momentarily. Noiz doesn't push, but his breath stings in Aoba's wounded face.

Noiz's ability to feel is dulled in all of his body, except for his tongue. The pain and scars they share now are complete fabrications, impossibilities in the real world, but this way... they may be able to share something true. Even if it'll feel like being torn and pried open himself, Aoba will reach the bottom of Noiz's heart.

Aoba's lowered eyelids come down at once, a crease etching into his forehead. Their lips touch and red blooms forth, vibrant and sprawling like a red spider lily. Aoba releases a prayer from his heart.

"I will accept you. So... come back."

Dark mist floats around like toxic gas. Edmund Adlersflügel is behind the desk in an elegant home office, features shrouded in shadows, as his son stands before him.

"It's unfortunate, but Theo got some of your recklessness. Even though he's barely well enough to walk, he took the first opportunity he got to run away from home and threaten us with more trouble if we didn't let you leave your room." A heavy sigh. "I wouldn't bend to a child's whims, but your mother got so anxious I had to oblige him."

"I'm always alone now, I miss you," comes the echo of Theo's voice.

Blood drips from a scraped knee. Noiz only stares at the far image of his mother pushing Theo on a swing. A maid runs to him after a while, meekly berating him on his carelessness and urging him to come into the manor for bandages.

It used to be fun, seeing his mother's usual stoicism replaced by agitation when he showed off his wounds. She's just ignoring him now.

"You should never forget, Wilhelm, you didn't earn this freedom," Noiz's father says. "With your behavior, you don't deserve it."

A turntable is in the corner of the room. The tonearm moves and settles on the edge of the vinyl. The first in the playlist of Aoba's favorite songs which Noiz smuggled plays.

- Can I not wake up? -

"What the hell was that for? I almost had a heart attack!"

A fist clutches the collar of Noiz's new school uniform. The wind in the roof blows at the back of his ears and burns in Aoba's narrowed eyes.

"Why are you so riled up?"

"You sure are full of stupid questions. I don't want to see someone die right in front of me."

They sit next to each other on the floor of an empty classroom. The danger prowling just outside the door is not unbeknown to them, but in this moment, there's nothing beyond these walls.

"What is it that you want?"

"It's impossible not to care when a brat this bad at taking care of himself shows up in front of me."

That fist is now a caring hand, cleaning Noiz's wounds like he knows what pain is. They stare into him—bright hazel eyes made brighter by recent tears. The presence or absence of pain doesn't matter.

"I don't want you to die."

But there's nothing there. There's only Aoba and a dark, distorted silhouette, dark as the mist clinging to everything, reality falling apart and forming a chasm where there's nothing. Where there's something that shouldn't be.

- Can I stop trying? -

A loud metallic noise booms out in the dingy alley. Plastic wraps and assorted trash scatters across the pavement from a toppled over garbage can, cutting the space between two groups of dissimilar sizes. The one responsible for kicking it, the grimy guy leading the bigger crowd, never stops glaring forward as he lowers his leg.

"Where's your leader?!" he yells out, a group of six standing behind him as he annoyingly juts out his chin.

Opposite from them are only two; Noiz and Kaede, who'd been out on one of their patrols. It is obviously one of the small Rib teams they were told to watch out for. Kaede is already subtly taking out her phone; they'll need reinforcements.

"You seriously think he comes out on patrols?" Noiz huffs with a sneer. While the derision in his face might go unnoticed in the dark alley, it is loud and clear in his voice.

The man pathetically stammers and stutters on his retort, embarrassed.

"Shall we draw him out, then?" He challenges after recovering, taking a step forward. They recognize their advantage and the temporary nature of it; Noiz can see they're not complete idiots.

"You couldn't if you tried," Noiz says. "So I'll give you a quick motive to go back home empty-handed."

Kaede's divided attention snaps to him. "Noiz!"

She reaches out, but it's too late. Fist poised for attack, he dives in.

Thunder rumbles as heavy rain rages outside, and inside, it drips from Noiz. The improvised meeting room for Scratch is dim and empty, if not for him and Takato.

"You came all the way here to tell me this?" Takato questions from his place on the couch. Noiz has barely left the doorway in his hurry to come in and tell the second-in-command his piece.

"Isn't that your concern?"

"Not at all," Takato tells him, unyielding. "I don't know what led you to think that, but body-guarding Seragaki Aoba is not one of our responsibilities. We could do something for him if he was a member of our team, but alas, he is not. Even more so, you're telling me about some danger that will hit him in two weeks time without explaining to me what danger is that or the nature of that information."

"I can't tell you that."

"Then there's no reason for me to believe you."

"Wouldn't it be a loss to you if something happened to him?"

The smell of tea and doughnuts fill Aoba's room and the taste of them intensify as Noiz takes Aoba's lips, capturing the pair of wide hazel eyes before him just as steadfastly. The sweetness of the milk from Aoba's tea spreads across Noiz's tongue, which leaves a more bitter taste on Aoba's lips.

Takato's gaze snaps to him, sharp light-brown into green. "Ask yourself that question, then you do something about it. If you came to Scratch for this kind of selfish reason, you'll be disappointed."

Noiz doesn't linger in the room much after that. The door bangs shut behind him.

The scumbag leader crumples to the ground with a groan, held up only by the hand Noiz has fisted on the collar of his jacket. Noiz stares down at his opponent, his other fist still poised by his cheek in standby. Not much of an "opponent", though; he stopped punching back too long ago. Slowly, Noiz loosens his hold, letting the man drop, and straightens up. The moon shines overhead in the night sky, throwing deep shadows into the alley.

They're all on the ground. Half of the enemy group looks as good as dead, thrown face-first onto the pavement and motionless. The other half is too weakened to get up and push for another fight, but they are well enough to lie down on their chests or lean on the walls and stare at Noiz, the white of their widened eyes especially stark in the dim light.

Noiz lets out a heavy breath, eyelids fluttering and gives a glance behind himself. He doesn't need to look far to realize the same can be said for the group accompanying him. Be it Kaede or the reinforcements they received, they all succumbed to exhaustion or the pain of their injuries at some point of the fight.

... Sitting at the very center of the pandemonium that has swallowed Midorijima whole tonight...

Admiration would usually be showered upon the last one standing in a fight, at least from the winning side. However, what Noiz gets from both sides is looks of shock and subdued horror. Kaede, the most bloodthirsty person in the team, the only one except for Takato who's allowed to carry weapons and is never afraid to use them, looks at Noiz like she's about to bolt.

... The sequence of events which led to this outcome...

Noiz is standing alone in his family's property again, his knee scratched and bloody as he looks out at his mother's back. The swing hanging from the thick tree branch goes back and forth as she lightly pushes Theo on it. The young boy laughs loudly for the whole world to hear.

For an instant, she looks back, dark mist buzzing and forming spots over her features. There's none of her previous disconcert at seeing her older child hurt. Be it her blue eyes or the straight line of her lips, it's all cold and detached as though she's looking at nothing. Nothing is there. Something is there which shouldn't be.

"Oh, that's right. She tried to kill Wilhelm as soon as he was born, didn't she?"

"Fucking monster," the group leader growls low from the ground.

Can I stop now?

Silence. And then, light snaps like a candle's flame in the darkness. It's strong, but not blinding. It's not sweltering, but it is warm. What is warm?

If he had to define, however, the feeling of a body —this body—lying next to his own, shoulders touching and a hand at the precipice of holding on, never taking the last leap but never going away, Noiz would say...

The hand reaches over and takes his own, fingers lacing together without fear.

The dark mist which had become commonplace disappears without leaving a trace.

"There may be only one thing I can teach you," Aoba says, so quiet it doesn't break the silence but sings with it. "Maybe... the fact that the world is not so bad as you think it is."

"Monster."

"I haven't thought of what kind of place this world is in the first place. I'm not interested."

If I could feel pain, would that never have happened?

"That's just because you don't know. Because there are an awful lot of things you don't know about."

"You lost the right to the freedom you had up to now."

"Is there a reason I should know?"

What I really wanted was...

"To put it in your words, it's more profitable to know rather than not knowing, right?"

"We have all the time in the world."

"Then are you going to teach me about it?"

I can't stop?

No.

No matter what?

Yes.

Never?

Yes.

Why?

Because you mustn't.

Why not?

It's not over yet.

Then when?

You don't decide that.

Then who?

Think about it.

Who are you?

That's...

The clatter of metal breaking apart makes Aoba's head snap up. Noiz is in front of him, hollow eyes fixed somewhere underneath Aoba's line of sight, the manacle around his neck falling shattered to his lap.

Aoba feels winded as he stares wide-eyed at Noiz. It feels as though, for a moment, they were a single thread of consciousness, their connection running so deep they lost sense of self. Now that it snapped, Aoba is having a hard time coming back to his separate thought process along with everything he carried away from Noiz. There was so much about Noiz's feelings that he didn't admit even to himself—about pain, about people... about Aoba. It's still a shock to think about everything that was happening unbeknown to him, in regards to Noiz's previously unthinkable affiliation with Scratch, but Aoba has to push all of that away.

Almost as much as Noiz's, Aoba's memories and feelings spilled into their shared connection, and there are things just as shocking Aoba unwittingly revealed him. Furthermore, even if they seem to have made through the worst of it, as their bloody cuts are nowhere to be seen, they're not out of the woods yet.

"Noiz," Aoba speaks up and takes Noiz's hands. They don't scar. Green eyes lift up slightly to properly meet his gaze. "You could be capable of living alone. You are that strong. But you want to interact with others, right?"

Noiz's eyes narrow slightly, lashes fluttering. "That's..."

"That's why you grew to both hate and crave pain, the thing that drove a wedge between you and people you could and should've been close to. Friends, family..." Even if Aoba knows the answers, he needs to lead Noiz to some conscious realizations and decisions.

"I made friends in the beginning, but all of them quickly grew to hate me, so I hated not being able to feel pain," Noiz says, gaze wandering off. "At the same time, I saw those kids crying when they got hurt and pain looked like a weakness, so I told myself I didn't need it. I thought fighting and playing was the same thing and I was the best at it, but as I fought, I noticed the clear hostility in my opponent's eyes. I realized not everyone is playing around. I'm terrible." Noiz lets out a short, bitter laugh. "It was a shock. I didn't know why I was hated and I thought like a child... What do I have to do to get along with everyone?"

Aoba ignores the tightness in his chest. "And you tried, didn't you?"

"I started thinking it'd be better if I stopped picking fights, so I tried avoiding them. That didn't last long; my sense of guilt faded away as I kept fighting. And then, when I was locked in that room, I couldn't help but be miserable. If I could feel pain, would that never have happened? I went crazy thinking about it over and over."

"That just further confirms you never wanted to isolate yourself," Aoba concludes. "You didn't want freedom to live on your own, either. Even if you couldn't make interactions with people good, you were fine with bad. Shutting the world away and keeping only me and pain was never what you wanted. You remember that now, right?"

The manacles around Noiz's wrists start to splinter until they break and fall away. Noiz breathes in, looking down at their joined hands.

"What I really wanted was... the pain that I should have had," Noiz says through cracked lips. "To be in pain, to push too far, to be worried about. You said the world wasn't as bad as I thought, that there was a lot I didn't know. It was so unexpected. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. Hope."

There's another shriek of metal breaking apart. The chains linked to Noiz's ankles clink with the weight of the last shackles dropping to the floor in smithereens. Aoba breathes in deep and squeezes Noiz's hands, earnestly looking at him.

"I accept you, not only here but in the real world, as well. I'm already involved with you; I'll worry about you, I'll treat your wounds when you're hurt. If you died... I would be sad. You're not alone anymore and I won't leave you alone. You'll go outside and learn about pain and all the other things you don't know about. I will teach you if you want."

Their hands slide off one another's and Aoba rises to his feet. Noiz's eyes follow him, bright and wide open.

"What's holding you in... This world you've been trapped in, I will..."

"As I thought-"

"Eh?" Aoba stutters at Noiz's interruption. The boy before him has dropped his head.

"As I thought... I can't accept this."

Aoba barely has time to register the light flooding in from the door behind him until it's all white where once darkness was.

Light presses insistently against Aoba's eyelids, which he's squeezed shut on instinct. At long last, he slowly opens his eyes, bracing for the light's aggression. The shock Aoba receives, however, is the sudden lash of wind at his face and the grey-blue sky expanding before him.

"This is..."

Aoba turns his head from side to side, takes in the ashen concrete tiles, the rusted metal railings and beyond them, beneath his line of sight, the parking lot and bike racks, the archery dojo and the pool. The wind blowing through the trees around the school campus sing the familiar melody of a day already lived.

There's the screech and thud of the metal door closing behind Aoba and he whirls around. Noiz is standing at the doorway, letting his arm fall by his side as he releases the doorknob. Apple-green eyes ascend from the floor and meet Aoba's.

Just like that day, they meet in the school rooftop in their black gakuran, but now the wind blows at Aoba's back and against Noiz's face. Not a sound comes from the gym.

"Why are we here?" Aoba asks, feeling unsettled. He thought they had reached a resolve, but Noiz said he "can't accept this"...

"I would've never imagined things would end up like this, the day we met," Noiz says as though he heard nothing, stepping forward, eyes wandering around the rooftop. "You were so irritating I wanted you gone, but you kept showing up. Until I started wanting you to always be there."

Aoba's breath stutters, stumbles from his chest. Noiz stops in front of him and the shock of familiarity and contradiction in the situation shakes Aoba.

"When I came to this island, I expected relief. I hated the manor and my parents; I didn't want to be there. Instead, here, I felt even more lost. Just because I could, I got my piercings. It was kind of exciting when the one on my tongue hurt, but the interest quickly wore off since I easily recovered. I thought I was really too different from everyone else."

Aoba remembers how startled he was by Noiz's appearance the day he found him. The piercings are still in place; on Noiz's eyebrow, under his lips, on his nose, on his ears, glinting dully in the soft early morning light. Aoba can't help but smile.

"Every day after this one was a rush. I was never free like this before. I never ran like I did, never fought and got in trouble like I did. I never had someone worry about me while yelling at me, caring about my wounds. In turn... before this, I never worried about someone else, never tried to understand their pain. You tied me down to this world."

Aoba exhales something like a word, but never manages to properly verbalize his shock. He turns his gaze down because he can't bear to look Noiz in the eye when he's being so agonizingly truthful—when Noiz is answering to all the calls Aoba thought got lost in the dark.

"But... now that things came to this, I think I'd like to go back to this day and do some things differently. I wish we had more time together."

"W-what are you talking about?" Aoba huffs incredulously, tremulous, looking at Noiz again. "We'll have plenty of time when we go back."

"I saw it in your head. Why Virus and Trip came here, the likely reason why I feel no pain and what my father wants. I know just what you're capable of doing with your power, as well," Noiz says, steadfast whereas Aoba feels like he's crumbling. "You would probably be able to give back my sense of pain. I... want that. But I can't wish for it when I know how all of this came to be. I can't conform to Virus and Trip's manipulation and my father's selfishness. I can't accept it. You... can't destroy this."

"No, Noiz-" Aoba gasps, a burn intensifying in his eyes and blurring his vision just as Noiz cups his face, stares down at him. This has never happened in real life and only now, here, Aoba realizes Noiz is the slightest bit taller than him.

"My father wants me to recover my sense of pain so he can remove the stain of my mother's actions from our family's history and undo their mistake as parents. I'm the last crack in their picture of a perfect family. But you... love me even as I am. When I saw inside your heart, I made my decision. This much is enough."

"Noiz, I don't know what will happen to you if you do this, please," Aoba scrambles with his words, begs as his voice pitches higher with panic. Noiz doesn't mind him and presses their lips together.

Aoba's eyes go wider first, a surprised noise vibrating from the top of his throat. It's mixed with a sob, he realizes as tears burst over and he squeezes his eyes shut. Still, they freely roll down his cheeks. It's only happening in their minds, but it all feels so real; the wetness of his face and the warmth of Noiz's hands against it, the sobs shaking his chest and the sloppiness of his lips whereas Noiz's are gentle as a hug goodbye, pressing and releasing, holding tight.

At the same time as Noiz's lips leave him, Aoba feels hands pushing down on his chest. He's unable to resist it; his body goes over the metal railings like he's weightless and the wind rushes over him as he falls, eyes wide into the blue sky above and Noiz's face as he leans over the railing. Blue catches and reflects on the green of his undecipherable eyes, but they're not from the sky this time.

"NOIZ!" Aoba screams uselessly. The ground never comes.

Chapter Text

Aoba's eyes fly open and he jolts into too sharp, too fast consciousness. Suddenly there's too much around him, too much light, too much color, more than he can hope to process.

"Aoba," a voice calls him and there're hands on his chest. Aoba momentarily thrashes in a defensive response, but the voice is still talking to him. "Aoba, calm down. Calm down, everything is alright."

It takes Aoba a couple more seconds to realize his chest hurts because he's breathing too hard. With a gulp and a deep breath, he leans back and tries to settle down his lungs. Gradually the shapes of Aoba's bedroom start to make sense, as well as the silhouette of the person beside him.

"Ren," Aoba says and it's a hoarse, croaky thing. His lips are cracked and the inside of his mouth tastes terrible.

Ren's mouth opens and closes. At last, he says, "How to say... I'm relieved to hear you say my name."

"What do you mean." Aoba is not even able to make it sound like the question it is, his eyes sluggishly moving around Ren's sitting form.

The glass door to his balcony is half-open, the curtain swaying in the breeze as soft sunlight pours into the room. Aoba can't discern whether it is early morning or late afternoon. The screen of his computer, sitting in the opposite corner of the room, faintly reflects his face back at him. There are things stuck to it, square and white on his forehead and cheek.

Aoba pushes himself up on his elbows. Ren lifts a hand to try and stop him, but Aoba pushes it away, groaning at the soreness of his whole body as he sits up. The sudden shock of pain at his ankle when he jostles it makes him yelp, however.

Ren frowns at him. "Aoba..."

"What... day is today?" Aoba narrows his eyes at his open balcony door, lifting a hand to his face and feeling for the things stuck on it. Bandages. Aoba quietly realizes there's one on his hand, as well. "What day was yesterday?"

Ren's face pinches further, as though he's about to cry and he leans forward, enveloping Aoba in his arms.

Aoba exhales mutely, surprised. Ren never cries. Ren doesn't usually hug, either. But it's warm and Aoba breathes in his brother's familiar scent, feeling like he could sink into it all and be lulled back to sleep.

It's when his body relaxes that everything comes back to him. It's a quiet but merciless onslaught of memories, faces and voices passing by him in a rush but as distinct as if he's there again.

"Ren... You're okay."

"I am."

"Oh..." Aoba sighs, squeezes his eyes shut and holds his brother that much tighter. "Thank goodness."

"It's thanks to you," Ren says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "Thank you for saving me."

Aoba hears those words, but his mind is filled with vividly green eyes staring down at him as his body falls through the air. The joy flooding his chest is dampened by guilt and increasing fear.

It's obvious, when they part, that Ren can see these feelings crowding his expression. His slight smile wanes until it disappears.

"You've been unconscious for an entire day and a half," Ren says quietly. "We were at the hospital first, but since they got overcrowded with much more concerning patients, we came back home. You had us worried sick."

"How is everyone?"

"We're alright. Yesterday was... a very exhausting day. There was a lot of commotion in the whole island, what with the cleaning and brainwashed people still being detained." Ren scrunches his forehead as he looks down at his hands, probably thinking of how he was one of those people. "We all made it home safely; Granny, Haga-san and Sei, Clear, the guys from Dry Juice and Scratch... though Scratch's second-in-command is still in the hospital."

Aoba blinks at him, eyes wide. "Takato? What happened?"

Ren's gaze skitters further away. "It seems he was stabbed by one of those two."

One of those two... Of course, Aoba still remembers where he saw Takato last; holding a gun to Virus' jaw while Akira pointed another to Trip. He feels sick.

"Is... is Noiz in the hos-"

Ren puts his hands on Aoba's shoulders, pinning him down with a dead serious stare.

"I know you must have a lot of questions. But first, you need to eat something." Aoba blinks at him again, confused, as Ren gets up. "And properly drink water! We've been giving you only a little, because you don't have a catheter on and stuff."

Aoba's face warms up at that as he frowns. Ren simply smiles at him from the door.

"I will make something for you. Is it okay if Granny comes up to talk to you?"

"It's alright..."

The door clicks shut and just like that, Ren is gone. Aoba sighs through his nose and pushes the blanket off himself, gaze sliding from his old shirt, sweatpants and down to his feet. His right ankle is wrapped up in a black brace, the pain much more tamed compared to before.

Aoba looks around, this time with an objective in mind. It doesn't take long to find what he's after; atop the chest of drawers next to his bed is his cell phone. Aoba reaches for it and tries to turn on the screen, to no avail. When he presses the button for a bit longer, the phone seems to be turning on, only to black out again. It was low on battery to begin with; of course no one thought of recharging it while he was asleep. Aoba drops his head, pressing the cold screen to his brow.

I don't even have his number, do I?

The door slides open at one fell swoop, jolting Aoba out of his reverie. The phone falls to his lap and he looks at the doorway, seeing his grandmother's stony, shocked expression. She marches over to his bed.

"G-Granny- Ow, ow!"

The older woman pulls at his ear fiercely, quite nearly yanking him off the bed. "What were you thinking!? Disappearing without a word and getting hurt like this, you're lucky I'm not smacking you so hard you'll get a second head!"

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Do you have any idea how I felt when we realized you were gone, too? Are you trying to kill your old grandmother?!"

"No!"

Silence extends for longer than Aoba expects. Granny huffs at length and plops down on the edge of his bed, her hand falling away from Aoba's throbbing red ear.

"Stupid grandson."

Aoba takes in her concerned frown, weighing heavily on the lines of her aged face. Then, he looks down at his lap, fiddling with his hands.

"I'm sorry, Granny. Really."

She sniffs resentfully. "It's fine already. A boy like you, I won't be able to die in peace when you're so careless."

"Stop talking about dying, Granny, please," Aoba mutters. "It's morbid."

Granny sighs yet again. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah, umm... I'm really hungry and thirsty, and feeling kind of filthy," Aoba admits. He doesn't suppose he got much of a bath after he left Platinum District. "My ankle is kind of annoying, but it's getting easy to ignore."

"And your head?"

"My head...?"

"I know you used Scrap on Ren," Granny says, to which Aoba widens his eyes. "He didn't tell me much about it and I won't ask. But I need to know how you're feeling after that, especially since you've been unconscious."

Does she know about Noiz, too? Aoba wonders to himself. It seems unlikely; she would've probably mentioned him.

"I feel fine," Aoba answers at last. "Just a little tired, but I've been through more trouble than just Scrap, so, yeah."

"I see. Tell me right away if that changes."

"Mhm. Thanks, Granny."

Before long, Ren returns with a cup of water. After that, Aoba can barely follow everything that's happening around him. Granny relays their conversation to Ren, who drags Aoba away to the bathroom to shower, telling him that he's called everyone to tell them Aoba's okay and they're coming over for dinner.

"Are you sure you're not going to slip and fall? I can help you."

"No." Aoba closes the bathroom door in Ren's face. It would make him feel bad, if he didn't hear Ren's laugh from the hallway.

Aoba does end up sitting on a bucket under the shower after he almost slips and falls.

After an hour or so in the bathroom, Aoba feels quite human again. With that said, he's not sure he can deal with a house full of people asking him about his well-being, not when his concern for a completely different person is lingering like an after-image in his mind.

It's obvious that Ren knows something as he skillfully averts every attempt at questioning from his brother. In the end, Aoba is left nursing a glass of iced tea and frowning at the back of Ren's head as he bustles in front of the sink and stove, refusing any help with dinner. Aoba can't bring himself to be more aggressive, so he waits.

The first to come is Clear. Granny opens the door for him and the sound of his voice immediately causes Aoba to flinch, remembering their last encounter.

"Good evening!" Clear greets as soon as he comes through the doorway, chipper. Aoba looks straight at him, his worry greater than his embarrassment for what he did. The boy looks as healthy as ever, snowy hair fluffy atop his head and cheeks flushed pink with glee. Just as fast as Aoba looks up, Clear's eyes zero in on him. The boy's smile falls and Aoba goes cold.

Then, tourmaline-rosy eyes fill with tears. Aoba sees from the corner of his eye when Ren turns around and promptly asks Clear what's wrong.

"Aoba-san... You really are okay!" Clear runs to Aoba and hugs him viciously, arms around his neck and very nearly popping his head as he rubs his cheek against the side of it.

"Not... too sure about that anymore," Aoba grits out against Clear's shoulder, face going from red to purple very fast. Ren is laughing again, the bastard. Aoba never heard him laugh so many times in such a short period of time.

He loves it.

"Sorry," Clear is quick to say as he releases Aoba, who gratefully takes in a lungful of air. Clear wipes his tears away and stands awkwardly in front of Aoba, twiddling his thumbs. "I was just very worried and... I felt guilty, because I was the last person to see you. If you never woke up..."

"That's not it!" Aoba protests, getting up too quickly and wincing at the excessive weight put on his bad ankle. Still, he stands straight, closing a hand on Clear's arm as if to ground him. "I'm the one who should feel guilty. You couldn't have done anything to stop me. And even though you're an important friend, I did that to you... I'm really sorry."

Clear shakes his head, finally looking at Aoba again. "That doesn't matter. I cornered you and you did what you had to do. What I want to say next is..."

Aoba is caught off-guard by yet another hug, but this one is not as forceful as the first. Clear's smile is audible in his voice.

"Thank you for saving Ren-san."

Aoba can't find words to answer and, thankfully, Clear is not waiting for them. After stepping back and showing Aoba his grateful smile, Clear runs past him and towards Ren, spying over his shoulder and showering him with questions about dinner. Ren is looking between Aoba and Clear with a confused frown, but ultimately turns back to the stove, patiently answering Clear.

Ren will probably ask what they were talking about later and Aoba will have to tell him about his rushed, ill-advised use of Scrap on Clear. Ren will definitely get mad at him.

Aoba smiles to himself.

Clara comes in next, surprisingly. Aoba didn't expect her to be one of the people coming, though he supposes she will usually take whatever chance she has to spend time with Ren. He's surprised yet again when she promptly hugs him, telling him of her relief for seeing him well, then sits by his side on the table instead of pestering Ren like Clear is currently doing. Aoba and Clara were never in bad terms, but they're not very close, either.

Understanding comes to Aoba slowly as he catches Clara's occasional glances at Ren and Clear. It's a look so unlike Clara that Aoba has a hard time deciphering it, until he sees it bare in front of him. Resignation. There's no bitterness mixed in, as much as Aoba would understand if there was. Clara is sad, but trying to be happy for her closest friend.

Aoba realizes he's staring too hard when her gaze meets his, causing him to immediately look away. Clara looks confused at first, then she blinks and laughs quietly behind her hand.

"You shouldn't be ogling me like that if you're going to be shy about it."

"I'm not ogling!" Aoba whisper-yells, aware of her teasing tone but unable to help himself.

Even before Aoba is done talking, Clara says, "They look cute together, don't they?"

"Huh?" Aoba interjects, getting whiplash from her quick change of subject.

"Those two."

Aoba follows her gaze, finding Ren trying to smoothly move Clear away, telling him something about oil spilling and being dangerous. Clear only laughs it off, chin propped up on Ren's shoulder.

"... They do," Aoba tells her, unsure if it's the right answer. Still, it's the truth.

"You should've seen it, when you guys came back," Clara says, her voice only audible to Aoba over Ren and Clear's banter. "I made Koujaku take me to the hospital when we got word from Mizuki that you were returning. Clear and Mizuki's boyfriend were waiting, too, when we got there. Honestly, I was shocked to find out that idiot was dating someone, but they had such a cheesy reunion I had to believe it." Clara rolls her eyes and Aoba laughs a little at that, imagining it all too easily. She sighs, sobering up.

"Ren was walking with the support of some guy from Dry Juice. He looked exhausted, but he smiled at us and I barely had time to call out to him before Clear ran forward and nearly bowled him over." Clara smiles to herself. "I always knew of Clear's admiration for Ren, so I wasn't too surprised by that, but Clear started crying like a baby, hugging Ren tight and babbling. That's when I realized his feelings probably ran deeper than I thought. More importantly, I saw the sheer happiness and relief in Ren's face when he held Clear." Clara crosses her arms, her eyes moving about the room like she's seeing it all happen again. "Eventually, he came to talk to the rest of us. We hugged, too. I cried. He was really happy to see all of us, but I knew it was different. I knew Ren had finally fallen in love with someone."

And it wasn't me. Aoba can hear it, even if it never leaves her mouth. Clara is too prideful to say something like that aloud.

"Are you... okay? Being here," Aoba asks quietly. She huffs indignantly.

"Of course I am. If I didn't come, Ren would probably get worried, too." Clara turns her attention to Aoba, who feels himself shrink under her sharp violet eyes. She seems to be measuring him for a second, before she looks away again. "I've been holding on for so long, just because he wasn't in love with anyone. He was too kind, never pushing me away even after he rejected me, and I counted on that as I kept waiting. But now... I guess it's over."

"They do say first loves never last." Aoba realizes how insensitive it sounds as soon as it leaves his mouth. Clara gives him a weird look, but she looks more surprised and amused by it than anything else, chuckling to herself.

"You would know about that, I guess."

Aoba blinks at her in alarm. "What do you mean?"

Clara gives him a tired look. "Come on, how oblivious do you think I am? Everyone knows you had a crush on Koujaku for the longest time. You two had something going on last year, until he left, right?"

"It wasn't anything serious," Aoba mutters, hating the way his face is warming up.

Clara raises an eyebrow. "It sounded serious from Koujaku's end. When he came back, he was moping because you wouldn't take him back. So you were playing him?"

"Of course not! I... did like him." Aoba sighs, brows knit together. "I really liked him, but it doesn't matter anymore. It's over."

"Do you like someone else, then?"

Aoba's eyes go wide, his face beaming red like a neon sign. It's answer enough for Clara, who's openly stunned. Then, she throws her head back and laughs unabashedly. Clear looks back at them for a moment, startled, but doesn't question them. Ren is still engrossed in cooking.

"C-Clara?" Aoba calls weakly, cheeks still pink.

"Oh, sorry," she wheezes, brushing a knuckle at the corner of her eye. "Just... the face you made."

Aoba makes a whining noise and Clara laughs again, more modestly. At length, she sighs.

"I see... So that's how it is. Do you think it'll work out between you and this person?"

Aoba frowns at her, seriously thinking of not answering, but he can't do that when he realizes her question is genuine. At last, he replies through a reluctant pout, looking away.

"I don't know, but I want it to work."

Clara drops her gaze, absorbing his reply. She nods with a forlorn smile. "I guess I should shake it off quickly, as well."

The kitchen door slides open, revealing a familiar head of black hair poking in. "What, I'm not the first."

Koujaku slips into the kitchen, greeting everyone with a wave. Ren and Clear greet him back and he heads over to the table. Before he can say anything, Clara lets out a heavy sigh, cheek pressed to her palm.

"Koujaku, you know..." Clara starts.

"Huh?" Koujaku blinks at her, lifting an eyebrow.

"... I feel sorry for you."

"Huh? What are you saying to a person right as you see their face?"

Aoba laughs at their ensuing bickering, but something weighs heavily in his chest. Clara is the only person he had some privacy with up until now, and while she doesn't know Noiz, she might've been able to tell Aoba if someone matching his description is in the hospital as well. The moment is gone now that Koujaku's arrived, though.

"What, didn't you call that annoying brat over this time?"

"Huh?" Aoba jolts back into reality. Koujaku, sitting across from him, is furrowing his brow.

"I thought he'd be here for sure, since you two are an item and all," Koujaku grumbles. "If he's late, then he's an asshole. Do you really want to date a guy who doesn't care about you?"

"Koujaku, I'll need you to dial down on the bitter ex-boyfriend thing, please," Clara teases from the side.

They go right back to their banter, but Aoba doesn't hear any of it. He hadn't considered this possibility; maybe Noiz recovered faster than he did. It seems like the failed Scrap attempt took its toll on Aoba, what with being unconscious for so long, but he's fine now. He doesn't really know much about Scrap; maybe what looked like the worst-case scenario wasn't as bad as he thought and Noiz was able to wake up properly just like he did.

Aoba glances at the kitchen door, vowing not to hope for Noiz to come through it.

This promise promptly comes undone when the door slides open again and Aoba nearly snaps his neck looking back at it.

Sei and Mizuki come in, hand in hand, greeting them all gleefully. Mizuki slaps Aoba's back heartily as he commends him for coming back from the dead, while Sei lets them know Haga-san is in the living room talking to Aoba's grandmother.

Mizuki is the most likely person to know Noiz's current state and whereabouts, but he never gives Aoba any space to question him, always pulling the conversation towards lighter topics when he's not too busy nuzzling up to Sei. Aoba keeps his frustration to himself as his eyes keep flicking to the kitchen door.

Haga-san comes into the kitchen and chats with them for a long time before dinner is finally done, which is when Granny finally joins them. Plastic chairs gather with the wooden ones around the table in order to accommodate the whole party, but it's not a problem for any of them. Aoba's heart picks up pace when he catches Ren tossing a concerned glance towards the door before sitting down himself, plenty of food spread on the table.

Even though Aoba is the reason for them to be gathered, he barely participates in the conversations as he chews on his tonkatsu, trying as he might not to look at the door. The interactions between everyone else serve well to distract him at times; he laughs at Koujaku's stories and Clara's snarky remarks, gets caught up in the small details of Ren and Clear's changing dynamics, and the food is delicious enough that no one can be in a bad mood while eating it. Aoba lets Ren know that, to his brother's bashful contentment.

Other times, though, Aoba just wants to be somewhere quieter, to be in peace. To know where Noiz is and know he is safe. To wait for him knowing that he will, in fact, come to him.

The night seems to stretch forever, but as it turns out, it only stretches as much as there's food on the table. After the few minutes spent sitting around lethargically, only mumbling lazily to each other as they let the food settle on their stomachs, people start to leave one by one. Koujaku leaves first and takes Clara, nagging her about the dangers of being out alone at night. Clear leaves next, after forcefully helping with the dishes. Aoba, Ren and their grandmother follow Mizuki, Sei and Haga-san to the front door as they leave.

Before they cross the gate, a motorbike rumbles around the corner of street, coming to a stop in front of Aoba's home. The robust, sleek black model instantly rings familiar to him. The rider stands on the asphalt, taking off his helmet and Aoba is confused, but not surprised, to see Akira.

"Oh, am I late to the dinner party?" Akira asks innocently.

"Of course, who the hell eats dinner at eleven p.m.?" Mizuki deadpans.

Akira snorts, coming over to them. "I happen to enjoy it."

"I saved you a plate," Ren says, to Akira's instant bright-eyed delight.

"Oh, you're an angel, Ren-san! Thank you."

So I'm -kun but Ren is -san?! Aoba stares tiredly at the side of Akira's head.

"I wouldn't even have called you over. Ren is really too good for all of us," Mizuki sighs, sidestepping Akira but giving him a friendly knock of shoulders. "We're going home now. Don't stay out too late, kid."

"We're only a few months apart!" Akira retorts, giving it greater effect by sticking his tongue out at Mizuki's back as he walks away with Sei and Haga-san. Then, he turns his attention back to the Seragakis, bowing his head solemnly as if the last five seconds didn't happen. "Good evening, thank you for inviting me over."

"So, you are Akira from Scratch," Granny says. Aoba looks at her profile, vaguely alarmed.

Akira nods. "That's me. I'm glad to finally meet you, Seragaki Tae-san. I heard so much about you growing up, it's almost like I've known you forever."

"You look nothing like your father." Aoba looks at his grandmother like she just laughed in the middle of a funeral service.

Akira blinks at her, wide-eyed. Aoba has no memory of ever seeing him so openly shocked, but then it dissolves into amusement as Akira laughs into his palm, nearly doubling over.

"That's the first time anyone's ever said that to me," Akira admits once he's recovered. "I did hear my father was quite the scary man."

"He was," Granny says, huffs in distaste. "Your hair, skin and eye colors resemble him, but that's all. You should strive to leave it at that."

Akira snorts, genuinely good-natured. "Right."

"With that said, he did a good thing for my family back then and you have done the same now." Granny bows her head at him. "Thank you for helping bring my grandchildren back home safely."

Ren bows his head as well. Akira is surprised again, then a complicated expression crosses his face. Before Aoba can properly identify it, Akira is shaking his head with a soft smile. "Don't mention it."

They go back into the house, now followed by a quietly appraising Akira. Ren quickly heats up the food he had put away and places the steaming plate of tonkatsu and stir-fried vegetables on the table, along with a bowl of rice, miso soup and a glass of iced tea. Akira effusively compliments the smell and looks of the food, to which Ren smiles and thanks him modestly.

Granny excuses herself to bed, which doesn't surprise Aoba, except Ren does as well. After apologizing for not keeping their guest company, which Akira brushes off easily, he tells Aoba to call him down if he needs help going up the stairs.

"I'll be up for a while, so I'll hear you fine even if you're not too loud," Ren tells him and waves.

Aoba waves them goodnight at the kitchen door, a confused smile on his face while Akira's gleeful itadakimasu~ rings from behind him. Aoba turns around to look at the other boy, who's too busy clicking his chopsticks and deciding what to pick up first. After a second of silent observation, Aoba relents and sits across from Akira at the table.

"So, mister comatose patient, how are you doing?" Akira asks as soon as he sits down, catching Aoba by surprise. He hasn't lifted his eyes from his plate, having settled to pick up a piece of tonkatsu and chew happily on it.

"I'm fine," Aoba answers, tongue-tied. When he can't find anything else to say for himself, he tosses the question back. "What about you?"

Akira sips on his miso soup and looks up at him, eyebrows raised. "Not a scratch, as you can see, haha."

"I heard about Takato."

Akira's chopsticks falter over the plate for a second. Aoba can't see his expression. Then, Akira resumes his motions naturally, a plastic smile on his lips.

"Well, he's been awake for longer than you, so you shouldn't worry. He'll be discharged tomorrow."

"That's good," Aoba says blandly, unsure again as to what he should say. There's a tension weighing in the air around them and Aoba can't tell where it is coming from. Is it from Akira's concealed but latent worry for Takato, or is he just imagining it?

It may be just a reflection of his own agitation as his tongue stumbles on the beginning of a question—the question he's been dying to ask all night. The carefulness has worn off from Akira's shoulders as he gobbles up the tonkatsu and piles on the cabbage pieces and rice.

"Where's Noiz?"

Akira looks up at him, first studying then leering. "Why do you assume I know? He's your boyfriend."

Aoba opens his mouth, fights with his next words. "We- He was at the amusement park. I thought he might've been... just like Takato, at the hospital. I know about Scratch. That he joined you, so even if he's not there, maybe you know-" Aoba swallows dry, face pinching as he tries to get a hold of himself. "Maybe you know about him."

Akira snorts, then returns to his plate without a word. Aoba blinks at him, clearly being ignored. Still, he doesn't push.

Faster than Akira would've probably liked, his plate and bowls are polished off. Akira drinks the last of his iced tea, rests his chopsticks on the table and settles back on the chair with a sigh, stuffed.

"I could just fall asleep now," Akira says, blinking blearily until he closes his eyes. Silence lasts until he opens his eyes again, finding Aoba's gaze set on him.

"You're staring pretty hard."

"I'm waiting."

Akira lets out a huff of laughter. "You're pretty patient. It did sound like you had been holding on to that question for a while."

Aoba regards him for a second longer, then drops his gaze.

"Yeah. That's why... Please, tell me where he is." Aoba's head slumps forward on his neck. A sigh escapes his shallow chest. "This is about as much as I can take."

Akira listens to him. Then, he says, "Don't get like that, I was just teasing you a little. I came here precisely to talk to you about him."

"Huh?" Aoba raises his head enough to show his confused frown.

Akira turns his head to the side, sounding miffed. "Mizuki was there as well, but he's too much of a chicken to have this conversation with you, so the responsibility falls on me. Well, I suppose it's appropriate that it is me."

Aoba's frown only deepens, frustration mixing in. Akira looks back at him and sighs, straightening up.

"You already know. That bastard Virus stabbed Takato. To think he had a blade hidden in his glasses' frame... I'm still-" Akira nearly claws at his own face before running it down with a harsh sigh. Then, he continues, "They took advantage of the commotion the lunatics caused as they started rushing in and when that happened we all turned our eyes to Takato first. I realized too late that the two had disappeared."

Aoba is puzzled by the starting point of this story, but lets Akira proceed without question. There's something like a bad omen hanging from his words.

"When I looked at Takato... I couldn't leave him, but my blood boiled at letting those two get away. So I ran in the direction you went with Mizuki, knowing they'd try to get you again. When I got close to the Ferris wheel, I found them hovering over you and Noiz, unconscious on the ground. I wanted to shoot them down right there.

"Instead, I hid. I was shocked to see Noiz; I knew he was likely a victim to the song, since he played Rhyme. I heard them theorize you two were either in the middle of Scrap, or Scrap failed, so you were both stuck, unable to come back to reality."

Aoba swallows dry. So that's the consequence one suffers for failing Scrap. Yet, even if Aoba was out for a while, he is here now, perfectly healthy. When it comes to this, is there a difference between him, the one who uses Scrap, and the one being submitted to it? Noiz should be okay, as well. The tap drips dully into the sink behind Akira.

"They moved to pick you two up and I fired towards them on instinct. It missed and I ducked behind cover, but they had already seen me." Akira's eyes narrow, his mouth twisting into a snarl. "They were coming after me. I knew they had no guns and Virus' blade was left inside Takato. Still, I was outnumbered and they had you. After they picked you two up, I couldn't fire again and be sure I wouldn't hit you instead.

"But then..." Akira splutters before throwing his head back and laughing, throwing Aoba for a loop. "Fucking Mizuki... just showed up out of nowhere and yelled at me to be quick. When I looked, he was stuck to Trip like vines. Just as Virus tried to go after him, I jumped him instead and pulled you off his back."

Akira sighs and wipes at the corner of his eye. Aoba listens to him with his breath stuck in his chest, and right before his eyes, mirth peels off Akira's expression like it had never been there.

"I was able to keep you away from them, but Mizuki couldn't contain Trip for long, and of course, he wasn't able to take Noiz from him, either. Mizuki wasn't carrying a weapon and Trip was much stronger, so as soon as he was able to push Mizuki off, that was it." Akira stops for a moment, licking his bottom lip.

It dawns on Aoba. Cold, mind-numbing. Ears buzzing, all of him narrowing into one point.

"I couldn't shoot; Virus turned around and ran ahead while Trip was behind him, carrying Noiz on his back. I... We couldn't do anything."

Akira closes his mouth, soundly closing his story. Aoba gapes at him, face slack, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"No..."

"That's what happened," Akira says, merciless.

"Y-you looked for him. You looked for him, right?" Aoba stumbles over his words, lips trembling.

Akira sighs harshly. "Things are still too unstable in our teams and around the island to make a full search for them. The most we could do was confirm that their apartment has been vacated and we found a smaller room they rented two days ago in the outskirts of Platinum District, but they haven't been there since," Akira explains, looking exhausted. "We all called Noiz's number, but no matter who tried, it was never picked up. This morning the calls started going directly into voicemail. We weren't able to trace his phone, either. Not that I expected we could, the way he is."

Aoba is frozen to the spot, eyes glazed over without seeing anything. He's cold all over, starting from the tips of his fingers and toes, heart racing to try and warm him up, but only accomplishing to abuse the wall of his ribcage. His stomach is a wasteland, as though his hearty dinner has completely evaporated.

The chair's legs screech as they drag across the floor. Up on his feet, Akira says, "My job here is done, so I should leave now. Thanks for the dinner."

"Why me?" Aoba asks, his voice low, trembling. The words leave his mouth without his knowing. Aoba looks up at Akira. "Noiz was your teammate. You should've saved him."

"Are you an idiot?" Akira scowls as he looks down at him, darker than Aoba has ever seen. "You know what you are. We protect you in order to protect ourselves and this island. If you fell into the wrong hands, we would all be doomed. Scratch has always made the choice no one wanted to make and saved Midorijima in the process. This time is no different."

"No!" Aoba gets to his feet, barely registering the pang of pain in his ankle and the racket of his chair falling. The plate and bowls clatter on the table as his hands come down on it, the glass cup coming dangerously close to tumbling down. Aoba feels a rush, a sudden fever as his face burns and his eyes flash at Akira. "Do you have any idea what they could do to Noiz? After you stopped them from taking me... There's no way they can go back to his father! The things they said when they threatened to take Ren away..."

"You can always find some use for a person."

"We only do the things we find fun, after all."

Akira watches on, impassive. Aoba grabs the front of his jacket.

"They will just treat Noiz as some tool for their convenience! Or maybe they'll discard him somewhere or k-kill him. Maybe they already-" Aoba bites his tongue, takes in a sharp inhale. "We have to find him. Noiz might not have woken up yet, someone needs to take care of him! We need-"

"I just told you, we can't," Akira cuts him off, sharp and icy. "There's no telling where they are."

"Abandoning Noiz can't be the right choice!"

"It's the choice Noiz made."

"... Huh?"

Akira removes his hands from his jacket, not roughly, stepping back and pushing his chair into the table. Aoba distantly hears footsteps coming down the stairs and the kitchen door opening behind him. Akira ignores it just as Aoba does.

"A few hours before that song played in Aoyagi, Noiz called me. Out of nowhere, he spilled everything about the unknown danger he kept talking about: Virus and Trip. About their connection to his family, the reasons why he thought they were after you and why they might act soon, how they looked like: everything. When I asked him where he was, he wouldn't answer, but he told me he wanted me to have these informations in case something happened and he couldn't do anything." Akira circles the table, stopping beside Aoba's still form. "He made me promise to not let them hurt you. It was so funny; he said that like I didn't know that's what he was trying to do this whole time. Still, he was never so honest before, so I decided to listen to him just this once."

Akira moves past him. Aoba hears Ren's voice from the door and Akira's polite farewell, but it's all very distant. Hands press down on his shoulders and again, there's Ren's voice, closer now, asking if he's okay. Akira speaks up one last time from the doorway.

"No. I guess what really impressed me was that he finally relied on us. The kid I ran into in Kisaragi last month was so feral; he wouldn't ever have done that. Noiz held on tight to his arrogance, but in the end, he had to realize his own limits, alone as he was. He wanted to protect someone else... wanted to protect you that much."

Ren calls out his name as Aoba slips off his grasp and falls to his knees. The kitchen around them has disappeared; Aoba is trembling, coming apart, splitting from his very center. Aoba tucks his arms into his chest, as though trying to physically keep himself whole, breathing a conscious effort.

"It's the choice Noiz made."

Aoba's forehead presses against the floor.

"This much is enough."

The kitchen door clicks shut. Aoba opens his mouth and the scream he hears is too loud to be his own, voice twisted in a way he doesn't recognize. It doesn't stop. All the warmth of his body seems to have rushed to his face, eyes burning with searing tears whereas his chest is as cold as if there's wind blowing through it.

Noiz did not die. It's screaming inside his head, possibly coming out of Ren's mouth now. But Noiz is gone, disappeared to somewhere Aoba can't reach him, can't mend his wounds like he promised to. Noiz did not die. But how will Aoba ever know any better?

Every single one of Aoba's promises is broken and Noiz seems to have wanted it that way. Still, Aoba can only blame himself. If only he was better at Scrap, stronger, smarter. If only he said the right words. If only he never got close to Noiz, never became someone to him and in turn, if only Noiz remained an unknown face among many in the crowd.

From the very beginning, though, Aoba has been doomed to fail—at not caring about him, at not loving him.

Ren manages to sit him up and envelops him in his arms, just as the door opens again. Granny is frantically asking what's happening and Ren is apologizing for some reason, squeezing Aoba tight. Between words of consolation, apology and encouragement, Aoba is still sobbing, gasping, wide eyes moving around the ceiling unseeing.

It feels a little better, a little like Ren is holding his pieces together and evening out his temperature. Aoba never comes whole again.

Aoba is in bed. Ren left his door half-open and, occasionally, his muffled steps pass by it.

Ren left his phone charging next to his pillow. The screen lights up and Aoba tilts his head to look at it. It's just a game ad in a text message. Aoba doesn't bother taking his arm from under the blanket to swipe the notification away, but his eyes slide up to the clock and date above it.

Friday, June 14th

2:04am

Aoba stares at it until the screen blacks out. His eyes, puffy and sensitive, still burn from the light. The date rings with a memory that's not his own. June 13th was Noiz's sixteenth birthday. It's already gone.

The time we had together ended before it started. Yet, time never stops.

Aoba closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

The small Japanese island which was thrown into utter chaos in a single night made news around the world. Almost twenty years ago, very little people outside Midorijima knew of Toue's actions against the islanders and no one looked into them or Oval Tower's eventual downfall. The island is not as isolated as it used to be, however. This time, not only people shared the things they saw and heard with family and friends outside the island but footage and pictures also scattered about the internet.

After the initial burst of curiosity in the general public, however, the story quickly went under the radar. It became one more item in the lists of unexplained events around the world people read about past midnight when they want to spook themselves. The only ones still looking into it are journalists with a nose for rich men's unethical investments, trying to make a breakthrough and get the ugly truths out for the world to see. Even if the chaos can be traced back to Dye Music and Rhyme, though, the song's origin can't be uncovered and the company responsible for the game is only a front organization, a smoke screen too thick to get through. Even more so, all of Rhyme's machines are mysteriously wrecked and any recordings of Dye Music disappear.

Life goes on, as it is prone to do.

Platinum District and the Old Residential District isolate themselves from one another for the first time since the former Platinum Jail's dome crumbled. The people affected by Dye Music are contained within the first forty-eight hours, though Platinum District seems to realize the need for psychiatric aid while the police force in the Old Residential District simply locks people away. The streets are cleaned up, stores and shops are renovated and two weeks later, Seragaki Aoba and others can once again cross between the two districts, going to school, work or shop.

"Oh, look who's early for once," Mizuki says when he enters the classroom. Aoba looks up from his desk, eyebrows raised.

"Look who's late as always."

Mizuki snorts and takes his desk beside Aoba's. "I'd be early too if I had been out of school for three weeks. It's like you took your summer break before all of us."

"I doubt that," Aoba huffs with a sidelong glance. "Besides, it'll be a while until summer break."

Mizuki laughs and no one says anything about the two weeks no one saw Aoba. When he wasn't asleep, he was huddled under the covers pretending to be asleep, hearing as Ren stood by the door talking to one of their friends every time they visited to check up on Aoba. The room was always dark, lights off and curtains draped on the balcony door. Mizuki noticed how, for the entirety of the first week, Aoba's door was never closed.

Some of their classmates stop by Aoba's desk and ask how he's feeling. Mizuki stares at them until he realizes they're thinking about the last time they saw Aoba, almost keeling over in the middle of class three weeks ago. Aoba answers them accordingly, shrugging off the whole event as a case of stomach bug and sleep deprivation.

"What is it?"

Mizuki startles, eyes refocusing on Aoba's face. Their classmates have cleared away and Aoba is blinking at him. Their homeroom teacher comes into the classroom.

"... Nothing."

At night, Sei visits the Seragaki household. It's not their first time there in the past two weeks, but for once, Aoba is indisputably awake. They sit around in the living room, Aoba, Ren and Sei, while Granny is in the kitchen baking doughnuts. A sweet smell pours through the half-open door and fills every room of the house.

The quieter out of the three, Aoba blinks at Ren and Sei's easy conversation, not a hint of awkwardness in their gestures and smiles. Away from his eyes, they seem to have been able to foster a bond beyond the trauma of everything that surrounded Ren's discovery of Sei's existence. That's all Aoba could have wanted.

They all have dinner together, in the end. It's a mostly quiet ordeal, with some small talk between Sei and Granny peppered in here and there. When dinner is over, Sei asks Aoba if it's alright for them to come up to his room so the two can talk. Aoba nods.

Sei sits on the edge of his bed. "How are you feeling, Aoba?"

"I'm fine." Aoba looks up at him from where he's sitting at the low center table.

Sei opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again only to sigh. Aoba furrows his brow.

"Do you remember Mizuki's teammates who were affected by Dye Music?"

Aoba's forehead creases further in confusion. "Yeah."

Sei looks down at their hands, resting on their lap. "They're still being kept away. Mizuki doesn't want to let them go because they'd just get arrested, but things can't go on like this. He hasn't said anything, but I'm still thinking of helping them recover themselves."

Aoba blinks at them, memories surfacing of their conversation in Dry Juice's shelter. About how Aoba's powers can recover the minds of people brainwashed by Rhyme and Dye Music. Aoba gapes as he realizes what Sei is suggesting, hazel eyes wide.

"I-I can't do that. I don't know how to..."

Sei hums, agreeing. "Even if you were able to save Ren, it'd be better for you to get more accostumed to Scrap, which is why I wanted to invite you to come back with me to Miyazaki."

"Go... back..."

Sei smiles lightly and nods. Sadness tugs at the corners of their coffee-brown eyes.

"Yes. I'm going back home at the end of July. I have to go because of school anyway, so I thought you could come with me and see the doctor who helped me with Scrap."

"School? It'll be summer break, though."

"I'm homeschooled, so we make our own schedule, sort of." Sei shrugs with one shoulder, sheepish. "That's why I've been here for so long. But I have to catch up and finish in time for college entrance exams, so..." Sei trails off, the expectation for a yes lingering at the end of their sentence.

Aoba stares at Sei, expression morphing at an alarming speed, though almost seamlessly. Sei holds his gaze, concerned, but before they can speak up, Aoba looks away, his complexion paler than before.

"Sorry, I can't go."

Sei's eyebrows upturn and come together tighter. "Even though time might not matter much in their situation, the faster we can help these people, the better."

Aoba drops his head, shaking it. "I can't do anything for them. Thinking of trying to do that again..."

"It's okay," Sei tries to soothe him, resting one hand on Aoba's shoulder. There's a slight tremor under Sei's palm, to their increasing worry. "It won't be as nerve-racking once you learn how to use and control Scrap. Even though I can't do much, I'll support you the best I can."

Aoba presses his face into the palms of his hands, voice coming off muffled as he says, "I can't do it."

Sei stays quiet for a moment, studying their brother's hunched form. With a sigh, they slide off the edge of the bed and sit by Aoba's side.

"I really am worried about Mizuki's friends, but there's a bigger reason why I'm inviting you, truthfully. I heard from Tae-san that you started on some medication because you are having Scrap-related headaches. Also about... the real reason why they had you out of the hospital before you fully recovered."

Aoba says nothing, his face still hidden in his hands.

"Please, don't beat yourself up over what happened to that nurse. You don't even remember it, do you?"

Aoba draws a breath. Then, he says, his voice clear, "I don't. Granny told me only a couple days after I woke up, when the headaches started."

"So-"

"But I was the one who did it," Aoba cuts Sei off and raises his head. "I woke up when only the nurse was around and when Granny came back, she found me standing by the window and the girl unconscious on the floor. I hurt her and I could've hurt Granny, too, if I didn't black out almost immediately."

"Scrap hurt her," Sei corrects, "because it's not under your full control. I... I wanted you to see how you can save people with it, just like you saved Ren, but- No one will force you to use Scrap ever again, okay? The nurse was fine in the end. The one who is really hurt here is... you, Aoba."

Aoba only stares at Sei, his eyes vacant. Sei fidgets nervously and tries harder.

"What happened with the nurse was an accident. It doesn't mean you're evil. You'll understand it if you see Dr. Sugiyama; understanding yourself will put you at ease. Tae-san agreed it will be much better for you than tamping down on Scrap with medication. Besides," Sei smiles reassuringly, squeezing Aoba's shoulder. "A change of scenery will do you good. I actually live in Nichinan, but we can catch a train to the city and go sight-seeing if you want, though Nichinan definitely has its own interesting spots. It's a really beautiful place, close to the ocean just like here."

Aoba drops his gaze, repeats, "I can't do it."

"Aoba-"

"I can't just... go."

Sei stills, mouth open around a sentence they haven't put together yet. Slowly, a realization comes to them.

"Aoba, are you..."

Are you waiting for him?

Sei bites their lower lip. Is Aoba waiting for the boy who disappeared? Is that why he's afraid of leaving the island even for just a month? Sei never saw his face, but Mizuki told them Noiz was taken unconscious by those two, Virus and Trip. Aoba discovered that after the Seragakis' dinner party and that was why he became withdrawn in the weeks following.

Noiz. Sei didn't get to know him, but they know his importance.

"Are you really okay?"

Aoba inhales and exhales deeply once, lifting his head. Sei takes in his stony, despondent profile with a heavy heart.

"I'm okay."

It really starts to feel like August in the week leading up to Obon, when the Old Residential District gets especially hectic in the blazing haze of summer. People with families outside the island fly back to the mainland whereas those outside with families in Midorijima return, enduring with sheepish smiles as even the old ladies in the neighborhood stop them to pinch their cheeks. The Old Residential District lights up with the final preparations for the one yearly festival everyone gets together to make happen, from crowdfunding to organization.

Last month, Platinum District hosted the Tanabata festival as it usually does. Different from the Old Residential District's community effort for Obon, Tanabata is financed by multiple companies, making it a much bigger and extravagant event. There were questions as to whether it would happen, as everyone was still shaken by June's events, but Platinum District still came through with it. Turned out to be a good idea; it helped lift people's spirits to walk through the colorful streamers and paper lanterns overhead, writing down wishes for peace and happiness on tanzaku and hanging them on bamboo branches.

Sei and Mizuki went together, being the sappy couple they are. Clear spent a whole week psyching himself up to ask Ren, only to chicken out at the last minute—Beni saved the day by nagging the two of them to hang out with him, his brother and Clara. Aoba watched the festival coverage on the morning news, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch while waiting for water to boil for his coffee. They even showed a snippet of a play about the Tanabata legend, enacted during the festival.

It seemed to be the ending of the play. Orihime and Hikoboshi, the weaver star and the cowherd star, reunite after being exiled to opposite ends of the Milky Way as punishment for neglecting their duties. Even though they're married, they can only meet on the seventh day of the seventh month of the year—the day of Tanabata. The audience clapped enthusiastically as the actor and actress held each other like it was the last time.

Sei left at the end of the month, as he said he would. Haga-san, Aoba, Ren and Mizuki were there to bid him farewell. Seeing his embarrassingly long and tight hug with Mizuki at the airport would have one think he was going to the other side of the galaxy.

Mizuki has stopped moping by the time Obon rolls around, but he still drags Aoba and Koujaku with him to the festival, claiming to be feeling lonely. They go on a big party of five comprised of Aoba, Mizuki, Koujaku, Ren and Clear, and for a while everything is alright. They walk up the steps to the Midorijima Shrine, stark against the dark night sky with its yellow paper lanterns. There are food stalls and festival games lining up the crowded main path inside, people from the Old Residential District and Platinum District alike mingling.

When it comes time for the portable shrine procession, though, Koujaku and Mizuki scatter to their respective families, claiming they'd catch up with them later. Aoba watches the parade sandwiched between Ren and Clear, nearly suffocated by the latter's nervous energy as the elder men of the Old Residential District carry the shrine on their shoulders, bouncing in place and performing chants. The cause for that nervousness remains a mystery for Aoba until after the procession.

"What's happening here?" Aoba asks slowly, holding a box of takoyaki, blinking at Ren and Clear.

They're standing by the shadow of a tree at the edge of the festival, away from the spot where Aoba left them to check out the food stands. Their quiet conversation halts as soon as Aoba speaks up, heads nearly together turning toward him. Clear's face is stricken, eyes wide and glassy, while Ren barely looks Aoba in the eye, brows furrowed shallowly.

Aoba stares pointedly at the fist Clear has closed on his brother's shirt, then brings his eyes back up to their faces.

"Um..."

"It's nothing," Ren says in that obviously dismissive way of his. Clear lets go of him and takes a step back.

"Clear," Aoba starts, already knowing not to believe a word from his brother. Clear affects a smile at him, which just screams alarm at Aoba.

"Sorry, Aoba-san. It's getting late, so I'll leave for tonight."

Aoba stares tongue-tied as Clear walks past him, tilting his face away. After he disappears into the crowd, Aoba turns back to Ren, bewildered.

"What the fuck?"

Ren sighs heavily, which Aoba immediately follows up with, "No, no, no. You're not clamming up on me. I know you said something to Clear."

"Stop it," Ren says, short of breath, a hand over his brow. Aoba's lips clamp together promptly, but he frowns deeper. Ren continues, "I already regret this, but it's the right thing to do."

"Oh, no," Aoba groans, face twisting with pain. "When you say that kind of thing, it means you did something stupid."

"Aoba..."

"What was it?" Aoba asks at last, softer as he drops his guard. Aoba isn't comfortable scolding Ren; they usually go about that the other way around. Ren seems to relax a little as well, though he's still frowning.

"Clear... he does like me, after all."

Aoba stares at Ren's profile for a long time.

"I... I thought that was already established?"

Ren turns to look at him, half his face shadowed. "Of course not. I told you; even if he's kind to me... it's not different from how he acts towards everyone else."

"Yeah, that's what you said during Scrap, but it's been two months. You and Clear got closer, too, so I thought for sure..."

The rush of words spilling from Aoba slows down and trails off at Ren's evasive look.

"You never talked to him," Aoba concludes. Then, when his brain puts all the pieces of the conversation together, he blurts out, "But he just confessed. Right?"

"Yes."

Aoba narrows his eyes, a crease forming in his forehead. "You don't sound like you told him you feel the same way."

Ren sighs again, sounding like he's aging ten years each time. "I'll be gone in a few months. Kyushu University is my first choice, and even if I don't get in, I'll still leave the island."

It's been a long time since Aoba just started assuming Ren would continue his education and consequently leave the island, being smart as he is. While he's not surprised as he listens to his brother, it's the first time Ren talks about his plans with such certainty, though now he's running a hand through his hair, forehead scrunched.

"Clear is only fifteen and in his first year. He will be here for at least two more years. I don't want to make him feel like he's tied to me, or that he has to wait for me."

"Did you give him a choice to decide for himself?"

Ren says nothing to that, eyes turned away. Aoba straightens up.

"Go after him right now and tell him the truth."

"But..."

"No," Aoba cuts him off sharply, forcefully moving into his field of vision. Ren can't help but blink at his stern expression. "Clear may be younger, but he's not as gullible as you're making him out to be. You can tell him about your feelings as well as your concerns for him and you two can decide. Together."

Ren looks at Aoba like he's speaking another language, so Aoba circles him and bodily pushes him back into the festival's lights, towards the gate. Ren owlishly looks over his shoulder at him.

"Go! And fast, because if it gets later than eleven, you should just not get back home. Just sleep on your boyfriend's couch or something."

Aoba gives him an emphatic nudge. After a few more seconds of hesitation, Ren timidly steps forward, his steps gaining certainty and speed as he advances to the Torii gate. Aoba smiles as he looks at his brother's back, going further and further beyond reach.

It settles in slowly; the tug at the bottom of his stomach, the heat blistering under his skin while cold sweat sticks to the surface. Aoba exhales and leans his shoulder against the tree next to him, frowning. There's no headache and it feels different from his now commonplace bouts of sickness, but Aoba still reaches for the small bottle of pills in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Did he get to Clear? Aoba looks out at the gate, nearly curling in on himself. Now that his brother is gone, Aoba can no longer force down the rush of exasperation he feels at Ren's selfishness. Even if they'll be inevitably separated, now they are in the same school, the same place. Clear opened his heart, surely despite his fear of being rejected, and Ren went and did just that—rejected him. Even though they like each other the same, even though they want to be together. Why Ren had to make the decision for the two of them? Why keep Clear at arm's length like this? Why...

Aoba lets out a shaky breath, the festival a haze of bright colors before his eyes as he slouches further. He straightens up for a moment and pops two pills into his mouth, holding on tight to the tree trunk when it feels like he's about to crumple to the ground at once.

"Aoba?"

It's Mizuki's voice. Aoba is glad he can tell this much, because he can't actually recognize the two silhouettes before him. When Aoba tries to properly lift his head and squint at them he finally loses all strength, nearly dropping face first on the ground if not for the warm body that breaks his fall.

"Hey, hey," Koujaku's voice chides at him this time, closer. "What's up with you? Where're Ren and Clear?"

"They had to go. Clear... They had to talk."

Mizuki lets out an "ohh" of understanding. A silent conversation seems to happen between him and Koujaku before the latter heaves a sigh and firms his hold on Aoba.

"This guy needs to go home. You have to stay to help your parents with the stall, right?" Koujaku asks. Aoba puzzles over the missing context until he realizes Koujaku is talking to Mizuki.

"Yeah. Sorry..."

"No need to apologize," Koujaku is quick to reassure Mizuki. "I can look after him. Aoba, can you walk?"

"I'm gonna be sick."

"Fuck."

Luckily for Koujaku, Aoba's warning is early enough that he can be maneuvered towards some less fortunate bushes in time. Just like every one of the handful of times Aoba has thrown up, it feels like it takes forever and by the time he's done, he's even weaker than before. Koujaku mumbles for help from Mizuki and Aoba finds himself once again being moved around like a ragdoll, now going onto Koujaku's back. Instinctively, Aoba's arms tighten around his neck, not suffocatingly so.

"Sure you're done?" Koujaku asks warily. Aoba rests his head, breathing deeply, before humming in confirmation.

"Careful, Koujaku," Mizuki says, worry weighing on his voice. "Call me if anything happens."

"Don't sweat it. I'll let you know when we make it to his place." Koujaku adjusts his hold on Aoba's legs and starts walking.

Koujaku doesn't say another word and after they make out of the festival's racket, it's just the warmth of his back and the very gentle sway of their walk. Through the haze, Aoba realizes Koujaku is probably being very careful about his pace so he won't jostle him. There's the intention of thanking him, but Aoba doesn't know if he gets to do that, because the next time he opens his eyes Koujaku is calling out his name. The familiar front gate of his house is in front of them.

"Oh, you fell asleep," Koujaku says in realization when Aoba answers croakily. "Guess you were pretty quiet. Sorry, we need to get in and Tae-san is probably sleeping, so..."

"The key... It's in my jacket pocket."

Koujaku answers to Aoba's words as much as his body as he tries to slip off his back; he lets go of his legs one at a time, shifting around to support Aoba with an arm around his waist as he produces the house key. The door slides open to the dark genkan.

"I'll go up with you just in case," Koujaku announces, already moving with Aoba into the house. "I won't be in peace thinking of you cracking your head open on the stairs trying to go to bed."

Aoba sighs, not really capable of reassuring him as much as he would like to.

"Alright. This key is just a copy Ren and I share; you can keep it until tomorrow."

"Okay... Wait, what about Ren?"

"Ren?"

"He will need to come into the house," Koujaku says like it's obvious, one eyebrow raised. "I can lock it and just hide the key in one of the potted plants for him or something-"

"He should be kissing Clear now, if he's not an idiot," Aoba says dryly, immediately shutting Koujaku up. "They have a lot to talk about, so I don't expect him to come home today."

"O-oh. So it was like that," Koujaku mutters and the subject dies there.

They quietly walk up the stairs—Aoba trying and failing to not lean too much on Koujaku while he couldn't look less bothered by his weight, easily pulling him along and to the second floor. Koujaku opens the door to his dim bedroom, sits Aoba on the edge of his bed and rummages through his dresser for loungewear to change into because "no way you're sleeping in those jeans". Aoba simply looks on as Koujaku moves around his room.

"Here it is." Koujaku places the small bundle of clothes on Aoba's lap and straightens up. Aoba stares down at it. "Seriously, don't sleep in those uncomfortable clothes. Change properly."

Koujaku pats the crown of Aoba's head, prompting him to look up at him.

"Take care of yourself, okay? I'll come over tomorrow to see how you're doing and return your key." Koujaku smiles that kind, unarmed smile Aoba doesn't see often anymore. Koujaku's smiles are always sincere, but this one was reserved for Aoba when they were kids, when Aoba was hurt.

Koujaku withdraws his hand and turns away. A violent tremor shakes Aoba and he knows he can't be alone right now.

"Wait."

Koujaku stops a few steps away from the door and looks back at Aoba, alarmed.

"What?"

Aoba inhales shallowly and exhales, eyes wide.

"Please... stay."

"Huh? Wait, are you feeling sick again?" Koujaku moves closer again, worry clouding his features as he cups Aoba's face and scrutinizes him, starting to say something about his pallor and temperature. Aoba doesn't listen to it as he grabs a hold of Koujaku's shirt and drops his back on the bed.

Koujaku lets out a surprised murmur as his knee etches into the edge of the bed and he braces his arms over each side of Aoba's head, looking down at him in shock. They say nothing for what feels like forever and it's sure to be only a second. Aoba's eyes are equally wide, glassy in the half-light coming from the balcony.

This is wrong. Pulling Koujaku down with him into bed like it's a year ago is not what his body is screaming for, but it is screaming for something—anything. Aoba can't hear that voice in his head since he started taking the medicine his grandmother prescribed him, but he still feels it like a second skin moving under the surface, a snake or dragon just waiting for a moment's weakness to rear its ugly head. Being alone right now makes him feel like he's eating himself inside out, but more than that, he even longs to be held down, to be open and raw, for the heat and daze he only experienced once, with this same man.

I just want to forget.

Forget what?

"Aoba... don't do that."

"Huh?"

Aoba jolts back into reality. The shock has worn off from Koujaku's face, leaving him frowning down at Aoba. Koujaku looks concerned, chastising and—Aoba realizes with stomach-sinking clarity—hurt.

"Don't act like you want me when I know you're thinking of someone else."

Aoba's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not even a breath is drawn in or let out. Koujaku is not done yet; he backs away, one knee still propped on the edge of the bed.

"This will only create bad memories for the two of us. I don't really know why this is happening, but don't use me as a substitute or something."

"That's not it!" Aoba protests immediately, sitting up, but he falters. Koujaku is right; Aoba didn't think once of kissing or having sex with him because he wanted him. If there's anything incorrect in what he said is that Koujaku wasn't supposed to be a substitute but a distraction. A cloud of intoxicating smoke to numb his senses to everything.

"You know that is it." Koujaku's expression loosens ever so slightly. "And I know that you probably didn't think of it like that; you're not a bad person."

"Koujaku..."

"Though I said I don't really know why this is happening... I know you. I know the way you looked at me before and during the time we were together, and I know you stopped looking at me that way. I was probably the first one to see exactly how you looked at that guy and know what it meant." Koujaku huffs roughly. "I hated it. I hated him and I don't know where that fucker is, but..."

Koujaku places a hand on Aoba's cheek and there is that gentle, comforting smile once more. Aoba feels like he's six again and just fell off the bike for the first time.

"You'd regret this, Aoba. I'll be with you all night if you need me, but not to make you hurt even further."

It's the guilt. The bitterness, the heartbreak, the longing. Heat presses at the back of Aoba's eyes and spreads over his face until he's red and the tears come at once. It's the first time he cries since the night Akira gave him the news. It goes on for much longer and this time, Aoba talks—about everything from the day he met Noiz to their last moment together and all that Aoba never had and still feels like he lost. And like Koujaku promised, he stays, holding Aoba in a warm hug and listening to him.

At some point, Aoba falls asleep in Koujaku's arms. Not like a year ago, but like when they had sleepovers as kids and Aoba snuck into Koujaku's futon after a nightmare.

"Seragaki Aoba."

The summer heat is long gone. As it usually is with Midorijima, not a snowflake has touched the island's ground, but still the temperature has steadily dropped, throughout fall and winter, until now. It's spring again.

Aoba gets up from his seat as the principal calls his name. A hand comes up to his back, giving it a soft slap. Aoba turns his head to catch Ren's smile as he urges him on, giving back one of his own.

"What are you looking all dazed for?" Ren asked earlier as they walked together to their school, the first time since Aoba got his bike and the last. Aoba had stopped a few steps behind him just as they came into Aoyagi Street.

Aoba had his face turned up, eyes wide and full of color. Lining the path to Midorijima High School's 17th Graduation Ceremony, the branches of the trees in the median strip of Aoyagi Street were dotted with cherry blossoms.

"I didn't know they were cherry blossom trees," Aoba said, blinking away from the pale-pink buds. Ren smiled with something like sympathy, Clear's gifted yellow scarf wrapped around his neck.

"They were too young. Apparently you have to clip the first couple of blooms so it will grow to its best standards. I never saw it myself, so I guess it's not surprising you didn't either."

After sitting back down on his seat, Aoba tests the weight of the diploma in his hands, encased in a black tube with golden lines on each end. Even after they sing the school's song and get up from their seats, leaving the gymnasium in a neat line under the staff and student body's applause, it feels weightless. Yet, when he walks out the doors with his diploma in his hands and a flower pin on his chest, he's as excited as all of his classmates.

"So, what are you going to do after school's over?" Mizuki asked him the day before graduation. Aoba, Ren and their grandmother were eating out at Mizuki's family restaurant as an early celebration.

Aoba looked at him over the bar between them, chopsticks floating over his freshly served ramen bowl. "I'll just keep on working for Haga-san, I guess. What about you?"

"I'll work with my parents for a while, but I want to open my own business."

It was quite the fast and sure answer. Aoba blinked at him and unwittingly blurted out, "You?"

"Yeah, me, what do you mean?" Mizuki shot back, face slackening into a dead-eyed stare. With a huff, he resumed his thoughtful expression. "I feel like I'll be just stuck in one place if I take over this shop. I want to do more for myself."

Mizuki's wandering gaze returned to Aoba and his eyes widened. Although Aoba didn't say a word, something must've shown on his face because Mizuki hurried to say, "I don't mean to say that's what you're doing! Everyone is different."

Has nothing changed? Have I not changed at all?

"Congratulations on your graduation!"

Aoba blinks. "Clear..."

The sixteen-year-old bundle of energy welcomes them into the school building with an armful of single-flower bouquets. Clear hands them out to Aoba, Mizuki, Clara and Ren, matching the last with a hug and kiss to his boyfriend's cheek. Ren meets him with a blush and soft smile.

"Aw, you shouldn't have," Clara coos at Clear, her arms already laden with bouquets and farewell gifts from her club's underclassmen. Mizuki glances over and snorts while Clear's smile shrinks apologetically as he makes the same assumption. She hurries to reassure him that she really loves the bouquet and she's grateful.

"It's nice to know at least one of my friends thought of getting me a graduation gift."

"... What are you looking at me for? I'm graduating too and you got me nothing."

Ren shakes his head at Mizuki and Aoba's antics, smiling. "Come on. We need to get to our last homerooms."

They say their goodbyes and repeated thanks to Clear before moving on to the fourth floor, where their group breaks as Ren and Clara take to the second building. When Aoba and Mizuki are only a few steps away from their classroom, Aoba lags behind.

"You can go ahead. I need to do something first."

Mizuki looks back at him. For a long time he says nothing, only studying Aoba with that serious, sharp gaze he never wears except for these moments. At last the spell is broken as Mizuki drops his gaze and nods.

"Don't take your sweet time. Yamada-sensei will give me shit if you're not there."

Aoba huffs. "I'd hate to do that to you."

"Sure," Mizuki laughs, rolling his eyes. "Don't make me yank you here by the ear."

Their classroom door closes behind Mizuki. Aoba only stares at it for a second longer before moving past it and further into the hallway.

The stairwell is as dark as he remembers it. It's been very long since the last time he tried to go up to the rooftop and he wasn't planning on doing so today, but Aoba feels as though he's being drawn in by an invisible force. At the end of the stairs, the same old "No trespassing: Students not allowed" sign greets Aoba and without much thought, he grabs the doorknob and twists. It doesn't budge.

Aoba blinks, the glaze lifting from his eyes. Then, he laughs.

"Of course, what was I thinking...?"

If it was two or three years ago he'd be able to force the lock, and if it was almost a year ago the door would already be open. But Aoba has changed and so did everything else. Time will keep on flowing forward, mercifully, cruelly.

Aoba leans his back on the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor.

The noise from the third-year classrooms is not too distant. Aoba listens to the laughter and applause with his head hanging between his arms, crossed at the wrist over his knees. It's something he learned after last year's June; how peaceful and easy it is to experience life from the sidelines, to isolate himself even out in the open and play the role of spectator. How safe it is.

With a sigh, Aoba lifts his head and stretches out his legs. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials the number he's only really been texting with.

There's a click on the other end of the call. "Aoba?"

"Sei," Aoba greets with a smile.

"Oh, good thing you called, I was about to do that myself. Congratulations on your graduation!" Sei gushes animatedly. They haven't really talked about Aoba's graduation, but naturally he must've known from Mizuki.

"Thanks. How are you doing?"

Sei lets out a sigh that already sounds wistful. "Enjoying my last month of freedom before I have to move for university. It's only Miyazaki but still, I'll miss home."

"Shouldn't you feel free after you move out?" Aoba jokes.

"No way," Sei laughs. "My brand of freedom is being able to play games all day and not sharing dorms with strangers."

Aoba laughs with him until it rings out and into silence. Sei doesn't threaten to break it, perhaps conscious of Aoba's last moment of second-guessing, his last attempt at taking the easy way out. It's so peaceful and easy. So safe.

"That offer to have me over during summer break. It's spring now, but... Does it still stand?"

Aoba has changed and so did everything else. The things he's lost and the things he's gained, his future... He will take hold of it.

A heartbeat-long pause. On the other end, Sei smiles audibly. "Of course."

Chapter Text

The telephone on the desk rings only once before the receiver is picked up with a dull click.

"Hello, thank you for calling. This is Auto Shop Heibon."

"Oh, so formal."

Aoba blinks. The voice, which he promptly recognizes as Clara's, rings with laughter and it's followed by muffled conversation, some rustling and then another voice speaks up.

"Sorry, it was her idea." Despite the apology, the sentence is shaken with a barely suppressed chuckle.

Aoba's bemusement turns into half-hearted annoyance. "Really? I'm working here, Ren."

Ren laughs openly this time, with Clara echoing him in the background. Aoba shakes his head with a smile and leans back on his seat.

"You haven't me called in three weeks and when you show up, it's like this. Did you lose my cell phone number or something? "

Ren sighs. "I told you I had to study for finals. It was hell as always, thanks for asking." Aoba grumbles unintelligibly, but Ren doesn't pay it any mind and continues. "But university's letting up for summer break tomorrow, so we are going back home."

Aoba perks up. "Ohh! Is Clear coming, too? Wait, don't answer that. If he weren't coming you wouldn't tag along, would you."

"I did go back last year," Ren says flatly.

"Yeah, after I called you out on loving your boyfriend more than your own brother. All because Clear had to stay back for his tutoring job." Aoba sniffs in mock-resent. "You will make Granny cry one of these days."

"Why does it feel like I can't ever win with you?"

"Because you really can't."

Aoba can almost hear Ren rolling his eyes, but the tone of his brother's voice betrays his amusement. Aoba grins victoriously for no one to see.

Ren huffs. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that and ask you how you've been doing."

It's been three years since Ren and Clara left for Kyushu University, taking Law and Medicine, respectively. Clear graduated high school a year ago and, reassured by his grandfather's closing ties with the community, left for the same university, taking Education. Aoba was the resigned but fond victim of a million texts and pictures as Clear documented his whole trip to Fukuoka and his reunion with Ren.

Mizuki has been working in his family's restaurant since they all graduated, his relationship with Sei still rock solid and stable even if they've barely seen each other since Sei started university. What Mizuki doesn't know is that Sei is coming over to Midorijima for summer break this year. That was confided to Aoba in their last phone call and his twin asked him to keep it a secret. Aoba can't wait to see Mizuki's face when it happens.

Outside the shop, the sun mercilessly beats down on the cobblestone pavement and on the backs of laborers renovating a building across the street. The cackled laughter of kids as they run by the glass windows, the screams of cicadas and the banging of hammers are very distantly heard from inside the shop, where Seragaki Aoba, twenty-two years old, is enjoying the constant chilly draft of the air conditioner. It's the peaceful everyday he's gotten used to, in the job he will probably do forever.

Aoba smiles softly. "I'm doing okay."

The door of the shop creaks open, dragging Aoba's eyes to it.

"Really? I'm hoping to get there and not find you all skin and bones anymore."

Aoba fumbles as he tries to pay attention to Ren at the same time Haga-san is coming in and also talking to him. Luckily his boss realizes he's on a phone call and snaps his lips shut with an apologetic smile, waving his hand at Aoba as a sign to not mind him. Aoba smiles gratefully and turns his full attention to Ren, finally processing what he said.

"That was just a rough time, I was always busy and talking to all those people..." Aoba sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm done with it, so it's okay now. I really am okay, Ren."

Ren hums, sounding skeptical. Before he can prolong the conversation, Aoba continues, "Actually, Haga-san just got here, can we catch up later?"

"Sure. Sorry to bother you at work." Aoba makes a noise between don't mind it and now you say that? that Ren promptly ignores. "Say hello to Haga-san for me. I'll call you later."

"Okay, bye. Love you, brother."

It's said in a teasing tone, but Ren still answers. "Love you, too."

Clara can be heard laughing again when the call cuts off.

"How is Ren-kun doing?" Haga-san asks good-naturedly once Aoba drops the phone receiver.

"Fine, it seems," he answers with a small smile. "He said hello."

"I would've liked to say hello, as well. Of course, I wouldn't barge into your call," Haga-san rushes to say when Aoba starts to apologize. "It's just been a long time since I last talked to him. Last summer, when he was around... oh, could it be he's coming back?"

"Yes, with Clara and Clear."

"I see. While I'm glad to hear they're coming back, I wish they'd return over break more frequently. I guess college kids are busier now."

"Yeah," Aoba sighs. Summer is when they have the longest break in the year and it's the only time Ren and now Clear, as well, ever come back. Clara usually returns for winter and spring breaks, probably because her parents would nag her if she didn't. Whether or not Granny has a problem with it, it's irrelevant; she doesn't make any complaints. When Aoba grumbled about it, Ren justified it's too short a trip to spend money on and he'll take the time to instead get ahead on school readings. Now that Clear is in Fukuoka, though, Aoba doubts he leaves Ren alone, amusingly so.

"Well, you can go for your lunch break now," Haga-san says with a grin, stepping over to the desk and dropping a plastic bag onto it. "That's what I was saying when I came in."

"Oh, thank you." Aoba gets up and stretches his arms over his head, groaning low as the tight knobs of his spine seem to loosen. "I can't believe I still have to say this, but please, don't take any repair orders while I'm out. You're going to get hurt again."

Haga-san laughs in his usual hoarse, kind voice. "What an untrustworthy boss I've become. I'm sorry for troubling you like that, Aoba-kun."

"It's because you do it almost every time," Aoba sighs heavily and his boss' answer is more laughter.

"Don't worry about it. I'll behave."

Aoba shakes his head at Haga-san's blatant teasing, but he's smiling. After picking up his bag and putting on his headphones, Aoba catches himself and pulls the hair tie off his wrist, putting his hair up in a ponytail before opening the door. Outside, the summer heat eagerly awaits him.

The lively neighborhood quiets down at night; parents have ushered their kids back into their homes and families prepare to eat dinner together. On the wall of the shop, the arms of the clock tick towards nine p.m. and Aoba is thinking of dinner at his own home. Ren has been back for almost a week now and dinner is a much merrier occasion every day with their best cook at home, though Ren's absence has caused Aoba to step up in the kitchen, as well.

Aoba is wondering if they have ingredients for carbonara, engrossed in a mobile game, when headlights flash by his eyes. Aoba puts his phone down on the desk and straightens up, looking at the front of the shop. A frown immediately descends over his face as the headlights turn off and he recognizes the black motorbike parking.

"Why do you always show up at the most inconvenient times?" Aoba nags as soon as the door opens.

"For a busy man, these are the most convenient times," Akira tells him breezily, holding his helmet under one arm.

Aoba slumps in his chair and sighs, "I was just waiting for the time to close..."

"Is this how you talk to your clients?"

"It's how I talk to you, because you always show up with your bike when I'm about to step out." Aoba sits up, glaring at Akira. "And this time we're closing down!"

"Don't worry about it," Akira says in an annoyingly mock-placatory tone. "You can just look it over in the morning."

"Then drop it here in the morning!"

Akira makes a face. "What, no, I'm not gonna get up early for that. Anyway, I'll be reaaaally busy tomorrow, so take it back to me during lunch time, will you?"

Aoba stares blankly as Akira grabs his hand, turns it palm up and drops his keys along with a wad of cash on it. Akira grins.

"Take good care of my baby."

Aoba clicks his tongue and pulls his hand away, the keys digging into his palm. Despite that, his irritation is only half-hearted as he says, "Don't I always?"

"Mm, anyway, I'm starving," Akira groans as he stretches up. Before long, he drops his arms and relaxes. "I was going over to Mizuki's shop, want to come with me?"

"You just want me to give you a ride, don't you..."

Akira puts his helmet on the desk. "Of course not. I'll even treat you, see?"

"That's even more suspicious."

Aoba takes Akira's motorcycle to the back of the shop and starts turning all the lights off. While Aoba closes the shop and brings his bicycle around, Akira leans against a wall, typing away at his phone and humming to himself. Although Akira still behaves much like a kid, the last bits of adolescence clinging to his features have long worn away, leaving behind sharper eyes, chiseled cheekbones and broad shoulders. Akira's hair is not long anymore, buzzed on the nape and falling in disheveled bangs upfront. 

"Don't drop me, okay?" Akira says as he climbs on the back seat of Aoba's bicycle.

Aoba pockets his phone after texting Ren and pedals forward. "Don't tempt me."

For a full year after the dinner party at the Seragaki household, Aoba didn't see or hear of Akira. That was probably for the best; Aoba was trying to get through his last year of high school, still reeling from everything that happened to him and taming his Scrap through medicine. The entire island was slowly coming out of its shell as months passed by without a repetition of the strange events of June. During that time Akira was probably busy as well, helping rebuild the wounded Southern District and stabilizing his team.

Akira never told him whether his disappearance was intentional. Yet, when they met again on Mizuki's first day working full-time at his family's restaurant, Akira surprisingly apologized for their last encounter.

"I'm not an idiot. I knew what I needed to tell you and what it would mean to you, but I still went and relayed it in the worst way I could," Akira said then, stirring his tonkotsu ramen with his chopsticks. "I may be an asshole, but I wouldn't have done that normally and I'm sorry for that."

"D... did Takato put you up to this?" Aoba stuttered at him without thinking, alarmed at Akira's sincerity. The young man laughed.

"Why is everyone so sure Takato is the better person out of the two of us? Like that guy is sensible enough to care about this kind of thing."

Aoba frowned at the bitter edge Akira's humor took. Even as little as they had talked to each other before, it was familiar.

"I took my frustration out on you," Akira explained after taking a bite of his ramen. "Takato was laid out in the hospital with a hole on the side of his torso. I couldn't close my fucking eyes without seeing the people who hurt him carry Noiz away, right in front of me while I had a gun and I still couldn't do a thing."

Aoba swallowed dry as Akira finally turned his gaze his way, eyes smoldering like weakened embers.

"Noiz was one of my own, too, you know?"

Aoba's bicycle stops with a squeak in front of a small but lively ramen restaurant, silhouettes passing to-and-fro behind the short noren curtains hanging over the doors. Akira leaps out of his seat with an excited whoo and doesn't wait for Aoba to chain his bike before skipping to the doors. Aoba scoffs after him. What a selfish guy.

Yet, ever since that rare honest conversation with Akira three years ago, Aoba never again was able to truly resent him for anything.

"Hey, Aoba!" Mizuki greets him from behind the counter, where he's serving a ramen bowl to a patron.

"Hey," Aoba greets back, taking the free seat beside Akira at the edge of the counter. Mizuki works with a smile on his face and, while he's not one to usually glower, the smile coupled with his humming signals a particular mood.

"You're chipper," Akira is the one to comment with a raised brow. Aoba has a pretty good hunch.

"Is it that obvious?" Mizuki beams at them, palming the side of his face. He doesn't budge or falter when his father passes by and lightly smacks his head, grumbling at him to get to work.

Akira snorts behind his hand while Aoba asks indulgently, "Any specific reason?"

"Well, you see, my beautiful boyf- uh, love of my life, is home for the summer as of today!"

Laughter rings out from a door behind Mizuki. Sei emerges in a black apron and carrying a small pile of clean bowls in their arms, long black hair tied up in a bun under a hair net.

"That's definitely an upgrade from boyfriend." Sei plants a soft kiss on Mizuki's cheek and keeps on walking to the other end of the bar, briefly waving at Aoba and Akira in greeting.

Aoba grins cheekily while Mizuki sighs dreamily after them.

"Ohh, that's the one from four years ago. He really is a beauty." Akira looks on as Sei places the bowls on a table along the wall and talks to Mizuki's mother. Sei laughs, their profile lit up with a delicate blush adorning their cheeks. Then, Akira looks back at Mizuki. A grimace gradually descends over his face.

"... The least you could do is start brushing your hair, Mizuki."

"You little-"

"I want a large tonkotsu ramen, okay?" A bright grin opens in Akira's face. "I'll tip higher if your beautiful boyfriend is the one to bring it over."

"I'll spit on it."

Aoba laughs as the two trade barbs. This time, it's Mizuki's mother that walks by and pinches her son's ear to remind him he's on the clock.

"Shio ramen for me," Aoba pipes up amusedly with his own order. Mizuki tosses Akira a last glare before turning around and walking away.

"So," Akira starts once they're alone. "How are the Scrap sessions going?"

Aoba side-eyes Akira with a frown. "Don't make it a topic of conversation."

"You haven't contacted me in a while." Akira shrugs. "I got curious."

"There weren't any more kids from South, so I didn't need your help." Aoba would've ended at that, but he relents to Akira's raised eyebrows with a sigh. "I finished it. A month ago, more or less."

Akira's lazy grin disappears and he blinks, a rare expression of shock in his face.

"You... finished it? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said." Aoba closes his eyes momentarily, staring down at the polished wood of the counter. "The people from Dry Juice who Mizuki kept away, the ones from your team who were thrown into jail as well as many others in the district... I'm finished restoring their consciousness with Scrap. "

"I thought it would take much longer than that," Akira admits, a wide smile opening in his face. "That's amazing! How many were they, after all?"

"No idea," Aoba huffs, but his expression is strained. "Dozens? Hundreds? I never tried to count. When I see any of them, though, I remember exactly who they are. All the details."

Akira frowns deeply, looking annoyed and almost concerned. Before he can say anything, though, Mizuki comes around with their orders. Aoba smiles at Akira, someone who's become a friend to him even if they butt heads more often than not.

After the dust settled on the debilitated Midorijima, there was much to be worried about, like the buildings and streets that were vandalized and the suspicion of the common people that something similar would happen again. These things were solved with reconstruction efforts and time. An effect that lasted much longer, though, was Dye Music's grip on the minds of those afflicted by it. The majority in the Platinum District received attention and psychological treatment, but the story was different in the Old Residential District. Their suffering was swept under the rug as they were hidden away, or jailed if they were unfortunate enough to be collected by the police. One of Mizuki's friends was able to claw his way out of the depths of his mind on sheer strength of will, but he was only one of the few outliers. For a full year Aoba couldn't even think of trying to help; his psychological state was in no shape for such a demanding task and he could barely control Scrap, let alone manipulate it at will.

That changed when he spent spring break in Nichinan with Sei, where Aoba met Dr. Sugiyama. Just like she did for Sei, the doctor helped Aoba come to grips with Scrap as an intrinsic part of himself. Aoba realized that his inner desire for destruction, which scared him so much, was only a consequence of repressing that part of himself for so long. Once Aoba acknowledged and accepted it, Scrap no longer was the master of him.

Aoba was prepared to take on anything when he started on his self-attributed duty, but he was surprised to see that he was in no risk of bodily harm like in his first interactions with the Dyed people a year previous. It seemed like all of them were drained; whereas they were aggressive and wild on the night of the disaster, now they were more like puppets whose strings were cut. They were meek, unresponsive and hollow-eyed. One had already died from starvation in jail. That made Aoba feel even more urgency in helping them—which led to him working himself to the bone, juggling his job at the auto shop and what amounted to daily mind surgeries.

Akira, Mizuki and Koujaku were essential in contacting the families of Dyed people for background information, as well as sweet-talking the police in order to get visits with those imprisoned. In their case, even after freeing themselves from the chains of their minds, there's still a legal battle ahead to regain their physical freedom, which Ren has volunteered to help with, now that he will soon graduate. Nevertheless, Virus and Trip's stain in this island has finally been cleared, thanks to everyone's help.

Aoba is happy for it. He truly is happy, but now that he's done diving into the minds of others, he's left again with his own thoughts and too much free time in his hands. The family he loves, the friends old and new, the job he will probably do forever... it's all very comfortable. But some days, comfort only makes the restlessness settled deep within him all the more disquieting.

When the movement in the shop slows down, Sei comes over to properly greet their twin brother. Aoba makes the introductions between them and Akira, who's perfectly polite and needs no more than a meaningful look to pick up on Aoba's use of gender-neutral language towards Sei. Mizuki still glares at him from the corner, though, especially when Sei seems to take well to Akira. Aoba can't tell if Sei is none the wiser to their boyfriend's sullenness or they're teasing him on purpose by being extremely courteous to Akira. That only makes Aoba laugh harder at his poor friend's misfortune and, for all of their time in the restaurant, the atmosphere is warm and fun.

To Aoba's surprise, Akira does pay for both their meals at the end of the night.

Aoba steps out of the back room of the shop with a heavy, tired sigh.

Haga-san swivels around in his chair at the desk. "Oh, you're done with it? Good work!"

"Yeah... God, it's too damn hot with this thing on top of my clothes," Aoba huffs out, opening his coveralls and slipping it off his shoulders and arms, letting it hang from his hips. His next sigh is more out of relief as he fans himself with a hand. "At least I don't need to read down from a checklist as I go anymore."

"The first time you had to do that bike's maintenance you were so nervous. You've come a long way," Haga-san says with an encouraging grin. Aoba drops his hand and smiles back at his boss, humbled but certainly proud of himself, as well.

"It's all thanks to your lessons, Haga-san."

The old man huffs through his nose. "Oh, no, it's all you being a fast learner. When I retire, my shop will certainly be in capable hands."

Aoba shakes his head with a laugh. No way was he capable enough and Haga-san would profit more from selling his business; the older man surely knows that, too.

The job I will do forever, huh... The truth is that, once this shop changes hands, there's no telling what will be in store for Aoba. Even if it remains an auto shop and Aoba keeps his job, it won't be the same. Nothing ever stays the same, really.

"I'll have to take the bike back to its idiotic owner now," Aoba says as he pulls the dirty coveralls off his legs and hangs it on a hook on the wall of the back room, closing the door to it. "Sorry, I'll be out for a bit longer because of that."

"That's alright. Don't skip on lunch."

"Yes, yes," Aoba laughs, picking up the bike's helmet and forgoing his jacket, seeing the construction workers across the street sweating buckets under the unforgiving sunrays. Regretfully, he unties his hair for the ride, knowing it'll be uncomfortable to keep it up with the helmet.

Aoba brings Akira's bike around to the front of the store and, as he puts on the helmet, straddles the seat and takes the handles, he remembers how scary it was to ride it for the first time. Now, however, when he starts up the engine and the monster of a motorcycle rumbles to life under him, all Aoba feels is excitement.

Maybe I should get a motorcycle, too, Aoba muses inwardly as he zips up the street and around the corner. The lapping wind on his exposed arms and collarbones alleviate the early afternoon heat.

As soon as Aoba finished high school he learned to drive a car and ride a motorcycle, getting his licenses for both. That's customary for young adults, but he also had his now full-time job in mind when he did so. Unlike his contemporaries, however, even after he got his license, his old bicycle remained his main way of transportation.

It's not the first time Aoba thinks of changing that, but all other times, he was too caught up in the hustle and bustle of his life to bring that thought to fruition. Now that things have calmed down some, there should be no reason not to seriously plan his purchase. And yet, just as soon as Aoba thinks on it, he forgets about it again.

Aoba passes by the walls covered with Scratch's tag art, the shopping mall and the renovated Kisaragi arcade shop, trashed and set on fire during the Dye Music incident. The Southern District was hit the hardest after the central area of Aoyagi Street, but now, it's as though nothing ever happened. It didn't come at once, but the island has healed itself, physically and emotionally. Aoba smiles softly to himself as he slows down to a stop in front of the abandoned building Scratch uses as a hangout; there are no signs or identification of what it used to be, but Akira once told him it was a small law firm.

There's no sign of the usual Scratch member A or B watching the door. Aoba frowns at that, but parks the motorcycle in front of the building, taking off the helmet. His long hair sticks to the sweat on the back of his neck and shoulders, so he puts it up in a messy bun. Aoba almost slips the keys into his pocket, stopping just short of it before holding it in his fist like a weapon. If there's one thing Aoba has learned over the years, is to not ignore oddities. Especially in the Southern District.

Aoba braces himself as he pushes the door open. What greets him is the ruckus of loud conversations, crashing over one another and becoming unintelligible. Aoba registers the noise first and then takes in the cluster of people in the lobby in front of him. Aoba can't promptly tell if he really shouldn't be worried, but regardless, the creak of the door seems to alert the group and their conversations dwindle as heads turn towards him.

"Oh," an interjection in a familiar voice emerges from the small crowd, which spreads enough to reveal its owner, Akira, standing in the middle. "You took your sweet time, Aoba."

"Yeah, thanks you're welcome for bringing your stupid bike back," Aoba deadpans, his adrenaline-accelerated heartbeat slowing down. "This time you'll pay a fee, you hear?"

"I'm sure yesterday's ramen is enough to cover it," Akira says with a broad, self-satisfied grin. The mess of unknown and familiar faces around Akira is just clearing in Aoba's eyes; Takato is hovering by Akira's shoulder and there's his sister, Kaede, hugging her brother's side and looking at Aoba with wide eyes, the last traces of a smile dropping from her expression.

A man in a suit is standing on Akira's other side. Aoba has just been alerted to his out-of-place appearance when the stranger turns to look at him and for all of two seconds, while Aoba's eyes sail over short strawberry-blonde hair and the smooth edges of cheekbones, jaw line and vivid green eyes, the man remains a stranger. And then he's not.

If Aoba could think, he'd find solace in the fact that he's not the only one seemingly shocked. As it is, though, not a concrete thought crosses his mind as his wide eyes stare unblinkingly into an equally stunned gaze. Hazel into green and back, until a movement catches at the corner of Aoba's vision.

"Sorry, I knew this guy would make things a lot more difficult, so I thought of surprising both of you," Akira tells Aoba after settling an arm around Noiz's shoulder. His gaze escapes Aoba's as it turns towards Akira, his shock cooled down into a glare in all of its familiar, old glory; the crinkle between his short, pale eyebrows, the particular narrowing of his eyes and the tightening of his lips. Except the face around it is older, sharper. The piercings are gone.

A dull ache vibrates from the bottom of Aoba's chest, intensifying as he distantly hears Noiz retort to Akira and shake off his arm. Noiz.

Noiz.

"Welp," Akira projects his voice and claps once, calling everyone's attention. "It's been fun, everyone's had their chance to give their regards to Noiz and so it's time to get back to your posts. Shoo, shoo."

Waves of grumbles and complaints follow Akira's orders even as the crowd shuffles out of the room in various directions. Akira adds just over the ruckus, "Shut it, we will have a proper welcome party if I'm in a good mood later!"

Kaede leaves after patting Noiz's shoulder with a smile.

"Seragaki."

Aoba jolts in his spot. Takato is looking at him, his expression as even-keeled as his voice. There's nothing in his light-brown eyes that indicates concern, understanding or even confusion due to Aoba's listlessness, but Takato did call out to him and Aoba quickly realizes it's only the two of them, Akira and Noiz left in the lobby. Aoba breathes in shakily and starts turning to leave.

"I should... go..."

"Wait, you still have my keys," Akira reminds him, making Aoba stop in his tracks. Empty as his head feels, it's actually as full as to not even let him give much thought to his flub. Akira looks up at him with raised eyebrows as he takes the keys from his hand. "Do you want me to take you back? If you don't want to take the bus-"

"I'll give you a ride back," Noiz says, stepping forward. The clarity of his voice strikes Aoba, who promptly looks at him. Noiz's eyes hold him captive once again.

In the beginning, Aoba dreamed of Noiz coming back. It was different each time, but Aoba was always hysterical at seeing the boy, hugging him and telling him he thought he was gone for good while Noiz gave him explanations he never remembered later. Those were the better gifts of his unconsciousness compared to nightmares of Midorijima burning, or endless screaming hallways, or failing to save Ren. However, all of those bad dreams were much easier to wake up from.

The first year was the hardest. Scrap made itself aggressively present and Aoba was taking medication in order to suppress its effects. Aoba disdained it, thought of it as a parasite, blaming it for what happened to Noiz almost as much as he blamed himself. As much as he tried not to think about it, the memories of his late spring and early summer with Noiz always came to mind when he was idle. And the thing with Ren and Koujaku during Obon...

Aoba loved Noiz. It took less than two months to fall in love with him and more than two years to stop hurting for his loss. Even if he never admitted out loud and never will, he believed those dreams. Aoba thought, if Noiz was alive, as long as Aoba waited for him in this island he would come back to him. The best thing Aoba did for himself was letting go of such a doomed hope.

It's been four years. Aoba is not hysterical.

It hurts.

The car door closes with a thump as Noiz slips into the driver's seat beside Aoba. During the short walk from Scratch's hangout to the sleek black car in a nearby parking lot, they said nothing. Aoba stared at the quiet movement of Noiz's suited back as he recollected his thoughts, the shock and daze wearing off from him. Even now, though, Aoba feels like he's about to wake up from another dream.

There are a million questions Aoba wants to ask, but it's been years of forcing them down, years of actively turning his attention away from them. Aoba couldn't keep imagining the situation when he would get to make them, couldn't hope to one day get answers. Even if Aoba did have a list of questions for such day, he wouldn't know how to formulate them. Aoba looks at Noiz's relaxed profile, the expensive car and suit to match, the hand steadfastly steering the wheel. Noiz is all that is familiar and strange.

Noiz glances at him and Aoba looks away.

"Sorry," Noiz says after a hesitation-heavy pause. "I didn't want us to meet like that. Akira..." A harsh sigh. "Now that I'm here, I think there was no way to make it easier, though."

Aoba moves his gaze back to him slowly. Noiz is not looking at him anymore, instead focusing on the road.

Not only does Noiz look different, he's acting different, as well. For the better part of their time together, Noiz was bratty and rebellious. As they got closer, Noiz started listening to him and while he never stopped being wild, he became caring, teasing but fond, surprisingly affectionate. He was unpredictable until their very last moment together.

This Noiz is oddly mature, polite and composed. He sounds like a complete stranger, or rather, like he's talking to a complete stranger.

Aoba turns his eyes to the street ahead as well, clutching a hand to his heart.

Why can't he be happy about this? Why is it that he can't smile and hug Noiz tight like he really wants to? Why does it have to hurt like Aoba is losing him again?

It's been too long.

"Not the shop. Home," Aoba says, recognizing the route Noiz is taking. "Take me home."

The car slows down. "Are you okay?" Noiz asks, some feeling finally coloring his voice.

Aoba inhales through what feels like a hole in his lung and looks at Noiz, who's already studying him with a frown. They've stopped in front of a convenience store.

"Are you?" Aoba mirrors the question, the slightest of tremors in his voice.

Noiz only stares at him for a moment. Then, he says, "I'm fine."

Aoba's face crumples at that and he turns away. As he breathes deeply, Noiz starts the car and takes to the street again without a word.

The black car comes to a smooth stop in front of the Seragaki household. The doors unlock with a soft click. Aoba looks out the window, debating on what to say when Noiz saves him the trouble.

"Do you want to see me again?"

Aoba snaps his head towards Noiz, whose eyes are acquiescent. The question isn't leading at all; Noiz doesn't sound like he's fishing for validation or guilt-tripping Aoba. It's a legitimate concern. Noiz will listen to him, whether he says yes or no.

"... Yeah," Aoba says, his voice scant. Nevertheless, it's an answer he's sure of.

Something crosses by Noiz's eyes, but he drops his gaze. Noiz nods and reaches one hand into the inside pocket of his blazer, but he halts in his movement with a frown. In what seems like a silent conversation with himself, Noiz huffs before extending that hand towards Aoba instead.

"Phone?"

Aoba takes a second to understand what he's saying. Then, he retrieves his cell phone from his pocket and places it on Noiz's hand.

Noiz deftly taps his thumb around the screen before returning the phone to Aoba. On the screen is his contacts list with a new number under the name "Noiz", simple and straightforward. Aoba stares down at it until Noiz speaks up again.

"Call me anytime. I'll wait for you, but I can't promise I won't show up uninvited if you take too long."

Noiz's familiar teasing tone nearly punches the air out of Aoba's lungs. He bobs his head in a poor attempt at nodding and opens the passenger door. Before slipping out of the car, though, Aoba stops.

"Noiz."

"Mm?"

Aoba glances back at Noiz, the words stirring awkwardly around his mouth. It sounds strange, unnatural. He still wants to say it, just like in those old dreams.

"Welcome back."

Noiz blinks momentarily and smiles something small.

"I'm home."

Aoba wants to smile back, but his lips are wobbling and twitching out of his control. Without further ado, he leaves the car and closes the door behind himself. The engine makes a smooth rumble of reanimation and Aoba hears the tires on the pavement, but he doesn't look back once, nearly sprinting through the gate and up the steps of his home. Aoba's hands are shaking when he unlocks the door, nearly dropping his key twice.

"Oh, welcome home." Ren's voice carries through the open kitchen door and into the genkan, standing next to the table and holding his phone. "I was just finishing lun... Aoba?"

Ren raises his gaze just as Aoba flings himself through the doorway and into his chest, arms wound tight around Ren's back and tucking his head into his shoulder. His brother hugs him back on instinct and with a heavy inhale, a sob quakes Aoba's body.

The pressure cooker on the stove starts hissing. Ren makes more worried questions, but Aoba doesn't listen over his ragged voice, hot tears cascading down his face and into Ren's shirt.

Chapter Text

Aoba returns to work after lunch, albeit later than initially planned. Haga-san doesn't reprehend him, but he looks curious when Aoba simply chalks his tardiness up to a "surprise" he got while he was out. Then, he becomes worried as Aoba spends all of the afternoon listlessly staring at walls and zoning out while talking to customers, so oblivious he doesn't take notice of Haga-san's concern until his boss asks him if he needs to take the day off.

"I'm really alright," Aoba insists. Haga-san studies him with a frown, ultimately relenting, but not before establishing that they won't take any repairs for the day. Aoba can't fight him on that; he really might drop a screwdriver on his face with everything that's going on in his mind.

By the time Aoba's closing shop for the day, he's brimming with questions and restless energy. Various times over the day, when left idling, Aoba found himself staring down at the screen of his phone and now again, after rolling down the shutter door, Noiz's number on his contacts list stares back at Aoba. Finally, he relents and opens a message thread with Noiz.

To: Noiz

[8:58pm] hey. it's aoba. are you free now?

There's little more than five seconds between sending his message and seeing the blinking dots of a reply in progress on the other end. Aoba's right foot shakes compulsively.

From: Noiz

[8:58pm] I am. why?

Aoba stops for a moment, taking a breath, forcing his foot to stay still. He's nervous— too nervous, he thinks with a touch of irritation, steeling himself. Aoba takes the leap.

To: Noiz

[8:58pm] do you know mizuki's restaurant?

Noiz doesn't know, so Aoba explains the location to him. He's ready for Noiz to question the sudden and specific wish to meet him there, but instead, Noiz goes along with it easily. They arrange for Noiz to pick Aoba up at the auto shop, since he also offers to take him home later.

Aoba is zoning out in front of the shop when a familiar black car turns the corner of the street, yanking him out of his daze. Aoba was ready to wait for longer; his hand tightens on the strap of his shoulder bag as the car stops in front of him. The passenger window rolls down to reveal Noiz in the driver seat, tilting his head to look at him.

"Yo," Noiz greets as soon as Aoba opens the passenger door and slips in. The informal greeting and the absence of Noiz's three-piece suit immediately soothes Aoba, taking in his jeans and dark blue hoodie.

"Hey," Aoba replies. It feels like he should follow up with something, but his tongue ties up. The car pulls away from the curb and they depart to the restaurant.

All the questions that slowly drove him crazy over the course of the afternoon stay lodged in his throat. It doesn't matter that he's already gone through the worst of the shock and the emotion of seeing Noiz again; it still feels a lot like walking on eggshells, being with him.

However, Noiz's presence feels less and less overwhelming as houses and stores pass by the windows in flashes of light and shadow. Slowly, Aoba makes space for himself in his head and relaxes enough to be sure he won't trip over his words if he opens his mouth.

"You got here fast," Aoba comments with a smile, sounding a bit too out of breath for his liking. If Noiz notices it, he doesn't show any judgement.

"Did I? It was about ten minutes." Noiz's gaze shifts momentarily to the rear view mirror. "I could've made it in five if I really stepped on the gas."

Aoba laughs nervously. "That'd be dangerous. Don't do that."

Noiz huffs. "I won't. The streets here are as tiny as always and I've already realized pedestrians can't see the traffic lights or the crosswalk."

"Can't say I'm not of them," Aoba says, scratching the back of his neck. Kids in the island grow up seeing people run across the street without a care for traffic signs, only watching out for cars with the potential to run them over. It carries over to the point it's already cultural.

"That's dangerous. Don't do that," Noiz mirrors his earlier plea, though it's said with enough sincerity that Aoba feels embarrassed.

"I bet everything is much neater over at Platinum District," Aoba huffs like a retort with a wave of his hand.

"Probably," Noiz agrees, brow furrowing slightly in thought. "It was, before. I've only passed throught it once when I got out of the airport, so I don't really know."

Aoba looks hard at Noiz's profile. "So- you're living here? In the Old Residential District?"

"Yeah. I'm working here, too, so it only makes sense."

"You... have a job here already?"

Noiz hums positively. "Though I'm just setting things up now. I'm opening a cyber security company here."

"Oh..." Aoba looks away from Noiz's blank profile and the lights playing over the lines of his face.

So that's what Noiz is doing right now. Well, he certainly looked like a businessman earlier, with the expensive suit and car and the distant manners. It's still incredibly jarring, however, to see this Noiz and hear him talk about opening companies. The Noiz in Aoba's memory is wild, uncaring for appearances and responsibilities, his wealth invisible in his sloppily bandaged up scars and piercings. Aoba runs a quick math in his head. Noiz is twenty years old now.

"You're looking good," Noiz says out of the blue, his voice jolting Aoba out of his thoughts.

When the words register, Aoba babbles, "A-ah, uh..."

"Still with that same ugly mug, though."

"Wha...! What do you mean by that?"

A slight grin curls at the corner of Noiz's lips at Aoba's open offense. Noiz tosses him a glance. "That face, when you're thinking too hard about something. It looks the same."

Aoba huffs indignantly and looks away, face tingling with warmth. After a short moment of silence, he speaks up again.

"Y-you look good, too."

Noiz hums in consideration and they fall into silence.

As they turn the corner of the street towards Mizuki's restaurant, Aoba indicates the closest parking lot for Noiz. After he parks the car, they cross the street and Aoba leads Noiz into the ramen restaurant. The hum of soft conversations and the rich smell of broth embrace Aoba and Noiz as they cross the door.

Aoba doesn't know what he expected. In truth, he didn't think much of asking Noiz out to eat here, but as Mizuki raises his head to look at them from behind the counter, Aoba realizes he should've prepared for something.

And that something turns out to be Mizuki's jaw dropping just as fast as a number of fragile bowls in his hands. The ensuing crash causes a ripple of grimaces in the restaurant and Mizuki's parents whirling around from where they're preparing orders.

Noiz blinks unaffectedly as Mizuki's mother bows and apologizes for the ruckus to the patrons, shooting an ugly look to her son until he catches himself and makes an apologetic bow of his own. In the next moment, Mizuki swiftly disappears under the counter, most likely to assess the damage. Aoba's awkward smile is precariously held up.

"We should, uh, take one of the tables," Aoba suggests, moving towards one of the few tables away from the counter, lined against the wall adjacent to the door.

"I thought it was frowned upon to not sit at the counter in a ramen restaurant," Noiz says, but follows Aoba all the same.

"I've never heard of that," Aoba tells him with a laugh, though that sounds very much like something a pretentious restaurant would try to sell. He sits down at the table and shrugs. "Regardless, I think we should give Mizuki there some peace of mind while he works."

Mizuki is still nowhere to be seen, probably cleaning up his mess as stealthily as he can. Aoba can't hold it against him. I'm glad I wasn't holding anything fragile when I saw Noiz.

"I guess it's better if people aren't as close as to hear us."

"Huh?"

Noiz sits across from Aoba, looking straight at him. Aoba does his level best not to avoid such an open gaze on instinct.

"I'm assuming you didn't call me here just to eat together. I'm wrong?"

Aoba feels like he got caught doing something wrong. Yet, when he looks for any reproach or annoyance in Noiz's expression, he finds nothing. Of course there's none of that; despite Noiz's distant mien and the circumstances of their reunion, he didn't hide from Aoba. Noiz seems wholly aware of Aoba's feelings on the matter of his return, which lends even more weight to his decision. When Noiz came back and didn't shy away, but reached out to him, he opened himself to Aoba's scrutiny.

"No." Aoba breathes in with newfound determination. "You're not. I have... so much I want to know. Even more."

Noiz nods, nearly solemn. "Ask away."

Aoba opens his mouth, but a figure appears by their table.

"Sorry for coming to take your orders only now!" Sei says in lieu of a greeting, holding a small notepad and a pen. Aoba and Noiz turn to look at them. "We just had a little commotion with Mizuki. I wonder what was up with him."

"Oh, haha, don't worry about it." Aoba laughs awkwardly. It's kind of our fault, actually.

"Well, I'm really glad to see you again today! Uh..." Sei looks from Aoba to Noiz and it's obvious that they are curious. However, they stop at a smile and simply say, "What will you two want?"

Aoba inwardly sighs in relief. Sei and Noiz haven't ever seen each other, but Sei knows who Noiz is; they will be almost as shocked as their boyfriend to hear that this elusive person suddenly reappeared. Aoba places his usual order for a large shio ramen and Noiz orders a bowl of yakibuta ramen.

"That person looks familiar," Noiz comments after Sei walks away.

Aoba laughs a little, baffled. "How so?"

Noiz's eyes shift from Sei's departing figure to Aoba's face. "They look like you."

Aoba turns away from his sharp gaze for some reprieve. When their eyes meet again, Aoba's startled smile has become a caught one.

"Their name is Sei. They are my twin sibling."

Noiz's eyes widen momentarily. "Oh. That's right. I didn't recognize them with the long hair."

Aoba blinks at Noiz in shock and puzzlement. "Where do you remember Sei from?"

"From your head," Noiz explains simply, looking off at the counter. "I saw them in your memories. I almost completely forgot about them, though."

Aoba didn't account for Noiz knowing about Sei like that. Of course, he never forgot that singular moment when they were two streams of opposite currents flowing and disemboguing into a single ocean of thoughts and memories. In that moment, right before they were ripped apart, they knew one another the best in the world. There's no way Aoba will ever know how much Noiz saw inside him and Noiz is probably just as ignorant as to how much Aoba drew from that experience. It's been a long time, however.

"I guess I don't have to explain my circumstances with Sei and Ren, then," Aoba says, sheepish. Noiz nods, turning his attention to Aoba again.

"I forgot the details, but I know the gist of what you found out that day."

Aoba sighs, thinking back to the rush of everything then. "When the song played... There was so much happening. Sei showed up, Ren was taken and then we had to move and- I'm sorry. It took me too long to think of you. I thought you were safe at the hospital."

"It was just unfortunate. I heard the song in the radio and everything after that was a blur. You couldn't have done anything about it." Noiz breathes in deeply. "Well, you could, I guess. And you did, when you found me."

Aoba frowns, his gaze dropping from Noiz's. "And what happened... after Scrap failed?"

Noiz shrugs, playing with the saltshaker on their table. "I only know what I was able to deduce when I woke up. The first thing I registered was Virus' voice nearby. Then, as I heard him speak in German on the phone and Trip surfing through channels on the TV, I realized I wasn't in Midorijima anymore."

In sharp contrast with Noiz's nonchalance, Aoba is tense as he listens. On top of everything that happened, what with the Dye Music's influence and Scrap, he can't imagine how disorienting that must've been for Noiz.

"My immediate fear was that they got you too, because I only knew we were together before I blacked out. I pretended I was still asleep, listening in on their conversations until I confirmed you weren't with us. Just as soon as I made sure of that, they were gone."

Aoba's eyes open wide. "You... don't know where Virus and Trip are?"

"No. They tricked my father into believing someone had kidnapped us. Virus demanded a ransom for us, pretending to be the abductor. Then, as my parents were trying to get to us, they ran away with the money." Noiz huffs through his nose, shaking his head. "I didn't open my mouth when they asked where Virus and Trip were. My father only realized he'd been scammed when he saw those bastards' bank accounts were zeroed."

Aoba drops his gaze from Noiz's face and to the saltshaker rolling between his hands. To be honest, he was ready to never hear a thing about Virus and Trip again, but that's because he'd always assumed the same for Noiz. Now that he’s returned, Aoba seriously thinks of their whereabouts for the first time. Since they never tried to get their hands on him and Sei again, they must've found "fun" somewhere else or finally got themselves killed for their disgusting schemes.

"My father probably wouldn't have bent to their threat, but Virus and Trip made sure the right people heard about it." The saltshaker stops on the table with a soft thud and Noiz smiles darkly, sarcastic. It's nostalgic in a chilling way. "Who will want to do business with a man who leaves his own son to die with criminals when he has more than enough money to pay for his safety? Dogs know their owners well, after all. Even when it comes time to bite their hand."

Aoba recalls Noiz's father's alleged eagerness to cure Noiz's insensitivity to pain and all he did to try and accomplish that. While any paternal love from him seems to be twisted with egocentrism, Aoba has a feeling Virus and Trip didn't need to do that.

With that said, Aoba is extremely glad the "use" they found for Noiz wasn't anything truly dangerous for him.

"You were with your family this whole time, then?"

"Yeah."

Footsteps near their table and Sei serves them two bowls of ramen. Saying no more than the short introduction of each dish, they leave with a bow and a smile. Aoba flashes a smile back at his twin and Noiz continues.

"As soon as I was reintegrated into the family, I contacted Kaede. I didn't know what had happened after you used Scrap on me and I was afraid that Virus and Trip would try to make a grab for you again. I needed to know you were okay."

"I wish you would've let me have the same peace of mind," Aoba blurts out, a frown descending over his face. It tastes bitter in his mouth.

Guilt crosses Noiz's features, subtle but unmistakable. Aoba is startled by the novelty of it.

"I know. I won't play dumb after what happened in Scrap," Noiz says. "I knew how you'd feel if I just disappeared. But I..."

"Wait. Were you spying on me this whole time?" Aoba's voice goes as sharp as razor.

"No," Noiz answers smooth but firmly to Aoba's hackles rising. "I called Kaede only to raise the alarm on Virus and Trip being at large, to make sure they didn't hurt you and that I didn't hurt you in Scrap. I didn't want you to know about me and I made a point of not hearing about your life over the past four years."

The tension coiling Aoba up finally eases and his shoulders drop. The indignation has worn away, but he's still frustrated, hurt.

"... Why?"

Noiz picks up his chopsticks and snaps them apart, stirring absentmindedly into his ramen. Aoba looks down at his own bowl, inhaling the delicious smell and unable to muster any appetite.

"I made a decision when I ended up in that manor again," Noiz says and looks at Aoba, not piercingly. It's that open gaze he's slowly getting used to. "I wanted to be with you. There was nowhere in the world I'd rather be than in this island and that's because you're here."

Aoba swallows dry. Noiz drops his gaze again and keeps messing with the noodles in his bowl, never eating it. Just like a kid playing with his food.

"But... I was just a brat. All the money and power that made people turn to me belonged to my father. Even finding you—even that hand you extended to me was there due to my father's actions and that's why I couldn't take it. I couldn't face you before I became someone who controls his own life... So I played into my family's game."

Aoba narrows his eyes, crumpling his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I stopped making trouble. I studied hard, I started working at the company, I socialized with people I wouldn't otherwise care for and played the role of perfect son to my parents." Noiz stops for a moment, taking in Aoba's gaping and the question behind it. "It was boring as hell at first, but the fun came when they had to begrudgingly acknowledge me. I didn't allow them to find a fault with me, even as I was still their monster of a child."

Noiz recounts that with a smirk on his face and Aoba finally understands his logic, though he's still stunned. The chopsticks in Noiz's hand tighten on the hard-boiled egg in the ramen, tearing it into two.

"My father thought I was going to take the company after him. I never contradicted him, but since a long time ago, it was agreed between my younger brother and I that he would take the company. So when I was finally ready to come back, I let my father know I wasn't going to do what he wanted anymore." Noiz snorts and leans back on his seat, fingers relaxing on his chopsticks. Hazy green eyes navigate over the crowded counter. "My parents were never soft on me, even after I started playing along to them, so when I openly stopped, of course they were furious. There was nothing they could do, though; I had started setting aside my own money a long time ago and everything was ready for me to build my own business. I'm an adult, I did my obligations as a son and now, I'll live my life as I see fit."

Laughter bubbles up from the counter and glass cups clink in toasts. Away from it all, Aoba is transfixed by the intense shine of Noiz's jade-colored eyes.

"They have no power over me, not anymore."

"You... You're amazing," Aoba blurts out, but he doesn't try to take it back. It's the truth.

Noiz looks almost comically shocked, just like when they saw each other in Scratch's hangout. Red faintly dusts his cheeks, just as endearingly as in Aoba's fading memories, and Noiz blinks away. Finally, he lifts a thin curtain of noodles in his chopsticks and ladle, steam obscuring his features. Noiz slurps the noodles with gusto and while he's drinking some of the broth from the ladle, Aoba looks down at his own bowl and his mouth waters. It really is a sin to leave this food waiting any longer.

"Will you..."

"Mm?"

Aoba stops mid-chew and blinks up at Noiz, who's already looking at him. There's the softest perspiration on his face from the ramen's heat, blond baby-hairs clinging to his temples.

"Will you tell me about your last four years, too?"

The words hang in the air over them for a moment. Then, Aoba laughs a little, disconcerted.

"W-why do you want to know? You said it sufficed that I was okay."

Noiz looks down. "I always wanted to know. I got tired of trying not to imagine how your last year in school was, if you were sick, if you were happy... if you fell in love with someone. Those things made me want to drop everything in Berlin and get in the first plane back to this place."

A shallow crease forms between Aoba's eyebrows, lips thinning into a line as a most unwelcome warmth spreads across his face.

"When I started looking into basing my company here, one specific building for sale caught my attention. Not for the building itself, but because I recognized the name of the auto shop in front of it." Noiz huffs, raising Aoba a contemplative gaze. "And that alone... unsettled me more than anything else in four years. I called Kaede for the first time in ages to ask if you were still working there. I bought it when she confirmed it. That's all I know about who you are now."

Face burning hotter from embarrassment, Aoba mumbles, "You're such an idiot."

Noiz raises his eyebrows, his grin sharpening. "Wasn't I 'amazing' just a minute ago?"

Aoba huffs sullenly, but he straightens up when Noiz's expression morphs into seriousness.

"You should know this, Aoba. I still love you."

Aoba's eyes fly wide, his bottom lip dropping at the blatant statement. Of course, that was written between the lines of everything Noiz said, but time passes. Aoba thought, sticking his feet into the ground, that even if Noiz started all of this thinking dearly of him, surely after so long...

Noiz is unaffected, his eyes navigating over Aoba's face. "I love the Aoba who saved me four years ago and when I look at you and I see the things that stayed and the things that went away... it's not any different. It just makes me want to catch up to the time I lost. I want to know you again."

Aoba feels winded at such an earnest confession. It seems that, even though Noiz has grown tactical and personable, he's also seen a development in his blunt and shameless ways.

"What... What would you have done if you got here and I was with someone else?"

"So you're not?"

"You little..."

Noiz huffs at Aoba's ruffled feathers. "It didn't matter. I was going to win you back."

"Aren't you confident..." Aoba side-eyes Noiz, but he shakes his head.

"I had no intention of doing something that would make you hate me, of course. But I won't give up on you."

Noiz is completely serious as he says that. Aoba can only stare at him, tongue-tied. After a long while of simply looking at each other, which still seems to reveal new things every second, Noiz drops his gaze.

"You don't have to tell me about it now. Your past four years, that is. To be honest, I was really happy when you contacted me so soon. We can-"

"I will tell you," Aoba cuts him off. Noiz's eyes snap up to his face and Aoba feels it heat up from the intensity of his gaze. Aoba clears his throat. "After we are done eating."

Noiz regards him for a moment, then nods and hums his acquiescence with a slight smile. Aoba smiles, as well, and returns to his meal.

Aoba opens his eyes slowly, his vision filled with the blurry lines of his bedroom ceiling. Birdsong trickles into his ear from the balcony, sunlight barely choked down by the curtains.

The world comes to him in waves of sensory stimuli and images. The softness of his duvet, the glint of stifled sunrays onto the lightbulb on his ceiling, the warmth of his sleep-heavy body. Ceramic breaking, the smell of ramen. Noiz. Noiz.

Air is pulled sharply into Aoba's lungs as he bolts upright on the bed, eyes bulging out and arms trembling. For a moment, all he does is breathe erratically into the still air of the room, recollecting his thoughts. Then, with a jolt, Aoba tilts his head to the side and reaches for his phone, laying innofensively by his pillow.

When he gets past the lock screen, he realizes he left his messaging app open. Aoba's eyes travel down the texts in which he arranged to meet with Noiz in Mizuki's restaurant, until he reaches the very last one. He fell asleep while looking at it, Aoba remembers now.

From: Noiz

[11:47pm] I'm glad I got to see you and talk to you today. Goodnight.

Aoba stares at it for a long moment. Then, he lets out a long, soul-lifting sigh.

"Thank god."

The weather is mild today, perfect for Aoba's day off. Granny baked enough doughnuts for an army, so Aoba puts some of them in a basket and waves at her from the front door, letting his grandmother know he'll be back soon. As Aoba leaves, he distantly hears Ren and Clear's cackling upstairs, the latter pretending to know how to play the harmonica.

Aoba walks under the surprisingly amicable sunlight for a couple of minutes, cars and bikes rushing up and down the street as he sidesteps neighbors walking their pets on the sidewalk, exchanging greetings or nods if they are the congenial type. Aoba only has to turn the corner and knock on the wooden door of a yellow house. It opens to him almost readily and Aoba smiles.

"Aoba-chan!"

"Hello, mom."

The woman grins widely at him, arms open. Aoba hangs the basket on one arm and gives her a tight half-hug, his face nestling into her cascades of pale-pink hair.

"Come on in!" Haruka draws away and opens space for his entrance. Aoba steps into the genkan. "You just missed Sei-chan, they left to help at Michiru-san's restaurant."

"Oh, were they visiting, too?"

"No, Sei-chan slept over. Seems like they and Mizuki fought yesterday."

Aoba blinks in quick succession, alarmed. "That's... a bit concerning."

Haruka giggles behind a hand. "Not at all. The truth is that I heard the front door opening late at night and Mizuki's voice in the living room. The only door I heard after that was the guest room's. When I woke up, I saw them eating breakfast together in the kitchen and being as lovey-dovey as ever."

Aoba sighs, suddenly remembering the one time they had a squabble over Sei describing a video-game character as their "ideal type".

"I don't know why I worried about that idiot couple."

The woman laughs again, guiding him through the hallway and into the living room.

"Where's dad?" Aoba asks, looking around the colorful, almost cluttered room. Pictures from their almost twenty years of non-stop travelling cover the walls, weird and interesting knick-knacks sitting on shelves and around their TV.

"Oh, he's in the darkroom, as always," Haruka says. They sit on the sofa and Aoba rests the basket of doughnuts on the coffee table. She looks down at it with a smile and continues, "I'm sure he'll love to come down and have some of Mama's doughnuts. And see you, of course."

Aoba smiles back and reaches for one of the doughnuts. When his mother speaks up again, her tone is weighted.

"Oh, that's right. Ren-chan told me something concerning earlier."

"Huh? What was it?" Aoba asks, one eyebrow cocked up.

"He said you rushed into the house crying yesterday, and it was because you saw someone you hadn't seen in a long time..." Aoba makes a muffled squeak at the back of his throat and drops the doughnut back into the basket, his face warming up. Haruka doesn't mind him. "Someone you thought you'd never see again. I found weird that Ren-chan seemed pleased with it, but he didn't want to give me details. Was this person... someone you didn't want to see again?"

Aoba stares at his mother, his lips moving without a second thought.

"He's the person I've wanted to see the most."

Haruka's light-grey eyes widen, going bright.

"But..." Aoba mumbles, head downcast as he clutches at the fabric of his pants. "It's been a long time since he disappeared. I told dad about that, but there was someone I used Scrap on and failed. This person... because we were both incapacitated, he was taken away by dangerous people. I've always been afraid that he was killed or was in a terrible situation somewhere. I've been living with that fear and guilt and... the longing, for all I lost when he disappeared. What we lost."

"I had no idea," Haruka starts saying, very low, but Aoba is not done yet.

"And now he comes back suddenly and he's so different, but he's alive and well, and it's like nothing's changed. But it did change and it's like all those years I spent trying to get over his loss were nothing. I'm... so happy, but it also hurts. And I want to get frustrated at him for giving me no sign of life, but I'm actually frustrated at myself for being so affected by his absence still."

Aoba keeps his eyes glued to his hands on his lap. After silence stretches for what feels like too long, he slowly looks up. His mother is smiling kindly at him.

"Have you two talked things out yet?"

Aoba gulps, his throat incredibly dry. "Some... somewhat. We had dinner last night and he told me everything he got up to these past four years. Because he asked, I told him about what I've been doing, too, but... It's unbelievable how much he grew up in this time." Aoba huffs out a bitter laugh, eyes wandering around the crown of his mother's head. "When I look at him, it's like I stagnated."

"You're not serious," Haruka chastises him, a crease forming in her forehead. "You've grown so much! You took on more responsibilities at your work, improved your control over Scrap and personally helped so many people affected by Dye Music!"

"Uhh, I don't think..."

"No no, you can't undermine the importance of that! You were hard at work almost every day for three years! No matter where they were, you opened their hearts and brought them back to their families and friends." Haruka takes his hands in her own, eyes flashing passionately. "I saw how that changed your own heart, as well, and for the best. You've done your fair share of amazing things, Aoba-chan, and if he didn't tell you that, he's an idiot."

Aoba blinks at his mother's mighty pout before bursting into laughter. Haruka is over fourty years old now, lines of age just starting to appear in the corners of her eyes and lips, but Granny says she behaves the same she did at twenty. She might have grown even more capricious, the old lady once sighed as her daughter fussed over something inconsequential.

"Well, did he?" Haruka demands to know as Aoba recomposes himself.

"He did," Aoba sighs, leaning back on the sofa. "But I said he was amazing, as well, so I just took it as being polite. He's... really polite now."

Haruka gives him a look of equal parts pity and impatience. Aoba slowly slips his hands out of her grasp and interlaces his fingers over his lap.

"He said he still loves me. That, even though we are changed, he feels the same." Aoba slouches, face warming up ever so slightly. "But I don't know what I want. He disappeared for so long and I know he had his reasons, but... I'm afraid it'll always hurt like this, being around him."

Haruka stays quiet for a moment, then breathes in deeply and shuffles closer to her son.

"Aoba-chan. I told you before, right? About how hard it was to return once too much time had passed." Haruka ducks her head, seeking out Aoba's gaze. When he finally looks at her, she continues. "We were terrified of what you boys thought of us after being away for so long. But then, when we heard about that incident..."

"Yes." Aoba nods, remembering their parents' explanations when they returned three years ago, one year after Dye Music was played throughout Midorijima and left destruction in its wake.

"We didn't tell you that before, but your father wanted to come back as soon as we heard about it. I made him wait longer before we returned." Aoba blinks at her, surprised. Haruka drops her gaze. "I was worried about you, of course, but I was also terrified that something like twenty-two years ago was happening again in this island, that Nine would have to face those painful memories. I could only pray and trust that Mama and Haga-san would be able to protect you while I tried to protect Nine."

Haruka smiles, almost wistful, but a hint of something like heartache clouds her features. Aoba listens avidly as she continues.

"I hope you won't think I did that because I love him more than you two. I don't measure my love for Nine and you, and I know he doesn't, either. Over these twenty years, we had to make choices we didn't want to. We decided it was for the best that Sei and you were separated, as much as it hurt me that they wouldn't know me as their mother. Nine left because he was in too much pain and I followed him because I couldn't let him go alone. So many times, we had to rely on Mama to take care of you and Ren, and I'm not proud of that, but I was trying to protect everyone's hearts... and my own. It hasn't been easy, has it?"

Aoba's mother laughs out her words, but there's no humor to them. Aoba is the one to grab her hands this time, as she closes her eyes to hide and try to deter her tears. When she speaks up again, her smile is genuine.

"But we did come back, at last. I was almost your age when I learned that love hurts, Aoba-chan. It took me another twenty years to learn that, even so, love heals as well. It's a messy thing like that, because we humans are messy things. But no matter how lost we get in our mistakes and vices, love will definitely find its way back to you."

"There was nowhere in the world I'd rather be than in this island and that's because you're here."

Aoba’s cheeks burn and he drops his head, shoulders shooting up to his ears. Haruka laughs brightly, wiping the corners of her eyes.

"Don't torture yourself for twenty years, Aoba-chan. It's not that you don't know what you want—you're scared of what you want. Don't let the tight curves and the long travel turn you away from what's waiting at the end of the road."

The click and creak of a door opening comes from upstairs. Aoba is still staring at his mother's face as she looks up at the ceiling with a fond grin.

"Nine finally caught the smell of Mama's doughnuts. We'd better grab one each before he scarfs down the whole basket."

Aoba lets out an exhale and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

"Do you want me to take over from here?" Ren offers from the side.

"No," Aoba huffs, stubborn, and reaches out for the sliding widow above the sink. "I'm okay. It's just really hot in here."

Aoba punctuates the statement with the motion as he opens the small widow. The night breeze that comes into the kitchen is very slight and barely felt by Aoba, the steam from the big pan on the stove pressing at his face.

"You're doing really well for someone who's learning from scratch. You don't need to go overboard."

"I'm not. Really!" Aoba laughs at Ren's doubtful look. Clear echoes him from the table, his snickering light and airy. "I have to expand my repertoire, it'll be useless if I don't remember how to cook it later, you know?"

"Aoba-san, your phone is vibrating," Clear calls out. Aoba can just so hear it over the sizzling of the pan.

"Just check who it is for me, please," Aoba says distractedly, focused on dinner.

"It's... oh. Wilhelm-san."

The name doesn't register in Aoba's brain for three full seconds. Then, he spins around so fast he nearly tosses the pan off the stove if Ren didn't grab the handle just in time.

"Noiz?! Why now..." Aoba stumbles towards the table, grabbing the phone from Clear's hand. Indeed, Noiz's name is flashing on the screen. Aoba's eyes wander away from it in his nervousness and snag on the barely concealed excitement in Clear's wide smile.

"What?" Aoba questions. Clear blinks, looking embarrassed, and covers his mouth with a hand.

"Sorry, it's just... I'm so happy! I knew Wilhelm-san was back but to see it like this..."

"How did you know?"

"Ren-san told me."

Aoba tosses a dirty look at Ren, who doesn't give any indication that he's noticed it. First their mother, now Clear. You damn gossiper Ren.

"It'll stop ringing, Aoba-san," Clear alerts him. Aoba panics and thumbs at the receive button on the screen without another thought.

"... Hello?" Aoba greets, sounding shrill even to his ears.

"Hey," Noiz says on the other end. Aoba tenses up hearing Noiz's voice over the phone; it sends goosebumps rippling through his skin in a way their texts have not. "Bad time?"

Yes. "No. W-what do you need?"

"I'm at your front door. Come open it for me?"

Aoba freezes in the spot. Then, he blows up, face nearly going up in flames.

"What?! You didn't tell me anything about coming here!"

"I'm telling you now, though."

Aoba turns to his reflection on the refrigerator. Even without that, he knows how he looks; sweaty and probably stinky, his tied-up hair disheveled and ratty clothes crumpled and definitely unfashionable.

"Is that no good?" Noiz asks, somehow sounding in lower spirits even as he maintains his trademark monotone. Aoba's heart staggers on a beat.

"I-it's okay. I'll be right there."

"Okay."

There's a soft click and the line goes dead. Two stares drill into Aoba as he stands stock-still in the middle of the kitchen for one second, then two, then three. Ren and Clear flinch as Aoba seems to come back to life and walks to the sink, tossing cool water on his face and pawing for the nearest hand towel to dry it. Without a word, Aoba leaves the kitchen in a hurried march, blindly trying to fix his hair and clothes. Clear and Ren exchange a look as the door slides shut.

Noiz looks perfectly innocent when Aoba opens the front door. Rather, well, he looks perfect. The endearingly ruffled hair, the fit jeans and rolled-up sleeves of his blue dress shirt... Aoba feels like a rat that just climbed out of a trash can.

"Yo," Noiz greets Aoba, who's itching to get the man to look anywhere else but at him.

"Hey... Uh, come on in." Aoba steps back as Noiz acquiesces, walking into the genkan and looking all around.

Aoba closes the front door and leads them through the hallway. Before they reach the kitchen, however, he hears a light huff of laughter behind him. Aoba looks over his shoulder and finds Noiz smiling at the walls.

"W-what is it?" Aoba asks, vaguely feeling like he's been slapped.

The corner of Noiz's lips curls up further before relaxing. "I just thought everything looks the same."

Aoba's stare lingers for a moment longer, but he turns his gaze to the kitchen door again. There's the softest tug at the corner of his lips before he slides the door open.

"Wilhelm-san!" Clear exclaims, shooting up to his feet as soon as Noiz emerges from behind Aoba.

"You..." Noiz blinks, eyes marginally wider. Clear blinks back at him, expectant.

Noiz narrows his eyes.

"... What’s your name, again?"

"It's Clear, Cle-ar!" The young man nearly shrieks, sounding affronted. Ren laughs quietly from the stove, glancing at his boyfriend with an indulgent smile. "I can't believe you wouldn't remember your classmate, Wilhelm-san!"

"I remember you just fine. Names are something else altogether." Noiz shrugs, then his gaze and Ren's meet.

Without a word, they nod at each other in acknowledgement. A mirror image from four years ago. Aoba shakes his head with a grin.

"What's funny?" Noiz asks, not irritated but rather interested. Aoba turns his face away, unable to purge the curve of his lips.

"Nothing. Just wait at the table with Clear. I'll be done with dinner in a little bit."

Aoba turns his back to Noiz, taking Ren's place in front of the stove. There's a brief screech of a chair's legs against the floor behind him.

"You're the one cooking?" Noiz questions and Aoba huffs through his nose.

"Yep. Worried?"

"No. Maybe you could teach me one of these days."

"Wha-" Aoba chokes on his own breath. Ren side-eyes his brother with one eyebrow raised as Aoba tries to cough inconspicuously into his hand.

"I'm not good enough to teach anyone," Aoba says gruffly after recomposing himself. "Ren is teaching me right now, even."

"You just didn't know any squid dishes," Ren pipes up, leaning his hip on the sink. "Your okonomiyaki when I came home was great. You're more than good enough to teach."

"Gee, thanks, nii-san." Aoba glares at Ren, although he's blushing at the high compliment.

Ren smiles knowingly at his brother before leaving his side, taking a chair at the table. While placing the fried noodles with the mix in the pan, Aoba listens to Clear striking up conversation with Noiz, who doesn't sound as averse to it as Aoba would've thought before. While Noiz doesn't talk much for himself, Clear is more than eager to share about what he's been up to.

A thud comes from the hallway, followed by footsteps. Aoba turns in time to see his grandmother open the kitchen door.

"Granny," Ren sighs in a chiding tone, "I told you to let me know when you wanted to come back. I was going to pick you up."

"Oh, shush," Granny promptly retorts, lips crumpled in a line. "I don't need a bodyguard to walk a few streets home. I passed by Haruka's on my way and she sent you these."

On the table, Granny sets down a basket—the same Aoba took to his mother in the early afternoon, except it's now filled with cookie bars. Clear coos in awe, peering into the basket.

"I really thought I saw an unfamiliar pair of shoes in the genkan," Granny says and Aoba realizes her eyes are on Noiz. The young man takes her gaze serenely before bowing his head.

"I'm glad to see you're doing well, grandma."

Granny blinks. Aoba makes a low squeak from the back of his throat. Ren silently puts a hand on Clear's shoulder as his boyfriend seems about to eject from his chair and into the stratosphere.

"Well, you sure look different," Granny huffs after a significant pause. "Whatever happened to the piercings?"

Noiz shrugs. "Got rid of them. I had a change of heart."

Granny smiles cryptically. "It seems like you're not that different, after all. Don't forget the way to our house again." Aoba jumps as his grandmother's eyes land on him for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

Silence follows the thud of the door closing. Then, Ren speaks up.

"Aoba, the food will burn."

"Fuck."

The front door slides closed under Aoba's push. Noiz waits until he turns around and, together, they walk down the steps and stop at the gate. Aoba struggles with something to say while Noiz takes a step further into the street and turns back to him. Not for the first time and likely on purpose, Noiz saves him the trouble.

"Thanks for having me. The ika yakisoba was really good."

Aoba blinks owlishly at him, face tingling up with warmth. "Thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

"I was serious, you know."

"Huh? About what?"

Noiz squares him with a steadfast gaze. "You could teach me how to cook."

Aoba laughs, disconcerted, and turns his face away. "You're kidding, right? I bet you're a better cook than me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Uh, I don't know. You just look so capable."

Aoba stares hard into the nearest potted plant with the ghost of a laugh still in his lips. The crickets are all that can be heard for too long a time, so just as Aoba is glancing questioningly at Noiz, he sees him huff bitterly and take a step back.

"Looks like I dug my own grave."

"Huh?"

Noiz's eyes wander to the house behind Aoba. "Back in Berlin, I had to put up a facade for my parents and their friends. I got so good at keeping it up to the point it's almost second nature now." A frown clouds Noiz's expression with a mix of self-deprecation and frustration. He looks back at Aoba. "I wanted you to think of me as an adult, but it looks like I'm only creating distance between us."

"Noiz..."

"It's pathetic," Noiz sighs. "I thought I had finally caught up to you, but here I am, still lagging behind."

"What are you saying...?" Aoba's laughing question is cut short by Noiz's fingertips on his forehead.

"You are the capable one, Aoba."

Aoba holds his breath as Noiz pushes a lock of his hair away from his face. He's smiling softer than Aoba has ever seen.

"I don't cook at all. Never bothered to try; I could just order fast food if I didn't want the food at the manor. I was going to order in today, as well, but when I remembered our dinner yesterday, I realized I wanted to eat with you again."

Noiz's hand falls away from Aoba's face. A crease appears between his eyebrows, turning his smile into an aching thing.

"I thought I had become more patient, but every time I look at your face, I just want to look longer. Everything you told me about your life up to now and your kindness to me despite everything… I just want to-"

Noiz steps closer, eyes glinting dully in the dim light and Aoba freezes like prey under the scrutiny of a predator. Aoba is afraid that, if Noiz kisses him now like he did in that rooftop years ago, he will just cry from sheer shock. However, Noiz simply brings his arms around Aoba and holds him tight, blond head nestled next to Aoba’s. It's not a shock, but it's so sweet and warm it hurts.

Oh. I might just cry anyway.

"We're fucking idiots," Aoba blurts out, to which Noiz laughs. It shakes Aoba to the core.

"Yeah. Seems like these four years did nothing for us. Is that okay?"

Aoba raises his own arms tentatively. The palms of his hands press onto Noiz's back and at last, he tightens his embrace around the other man.

"... Mm. I think that's okay."

Aoba's hair is still wet from his shower, sticking to his neck and soaking his shirt. Noiz's face is probably wet from it, as well. The crickets are still yelling from the shadows and mosquitoes are biting every exposed part of their skin. There's nothing beautiful or special about this moment, except that Aoba thought he'd never get to hug Noiz like this after he was taken away. Except this is the first time they have ever hugged like this, because the ground crumbled beneath them before they got the chance to do that.

Four years of silence weren't enough to erase the feelings fostered in two months and two days aren't enough to rebuild what was neglected for four years. Time is all humans are ever running out of and Aoba is suddenly thankful for the strange assymetry of it. Noiz turned away from the chance to feel and the person he loved to face the family he loathed. Now, Aoba will turn away from the peaceful and uncomplicated routine he settled into as he stares at everything Noiz's return represents: Joy. Relief. Pain. Change. Objectively, their choices make no sense, but it led to this moment: both of them together, adults who understand that avoiding pain or desiring pain should not be the driving force of one's life.

Noiz and Aoba are still virtual strangers. Aoba's fingertips are still trembling and Noiz still wants more than he can have. Things aren't okay. It really is mysterious, though; this hug which hurts and soothes at the same time, it infuses Aoba with a certainty that, eventually, they will be okay.

In a summer night not unlike the one when it closed, Aoba allows his heart to open again.

FIN

Chapter Text

[Click on each title to go to each extra]

1: Alice (Chapter 4.5)

- Chapter posted between August and December of 2017 as a "breather". The story takes place over ten years previous to the events of the main story. Warning for animal death.

2: That Night of Obon

- The festival night when Clear confesses, through Ren's eyes.

3: Old Habit

- Mizuki makes a surprise visit to Sei in Miyazaki and finds that he knows less than he thought about Sei's life away from him. Warning for semi-graphic description of sexual assault.

4: Kiss Me

- On the day Noiz returns to Midorijima, Akira disappears from the Scratch hangout. Takato is determined to find out what's happening. Warning for non-consented kissing.

5: Their Way of Living

- A new life and a new game for Virus and Trip, as they snake their hands into a new family. Warning for explicit sexual content, mentions of child sexual abuse (not committed by them) and infidelity.

6: To Be Free

- Noiz and Aoba grow closer as time goes on. As it does, Noiz learns the depths to which Aoba was affected by his actions four years ago and they make a promise.

Extra 1: Alice (Chapter 4.5)

Mizuki gets attached to fragile-looking things; Ren says it awakens his protective instincts. That's the reason why, at seven years old, he rescued a rabbit during a community-organized camping trip.

At least, he tried to rescue it. The thing is... the small critter was wild, as cute as it looked.

"Like I said, just leave it alone," Koujaku tried to reason again, only a year older than the other three boys but forced to act as the voice of reason regularly. That is, when he wasn't stirring up trouble himself.

Mizuki frowned. "It's so cute, though! Isn't it cute, Aoba?"

"Yep! So fluffy..." Aoba muttered, reaching a hand to the brown rabbit squirming in Mizuki's hold. Over Aoba's shoulder, Mizuki tossed a wicked grin towards Koujaku; he knew exactly how weak that guy was to Aoba's whims.

The older boy rolled his eyes and pulled Aoba back just as the restrained animal snapped its teeth at his small fingers. Aoba yelped.

"You should let him go. Everyone will be missing us soon," Ren said, always steadfast even at the tender age of seven. The role of "voice of reason" usually went to him when Koujaku couldn't be trusted.

"'Him'? It's a 'him'?" Mizuki trilled, sloppily lifting the rabbit over his face in an attempt to see its nether parts.

"Oi, careful-"

The rabbit pushed off from Mizuki's grasp and jumped on his face, using it as a trampoline to skyrocket into the nearest bushes. Mizuki gave a garbled yell. Aoba had his mouth open wide in surprise and excitement for the interesting scene unfolding before him. Koujaku and Ren looked utterly unimpressed.

What none of them expected was for Mizuki to automatically jump into the bushes and the unknown woods after the rabbit.

"Miz... That idiot-!" Koujaku tensed and nearly moved to follow the redhead boy, but then he glanced back at Ren and Aoba, blinking at the spot in the grass Mizuki had left behind. Koujaku sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Okay, first of all, I gotta figure out how to get you two back to Tae-san. If they didn't get to the camping site yet, perhaps we can get this done without anyone knowing we snuck away..." Koujaku's words gradually turned inwards, reflective.

"I have a map with me," Ren announced, fishing out a small leaflet from his shorts' pocket. Koujaku raised his brows at the small boy and stepped closer, leaning over the piece of paper with him.

"That's impressive. I didn't think of bringing one with me."

"Maybe you should just have some foresight, Koujaku."

"Ugh..." Koujaku elected to say nothing to that. Ren's owlish gaze suggested he didn't mean any offense, which was that much more offensive.

"I can't read it well but I think we left them around this stretch here," Ren suggested, pointing at a certain part of the path they were following. Koujaku nodded in agreement and looked up at the sky, bright sun peeking through the ceiling of leaves.

"My best guess is we left them around thirty minutes ago. It's almost four p.m. now... they must be close to the camping site. So we should go in this direction here," Koujaku ran his index finger from the point he guesstimated they were in to another point back to their original trail, "and we'll find them, easy-peasy!"

Ren nodded and Koujaku stepped back, giving a satisfied smile.

"Right, let's go as fast as we can. Ready to run, Aoba... Aoba?"

Taking in Koujaku's startled expression, Ren turned to look over his shoulder. Behind him, there were only stones, tall grass and trees to go for miles. A howl sounded far away, echoing through the forest.

Had Aoba not been fascinated by the quiet but constant movement of life around him, he would be worried about being alone in the forest and quite clearly not finding Mizuki's trail. But, as it was, he was unable to avert his eyes from the butterflies fluttering by his head, unable to look away from the mesmerizing spill of sunlight through the rutty cover of trees high above.

There was birdsong, but no birds in sight; it was like those lights were the ones singing to him. Something this beautiful to see had to sound beautiful to the ears as well, Aoba thought, round cheeks flushed pink with glee. Was there a name for those lights?

If Aoba were to think of the dense foliage above him as clouds, he could think of one name.

"Angel's ladder..." he muttered. That was what Koujaku's mom said every time summer came around and she would look up at the sky in the afternoon, after it rained and the sun broke through the clouds.

Copying her, Aoba raised one hand and let the sunlight slip through the gaps between his fingers. The dust glittering in the beams of light moved as though it was alive.

A rustle to Aoba's left caused him to snap his head towards the noise. And then he remembered he should be looking for Mizuki.

Aoba let his hand fall and moved in the general direction of the ruckus, expecting to find Mizuki possibly fallen into some bushes after entangling himself in spider webs. It would serve him right for running without notice; Aoba thought and snickered to himself.

However, there was no sign of Mizuki or even the rabbit for the next few minutes of his trek. Aoba stopped to stare at an organized queue of ants carrying pieces of leaves on their backs, crawling down the rough bark of a tree. So entranced Aoba was, he got a scare when a deer and a couple of fawns ran by the corner of his vision at a distressed gallop.

The animals disappeared amid the large tree trunks, and Aoba spared a glance in the direction they had come from. The sun descended steadily in the horizon, and the lighting in the forest turned everything into molten gold. Aoba rubbed his sweaty palms in the legs of his cargo shorts and, silently, he started moving faster.

Time seemed to run the same impatient, fearful steps of that deer family. Maybe it was as scared of the dark as Aoba started to feel, hearing new sounds echoing through the forest. The cawing and rattling of crows, crickets chirping in the tall grass, some faint whistling and rustling to which Aoba couldn't seem to find a source. Aoba pursed his lips and clutched at the thick fabric of his shorts. No, he wasn't scared. And if he cried here, Mizuki would make fun of him.

Just as Aoba thought that, something big jumped from behind the trees right in front of him, wrenching a scream from the smaller boy.

A pair of startled green eyes turned to Aoba.

"... Mizuki!" the small boy nearly yelled in relief, a hand on his pounding chest.

"Aoba... what are you doing here?" Mizuki blinked at him, one brow cocked up.

Aoba puffed up his chest in annoyance. "I was looking for you, stupid! Why did you run off like that?!"

Mizuki raised his hands, placating. "Hey, hey, calm down. I can find my way back just fine, no need for anyone to come after me."

"Then, can we just go back already? It's getting dark."

"Didn't you want to get the rabbit too?"

Aoba pouted. He did think a pet rabbit would be pretty cool, but he didn't want to be alone in the forest at nighttime. And he wanted Mizuki to come with him to camp, not to take him back because he'd be afraid.

Before Aoba could form a convincing argument, Mizuki's eyes bulged at something behind Aoba, letting out a gasp. Aoba turned just in time to see the aforementioned rabbit staring at them from a few meters away, and then bolting as soon as Mizuki shouldered past Aoba, who shouted for him. Groaning impatiently, he followed after Mizuki's silhouette.

The trees passed by them in a blurred rush of greens and browns. Though it seemed to Aoba as if they ran for an hour, his petite legs couldn't have realistically lasted him more than three minutes. The same could be said for Mizuki, whose steps slowed to a jog until he ultimately doubled up, hands on his knees and panting for breath. Aoba nearly toppled over Mizuki in his hasty halt.

It was a small window of time in which Mizuki had his head down, pulling air into his lungs. Only Aoba could've looked at the open space before them, light spilling diagonally through the leaves and onto the bloodied grass. A fox stared with beady black eyes at Aoba, jaw straining around a familiar brown rabbit's neck. Its head lolled to the side, lifeless.

Aoba couldn't avert his eyes even as the fox turned around and disappeared into the bushes.

"...ba? Aoba? Are you alright?"

How many minutes had he spent staring into the empty space? Aoba blinked at Mizuki's worried face, and his eyes stung at how long he'd gone unblinking. Mizuki sighed and gave a cursory glance around; he didn't seem to notice the faint red splatters on the ground.

"You know what, let's just go already. If you got hurt or sick I'd never hear the end of it from mom. Or worst, Tae-san."

Aoba didn't protest and didn't say anything about the rabbit to Mizuki. Not because he wanted to protect his friend; he didn't think it through like that. It was just that, somehow, it seemed to him as if he'd seen something he shouldn't have. They shouldn't have been there in the first place, after all.

Mizuki put a hand on Aoba's shoulder and led him away. Aoba looked over his shoulder one last time. The beams of sunlight, the angel's ladders, were weaning into nothingness. In the dark, red blood turned black and, slowly, it dried. Aoba thought he should think of another name for those lights; the clouds and the bed of leaves above their heads were fundamentally different, he started to realize.

It was dark by the time they reunited with Ren and Koujaku. It was the first and only time in Aoba's life he'd ever seen his brother so frazzled. Koujaku looked this close to bursting into tears. Mizuki brushed off their worries with a happy-go-lucky smile, but it quickly drained from his face when they got to camp and his mom was waiting for them, hands on her waist. Tae-san started yelling angrily on sight. Koujaku's mom ran to hug him and cover his face with kisses.

Mizuki gave Koujaku a side-glare as he was loudly and thoroughly berated by his mother, who, accurately, declared it had to be his idea to sneak away from everyone.

Though the rabbit's death was a shocking sight for the seven-year-old Aoba, it didn't take long for him to learn there was nothing abnormal in what he'd seen. It was nature, simply.

The camping trip as a whole ends up being nothing out of the ordinary and Aoba forgets all about it soon enough. Mizuki eventually recues a female Akita Inu, whom he names Miraku ("Isn't she a miracle?! So Miraku!" Mizuki had declared. "Sure, Mizuki. A beautiful name," Ren answered, and no one could tell whether he was being serious or not.)

Aoba forgets, but he doesn't step foot into the forest ever again.

~❈~

Extra 2: That Night of Obon

"I like you, Ren-san."

The summer festival's warm lights bathe Clear whole, sparkling in his rosy eyes even as they stand away from the main path. Ren stares at him, frozen. The more seconds trickle by in silence, the more visibly nervous Clear becomes. As Ren remains tight-lipped, Clear rushes to fill the void, looking down at his feet.

"I-I don't know if I needed to tell you. I probably haven't been the best at hiding how I feel, have I? Ever since that day... when I hurt my wrist and you helped me, I've been falling harder for you, Ren-san." Clear scratches the back of his head with a bashful smile, then turns his eyes up to Ren again, expectant. Ren swallows dry.

"I guess what I want to know is... how do you feel about me, Ren-san?"

It's like a lit flame underneath Ren's chest, like smoke trapped in his ribcage. It's suffocating. If he were to open his mouth now, surrounded on all sides by the light of Clear's crystalline eyes, he will spill everything, but he can't. This is everything Ren longed and dreaded to hear.

Because they were already out of time the moment they fell in love with each other.

"Why... are you saying nothing?"

Ren swallows again and turns his gaze away. It makes it a little easier.

"I'm sorry, Clear."

A pause follows. Then, Clear exhales, "What are you apologizing for? That can't be your answer."

Ren bows his head, biting his bottom lip.

"Are you apologizing for not reciprocating my feelings? I don't want apologies for that." Clear steps closer, tilting his head as to try and capture Ren's avoidant gaze, failing to do so. "... You know, Ren-san. It wasn't easy... working up the courage to tell you this and potentially have you hate me."

Ren's eyes widen, still fixed on the ground. "That... I wouldn't..."

When Ren remains reticent, Clear finally nods and speaks up again, the slightest of smiles in his voice.

"Yes. That was my fear, but in truth, I knew that wouldn't happen even if I were to be rejected. It was only after I thought of that and conquered my anxiety that I decided to confess to you." Clear's smile opens wider, unbearably sweet. "After all, it's that kindness and honesty of yours that made me fall in love. So... I can't walk away with a vague apology."

Ren opens his mouth, then closes it again. The words hang from his tongue, the rejection to put Clear at bay and protect him from this love that's sure to be a waste of his time, but they never materialize. Because it's a lie and Ren never did well with lies.

No, Ren denies to himself, self-deprecating. Rather than that, he's still selfishly hoping to take Clear for himself, even though Clear is younger and naïve and Ren will be gone to university by next year.

"Ren-san?" Clear calls out softly after a while.

Ren frowns at his feet. "I... can't say it."

Clear takes the collar of Ren's shirt with both hands, finally managing to yank his stunned gaze his way.

"Why are you doing this?" Clear pleads with him, voice pitching high but not as high as to alert the people enjoying the festival just a couple meters away. "I won't think badly of you for rejecting me—in fact, you're being far crueler by leaving me hanging like this!"

Ren wants to turns his face away again, but he's pinned down by Clear's gaze. The shine, transparency and color of them, like stained glass, has always had this power of holding Ren captive. Looking at them as they are now, though, stormy and brimming with unshed tears, for his fault, only brings Ren pain.

"You should forget about me, Clear."

Clear gapes at him for half a second, long enough time for Ren to feel both chastised and ashamed.

"How could I?" Clear breathes out. "You're leaving me to forever wonder if this is just you being too gentle to say something hurtful or... maybe you..." 

"What's happening here?" A voice questions from the main path and they immediately hush, turning to the person even if they already know who's there.

Aoba regards them in blatant suspicion, a box of takoyaki in his hands. That's right; they were waiting for Aoba to come back from the food stands when Clear suddenly pulled him to the side.

"Um..." Aoba intejects when they fail to explain themselves.

"It's nothing," Ren says, looking at something over Aoba's head instead of his narrowed eyes. Clear's hands slips away from the collar of his shirt.

"Clear," Aoba starts, but Clear interrupts him.

"Sorry, Aoba-san. It's getting late, so I'll leave for tonight."

It cuts through Ren; the ill-concealed trembling of Clear's voice mixed with the fake smile in it and the increasing distance between them as he steps away from Ren, walks back to the main path and leaves. Ren doesn't have the courage to try and look at him, even if it might be the last time. Clear has to hate him now. Ren did the best for him, though.

I did the right thing. Didn't I?

"What the fuck?" Aoba nearly yells at him, eyes wide. Ren looks at his brother's bewildered face and sighs.

"No, no, no. You're not clamming up on me," Aoba rattles before he can say anything, agitated. "I know you said something to Clear."

Ren throws a hand over his brow, feeling exhausted. "Stop it. I already regret this, but it's the right thing to do."

"Oh, no. When you say that kind of thing, it means you did something stupid."

"Aoba..."

The mock-pained pinch in Aoba's expression dissolves. "What was it?" he asks gently. Ren's shoulders drop at the softening of his voice alone, not feeling as scrutinized anymore, though he's still reluctant to explain himself.

"Clear... he does like me, after all," Ren says, barely audible as he turns his face away.

Silence follows—one heavy with judgement, at that. Ren closes his hands in fists.

Aoba shows a disconcerted smile. "I... I thought that was already established?"

Ren turns a mildly frustrated look at his brother. "Of course not. I told you; even if he's kind to me... it's not different from how he acts towards everyone else."

"Yeah, that's what you said during Scrap," Aoba remembers, eyebrows knitted together, "but it's been two months. You and Clear got closer, too, so I thought for sure..."

Ren lets his gaze wander away guiltily as Aoba trails off.

"You never talked to him," Aoba says in realization, looking horrified. "But he just confessed. Right?"

"Yes."

Aoba frowns critically. "You don't sound like you told him you feel the same way."

Ren heaves a sigh. With it, comes out everything that's been eating at him.

"I'll be gone in a few months. Kyushu University is my first choice, and even if I don't get in, I'll still leave the island." Ren's gaze roams around the crowds navigating the festival as he talks. In the main path, a couple walks hand-in-hand, all smiles and looking for all like they're off in their own world. "Clear is only fifteen and in his first year. He will be here for at least two more years. I don't want to make him feel like he's tied to me, or that he has to wait for me."

Aoba makes no interruptions and says nothing for a long time. Then, he asks:

"Did you give him a choice to decide for himself?"

Ren watches as the couple disappears in the mass of people. Having Clear decide by himself... Ren knows the result of that, which is why he pushed Clear away. They might have some temporary happiness, but when Ren leaves, Clear will surely suffer and even ultimately begrudge him for trapping him.

"Go after him right now and tell him the truth," Aoba orders.

Ren frowns at the glimmering festival. "But..."

"No." Aoba crowds his vision, startling Ren as he scowls as fiercely as his voice is sharp. "Clear may be younger, but he's not as gullible as you're making him out to be. You can tell him about your feelings as well as your concerns for him and you two can decide. Together."

Ren gapes at Aoba. No, he didn't think Clear was gullible, but... All this time, he was trying to protect Clear from his selfishness, trying to guide him towards some long-term happiness even if it meant momentarily hurting him. By doing this, he not only did a half-assed job of locking away his feelings but also rejecting Clear's. Even though Clear gathered the courage to come to him and open his heart.

Pessimism is a trait Ren has been accused of more than once in his life, especially by Aoba. It's the first time it made a coward out of him.

Ren stumbles forward as he's shoved, forcing him to walk into the main path. Looking over his shoulder, he finds Aoba.

"Go! And fast, because if it gets later than eleven, you should just not get back home." Aoba grins broadly. "Just sleep on your boyfriend's couch or something."

Ren feels the tips of his ears tingle with warmth at the insinuation. With a final push from Aoba, Ren takes his own faltering steps towards the Torii gate and out of the shrine.

Is it really not selfish?

Am I not taking advantage of Clear?

"After all, it's that kindness and honesty of yours that made me fall in love."

Clear's voice echoes out in his ears, so fond before it warped in anguish. Clear opened up to Ren because he expected Ren to be just as open, whether it be to accept or reject him. After completely disrespecting him, the least he can do is to face Clear and admit how stupid he has been.

Before realizing, Ren has broken into a run. As he crosses the Torii gate and reaches the top of the stairs, amidst the stragglers, there's Clear at the very bottom of the steps, hunched over as he's turning the corner too quickly.

"Clear!"

Ren's yell startles everyone in the stairs, garnering surprised and even reproachful looks. The only one Ren sees, however, is Clear, who stops in his tracks and turns around. That's all Ren needs to start running down the steps, terrified that, if he takes too long, Clear will turns his back once more.

Clear's mouth moves, but Ren's still too far away to listen to what he's saying. Around him, curious murmurs and screams pass by as fast as the wind whistling in his ears, barely taking notice of the few people literally jumping out of his way. For one heart-stopping moment, Ren stumbles on his fast pace, but he manages to regain balance without halting.

"Stop! You'll hurt yourself!" Ren hears Clear say when he gets close enough, but he doesn't heed his warning. Not when he's also close enough to see how red Clear's face is, the tear tracks leading down his cheeks.

Clear starts to call out his name, but he's cut off by Ren quite literally barrelling into him. Ren manages to keep Clear upright as he holds onto him for dear life, stumbling backwards from the speed and weight of Ren's impact. As they regain their footing, Clear stays very still and Ren struggles to recover his breathing.

"Ren-san, what-"

"I'm sorry."

A pause. Then, "You're... apologizing again?" Clear says, sounding vaguely irritated but mostly defeated.

"Yes. Because I've been... belittling you and your feelings." Ren squeezes him tighter in his arms, his voice coming off slightly muffled. "You expected me to respect you and I did the furthest thing from that, because-"

Clear and Ren sway in place as something bumps on the back of Clear's legs. They finally release one another to look behind Clear, seeing a small boy in a yukata sitting on the ground, eyes squeezed shut as he hisses quietly in pain. Clear turns around with a small noise of surprise, which is enough for the boy to startle and look up, scrambling to his feet.

The boy bows, his voice going up shrilly. "I'm sorry!"

Clear raises his hands placatingly, trying to smile at the little kid. "It's okay! Though... I feel like I'm getting sick of hearing that..."

The boy tilts his head to the side, confused. A couple, apparently the boy's parents, come running to him, asking him if he's okay. As Ren and Clear finally look around themselves, they realize the nearby adults are looking at them weirdly as they sidestep the two on their way up or down the stairs.

"We shouldn't talk about this here," Clear points out, to which Ren nods.

"Let's find somewhere quieter."

"Aoba-san said that?" Clear yelps, face red.

Ren tilts his head away as to hide the color showing in his own cheeks. "Yeah. He's the one with the house key, too, so..."

Finding it hard to walk in silence while people bustle around them, Clear asked Ren what happened to Aoba. Without detailing their conversation too much, as they were—and are—still trying to find somewhere to talk in private, Ren tells him about how his brother yelled at him for how he treated Clear, as well as his embarrassing parting words.

"Oh my..." Clear laughs bashfully. "Well, I guess we should head home instead of finding somewhere else to talk, then."

"W-what?" Ren balks, face turning to Clear like he's been slapped.

"Well, we are having no luck so far. There are people everywhere, coming to or leaving the shrine or just hanging out in the streets." Proving Clear's point, a girl bumps past Ren in the packed sidewalk, only taking enough time to yell a passing sorry! over her shoulder. Clear raises his wrist, peering down at his watch. "Also, it's five to eleven now."

"Huh..." Ren interjects, openly concerned. Clear smiles reassuringly.

"Don't worry, grandpa won't mind it. In fact, he might be happy, since I've never had any bo- uh, friends over." Clear coughs to cover his brief stuttering. With that, they fall into silence again and Ren lets Clear guide the way.

The streets grow quieter as they reach the northernmost edge of the Eastern District, passing by darkened houses until they stop in front of one that still has its lights on. Clear mutters a soft "it's here" before leading Ren through the gate. It's a small but quaint Western-style house, walls painted yellow with a wooden door and one wooden-framed glass window on each side of it, potted plants visibly perched on the sills inside.

The lock clicks and Clear pushes the door open. "I'm home!"

Ren flinches, shaken from his observation and forced to walk into the house. Following Clear's lead, he leaves his shoes at the entrance, where the floor is slightly sunken. Sweat is gathering at his temples.

"Welcome home," an old man greets from the couch in the living room, raising his eyes from the book he was reading. "I was starting to get worried... Oh, a friend?"

"Yes. This is Seragaki Ren, my senpai at school." Clear gestures between the two, beaming. "Ren-san, this is my grandfather."

Ren bows deeply. "I'm Seragaki Ren. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Oh, equally," Clear's grandfather laughs softly, bowing his head momentarily and adjusting his glasses. "What a polite young boy."

Warmth pools in Ren's cheeks at the man's quiet evaluating gaze; he has a gentle demeanor, hair almost as translucent as Clear's, though it's evidently due to old age alone. Ren surmises he's not much older than his own grandmother. Clear steps forward.

"Ren-san's brother went to sleep early and locked him out of their house, so I thought of letting him stay over for tonight. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. You can get one of the spare futons in my room for Ren-kun."

Clear smiles brightly. "Thank you, grandpa. Sorry I made you wait up; I'll get the futon and let you go to bed."

"Oh, I ended up getting hooked to this story, so I might not sleep for a longer while," the older man says sheepishly, tapping the cover of the book in his lap.

"Grandpa..."

"Don't worry, don't worry," he brushes off Clear's admonishing tone and grabs a cane next to the couch. With some effort, he gets to his feet, book held to his chest. "Ren-kun, be in no rush to leave tomorrow. I didn't know we'd have any visits so we have nothing to welcome you with, but tomorrow I'll prepare a nice breakfast for all of us."

Ren blinks owlishly, raising his hands. "O-oh, please, don't mind me."

"Think of it as my thanks for taking care of my grandson." The older man smiles and bows. "Then, good night."

As the older man walks to the open kitchen, Clear twists around and mutters, "Ren-san, wait for me at my room, it's this door right in the left," before following after his grandfather.

Even after Clear's words, Ren stays still in the living room, watching as Clear and his grandfather walk through a door next to the kitchen. At last, he heads towards the door Clear indicated, though it feels awkward to go into someone else's room without them, especially when you've never been there before.

Ren is greeted by darkness as soon as he opens the door. On instinct, his hand fumbles over the adjacent wall and his fingers trip over the switch, lighting up the room in an instant. It reveals the soft peach color of the walls, the white curtains draped over the window and the bed pushed to the nearest wall, but Ren is looking at the far wall instead. On the floor, shelves and even atop the dresser under the window are innumerous trinkets, colorful marbles and glass bottles of any color, shape and size.

"Sorry for making you wait- Woah!"

Ren quickly looks behind himself, finding Clear stepping back after almost bumping into him. A futon is folded in half in his arms.

"Ah, my bad," Ren apologizes, making way for Clear.

Clear laughs a little, still a bit surprised as he walks into the room. "It's okay, I just didn't expect you to be right in front of the door."

Ren watches as Clear kneels down next to his bed, stretching the futon with a pillow and blanket to match. As if sensing his gaze, Clear looks over his shoulder. Ren flinches.

"Mm?" Clear blinks at him with a clueless smile.

"Ah, well," Ren clears his throat and looks away, his eyes finding the shelves of glass bottles again. "I was just thinking... That's an impressive collection you have."

"Huh? Oh," Clear follows his gaze, laughing almost bashfully as he realizes what Ren's talking about. "I wouldn't say impressive... I just started gathering them without thinking."

"They're beautiful," Ren comments. When he glances over at Clear, he finds a blush weighing on his cheeks as he looks down. Ren smiles, captivated. "Any special reason why you like them?"

"Rather than liking them, I think I feel nostalgic when I look at them." Clear smoothes a hand over the futon, distracted. "They feel familiar."

They really do, Ren agrees silently, fondly watching how the slightest glimmer catches in Clear's eye, shining dully but insistently.

"Oh," Ren interjects, remembering something important. "How likely is it that your grandfather will hear us talk in here?"

"Umm, the walls aren't that thin, but... You're right." Clear gets up, dusting the palms of his hands on his pants. "We can sit in the backyard, if you don't mind. The air outside feels nice, too."

"The backyard..." Ren remembers the glass doors next to the kitchen, half-hidden by curtains. So they led to a backyard. "Sounds good."

Clear smiles as they reach an agreement and leads Ren out, turning off the lights before they leave.

After opening the glass doors, Clear unlocks security railings, which Ren is not too surprised to see, considering the precarious safety of their neighborhood. They take a seat on the edge of the concrete slab immediately in front of the doors, grass tickling Ren's knees as he sits with his legs folded. Meanwhile, Clear is leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out, eyes closed and face turned up to the full moon well above. From time to time, a breeze will caress their cheeks.

The backyard is not big, amounting only to the space on the right-hand side of the house, but the potted plants and the tree standing in the corner makes it feel like a pleasant place to spend the afternoons in, sitting and drinking iced tea. In the summer as they are now, Ren can imagine Clear lighting up sparklers here, or cutting a watermelon with his grandfather.

"Your grandfather..." Ren starts to say, then frowns to himself.

"Eh?" Clear turns his head to him, having been lost in thought, apparently.

"It... feels a little awkward to just refer to him as your grandfather. I don't think he told me his name, though."

"Oh, he didn't. I don't know his name, either."

"Huh?" Ren frowns deeper, eyes wide. "How..."

Clear smiles carefully. "That's... Well, I've known so much about you and your family affairs, even before Sei-san filled in the blanks. I guess it's fair that I tell you about myself, too."

Ren gulps, suddenly nervous. It's not that he's afraid of what Clear will tell him, or that it will change at all how he sees Clear. It's just that... this feels very important. Even more important than what Ren came here to tell Clear.

"You see... My grandfather is not related to me by blood. I don't know anyone from my real family," Clear admitted, legs crossed at the ankle and swinging his feet from one side to the other, rustling in the grass. "Someone probably took care of me as a baby, but I lived in the streets as far as I could remember. Depending on other people's kindness and even swiping food from the stands in Aoyagi Street... I got by, day after day. When I put it in perspective, I didn't live like that for so long, though. I was lucky."

Clear turns his face up, smile gone wistful. Enough time goes by that Ren wonders if he should say something, but he bites his tongue, waiting for Clear to go into detail. And he does.

"I snuck into this house, hoping to find some food or something to sell off. I did find some stuff, but... I also found Grandpa, looking like he was this close to keeling over. Even though I was a little thief, after the scare he had when he saw someone, he got worried for me." Clear laughs softly, glancing at Ren. "He was in much worse shape! I took stuff out of this house to sell... But I came back here with food and medicine. Every day, I would come back and we would talk and eat together. Slowly, Grandpa recovered his health." At that, Clear drops his head, the milky light from the moon dimming from his eyes. "I never asked if I should stay and Grandpa didn't say a word about it, either. I connected him to the outside world, as for a long time, he refused to leave the house because he thought Oval Tower still stood. Now I know he was hiding from them. Grandpa taught me how to read and do math, gave me a home and a birthday. I just... stayed."

Ren stares at Clear's profile, tongue-tied. Everything Clear has gone through... It's so unexpected. Ren can't tell if he has anything of worth to say, but he decides to be honest.

"I'm glad you found each other."

Clear turns his eyes to him, wide and bright like water mirrors. After a moment, he relaxes and smiles at Ren.

"Yeah. I'm glad I found Grandpa before he could die all alone. And if I didn't find him, I would've never met you, either."

Ren huffs, baffled. "What do you mean-"

"Living that life... who knows what could have happened to me. I might have died before we ever got to meet," Clear suggests, his bangs falling over his eyes. "Or we would simply be on opposite sides of life, never crossing paths..."

"But that didn't happen," Ren cuts Clear off as his tone gradually turns melancholy. "We did meet. And for that... I can't tell you how happy I am."

Clear doesn't move an inch. Hesitantly, Ren reaches out, fingers softly brushing the hair away from Clear's face, which tilts towards him at last. Lips pressed in a thin line and turmaline-pink eyes torn between apprehension and expectation—Clear looks at Ren, and he unravels.

"I love you," Ren says, hand still resting on the side of Clear's face.

"... W-why didn't you tell me..." Clear babbles, fully turning his body towards Ren, eyebrows drawing together.

"Because I'm a coward," Ren explains, smiling self-deprecatingly. "I told you before, right? I belittled your feelings. Because you still have all of high school to go through and I'm going away for college, I thought I'd be taking advantage of you if I were to accept you."

Clear's eyes go wide, then narrow. "That's..."

"Insulting, isn't it?" Ren drops his hand from Clear's cheek. "But now I can see I was using that as an excuse. I wasn't trying to protect anyone but myself. I should get into Kyushu University without a problem and you'll stay here. Maybe you'll go off somewhere else for college as well, maybe not. What stands is that, soon, we will see very little of each other. Even without that, we are both in moments of our lives when things change a lot, and fast. I... got in my head that you'll soon find someone better, someone that can be by your side. When I think of that..."

In the middle of spilling his guts out, Ren realizes Clear's chest is shaking with laughter. The words pitter-patter out of Ren's mouth like pebbles, until he completely loses his train of thought.

"Uh-"

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Clear wheezes, covering his mouth with a hand as a few chuckles escape him. "I'm not mocking you, I swear. It's just... I remembered something Clara-san told me once."

"Clara? What did she tell you?" Ren asks, lost. Did they talk that much when he wasn't there?

"She told me Ren-san is 'as weird and incomprehensible as the next person', so I shouldn't put you in a pedestal." Ren makes a grimace at that, causing Clear to laugh again. "I thought I understood her, but hearing about how you worried yourself sick, all on your own... I may have had unrealistic expectations of you. I'm sorry for that."

"Don't apologize," Ren sighs. "I was an idiot."

Clear shrugs. He looks in much higher spirits. "When we care a lot about something, we might act a bit idiotic about it, I've realized. I'm just glad we are talking like this now."

"... Yeah."

Clear smiles coyly up at Ren, his gaze expectant. Ren's cheeks warm up as his eyes stumble over the lines and grooves of Clear's face, stopping on the two small moles beneath the left corner of his lips.

"I want to go to Kyushu, as well."

Ren startles at the words leave Clear's mouth, just as he was leaning forward.

"What?"

"I knew you wouldn't stay here, even if you never said anything. I wanted to ask you where you were going, honestly, but then things got a bit out of hand." Clear scratches his cheek, looking a little abashed. Ren looks away, guilty. "I have an idea of what I want to do, and of course, if Kyushu doesn't have the courses I want, I'll go somewhere else. But, if I can, I want to be close to you. I'm just laying out my plans here, but what I really want to tell you is..."

Clear meets Ren where he is, melding their lips in a candid but emphatic kiss. It ends too fast and leaves Ren gasping. Clear smiles and rests his head on Ren's shoulder.

"We are here now and I want to be with you. And even when you leave the island, I don't want us to drift away from each other."

Carefully, fingers trembling, Ren wraps his arms around Clear, holding him closer.

"I feel the same way."

There's a slight movement of Clear's head on Ren's shoulder; a nod, before he seems to burrow himself deeper into Ren's embrace. Ren looks up at the sky, finally taking note of the stars scattered around the eye-catching moon. There's no cloud in sight. Gradually, without his realizing, his trembling ceases.

"Shall we try staying together forever?"

Clear laughs, his breath warm on Ren's neck.

"That's not easy, I've heard. But I think we can do it."

If it's with you.

~❈~

Extra 3: Old Habit

Miyazaki is very similar to Midorijima, Mizuki thinks as he leaps off the bus and takes in a deep breath, exhaling it into a puff of cold air. It's just as chilly in the winter and there's not a snowflake in sight.

If he had to point out one thing that's different, though, it would be the city's layout. It's not at all like the chaotic—and precarious—Old Residential District infrastructure. At the same time, it's not as ostentatious as Platinum District's state-of-the-art buildings. The greenery spread about the city feels much more organic and natural than Platinum District's pretentious eco-friendly architecture.

It's not a long walk from the bus stop to the apartment complex, but Mizuki diligently follows the map on his phone. It's his first time out of the island and he's not terribly inclined to get lost in an unknown city. Even more so since Mizuki's here on a surprise visit.

It was all planned to the smallest of details. Mizuki paid careful attention to Sei's daily schedule so he'd know when to get to their apartment, just in time to surprise them as they head over to campus. As the creature of habits Sei is, they don't disappoint—right in the time estimate Mizuki made, they leave the apartment complex. Mizuki is already standing inconspicuously by a phone booth, one hand clutching the strap of his backpack and holding his breath.

The air is punched out of Mizuki as Sei steps closer. It's been half a year since they last saw each other and cell phone pictures simply don't do justice to Sei. Their hair has grown back to the length it had when the two of them met and they're bundled up in a coat, underneath which Mizuki is surprised to see a dress, matched with leggings and boots. Mizuki never saw Sei in feminine clothing, didn't even know they were comfortable in it.

Mizuki's surprise, as it turns out, is heavily overshadowed by Sei's as they catch sight of Mizuki and have to muffle an undignified squeak into their hand. Quickly snapping out of his trance, Mizuki walks forward with a bright smile, gaining speed. Sei looks around and down at themselves, gaping like a fish until they are wrapped up in a tight hug.

Mizuki doesn't say anything; this moment, seeing Sei's face and feeling their warmth in his arms, is perfect by itself. There's nothing he wants to say.

Sei is the one to break the silence.

"M-Mizuki?"

Mizuki hums, face still tucked into Sei's shoulder. "Hey."

"Did I miss a memo?"

Mizuki laughs hoarsely and, finally, draws away enough to regard Sei's shocked expression.

"No. I meant to surprise you. Sorry?"

Sei startles once again and their next words leave them in a rush.

"No no no, it's okay! You really did surprise me, so I'm still..." Sei lets out a laugh of their own, bashful and nervous. "I- I just..."

Sei stares at him, looking helpless, eyes wide and lips flapping around words they can't seem to string into a coherent sentence. At last, they flop back into Mizuki's arms, as relaxed as to completely crumble to the ground if Mizuki doesn't hold them up.

"It's too early for all these emotions. I didn't prepare my heart for it," Sei says, voice muffled into Mizuki's clothes.

"Want me to carry you to your exams?"

Sei raises their head just to toss a doubtful look Mizuki's way.

"Don't make that face!" Mizuki squawks, offended. "I carry crates double your weight at the restaurant! I could carry you all day!"

"You're so lucky I love you," Sei coos, placing a peck on Mizuki's lips. "Because you're just begging me to bully you now."

"Come on, feel my biceps!" Mizuki demands, stepping back and grabbing the lapels of his coat as if to peel it off. Sei lays a hand over Mizuki's, stopping him.

"I'd love to do that later," Sei says with a syrupy-sweet smile. Mizuki's face goes warm. "But we should leave your stuff at the apartment first. After that I can tour you around the campus if you want."

Mizuki blinks, a concerned frown forming in his face. "You don't mind? You were just leaving."

"Did you plan on walking around with that heavy backpack? I told you, I'm not interested in bullying you." Sei pulls on Mizuki's hand and starts leading him back to the apartment complex. "I have more than enough time before my exam, don't worry."

Sei's room is in the last floor, but considering the building has a total of three floors, their elevator ride takes very little time. Sei unlocks his front door, revealing the genkan and a small hallway through which they proceed. At the end of it is another door. Sei glances over their shoulder with a sheepish smile, hand on the doorknob.

"Please, don't mind the mess. If I knew you were coming..."

Sei is literally the most nitpicky and methodical person he knows. Did they forget a speck of dust on their carpet? Mizuki snorts.

"Do you even know what's a me-"

Sei pushes the door open and what greets them is a coffee table overflowing with beer cans and someone sprawling face-down on the couch in a baggy white top and booty shorts, mid-length cherry-pink hair fanning over their back. The curtains are draped and all the light in the living room comes from the muted television.

"I assume that's Kimiko," Mizuki mutters, blinking down at the corpse-like figure.

"Yes," Sei confirms with a frail smile and pulls Mizuki into a side corridor. "Don't think badly of her. She's a good roomate and usually cleans after herself, but yesterday was just rough on her."

"I guess everyone has one of these days," Mizuki comments offhandedly as Sei leads him into their bedroom, made more immaculate when compared to the war zone outside. Soft sunlight pours through open curtains. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Mm, she had a fight with her girlfriend," Sei explains, distracted, gesturing for Mizuki to pass them his backpack. Mizuki does so obediently, letting out a huff of laughter.

"Fight? Can't relate," Mizuki says sarcastically, remembering all the squabbles they have had since the days when Sei was hiding in his house and throughout this whole "long-distance relationship" thing it has turned into. Mizuki waits for Sei to say more, which does not happen.

After dropping Mizuki's backpack on the bed, Sei stands silently with their back turned on him, facing the window. Mizuki frowns.

"Sei?"

Sei's head snaps ever so slightly to the side, before they finally turn around. Their eyes don't meet Mizuki's.

"Sorry, I just remembered something. Can you wait outside for a bit?"

"Huh? What are you-" Mizuki starts questioning, but Sei is already pushing him out of the room. "Oi!"

"Shhh," Sei hisses at him, causing Mizuki to instinctively look to the corner of the corridor, towards the living room adjacent. Then, Sei says, "I'll be right out."

The door clicks shut into Mizuki's shocked face.

"What the..." Mizuki seethes, one fist already poised to bang at the closed door, but once again, he remembers the sleeping Kimiko. With a click of his tongue, Mizuki steps out of the corridor and into the living room, giving one good look around the place. Mizuki finally sees beyond the mess between the couch and the television screen propped up on the wall and notices the cream colored walls, built-in shelves holding portraits with pictures and colorful trinkets. Unfortunately, said shelves are next to the window and Mizuki would need to navigate the chaos around the coffee table to check them more closely, which he elects not to do. Later, Mizuki thinks, just as he hears a door opening and turns around.

Sei peers around the corner, then steps fully into Mizuki's field of view. "Oh, there you are. Let's go."

"You..." Mizuki starts, meaning to tell Sei off for shooing him like that, when he realizes something is off. "Wait. Did you change your clothes?"

"Yeah. It was too chilly when I stepped out earlier," Sei answers, already turning around and opening the door to the hallway. The dress they were using has been replaced by a thick sweater and jeans.

"Wha-" Mizuki stammers, glancing once at the unbothered Kimiko before hurrying over to Sei as silently as he can. Together, they slip into the hallway.

"Since when do you care about changing in front of me?"

"I didn't want you getting any ideas."

"I wouldn't get any ideas, come on." Mizuki rolls his eyes. "What do you take me for?"

"My lovely boyfriend whom I haven't seen in way too long."

"What a coincidence, I have one of those, too," Mizuki says, grabbing Sei into a half-hug and planting a kiss into their hair. Sei ducks their head, hiding their face. Mizuki puts his shoes back on, while Sei foregoes the boots they were using before and puts on a pair of sneakers instead.

Mizuki sighs inwardly. Even if Sei's explanation is somewhat plausible, Mizuki's gut is telling him there's more to this whole thing. For now, though, he will let Sei think they've thrown him out of their track.

"We didn't even get to spend that much time together last summer," Mizuki grumbles as they board the empty elevator, pouting.

"I said I was sorry, so much happened," Sei says with a sigh. "I knew I'd have to help Aoba with his visits to Dyed people, but then our parents returned and there was the retirement stuff with Grandpa."

"Haga-chan is retiring?" Mizuki nearly gasps.

"Not in the near future," Sei rushes to fix the misunderstanding. "That just came up in conversation. He wants to live here again, but his relationship with Grandma... It hasn't been easy after their daughter's death and her illness. I know he wants to patch things up, but I don't think he has the will left after she pushed him away so many times."

"Oh... I never imagined that Haga-chan was going through something like that."

Sei smiles sadly. "We talked a lot and I tried to encourage him, but I don't think I did much. In the end, he went and holed himself up in the shop, using Aoba's frequent leaves as excuse."

Mizuki hums. He definitely needs to remember to bring back a souvenir from Miyazaki to Haga-chan. Is there something that would help rekindle warm memories of this place in the old man's heart? What is Miyazaki known for, actually?

"How is he doing, by the way?" Sei shatters his train of thought. Mizuki's confusion must be evident in his face, because Sei quickly clarifies, "Aoba. It's hard to get a hold of him these days."

"Oh, he's just as busy as he was when you were there, that's why," Mizuki explains simply. "I'm really glad he saved Nobu and the others, but diving into those people's minds and bringing them back from the brink of insanity, day after day... I don't know how Aoba does it."

"Aoba can do it," Sei says firmly. "I was surprised when he told me he would try to reach as many people as he could, not only your friends. I can't imagine it was an easy decision for him. When I saw him rescuing those people one after the other, though... I knew he would be fine."

"But you're still worried," Mizuki points out, taking note of the concern weighing as heavily in Sei's features as in his own. Sei's eyes widen, perhaps unaware of it.

They step out of the apartment complex, heading towards the nearest crosswalk. Under the sunlight, diffused by thick clouds, Sei smiles bitterly.

"Aoba has finally made peace with the 'other' him. He can use Scrap so freely now precisely because he's stopped making an enemy out of it, but when he puts this unbearable weight on his back... It's like he's trying to kill something inside him."

Mizuki wonders at the rawness of Sei's statement. It's terribly... true.

"... You're right," Mizuki says after a beat of silence. Sei glances at him."It doesn't matter how many people Aoba saves, I think he still can't forgive himself for Noiz's case."

"You're saying..." Sei blinks away. "No, if it was like that, he would've just refused to use Scrap after taming it. Aoba had that option."

"Aoba... Rather than saying he's responsible, I'd say he has a really strong conscience." Mizuki fidgets, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "This might be the way he's decided to atone for his mistake... Except he wasn't ready for people to thank him. You remember, right? How happy Nobu was, right when Aoba brought him back."

"Mizuki..."

"The way he turns away from any acknowledgement for what he's doing is... too sad."

A car whizzes in front of them, racing through the yellow light. Soon after, the traffic light turns green for them.

Sei studies Applied Chemistry in the Faculty of Engineering. That's information Mizuki knows by heart ever since Sei entered university, but doesn't really understand until they pass by the laboratories where Sei works. The two of them never go in, only ever looking through the glass panel on the doors as Sei explains the kinds of researches they conduct. Mizuki feels a little impatient at that, but he understands when Sei points out it'd be rude to barge in when there are people working inside.

Mizuki suspects that's not the whole reason, though, when he notices the enthusiasm in Sei's expression dissipating, giving place to unease as they walk around the faculty building. The hallways are quickly filling up with students coming in for classes or lab work and everyone that passes by Mizuki and Sei either glances or downright stares at them. Mizuki, being the good-natured guy he is, glowers back at some of them, forcing these people to turn their faces away.

Sei pulls at his arm, succeeding in getting Mizuki to look at them instead.

"Stop," is all they say, looking troubled. Mizuki huffs, irritated.

"Why all the staring? Does it hurt to open their mouths and say good morning?" Mizuki says, not bothering with the volume of his voice.

"Don't worry about it," Sei sighs. "It's not like I say good morning to them, either."

"If you get stared at like this, I don't blame you."

"Sorry."

Mizuki turns a scandalized face Sei's way. "What the hell are you apologizing for?"

Instead of answering, Sei stops by the edge of the hallway. Mizuki almost shoulders past them, halting beside Sei just as they push down the sleeve of their coat, peering at their wristwatch.

"It's almost time for my exam." Sei looks up at him. "There's a pond around here... I can't take you there now, though."

"When are you getting done?" Mizuki asks reluctantly, dying to push the issue but, once again, backing off.

"Uhh, this one will end in two hours, but I'll have my last one right after. I'll be free for lunch and a while after that."

Mizuki sighs. "I can find that pond by myself. I definitely don't wanna hang around there until lunch, though, so I'll just head over to your apartment first."

"Mmm, okay then. Here." Sei produces the key from their pocket, depositing it into Mizuki's hand. "You better be there at lunch. If you lock me out, I'll kill you."

"Where the hell would I go without you?" Mizuki huffs, pulling Sei into a quick peck. They go along with it easily, but Sei's hand in Mizuki's is cold and sweaty.

Sei mutters a soft "see you later" and Mizuki smiles as if he's noticed nothing, waving as Sei turns their back on him. After they're gone, Mizuki narrows his eyes at the people that walk by him now and pay him no attention.

Mizuki doesn't try to find the pond, doesn't even think about it. Instead, he takes the bus back to the vicinity of Sei's apartment complex, walking confidently to the elevator and the door and through the genkan and...

Only the beer cans are left in the living room.

Mizuki lets out a heavy exhale, feeling the tension in his body release not with relief, but disappointment. Something is happening with Sei and Mizuki doesn't know a thing about it, even though they've talked nearly every day since Sei left Midorijima for the first time. Mizuki has always taken great interest in Sei's university life and they're usually so open, but only about this has Mizuki been kept in the dark. Their relationship started in layers and layers of secrets and while Mizuki was patient then, he's doesn't feel like he can do that again, especially when he remembers how hard it was when everything blew up the first time. If Sei clams up, Mizuki needs to start somewhere and there's only one person he can think to help him.

"Maybe she went to bed," Mizuki mutters to himself.

"Who the fuck are you."

Mizuki lets out the most undignified screech as he swivels around and nearly falls on his ass if he didn't hold onto the doorframe. Behind him stands a girl with bright pink hair bunched up in a sloppy bun, wearing the same baggy shirt as before, though now she has sweatpants on. Hanging from one of her crossed arms is a convenience store bag.

The fearsome look on Kimiko's face flickers into confusion, then recognition.

"Oh! Wait, you're Sei's boyfriend!" Kimiko exclaims, beaming at him.

"T-T-That would be me, yeah," Mizuki confirms, not yet recovered from the royal scare he got from this five foot two girl.

"Man, thank god I recognized you! I was this close to roundhouse kicking your ass!" Kimiko laughs extravagantly. "Though the moment you screamed, I knew you weren't a thief. Also the fact that you left Sei's key in the door."

"Please, don't tell Sei about that," Mizuki rattles out tremulously.

"The scream or leaving the key out in the hallway?"

"Yes."

Kimiko sputters, then slaps Mizuki's shoulder and walks past him.

"What are you doing here now, though? Sei's doing exams, right?"

"Uh, I got here before they left, so we dropped my stuff and Sei showed me his faculty building. I came back after Sei went to his classroom."

"I see... Oh, geez, since you're here, I should make this place presentable." Kimiko stops in the motion of reaching into her bag and leaves it in the couch, hurrying off around the corner and into a corridor. In a blink of an eye, she returns with a black plastic bag. Mizuki only watches as she unceremoniously chucks the beer cans and snack wrappers into the bag.

"Um... I haven't really introduced myself yet. I'm Mizuki, Sei's boyfriend." Mizuki bows.

Kimiko straightens up, smiling warmly at him before responding with her own bow. "I'm Kimiko, Sei's good friend. Maybe even best friend!"

Mizuki lets out a short laugh. "They do talk about you a lot."

"They talk a lot about you, too!" Kimiko says, tying up the garbage bag and tossing it next to the couch. Without the barrage of beer cans and wrappers, the living room looks nearly spotless. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"It's the same for me. But," Mizuki frowns, looking at Kimiko's shirt. "Sei told me they met you in a class. That... wasn't the truth, was it?"

On Kimiko's shirt is "Green Team for the Global Summit on Agriculture & Organic Farming!" in big, blocky letters. She's not in the same major as Sei, not even the same faculty.

Sei has never lied to him—up to this moment. Suddenly, Mizuki doubts everything they've talked about since Sei came back to Miyazaki.

"We did meet in a class," Kimiko says, smiling bemusedly.

Mizuki draws a breath. "So you are from Engineering?"

"Oh, no." Kimiko places a hand on her chest. "I really am from Agriculture. Third year Agricultural and Environmental Sciences major! We met at the special lecture I got Shiina-sensei to offer so we could draw people to our circle."

"Your... circle?" Mizuki repeats.

"Yes, the gender and sexuality studies circle!" Kimiko answers cheerfully, then she droops slightly." Sei... didn't tell you about it?"

"No. First time I hear of it," Mizuki mutters, feeling more shocked than hurt by Sei's omission. Not because of the nature of the circle, but why Sei would feel the need to hide it from him.

Kimiko only frowns at him, looking very worried. She's probably confused as well and Mizuki feels bad for her, so he tries to explain his puzzling situation in the hopes that she will understand what's happening and, maybe, help him understand, as well.

"... I don't know why they changed clothes or why people stared at us so hard. Why they hid this stuff from me... I know Sei doesn't identify as either gender and I'm not exactly in a position to be a bigot, so why..."

"I feel like you should really talk about that with Sei," Kimiko says, still frowning, although halfway into Mizuki's sorry tale her expression cleared into understanding. "I don't think it's right for me to be the one to tell you what's happened."

Mizuki laughs bitterly, remembering when Sei themself told Mizuki this when he was struggling to understand the danger he and Aoba were in. Why is it always someone else he needs to go to for answers?

"But listen," Kimiko calls out, closing a sobering hand around his arm, "Sei isn't hiding things from you because he thinks you're a bigot or anything like that. I can assure you of that."

"Then why?"

"That's all I'll say on the matter, but... Sei was probably trying to protect you."

Mizuki scoffs. "I don't need protection."

"Based on first impressions, I wouldn't say that," Kimiko teases, but she soon softens. "But whether or not one needs protection hardly matters when you love them, does it?"

Mizuki only stares at her, wide-eyed. She drops her hand just as a phone—most likely hers—starts vibrating on the coffee table. Kimiko jolts and scrambles for it.

"Augh, man, CropSci exam will start in half an hour and I couldn't study last night!" Kimiko spins around and finally lands on her face in the couch, the same position Mizuki found her in much earlier. She's really funny, he thinks. Kimiko turns her face to the side, making her voice audible, though hair still covers her features almost entirely. "And I didn't even eat breakfast yet and this whole feelings talk made me wanna see my love. Oh, Akane."

"Sorry, I'm getting in your way."

"Don't worry, don't worry." Kimiko waves her hand in the air dismissively. "I'm really glad we got to meet."

Kimiko brushes the hair off her face and rests her head on her crossed arms, grinning at Mizuki.

"Sei has a good boyfriend."

Sei drops into Mizuki's chest just as he opens the door for them. Mizuki startles at the sudden weight, but holds them up without a problem.

"Are you okay?" Mizuki asks, blinking down at the crown of Sei's head.

Sei hums affirmatively and says in a muffled voice, "You know that stuff about carrying me?"

"Yes?" Mizuki confirms with an amused laugh.

"I'll gladly take you up on that offer now."

Mizuki's laughs truly now, chest shaking against Sei's face.

"The hallway is too narrow to bridal-carry you like I wanted, but..."

Mizuki draws away, making sure the swaying Sei will stay in place before turning around and getting down on one knee, opening space between the inside of his arms and his torso. Sei doesn't dawdle and laces their arms around his neck as Mizuki secures their legs on either side of his waist and lifts them up.

"See? You're as light as a feather," Mizuki says breezily.

"You're doing a great job controlling that heavy breathing."

"I'm not controlling anything."

"Thank you."

Mizuki is caught off-guard by the sudden switch in the tone of Sei's voice, teasing one moment and soft the next. Warmth embarrassingly spreads across his face as he smiles, carrying Sei into the living room.

"Don't worry about it."

Mizuki is about to deposit them in the couch, but Sei points to hallway leading to their room. Once inside, Mizuki sits on the edge of the bed while Sei sprawls on their back with a sigh, their coat hanging on the back of a nearby chair.

"Congrats on finishing your first final exams," Mizuki sing-songs, brushing his fingers through Sei's bangs.

"Thank you, thank you," Sei says, their voice tapering into a yawn.

"Any of your classmates was curious about the dashing gentleman accompanying you today?" Mizuki teases, though his tone comes out dull.

"If they were, they said nothing," Sei huffs, looking up at the ceiling.

"So they just stared like always?"

Sei sighs heavily, visibly out of frustration, but also, Mizuki realizes, out of exhaustion.

"What are you getting to?"

While it's good that Sei is not deflecting Mizuki as insistently as they were ealier, it's irritating to wonder at the reason for such resignation.

"I talked to Kimiko earlier."

Sei's eyes finally turn to Mizuki, a shallow crease in their forehead.

"She was still here when you came back?"

"Yeah."

Sei closes their eyes and takes a deep breath, running the palms of their hands down their face. When Sei looks at Mizuki again, they're evidently on the defensive.

"So, what did you two talk about?"

Mizuki turns slightly so he can hold Sei's suspicious gaze. "I realized you two weren't in the same faculties, so I questioned whether you two really met in a class, like you told me. While explaining, she let it slip that you joined her circle about gender and sexuality studies."

Sei raises an eyebrow. "And..."

"That's it," Mizuki says and sighs. "I was ready to try and get the full story from Kimiko, but she told me to ask you instead. I'm relieved she did that, now." Sei glances down at Mizuki's hand, which reaches for theirs and holds on to it. "I don't get... why any of this is happening. Why you felt the need to be so vague about your meeting her and the circle, about your clothes and those people in the hallways. But I want you to tell me, not anyone else."

Sei stays quiet for a moment, looking at Mizuki with a frown that looks nearly pained. At last, Sei drops their gaze and pulls their hand away from Mizuki's, using it to brace themself as they sit up. Shoulders brush softly as Sei faces past Mizuki, who stares at their profile.

"I... shared a dorm with three guys when I started last year. I told you that." At Mizuki's nod, Sei continues. "One of them took up an unhealthy interest in me."

"Huh?" Mizuki interjects somberly, a deep scowl descending over his face. "What does that mean?"

"That's how I felt, too," Sei says, lips twisting with disgust. "He started making jokes about how I was a guy with a girl's face, that I probably couldn't get a girlfriend because they wouldn't stand a guy prettier than them, those sorts of disgusting things. Every time I put my face outside my room and he was there, he would have something to say. Then the little joke spread to his friends and classmates, which... was terrible, because they are all in Engineering."

"What the fuck," Mizuki seethes. "What about your dormmates?"

"They sort of humored him by laughing or nodding along to stuff he said, but they clearly hated the whole thing. Not for me, of course," Sei laughs bitterly, "but because he was a bother. No one said anything, though. No one ever does."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mizuki begged to know, forehead scrunched, frustrated that he wasn't there for Sei in such a horrible moment.

"It would just worry you needlessly." Sei sighs. "And I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I could easily lock myself in my room and only leave when strictly necessary. I could ignore people's glances and gossips in the faculty building. It was under control."

"But you left the dormitory," Mizuki counters. He remembers it; though sudden, he thought it made sense an introvert like Sei would rather room with their best friend.

Sei opens their mouth, then closes it again. Finally, they say, "One day, I woke up in the middle of the night. I don't know what exactly made me wake up, but... He was in my room."

As Sei looks paler with every word, Mizuki feels his entire self going cold.

"Did he do something to you."

Sei hesitates for a moment longer before gritting their teeth, looking almost as enraged as Mizuki feels, if not for the helpless disgust in their frown.

"He was on top of me, holding my face with one hand and the other... he was jerking off. Fucking staring at my face, that-"

Mizuki's whole body tenses up the way it does when he's readying himself to jump into a fight. All in front of his eyes is red and his blunt nails bite into the palms of his hands, maybe painfully if he could feel them.

"I opened my mouth to scream and he slapped his palm over it. Smelled like alcohol. He said... things. I was convenient, he said. Look like a girl, but tougher because I'm a guy." The words are tumbling out of their mouth like cards in domino effect. Sei's face pinches further and further and it looks like they're about to either scream or cry. "He reached... down, and I managed to bat his hand away from my face and scream. I screamed more and more and punched at him. I didn't know what to do and how long I'd last and when he managed to pin me again I thought that was it, I-"

Mizuki envelops Sei in a tight hug, trembling all over from his overwhelming anger and the effort not to crush Sei with the strength he wishes he could've exerted squeezing the neck of a much less innocent, unknown person. In his arms, Sei is shaking as well.

"If you tell me his name, I swear I'll go find him right now and fucking kill him." In fights, Mizuki has never gone as far as to endanger someone's life, not even when Dry Juice was first establishing its dominance. This wouldn't be a fight, though.

Sei breathes in and looks up. "You don't need to do that."

They push their lips against Mizuki's in a chaste but lasting kiss. A kiss of reassurance for the two of them. When Sei draws away, neither of them are shaking anymore.

"One of our dormmates showed up," Sei starts again, their voice calmer, their eyes hazy. "He looked ready to bolt when he took in the scene, honestly, but when I called for help again, instinct must have kicked in. Before any more horrible things could happen, he helped pry that guy off me and kicked him out of my room. I think he was a law student, because he started spouting off some legal stuff that managed to get the guy to cower back into his own room, but not without yelling more obscenities at me. I put a change of clothes into a backpack, locked my room and went to Kimiko's old apartment that same night."

"The time frame when this was all happening..."

"That went on from April until late October, pretty much, when that guy jumped me," Sei explains. "The next day, I got Student Affairs to let me leave the dorm before the time was up, thanks to my dormmate who went with me and corroborated my story. I could've gotten that guy charged... Maybe I should have, but I just wanted peace. I got my belongings from the dorm and slept on Kimiko's couch for a month or so until we rented this place."

Mizuki drops his head on his hands. "All this time... When you came to the island you said nothing... And in October you only said you had moved in with your friend, I had no idea-"

"I'm really sorry," Sei says earnestly, hands wrapping around Mizuki's wrists. "I've reverted into keeping secrets from you. I didn't want to do that."

Mizuki drops his hands, slowly raising his head. "So that's the reason why people still stare at you so much?"

"In part," Sei explains, thumbs brushing Mizuki's pulse points affectionately. "Now, it's also because of the clothes I wear. While this was all happening, I was in Kimiko's circle. I joined a bit before summer, right after I told you I met her. I... told people in the circle how I felt about my gender. As a child, I conformed to my grandma's vision of me as her daughter, a girl, but for my grandfather, I was a boy. As time went on and I interacted with more and more people, with you and Aoba and everyone, I realized... how much it grated on me. When I came into university and that guy started obsessing with me, I was even more discontent to have these notions of masculinity and femininity shoved on me. Kimiko and the others told me that probably meant I was non-binary... that is, that I don't fit in the gender binary of man and woman."

Mizuki smiles, listening to everything he already knew being fleshed out before him. Sei looks just as happy remembering that occasion, which is a relief after the harrowing dormitory situation.

"I wish you would've told me at the time," Mizuki says, though he makes sure not to sound accusatory. He's not resentful at all, but rather sorry that he missed such an important time for Sei.

Sei's smile turns apologetic. "I'm sorry. I just felt like... that was a moment that was mine. I was learning about myself and I didn't want to alert anyone before I felt like I settled into this identity."

Mizuki nods, conceding to their point.

"I was really happy to know there was a name for how I feel, for who I am. But... outside our meetings, no one knew. And when people referred to me as a man, I couldn't bring myself to correct them. I told Kimiko and the others about that and that's when she suggested that I wear both typically feminine and masculine clothing, to mix it all up." Sei laughs at the memory. "She said, if you don't want them to assume and don't want to correct them, just make them so confused they might just ask you."

"Smart," Mizuki huffs genuinely.

"Yeah," Sei says. "I only worked up the courage to do it after I left the dorm."

Mizuki grins. "I had never seen you in a dress. With the boots and all, you looked really cute."

Sei covers his face with an embarrassed groan. "Stop. I thought I was going to die when you showed up."

"Why?"

"You'd never seen me in that kind of clothing. I wasn't ready to make that reveal yet."

"You already told me your grandma thinks you're her daughter," Mizuki reasons with a huff. "The thought of you in girl's clothes isn't strange to me."

"Still..."

"You're making a fuss for nothing," Mizuki coos, hugging Sei even as they still hide their face. Then, he says, "When are you telling everyone in Midorijima? Even though I always refer to you in gender-neutral pronouns, no one really picks up on it."

Sei drops their hands, still leaning on Mizuki's chest.

"I don't know."

"You can just use this same tactic over there and wait for people to ask," Mizuki suggests, but Sei quickly shakes their head.

"It's not the same thing. Grandpa... everyone, they already know me."

"Are you scared?"

Sei does nothing for a while, but ultimately they nod. Mizuki kisses the crown of their head.

"That's okay. I'll tell you, though; Haga-san, Aoba, Ren, your parents, they all love you. Almost as much as I do!"

Sei laughs softly at his cheeky tone. Mizuki caresses their hair as he talks.

"That means they will listen to you. And they will accept you, even if it might be confusing for them at first. Aoba and Ren will probably pick it up fast, but for Haga-san, Tae-san and your parents it will be harder, since they're too used to Sei as a boy. Oh, we should probably clear it up with my parents. I thought you didn't mind being referred to by masculine pronouns, so I never corrected them. Don't worry, though, they're great people and even if they don't really understand any gender binary talk, they'll accept you and respect your wishes. If you want me to be with you when you talk to everyone, I'll be there, but take your time to... Sei?"

When Mizuki catches himself and looks down, Sei is breathing softly against his shirt, eyes closed in deep sleep.

"Geez," Mizuki mutters, gazing down upon Sei with a gentle smile. "You'll hurt your back if you sleep like this."

Mizuki spends just a minute longer, though, in this same position, placing his hand on Sei's back, rising and falling. As if a butterfly softly landed on his skin, Mizuki stays still and relishes in this small, quiet moment.

~❈~

Extra 4: Kiss Me

The lobby of the former law firm is empty when Takato returns. It's not unexpected; everyone went back to work after Noiz and Seragaki left. Even Takato had immediately gone out to settle the last details of a security job deal for them.

What's surprising is not finding Akira in the hangout's main meeting room. Akira will usually stay back in their base so people can more easily report back to him, and if he needs to do some work outside, Takato will either know beforehand or be notified of it by Akira. That didn't happen today.

 Takato blinks at the deserted room, a slight crease between his eyebrows. After he takes out his phone and calls his empty-headed childhood friend, only to be left on voicemail, Takato walks back to the front door to question the person on watch duty.

"Oi, do you know where Akira went?"

The young man guarding the door, Suoh, looks at him in alarm.

"No, Takato-san. I saw him leave about three hours ago, but I didn't ask him where to. Akira-san will only ever tell you about what he's doing and where he's going, so..."

Akira sighs heavily, which causes Suoh to tense up in expectation of a reprimand.

That's right; Akira would've probably brushed Suoh off or given him some kind of flippant non-answer like "it's a secret~", were he questioned. When they were children, Akira only had to bat his long eyelashes at his mother and adoring aunts and they'd let him run off and make trouble. Takato fostered the habit of keeping an eye on Akira and questioning him anytime he intended on going somewhere without him, to the point Akira eventually started letting him know without prompting. The last time Akira went off on his own and Takato didn't know where he was, he had assembled some kind of hare-brained scheme that led to Noiz's detainment in his apartment and the luring of Seragaki Aoba to the Southern District.

Akira only keeps secrets from Takato when he's doing something he should not. Which is why Takato is incredibly restless now.

"Thanks. Keep it up," Takato says absentmindedly, reaching for his phone again as he heads back to the meeting room. Whatever Akira is getting up to, the only chance Takato has of interrupting him is finding someone Akira is roping into helping him.

Takato calls Akira's mom and his aunts, leaving the harder one to crack, Yuuko-san, for last. When that turns up nothing, he proceeds to their teammates. After almost an hour and losing count of how many people he talked to, Takato finally lets out an exasperated huff and drops the hand with the phone. No one knew where Akira is and they didn't sound like they were lying, either. Just as he's about to pick up where he left off, increasingly frustrated, the door opens.

"Oh," is all Akira says when he enters the meeting room, wet hair laid flat over his head and a sling bag hanging from his shoulder.

"Where were you?" Takato asks immediately, voice as sharp as his glare as he gets up from the sofa and advances on Akira.

Akira sighs heavily, like Takato is greatly inconveniencing him. "Hello to you, too, Takato. How did the deal- Wha...?" The young man jumps as Takato steps into his personal space and holds him by the back of the head.

Takato brings his face next to Akira and inhales the fresh smell of soap from his skin and hair. Akira keeps still like a statue, breath cut off. Takato takes one step back, eyes narrowed as he looks over Akira's figure.

"What did you nearly scrubbed yourself raw for?" Takato asks, staring at the pinkened skin of Akira's face, arms and hands.

"I always shower properly, excuse you," Akira scoffs, making to walk past Takato. Akira doesn't make it far, as Takato deftly pulls the sling bag off his shoulder. Akira turns back with a squawk.

"Takato!"

"This..." Takato scowls as he opens the sling bag. With one look he can tell its contents are mostly comprised of clothes. What hits him the strongest is the smell, though. Takato turns halfway around to pin Akira down with his stare. "It smells of gunpowder."

"Don't make that face at me," Akira says, wearing a frown of his own. When he tries to take the bag back, Takato's hold is unfaltering. Akira doesn't insist and drops his hand, huffing impatiently. "I was just at the shooting range, okay? You can look at my clothes; I wasn't out murdering someone, or something like that."

Takato does rummage through the bag and pulls out a short sleeved, teal-colored shirt, the one he knows Akira was wearing earlier. Other than sweat spots and the gunpowder's acrid smell, the shirt is perfectly fine.

"See?" Akira takes back his sling bag. "I just didn't want to walk around smelling like a raccoon, so I took a change of clothes with me."

"Why the shooting range? I thought you were done obssessing over it." Takato looks on as Akira plops down on the sofa, leaving his bag at its foot.

"Huh? I was never obssessed with it."

Yes, you were, Takato thinks, remembering the two or so years that followed the Dye Music incident, his stabbing and Virus and Trip's escape with an incapacitated Noiz in arm. Not that Akira ever associated those events when he offhandedly told Takato he'd been frequenting a shooting range. Takato didn't need him to; he knew Akira well enough.

"I never stopped going completely," Akira continues. "My aim got so much better; it'd be a waste to let it get rusty."

"It's been over three hours. You never took that long before."

"You're reading too much into all of this."

Takato frowns down at Akira, who's purposefully looking in the other direction, avoidance clear in his eyes and the thin line of his lips.

Is Akira angry about something? Takato can't see what it could be; even in the thick of his frustration and self-blame four years ago, he wouldn't disappear for that long to the shooting range. It's even stranger that he'd do that now, when they've finally seen for themselves that Noiz is alive and well. Takato is used to ignoring Akira's temper tantrums and caprices, but that also means he can tell those and something serious apart. It's in Akira's sudden disappearance and now his avoidant gaze and weak retorts. Only in these moments he doesn't try to bug Takato for attention.

Seeing Akira troubled for some reason unknown, though, bothers Takato much more than his capriciousness.

With that said, the more Takato pushes, the more Akira will dodge; that's the kind of frustrating person he is. So there's no meaning to keeping this line of questioning. Takato crosses his arms.

"Are you doing it?"

"Doing what?"

"Throwing the party for Noiz."

Akira blinks owlishly, mouth opening almost teatrically. "Oh. Oh, no, I was just joking." The words leave him in huffs of laughter. "What fun would be a welcome party without the guest of honor?"

"You think he wouldn't come?" Takato asks, eyebrows knitted together in slight skepticism. Noiz valued their past bond enough to come and greet them, even though he just returned.

Akira is still smiling as he says, "Not when he could be spending time with his darling instead."

Takato makes a small noise of acknowledgement. Seragaki and Noiz did seem to be in a relationship four years ago—it would make sense for them to want to be together now that Noiz came back. Except Seragaki looked beyond shocked to see Noiz. While love and longing are not things Akira is prone to gauge in people's eyes, pain is something he is very familiar with.

 "It didn't seem like he knew that Noiz was okay. Or coming back, for that matter," Takato notes. Even he and Akira only heard about it a few days ago.

"He didn't," Akira confirms simply. He would know that; while Takato has barely had any contact with Seragaki, Akira kept butting in on his life. He called it being friends. Akira continues, "I don't know the details, but things are very sensitive between the two of them. Noiz used to be the kind of guy that dives into things without taking anything other than his own desire in consideration. From the little we talked, he likes pretending to be like that still, but he's much smarter now. That's both a blessing and a curse." Akira shrugs, a little smirk playing in his lips. "That's why I gave him a little push."

"You're being meddlesome," Takato deadpans. Akira barks out a laugh.

"It's been four years. It would be stupid to take any longer to make ammends."

"I didn't take you for a specialist in romance."

Akira opens his mouth and stops. Takato reels for the two insane seconds that, for once, Akira has been rendered speechless, and for such an inane line, too. That's not any different from the kind of banter they get up to.

A cough like laughter escapes Akira's lips and he starts getting up from the sofa. "You just said it. I'm meddlesome like that."

Shadows fall over Akira's visage as he drops his head and starts walking past Takato, but it's too late. Takato has seen it already.

Akira makes a muffled grunt when Takato grabs his wrist. Takato pulls him in and stares into Akira's face, which is now closed-off with a frown.

"What is it?" Akira questions, voice gone rough. He steps back. "I need to go-"

"Why did you look so pained just now?" Takato interrupts him, relinquishing the hold on his wrist to quickly grasp his arm instead, forcing Akira to be nearly chest-to-chest with him.

"You're wrong. I didn't," Akira counters, sounding more childish than firm.

"Don't joke with me. I know you."

"You clearly don't know me that well."

Cold descends over Takato like a bucket of icy water, but soon after, he heats up with a scowl. "You're telling me that when I've known you for so long-"

"For so long!" Akira yells, amber eyes wide and flashing furiously at Takato. "For so long and you never fucking realized how I feel!"

"You..." Takato narrows his eyes analitically. Something like fear flashes by Akira's eyes, but he doesn't try to draw away.

It's strange. It feels wrong and, for some reason, it makes something twist in Takato's gut. It upends everything Takato thought he knew, makes him look at Akira's frustration and obssession four years ago and what's happening now under a completely different light.

"Did you..." Takato starts slowly, "Did you do all this because you're in love with Noiz?"

"... Huh?"

"I thought you took up shooting practice because you regretted not killing Virus and Trip. I took into account that you regretted letting Noiz go, as well, but that might've weighted on you more than I thought." At this point it sounds more like Takato is talking to himself. The more he talks and reasons aloud, the more it makes sense. The more he feels like there's something cold squirming in his stomach and breathing icily into his chest. "And now that Noiz is here, you pushed him to Seragaki, because you know he's the one Noiz wants. But... that just leaves you-"

Takato startles out of his theorycrafting as a fist speeds towards his face. He blocks it just in time, but his hold on Akira's arm loosens, allowing the man to slip away from it. Takato only registers the enraged fire in Akira's eyes right before he's pushed to the floor by a firm grasp on his shirt's collar.

"Akira...!"

Whatever else is muffled, or rather, completely cut off, as Akira smashes his lips against Takato's. Akira's lips are rough, yet plush and strangely soft against Takato, who's still reeling between the dull ache in the back of his head and the nearly artistic manner Akira is coaxing his lips open. When a tongue slowly glides against Takato's, a shiver goes up his spine and he instinctively closes a hand on the back of Akira's shirt, pulling at it.

Akira is undeterred by it and closes his other hand on Takato's nape, pulling at a bunch of his long black hair. Takato flinches, choking up a noise at the back of his throat all while Akira is exploring further and further into his mouth, lips and tongue moving so glancingly despite his aggressiveness. Akira's leg, positioned between both of Takato's, is vertiginously close to where Takato can feel himself reacting to all the stimuli, slowly changing the landscape of his jeans. If Akira pushed it up a bit, he might be able to tell. Not even for a second has Takato's eyes closed, staring up wide-eyed.

Not Akira.

Takato has never given attention to affairs of love and relationships. At most, he's had one-night flings to satisfy momentary urges. All of his life was dedicated first to watching the first generation of Scratch and Mink-san, then to Akira and the rebuilding of their team.

If not to Mink-san, who left no orders and disappeared before his son was even found to be growing in his mother's belly, Takato vowed to himself to protect Akira. To Takato, that was the whole meaning of his life. However, to be reduced to this by a kiss from this man, someone he never conceived touching, someone he would die and kill for...

Takato yanks at Akira's shirt again and, this time, he lets himself be pushed off. Takato sits up, panting while Akira only stares at him from where he's kneeling on the floor a few steps away. Akira's lips are reddened and slick, a strong blush high in his cheeks and his half-lidded eyes bright like embers.

 The throbbing in his gut makes Takato feel disgusted at himself. Akira's eyes, fixed on him, slowly cool down from lust into something else—again, that same hurt mixed with a laugh. How long has that pain been there and Takato didn't see it?

"That's how it is," Akira says and gets to his feet.

Before Takato can find his words again, Akira staggers out of the room without another look back.

Akira stares up at the ceiling of his room, sprawled on his bed like a starfish. Muffled music spills from the earbuds left dangling between his shoulders and ears. Akira hasn't realized they slipped off yet, doesn't care. A sigh leaves him.

I really gotta forget him now.

Takato hasn't contacted him at all since Akira made his feelings clear by, well, assaulting him. Not surprising at all. And ever since then, Akira has locked himself up in his apartment, spending all his time in bed, loathing himself while listening to wildly mood-divergent music. Right now he can distantly hear the opening theme of a popular children's anime playing from his earbuds. For some reason, he can't take feeling sad seriously if he's listening to sad music on top of it. Takato looked at Akira weird when he tried to explain it to him. Takato. Akira sighs again.

I really, really gotta forget him now.

And yet, he hasn't. Akira is glad to pretend something never happened if it means avoiding a painfully awkward conversation, but Takato is the complete opposite. Takato always faces things headfirst and will go through whatever necessary in order to settle an unresolved matter. Takato is very blunt when it comes to the things he hates and Akira knows, if they meet again, he will say...

If I don't forget him, I'll never be able to see him again.

There's a couple of knocks on his front door. Akira doesn't move an inch from the bed. A few seconds later, there's more knocking, but it's now spaced out in a familiar rhythm. Akira lifts his head momentarily, then gets up from bed.

Akira opens the door. Standing beyond the threshold is Takato, hair braided over his shoulder, wearing a thin black shirt and jeans, looking at him intently. In the open hallway's harsh fluorescent light and framed by the dark night sky, Takato looks stark, almost divine—the merciless, burst-you-into-flames-with-a-look kind of divine.

"You can't just disappear from the hangout for two whole days," Takato says after a long moment of just staring at each other. When was the last time he went so long without hearing his voice?

Akira maintains his dispassionate gaze. "I think I just did."

Takato frowns. "Akira..."

Akira gives Takato his back, but keeps the door open as he walks to the kitchen sink and goes about preparing some coffee. Before long, Akira hears his front door closing and footsteps coming closer. Behind him, at the table, there's the slightest screech of a chair's legs against the floor. Then, silence. Akira lets out a soundless sigh.

"I'm sure nothing changed without me around," Akira says and he sounds normal.

"You're the leader," Takato counters harshly. "Of course it changed."

Akira smiles and turns around with a single cup of black coffee, placing it in front of Takato and sitting across from him empty-handed.

"I was never in it for Scratch itself, you know," Akira says before Takato can harp on that. "I'm not really a leader and I don't particularly like fighting. But growing up, you always talked about the old Scratch and my father. I knew you wanted to rebuild it, but you wouldn't do so by yourself. You wanted me to be the leader." Takato remains silent and Akira's voice halts, snags on his next words.

"And I... just wanted you to stay by my side, even if it was only because I was standing in the same spot as the person you admired the most and I share his blood."

Akira finally lifts his gaze from the tabletop, but he still can't bring himself to look into Takato's face, let alone his eyes.

"You probably hate me for that."

"I don't," Takato says promptly. "Because I know that's not wholly true. I see how you take every new member in like they've been with us forever. You shouldered the weight of Virus and Trip's escape all on your own, even though I was the one that made the mistake-"

"No, no," Akira cuts him off with a glare, finally looking at him. "Don't even start. None of us could've expected Virus to still have something up his sleeve. I was the one incapable of taking them out."

Takato opens his mouth, looking ready to conter-argument, but he closes it soon after and ultimately shakes his head.

"That's not the point. No matter the intentions you started with, you took on the role of leader as more than just the title. I saw how happy you were when our teammates who had been Dyed were saved by Seragaki, and you were happy when we heard Noiz was safe, as well."

"Ugh, don't talk about that damned kid again," Akira sighs harshly. "I can't believe you thought for even a second that I was... ugh."

"You like him."

"Not like that! He's just like a feisty stray kitten that I started feeding or something! I got a little attached, that's it!"

Takato laughs a little, and as usual, when he laughs genuinely and not out of acidity, he looks down and away. Akira pouts and a blush spreads across his face, unseen and free for this short moment.

"It would make no sense to be in love with Noiz and shove him at Aoba, come on," Akira mutters, cheeks gone cool once more. Takato looks up. "I don't know where you got the idea that I'm so noblehearted."

"Not so much noblehearted as a big scaredy cat."

"Scared...!"

Takato levels him with a razor-sharp gaze. "You yelled at me for not realizing how you felt, but you never played fair. You hid your feelings from me all this time."

Akira flinches, guilty as charged. He tries to mask it with a cough, laughing forcibly while looking away.

"What, you wanted me to act all lovesick? It's the way I am; I hate spilling my guts everywhere. I'm nothing if not in control."

"Except for two days ago," Takato observes.

Akira glares at him. "You caught me off-guard, that's all."

Anyone would feel out of sorts when you've got this stupid couple reuniting in front of you while your crush of over fifteen years is hopeless.

"And if I didn't," Takato says pointedly, pulling his attention back, "I'd never know about your feelings for me. You'd be happy with that?"

Akira looks at him hard before turning his eyes away.

"... I'd be happier than I am now."

The crease between Takato's eyebrows becomes deeper. "Why do you say that?"

Akira's hands close into fists on his lap as he keeps on refusing to look at Akira, refusing to speak. It's enough that he's shown his most disgraceful side to Takato. It'd be pathetic to admit to this fear he's felt for as long as he's wanted Takato. A fear of Takato not returning his feelings? That's not a fear; Akira takes it as an observed and proven fact. A fear of Takato leaving his side? Takato wouldn't; even if he was disgusted by Akira, he would stay for his duty. And that's what Akira is afraid of.

Once this one-sided love that has dragged on for too long is exposed, even when they stand side by side they will be on different wavelengths. Childhood friends, partners in crime, leader and second-in-command... all reduced down to the loving and the beloved, a narrow one-way street. These feelings will not free either one of them.

"Ever the scaredy cat," Takato says somewhere.

"Stop calling me that." Akira scowls, then he realizes Takato is not sitting across from him anymore.

Takato is circling the table; Akira turns as he comes to stand by his chair, looking down at him. Akira frowns, but before he can get up and be at the same level, Takato shockingly bends down and hugs Akira.

"What..." Akira makes a noise as Takato tightens his hold, amber eyes comically wide over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Reassuring you."

Akira huffs, "That's not like you."

"Is that bad?" There's not a hint of playfulness in Takato's voice.

Akira's dismissive smile vanishes to give place to a frown. Takato's warmth is all around him, soft hair against his cheek.

"It kinda is."

Takato doesn't say anything to that, but he doesn't draw away either. Akira is just starting to wonder if he can try slipping away on his own when Takato speaks up.

"I can't say I feel the same way you do about me."

Akira has known that forever. Still, stupidly so, his chest sinks with Takato's words.

"But I do love you."

The distance between them is nil, but their silence stretches for miles and miles. Akira gapes, nothing coming out of his mouth even though everything inside him is rebelling.

"... Huh?"

"I love you. The respect I have for Mink-san led me to you in the beginning, but I wouldn't follow someone simply on those bases. I made the choice of staying by your side for you, Akira."

"How can you say those kinds of things..." Akira babbles. "You never..."

"I only never told you this because I thought I didn't need to. I have no problem saying I love you," Takato says, and damn that straight-faced bluntness of his. Akira buries his nails into the palms of his hands to rein in the shaking of his body. Shouldn't Takato worry about his image or something? "Now I realize you needed to hear it, after all."

Takato is still saying something as he starts to pull away, but Akira instinctively wraps his arms around his back and keeps him still. Takato doesn't resist, out of surprise if Akira knows his body language well enough.

"No," Akira blurts out, his voice low and controlled. "Stay like this a bit more."

"You said it was bad."

"I changed my mind."

In odds with his composed voice, Akira's eyes are wide and glassy against his burning-red face, his lips a thin line pressed onto Takato's shoulder. Aware or not of Akira's reasons, Takato huffs under his breath, but doesn't try to look at him again.

"I've always known I love you, but I never saw you in a romantic light before. I was lost when you pushed me into the ground and kissed me-"

Akira clutches at the back of Takato's shirt at the mention to what he did.

"I'm sorry I jumped you like that," Akira says, instilling as much sincerity as he can into his voice, a deep crease between his brows.

"I'm stronger than you. I could've pushed you off immediately."

"That's not the point."

Seconds trickle by as Takato seems to take in Akira's words and their weight. Finally, Akira feels Takato's chin nudging against his shoulder as he nods once.

"You're right. As long as you understand it, that's enough."

Akira sighs. This time, when Takato tentatively draws away from him, Akira lets him.

"There was a lot to think about. Conveniently, I didn't have to babysit a certain guy during the past two days, so I've had some free time."

Akira scowls at him, but Takato simply shows him an amused smile. It's brief; before long, his expression falls into seriousness once again.

"That's why... I can't match your feelings yet, not when you've felt like this for so long and I've only looked at you differently now."

Yet. The word rings at the forefront of Akira's head like a gong, so loud as to not even let him gather his thoughts for half a minute. Akira gapes at Takato.

"What are you saying...?"

"I'm saying I didn't hate it when you kissed me. I felt... wrong, for feeling good when you did that. It felt like I was tarnishing you."

Akira bristles at Takato and gets up from his seat in a flurry, forcing Takato to take a step back. "Y-you... Why do you put me on such a high pedestal? Wait," Akira frowns as a thought occurs to him, something he always had in the back of his mind when he wondered why Takato wouldn't look his way. "Is it because I'm younger...? You're five years older, but I'll be twenty-two in a few months. We are both adults!"

"You're right. Still, you're Mink-san's son and the person I decided to protect with my life." Takato knits his eyebrows in a pained look, raising a hand to Akira's face. Takato's fingertips hover a centimeter off his cheek. "No matter how close we are, your existence... has always been much more important and higher than my own."

Akira stares at him wide-eyed, pleading. Finally, the palm of Takato's hand rests on the side of his face and understanding clears his light-brown eyes.

"... But I realized I was only hurting you by thinking like this. If I flat-out rejected you and pretended I was averse to your touch that day, the only thing I'd be protecting is my pride. It's as you said; you're already an adult. If you chose me and never gave up on me... I won't belittle your choice."

Air leaves Akira's chest in a heavy exhale, though hope fills it up at the same time. Foolish, doomed hope, the more cynical part of Akira tells him. When you spend years convincing yourself there's no hope in the world for you, though, a single breath of it is intoxicating, addictive. Akira is drunk with it.

"I just wanted you to know that I listened to you. I'm taking your feelings seriously and I'm trying to understand my own. I can't give you a definite answer yet, but until then... Don't avoid me and the team, please," Takato says, sounding as vulnerable as Akira has ever heard. Slowly, his hand draws away from Akira's face. "If, by the end of it all, I realize I don't feel the same attraction for you, then I'll be the one to leave, even if temporarily-"

Akira puts his own hand on top of Takato's and places it back against his cheek. Then, he says:

"Kiss me."

"Huh?"

"You're not sure if you like me just by that kiss I forced onto you, right? That's completely understandable. So kiss me yourself."

"Akira..."

"I won't force you; there'd be no point to it." Akira lets his hand drop, fixing Takato with a fearless, bright as blaze gaze. Even if it takes all of his heart... he will put everything in the line, and in Takato's hands. "If you kiss me, it'll be just more reference to you. If you can't bring yourself to do it, that'll be some kind of answer, as well."

"Are you sure?" Takato questions, concerned. Even without Akira's incentive, his hand has stayed on his cheek. "It feels like I'm taking advantage-"

Akira laughs under his breath. Isn't it more like he is the one taking advantage of Takato? "I'm the one making the suggestion. I'm not that fragile; it'll be fine."

Takato studies his expression for a long while. Then, his face slowly draws nearer, eyebrows knitted as he seems to be waiting for any last second protest from Akira, whose eyes merely flutter closed.

This kiss is everything the other one wasn't, thankfully. Takato is hesitant as their lips come into contact, his touch as soft as a plume. To anyone else, it would likely be unimaginable that the cold and pragmatic Takato could be so gentle, but to Akira, he realizes, he's always been exactly that, even when it's coated in sharp edges and rough words. Akira is shaking from his core—from nerves or excitement, not even he can tell—as Takato takes a surer hold of his face, fingers settling under his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Akira's face steadily heats up as Takato seems to map his mouth, pressing firmer then softer, studying by touch alone the weight of his bottom lip, the line of his cupid's bow, before going inside. The patience of Takato's tongue has Akira breathing harder within seconds.

Akira forgets himself. Every time Takato makes to draw away, Akira follows his lips mindlessly, trying to take him back even though he's supposed to be playing passive. Takato lets him every time, however, responding just as enthusiastically. When they finally can't take in enough breath to keep up their frantic pace, they stop, foreheads leaning together, panting for air. Akira finds his hands burrowed in Takato's inky hair, messily undoing his braid, while Takato finds the hand that's not on Akira's face holding tightly to his hip.

"Stay the night," Akira breathes out.

Takato frowns through the pink flush of his cheeks. "You're not suggesting-"

"I don't care."

"I do. Things aren't clear between us. You'll get hurt."

"I don't care," Akira repeats, "whether we'll have sex or just kiss, I just want to be with you like this for longer. You may not be clear on it, but I can tell... right now, you want me." Akira places his hands on each side of Takato's face, pulling away only enough to look him in the eye. "Even if it's just for tonight, I'll have you. I don't care if it hurts later. Right now... this is what I've always wanted."

Takato only stares at him for a long time, his furrowed brow bearing down heavy with concern over his chocolate-brown eyes. Without giving an answer, he simply leans forward and captures Akira's lips again. All pairs of eyes in the room closed, no one sees the single tear which trickles down from Akira's thick lashes. Still, even as they kiss, his lips are shaped in a smile, hands slowly dropping from Takato's face as his arms possessively circle his torso. One of Akira's hands close on the side of Takato's waist, the place he knows to be where Virus stabbed him, even if the scar can't be felt through his shirt's fabric.

Akira is not exactly religious. That's a fact his mother, who, much like Takato, always talks about his father, has lamented before, recounting the rarely seen peace in Mink's expression when he prayed to his lost motherland. She, herself, prays even now with a rosary of pink beads he left behind. Once, though, Akira prayed. Takato was there, but he was sleeping in his hospital bed, mostly out of danger after receiving blood transfusion and having his wound treated.

Takato trembles ever so slightly when Akira slips his hand under his shirt, feeling the raised scar under his fingertips. As if trying to take him one step up, Takato deepens the kiss, teasing with his tongue and making a plaything of his lips. Akira sighs and splays his free hand between Takato's shoulder blades, a rhythm like the wings of a hummingbird beneath his palm.

In Akira's heart, he prays once more. This time for himself and the cruelly sweet, fleeting touch of happiness.

~❈~

Extra 5: Their Way of Living

Virus has never enjoyed parties, even after his years accompanying Adlersflügel Group's CEO. Most unpleasant things can be dulled with alcohol, though, and that's what he indulges in with fingers pinched on a wine flute, looking around the gaudy decoration with a lazy smile. Having the hosting family's monumental house as backdrop, they are under a large white tent by the seaside, the surroundings of the party all lit up in fairy lights, stark in the dark beach. Wealthy men and women talk and laugh, mill about the numerous tables while enjoying the sea breeze that sweeps in.

Trip is just as much if not more avert to such gatherings, only ever dragged along with Virus when they needed extra muscle for some reason. The younger man is not as fond of alcohol as Virus, however, so all he ever did during parties was standing against a wall, arms crossed, as far away from the ruckus as he could.

This time around, though, Trip has found some entertainment for himself.

On the other side of the room, by a champagne fountain, Trip converses with an older woman of forty-and-some years old, though she's blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl. She's the mother of the hosting family, which is celebrating their eldest daughter's engagement. Trip is smiling at her just as warmly, a grace he didn't possess until he was (more or less) domesticated by Adlersflügels.

Virus' eyes navigate the room inconspicuously, going from Trip and his female companion to the man he knows to be her husband. While the man seems just as deep in conversation with his circle of friends, Virus catches the way his eyes narrow and slide towards his wife and Trip from time to time. There's no doubt in Virus' mind that Trip is aware of the man's discomfort and that's half the fun for him.

This is not the start of Trip's half-hearted courtship. Ever since the first party they attended, after they joined the company which happened to be this family's closest business associate, Trip successfully captivated her. It's been close to six months now. The poor husband seemed to be fairly reasonable, but having such a long-insistent thorn on his side, of course he's at the end of his rope. Virus smiles, watching as that man's friends disperse and he finds himself without a distraction, his gaze helplessly flickering towards where Trip and his wife are talking.

Virus gets up from his table and flags down a passing waiter, picking up two glasses of champagne before heading towards the frazzled man. Things have been way too quiet; he should have some fun, as well.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hawthorne. It's a beautiful party," Virus says by way of greeting once he's closed the distance, offering one of the champagne flutes to the CEO.

The man, Michael Hawthorne, blinks in his direction, momentarily surprised before his expression grows wry, accepting the champagne nevertheless.

"Thank you, but you should be congratulating my daughter. She's the one who organized the whole thing."

"The bride herself? That's admirable."

"She's taking care of the wedding ceremony and reception, as well. The way she is, I didn't think for a second she would leave it in someone else's hands," Michael says, with an attempt at a chuckle. The man doesn't sound nearly as happy as the words themselves look.

"I see. I'll be sure to congratulate her, as well, then." Virus takes a sip of his drink, smiling against the glass as his gaze slides away. In the dance floor, the aforementioned young woman is dancing with her groom. "... With that said, I wouldn't dare burst the happy couple's bubble now."

Michael sighs through his nose and says nothing, taking a long drink of his champagne. Virus frowns lightly.

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd distract you, but it seems I'm not helping."

"What?" Michael nearly snaps, alert, but quickly schools his features into neutrality.

"While this is a happy occasion, marrying off one's only daughter is bittersweet, isn't it?" Virus explains calmly, unaffected by the man's strong reaction. "I thought I could help taking your mind off of it."

Michael looks at him for a long moment. "I'm... moved by your concern, Mr. Williams, but-"

"You can call me Jude," Virus offers with a smile, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose before brushing a distracted hand by his jet-black hair. "We never got to talk outside of cross-company meetings and quick greetings, but if we solved that, I think we could be good friends."

Virus raises his half-empty glass, expectant. Michael still looks doubtful for a few more trickling seconds, before his expression settles into acceptance and he raises his own glass, knocking it delicately against Virus'.

The front door of the house clicks and creaks open. Virus looks up from his cup of coffee, turning in his stool at the kitchen island. Trip walks in, eyes closed against the soft morning light as he yawns loudly into his hand. When he finds Virus looking at him, he blinks.

"Oh. Morning," he greets, dragging his feet as he walks past the open windows.

"Good morning," Virus greets back, taking in the dark circles under Trip's eyes. "You're home late. Or early, rather."

"Yep. I don't wanna do this stupid job anymore."

Virus snorts at the sheer childshness of that declaration.

"Of course you do. As a personal bodyguard, you get to kick people to the ground from time to time, don't you?"

"Sure. I like sleeping, though. And doing it out of obligation is not as fun."

Virus hums dubiously, the corner of his lips tugging up. Before pouring a cup of coffee for himself, Trip rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. A silvery glint in his wrist catches Virus' eye.

"That's a nice looking watch you have there," Virus comments, studying the way light moves over the silver and gold Rolex.

"Mhm. Jane got me a while ago," Trip explains distractedly, voice tapering into a yawn as he takes a seat next to Virus.

Virus raises his eyebrows, smile growing. "Ms. Hawthorne's giving you gifts? My, my."

"It's not the first one. You know how rich people are, they like flaunting their money."

"You're right."

Trip takes a long swing of his coffee and tosses a glance Virus' way. "Speaking of which, did that old man get you that black Car of the Year I just saw in our garage?"

Virus' lips twitch, keeping his smile tame against the rim of the cup as he drinks.

"Why do you think so?"

"It sure as hell ain't mine."

Virus laughs. "I have enough money to get it myself." With a last gulp, he puts down his empty cup and turns his head to face Trip. "But I've always been good at getting what I want from old men, haven't I?"

Trip slowly turns to look at him, a deep scowl in his face. Virus simply smiles, half amused and half surprised that Trip still reacts like this to such an insignificant thing. It was understandable to be disgusted when they were younger. Virus has vague memories of making the most of his bathroom passes throwing up into toilets, of pain and wanting to claw his skin off, the skin that man touched. It was so long ago, though.

And between barely seeing sunlight and being prodded at with needles for as long as he remembered, letting some perverted scientist get off on him in order to put his hands on some documents was the only thing Virus had any agency over, back then. It was his choice; he was not a victim.

"I'm heading off to work," Virus announces flippantly, hopping off his seat. "Make sure to sleep properly-"

Virus stops in place as a hand grips his arm. Trip pulls him back, forcing Virus to face him.

"What is- Woah!"

Trip sticks his hands into Virus' blazer and grabs at his dress shirt, yanking it open and off the waist of his pants. Buttons fly every which way. Virus gapes for half a second as Trip reaches for his tie, but a scowl quickly takes over his expression.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Seeing for myself how that old man fucks you," Trip says, his earlier anger nowhere to be seen in his blank expression and tone. As Virus' silk tie slips to the floor, Trip pushes his shirt and blazer off his shoulders. "So he likes leaving marks. I guess we've been too busy for me to notice them before."

"You're jealous?" Virus sneers, unabashed as Trip's eyes dance over the litany of red and purple kiss marks covering his chest, shoulders and hips.

"Jealous? Why?" Virus' shirt and blazer drop to the floor. The steam rising from Trip's cup of coffee on the kitchen island has dissipated. "I know that old man doesn't fuck you like you want it."

"You'd be surprised," slides from Virus' lips, but Trip shakes his head, impervious.

"I know."

"How are you so sure?"

Trip makes very little case about the location. Rising from his seat, he maneuvers Virus with guiding arms, manipulating the very weight of him until he has Virus smoothly pinned to the floor. Trip stares down at Virus, settled between his open legs, blue eyes half-lidded.

"Because, right now, you'll stay."

Virus looks up at him, eyes impassive, his lips in a flat line for a long time until they finally curl up in the corners. Arms reach up around a strong neck and Trip leans down obediently under the weight of Virus' hand clawing at his hair.

Black hair, which Trip wordlessly dyed as soon as Virus dyed his own.

"Don't flatter yourself," Virus drawls mockingly, but his voice pitches up with a moan as Trip drops his hips, rutting against Virus with purpose.

Virus doesn't stay anywhere—not for anyone and certainly not for Trip. He only does whatever he feels like and goes wherever he wants. If anything, it's Trip who trails after his every step, toddling behind him ever since their days inside the walls of Oval Tower. Without a word, he ran with Virus when they escaped Toue's crumbling castle. Virus thought he'd be gone then, but Trip stayed with him in the streets and even went to Germany with him. Dyed his hair blonde to match Virus' and then dyed it black for the same reason.

"So... stubborn..." Virus grits out, narrowing his eyes at Trip. The man raises his torso, Virus' naked leg shifting off his shoulder and to the floor.

"What, he does it in a hurry?" Trip asks lazily, one eyebrow up.

Virus flinches once at the strong tug of Trip's fist on his cock, but frowns at him again as his movements return to their sluggish rhythm.

"I still have to get to work, so I'd thank you to be quick."

"If you're going to be ten minutes late..." Trip starts, grabbing Virus' thigh and leaning over him, bringing his hips into the loose hug of Virus' legs and his lips exhaling against Virus' own. "... Might as well be one or two hours late."

"So damned cheeky," Virus huffs.

The irritated smile on his face flickers into a wince, then his mouth opens on a moan as Trip pushes inside him. It surprises even himself, after spending more nights with Michael than Trip over the past month—the rough pads of his fingers on his thighs, the sharpness of the teeth teasing his neck, the girth and weight of him that make Virus' eyes roll to the back of his head and his toes curl because it's been too long. And maybe he really wasn't being fucked the way he wants to.

"It's fine. Because this is what you want."

That's right. It's always been Trip trying his hardest to follow Virus. Trip makes no questions; without a word, be it from himself or Virus, he fits seamlessly into every movement Virus makes, like a dance Trip was never taught but learned nevertheless.

Trip lifts his face from Virus' neck, probably meaning to say more. Virus crushes that intent with a kiss, hard and demanding, not resting until he's sure to see Trip's lips red and swollen once he draws away.

It doesn't matter why; Virus will keep doing as he pleases.

The wind in the dark beach is ferocious. As it beats against Trip's face, it feels as sharp as to cut his skin. As it swings from behind him, it feels like it'll drag him into those restless waters, that pitch-black sky. It's so far from Jane's birthday party he can't hear a blip of music, so far from the extravagant houses lining the shore that the timid moon overhead is the only source of light. All that surrounds Trip is the hiss of the ocean waves crashing against one another and a starless sky that looks about to swallow him whole.

It reminds him of all he wanted when he was a brat, when all he felt was an unbrindled rage at any and all things. The insides of him were as narrow as the walls of his sleeping quarters in Oval Tower, so, naturally, it would spill out. Trip snapped, bit, kicked people, broke things if they were close enough to his hands, even when there didn't seem to be any reason for it. All this rage got him when directed at the scientists were extended time in the laboratories, extended time without water and food, so he learned to refrain that much. Then, when his irritating cohabitants so much as breathed in his direction, they got double the violence in response. Trip scoffs when he remembers; he really was like a trapped animal. Back then, there was no way for him to find a place like this.

But Trip did find Virus. And amidst the noise, Virus was perfect silence. Not like this dark beach, but pure white.

Trip sighs. As nice as the ocean breeze feels, this is not the kind of quiet he wishes for anymore. It gets boring really fast. He's already found his place to rest and, right about now, he sort of wishes he was there instead. He'll just make some excuse to Jane later.

A loud bang causes Trip to flinch. It's only as he's looking to the sides that he realizes he saw a flash from behind him, so he turns around.

A figure stands some distance away, arm outstretched. As Trip's eyes are already acclimated to the poor lighting, it only takes him half a second to recognize Michael Hawthorne and to make out the gun in his hand, the muzzle still fuming.

Trip's body moved faster than his brain did, he realizes. Virus has criticized him for that once or twice. So only now, looking into Michael's face, he recognizes the sound itself, even though gunfire is not unknown to him.

It's not unknown, but now is the first time Trip has been shot.

Trip looks down at himself, though he doesn't need any visual confirmation. Not when there's a burning sensation sparking up in his stomach. Still, he catches sight of the dark, muggy color blooming in his white dress shirt. The rushing of blood in his ears is like the ocean washing into his brain.

A second shot rings out and Trip jolts in place again. It's far enough from the first wound that he can feel its burn sharply—it was his thigh, this time. Trip staggers and ultimately falls to his knees, dropping on his side and back when he finds impossible to hold himself up.

"Those are some," Trips hisses, wheezing, "really non-lethal spots you shot."

"I didn't want to kill you immediately," Michael says, low and cold. Trip hears his footfalls in the sand. "I wished to let you slowly bleed out to death, truthfully."

"Ah," Trip tries to interject flatly, but his heavy breathing ruins the effect. Still, he braves through with an equally unimpressive, "You wound me."

Michael stops, his feet over the crown of Trip's head, staring down his nose at him and blocking the sight of the moon from Trip.

"It looks like your constitution is too good, however. I can't take too long here, nor can I risk letting you survive. So I'll go easy on you."

The man's green eyes are void of any emotion and Trip finds himself grinning. When he started this little game, he never thought it would end like this. Michael surely did not look like he had it in him. Trip thought he'd play with this couple of rich old farts, maybe destroy their marriage and get some money while he's at it. Who would've thought the good-natured CEO was a beast in human skin? They're not too different, after all, the two of them.

"Does this erase the fact that your wife would rather get fucked by me than you?"

Something finally flares up in Michael's eyes. The man doesn't rise to the bait, however, smoothing his expression back into indifference.

"No. It's only fair, since there's someone else I like fucking better than her, as well," Michael says and raises his gun again, pointing it right to Trip's head. Then, he smiles. "Don't worry about your brother. I'll take good care of him."

My brother... It takes Trip a short moment to connect the dots. It's their cover story; that he and Virus are brothers. Virus had shrugged it off as convenient, since they'd be living together and Trip had bothered to match his hair color once again. Trip's grin falters.

Again, a loud bang echoes into the sea.

Trip has to swiftly roll aside as Michael slumps face-down into the sand, right where he was lying a second before. Breathing heavily, Trip turns his head and studies the man's still form. It was too fast, but now he can see the bullet hole on his temple. Michael is not getting up.

"What a mess you've gotten yourself into."

Trip turns his face up at that voice, but there's only the moon overhead. Footfalls approach and Virus stops next to Michael first, pressing fingers to the pulse point in his neck. In his other hand is a gun.

"Virus," Trip calls without purpose. The man glances at him, scoffing.

"Will you cry out in gratitude for me?"

"Why are you here?"

Virus raises an eyebrow at having a question for reply. Then, he gets up and comes closer to Trip. Wind rustles his jacket and his hair as pitch-black as the sky, a smile as merciful as it is self-serving. Virus reaches down a hand first, kneeling over him, cupping the side of Trip's face. Pure white.

"I was with him earlier. He didn't notice me, but I saw him going through his wife's cellphone. I had a feeling he might have been plotting something."

Trip looks up at Virus' upside-down face and doesn't believe he's here. This is not something they do. It's not something Trip expects from Virus. They've always worked together like a well-oiled machine, each picking up after himself without looking back at the other. Virus never makes mistakes and even though it was never said as such, Trip knew; the moment he fell short, Virus wouldn't wait, wouldn't turn back for him.

"Are you really going to cry?" Virus asks, eyebrows almost up to his hairline.

"It just... fucking hurts," Trip rasps out, looking off to the side, eyes burning almost as much as the gunshot wounds.

"You're almost cute right now," Virus muses, stroking Trip's cheek.

Trip closes his eyes, unabashedly leaning into Virus' touch. Before long, though, it's gone.

"Come on, get up," Virus says curtly, shuffling over to his side and grabbing his arm. "We can't stay here too long."

Trip blinks his eyes open. "Huh?"

Virus gives him a withering stare. "Were you intending on just dying here?"

If Trip is honest, on the list of things he doesn't want to do right now, "moving" is probably sitting on the top. Virus shakes his head and starts taking off his jacket.

"Sorry to ruin your plans, but you're not dying here after I already went to the trouble of saving your head."

Virus wraps his jacket around Trip's wounded thigh, drawing a muffled groan from him as he harshly ties the ends together.

"How are we doing this, then?" Trip says under his breath, grinning defiantly. "Are you giving me a piggyback ride?"

"Who would give a piggyback ride to a man bigger than himself?" Virus says as he rolls his eyes, yanking at Trip's arm and forcing him to sit up.

Trip grits his teeth against the searing pain as Virus pulls his arm around his shoulders, closing one of his own around Trip's waist, and boosts him up. They stay still for a moment and Virus looks back at where Michael is laying dead, letting out a grievous sigh.

"We can only hope the ocean will wash your blood away. This is very inconvenient; we will have to lay low for a long time after this one."

Trip tries to look in the same direction, but he doesn't have the right angle for it. His head hangs from his shoulders, eyes blearily trying to make sense of the blurred shadows before him. Trip closes a hand over the wound in his stomach, bunching up the hem of his shirt on top of it to create some pressure, but his hand is quickly soaked. Trip's skin feels muggy and hot everywhere, but there's a coldness spreading from his core and his head is starting to spin.

"Hey," Virus calls out to him, hand tightening on his waist and shaking him slightly. Trip didn't realize they started walking. "Get a hold of yourself. You're not fainting here."

"I'd be fine even if I died here," Trip wheezes out with a bit of laughter. "You killed that old man and I got to see you in the end. The only way to make it better is if we could have sex. Even I'm not in the mood for it right now, though."

"Shut up," Virus orders him coldly. "For someone who's done everything necessary and unnecessary to follow me, you're sure giving up quickly."

Trip peers at Virus' profile, mildly surprised by his harsh tone. Virus continues with:

"You can die when I kill you myself. Until then, you're not going anywhere."

Trip's eyes widen. After Virus' lips tightly shut, it's all too easy to believe it was all his imagination. Trip doesn't ask him to repeat it, nor does he poke fun at it.

It's completely uncertain what the next seconds and minutes have in store for them. Someone might catch them. The last bits of energy Trip is holding on to might run out on him. Even if they survive tonight, tomorrow is a mystery.

Trip smirks. They've been comfortable for a long time, but in the beginning—when they escaped the crumbling Oval Tower, alive, free—it was like this, as well.

A thick dark cloud crosses the sky and covers the moon. Together, they disappear.

~❈~

Extra 6: To Be Free

The en-suite bathroom's door opens. Noiz steps out, a towel hanging around his hips as he uses a smaller one to dry his hair. There's not a wasted movement as he goes about dressing himself, putting on jogging pants and a hoodie. The phone in his bed vibrates in the midst of it and Noiz tilts his head to look at the illuminated screen.

Incoming call: Lucas Goossens

A business associate from Belgium. It's probably important. Noiz turns his back on the vibrating phone and leaves the room.

"These people sure are spoiled," Noiz says to himself. It's definitely something that can be easily worked out tomorrow, during working hours. It always is.

The corridor's walls are as bare as those of his bedroom. The house is silent, perfectly still around him. When Noiz gets closer to the kitchen, though, he hears something. And he smiles.

Noiz enters the kitchen and there is Aoba, pink headphones snug on his ears, cutting a piece of the steaming lasagna on the table and placing it on a plate. Aoba is humming to himself a song Noiz recognizes. A song from Aoba's favorite band, whose name is written in the shirt he's wearing right now.

As Noiz steps closer, he must enter Aoba's field of view because the man straightens up and looks at him. Aoba slips the headphones off his ears and leaves them hanging around his neck.

"You were supposed to wait for me," Noiz teases.

"I was waiting," Aoba counters with a glare."You took too long, so I had to take it out of the oven."

Noiz huffs at Aoba's grumpiness. Even though it's been four months since Noiz returned, it's still all too common for Aoba to take him seriously when he's taunting. While that shows they're still on different wavelengths, Noiz can't deny he finds it endearing.

"Will you serve my portion, too?" Noiz says, looking at Aoba's lone plate.

"If you do the dishes later, I will."

Noiz turns towards the cupboards containing plates and cutlery without a word. Aoba laughs unabashedly behind him.

They're on different wavelengths, Noiz thinks, but slowly they're coming closer.

Far gone are the sweltering days and sudden bouts of rain in the summer, giving place to sharp winds and dead leaves. Midorijima is well into fall. As the seasons changed, Noiz has patiently carved his place in Aoba's daily life, joining the Seragakis for dinner whenever work let him and, more recently, securing Aoba's promise to teach him how to cook.

"It smells great," Aoba comments, then huffs with a grin. "I barely helped. I should've expected you to be talented with pasta of all things."

"Maybe I should bake pizza next time," Noiz muses. Aoba laughs and that sound can't ever become too frequent to Noiz's ears.

"Are you sure you're not Italian instead of German?"

Frankly, Noiz is not that interested in cooking. It's simply that, as welcoming as the Seragaki household is, what he really wanted was this. The two of them sitting together, talking and laughing without third parties to divide their attention. It's a work in progress, though; every time Noiz gets too comfortable, Aoba becomes withdrawn, skittish. Noiz is constantly reminded that he's the only one who's held on to these feeling from four years ago, that those same feelings only caused Aoba pain in the meantime.

The flipside of being patient is being stubborn. Aoba's honest and selfless love made Noiz the happiest he's ever been. Noiz wants to be that same person for him, as laughable as the concepts of honesty and selflessness may sound associated with him.

"Careful, the casserole...!"

"Huh?"

Noiz raises his head as he's about to cut his own portion of the lasagna. Aoba grabs his wrist and pulls his hand off the casserole dish.

"It's still hot from the oven, idiot," Aoba chides him, frowning down at his hand. Noiz blinks. "It's red, but it might not burn seriously... Does it-"

Aoba freezes as if his very heartbeat has stopped. Then, he looks up at Noiz, who finally understands.

"It doesn't hurt," Noiz tells him, unsure whether he's supposed to go for reassuring or not.

A dark cloud seems to have descended over Aoba's features. Rather than making him look annoyed, though, Aoba looks like he's deep in thought, like he's not even there anymore. Aoba releases Noiz's hand.

"Might not burn seriously, but you should still run it under the tap."

Noiz frowns at his distant tone, but acquiesces, turning towards the sink.

The sound of incessant keyboard typing fills the spacious home office and Noiz's ears. It feels like he's already done so much and there's still even more work ahead of him. Rounding up investors wasn't hard and leasing the building was an even easier decision, but then there are the constant meetings with his financial advisor, the gathering of necessary documents and the planning and selection of personnel...

With a final and heavy tap to a key, Noiz stops and sighs, leaning back on his chair. In moments like this, he wishes he could've simply gotten a job in some office. Every time, however, he remembers the three years he worked in his father's company and the reason why he'd much rather go through all this trouble than subordinate himself to incompetent old men again. Besides, this is the job he wants to do and if there're no cyber security companies in this island, he will just open one himself.

Noiz sighs once again and discards his reading glasses, placing them on the desk. Tendrils of a grim thought, which visits him every time he dwells too long in the memories of his father's company, creep in the corners of his mind again. The timezones usually never line up, but now he could... Noiz grabs his phone from the desk and scrolls through his contacts list, thumbing at one name.

The call rings only for a short moment.

"Wim! It's so rare that you'll be the one calling!" Theo gushes on the other end.

A sharp contrast to his brother's excitable persona, Noiz remains blank, but his shoulders relax. "Hey. I wanted to know how you're doing."

"Mm? I'm fine." Theo laughs slightly, a tinge of confusion in his voice. "Were you worried about me, brother?"

Noiz shrugs one shoulder, a defensive impulse enacted even though Theo can't see him.

"I did leave you there with loads of responsibilities on your back."

"Wim..." Theo chides softly. "We came to an agreement. I'm doing this because I want to."

"Yeah, you told me that. And I was all too glad to take it." Noiz breathes deeply, laying his head on the cushioned back of his chair. "You'll start working full-time next year, right? Will you be with our father?"

"Yes, just like you," Theo answers. "It's okay. I knew I wasn't going to work under the staff manager after you left. Our dad won't rest easy if the one who's taking his place doesn't do everything exactly the way he does, after all."

"Sorry, Theo. I was relieved when you said you would take the Group in my stead, but forget it. My head is clearer now that I'm out of that place." Noiz gets to his feet, standing by his desk with a hand in his pocket. "So I want you to know that, if you decide not to take on that company after all... You can come work with me."

"Brother..."

"If they do anything to try and stop you from leaving, I'll get you away from there."

"I'm so happy for you."

"Huh?" Noiz interjects, his train of thought halting at Theo's smiling affirmation.

"You swore to get away from the manor and be independent. Now, you're confident enough in yourself that you're even offering me help." A soft laugh is heard. "If I wanted to leave, I have no doubt in my mind you'd be able to help me."

Noiz inclines his head, expression unchanged. "And you don't."

Theo hums in agreement. "This is my home. And it sickens me how our parents have treated you all our lives, but I- I still love them. When I think of you, I wish I didn't, but I do. I'm happy to be here and to take the company after dad. And I can only be happy... that you're happy now, even though it couldn't be close to us."

Those are all things Noiz knows. An old version of himself would've scoffed at what he's just done, a clear lapse in logic, because it's a known fact their parents won't touch a hair on Theo's head. The old him, who didn't know how to worry about another, nor had the urge to protect. What he once didn't question, now makes no sense: that parents like his own raised a child like him, but also raised a child like Theo. So Noiz ends up wanting to shield Theo from their parents, forgetting that Theo has always had two very loving parents. It's idiotic; just like a guy fussing over the wounds of someone who doesn't feel pain. Noiz smiles to himself.

"You don't... resent me for that, right?" Theo asks hesitantly.

"No. Not at all," Noiz says with a sigh. "I'm the one not making sense. Of course you're not in the same circumstances I was."

"But it made me happy. I felt protected. You're just like a big brother!"

"I am your big brother."

Theo's laughter rings out like wind chimes and Noiz can't help but laugh along, near silent. Next, just like it will usually happen in their calls, Theo ropes Noiz into updating him about his life in Midorijima, with special interest in Aoba and their relationship. Of course, being Theo, he makes it as embarrassing as he possibly can. When they finish the call, Noiz feels infinitely more relaxed.

Willing to milk this moment of procrastination for all it's worth, Noiz dials a call to Aoba. At this time of the day, in the middle of the week, Aoba is obviously working. That doesn't mean much, though; Aoba might be dozing off in the front desk just as easily as he might be fixing some car in the back room, away from his phone. In case it's the latter, Noiz will just get back to work himself.

When the ringing stops, however, Noiz is thoroughly thrown for a loop.

"So the stories were true," a smooth, male voice says on the other end, "you really had the nerve to show your face around here again."

"Who the fuck are you," Noiz intones, instantly aware that's not Aoba or his boss' voice.

"Hah!" The man barks out acidly. "You still have a brat's tongue. Aoba made such a big deal out of how much you grew up, what a joke."

That voice starts feeling familiar, but Noiz can't quite pinpoint it. Dreading that this person has done something to Aoba, Noiz starts asking where he is when another voice speaks up.

"Shut the fuck up, Koujaku."

Koujaku, whose name finally sparks something in Noiz's memory, sounds farther away as he spits out, "Say that again, you little-!"

There's some clattering and rustling on the other end. Noiz scowls, putting some distance between the phone and his ear when it gets too loud. Before long, though, the other voice comes through.

"Yo. Mizuki here, sorry. We're holding on to Aoba's phone for now."

Noiz raises one eyebrow, still suspicious since he's not really familiar with Mizuki's voice.

"Where's Aoba?"

"Uh, he's with the kid right now. Did he tell you about it?"

No. "Yeah."

Mizuki sputters. "You just said that so flatly it was the opposite of convincing. Don't worry; I don't intend to keep anything from you. Aoba was probably being dumb if he didn't tell you." Mizuki sighs heavily. "It's a specialty of his."

Despite himself, Noiz relaxes a little. That does sound like something a friend of Aoba's would say.

"It's a Dyed girl," Mizuki says. "Koujaku found out her mother has been hiding her all this time. Akira and I have quite the extensive reach, so we thought we got everyone, but of course we had to start finding lost ones in Koujaku's territory."

Noiz hears arguing in the background again, but he doesn't pay it any attention.

"So Aoba is... using Scrap on that girl right now?"

"Yeah. It's been almost an hour so I'd assume he's almost done. In the end, though, it depends on how challenging each specific case is." There's a brief pause, before Mizuki continues with, "Do you, uh, want to come here?"

Noiz raises an eyebrow. He was on his way to try and pull their location from Mizuki, but it won't be necessary if the information is easily volunteered to him.

"There's no problem with that?"

"No. It would actually be helpful," Mizuki admits. "Aoba is always a bit woozy after these sessions. Problem is, he's a hard-ass about it and won't accept help. I'll rest easy when he leaves if you're with him."

"That's an awful lot of trust you're placing on me," Noiz points out, surely glad for it, but still antagonizing by nature. "Especially compared to your other friend."

"Oh, you could literally be perfect and Koujaku would still find some nasty thing to say about you." A short pause, surprisingly silent, then Mizuki confidently amends with, "In fact, he would be even bitterer if you were actually perfect. As for me, if Aoba trusts you, I trust you."

"I'm flattered," Noiz says without any inflection. Mizuki laughs. "Then, where are you?"

The adress is in the Western District, only a few streets away from Noiz's apartment complex. Noiz would've walked there, but, knowing that Aoba wouldn't be feeling too well, he drives to the place. Mizuki is the one to open the door when he knocks.

It's been a while since the first and last time Noiz saw him after returning to Midorijima, but Mizuki certainly looks more relaxed. No fragile bowls in sight, the tall red-head grins amicably at Noiz.

"Hey, come on in."

"You're very welcoming in someone else's house," Noiz taunts, but slips into the genkan all the same.

"It could be my house," Mizuki counters, mock-offended.

"But it's not," Noiz says easily, taking off his shoes. "You said the mother was hiding her daughter, so I doubt she would let you move her for your convenience, so this must be her home. Besides, your territory is East. It wouldn't make sense."

"Aren't you a genius," Mizuki grumbles without heat, leading Noiz into the living room.

Although his memory of the man was foggy until now, Noiz immediately recognizes the bright-colored kimono and straight black hair. The glare is very familiar, as well, and Noiz smirks in a knee-jerk reaction. Koujaku only scowls harder from his seat at the couch.

A middle-aged woman is standing by a half-opened door, arms crossed and leg bouncing as she looks through the opening every once in a while. When they enter the living room, she glances over at them, narrowing her eyes at Noiz for a moment before looking at Koujaku.

"How much longer will it take? As I thought, I don't feel comfortable with so many strangers in my house."

Koujaku straightens up, giving her an earnest look. "Like we said, we can't be sure. Aoba could be either almost done or nowhere near finishing. I'm sorry for taking advantage of your hospitability."

"You also said he'd talk to her, but they haven't been saying anything," the woman says, frowning. "They're just facing each other and holding hands over the coffee table. Are they praying?"

"No. That's how he talks to the people afflicted," Mizuki says in Koujaku's stead, looking straight at the woman. "She will wake up after that, you can believe us."

The woman gives Mizuki a hard look. Then, she focuses on the half-opened door again, a touch of fragility in her furrowed brow and crossed arms.

"I heard there were people... who were going back to normal. No one could ever tell me how that happened, though. When Koujaku-kun said it was that boy's doing, I ended up listening to him. But... that doesn't seem right."

"Wouldn't it be a waste of time if we were lying to you? We're not charging you for this." Koujaku points out. Then, in a pleading tone, he continues with, "Just wait, Chiyo-san. Trust me, if you won't trust these guys."

Chiyo turns her eyes to them once more. After a moment of staring, she wordlessly turns and marches through another door. Mizuki lets out a heavy exhale.

"Is that how it usually goes?" Noiz asks. Mizuki looks back, like he forgot Noiz was still hanging around behind him.

"Huh?"

"Her resistance. Are people always that suspicious?"

"Uh... No, not really," Mizuki says, face crumpling up in thought. "This is the first time we had someone who's completely unrelated to Ribsteez."

"Only the first?" Noiz raises one of his eyebrows. "Aoba didn't give me exact numbers, but I was under the impression he saw a lot of people."

Mizuki sighs, walking over to the couch where Koujaku is sitting and plopping down beside him.

"For starters, the majority of Dyed people were captured by the police, so that was a whole other ordeal. There weren't that many who were hidden and they weren't really hidden from us, not in the East. I knew all about it; other than the ones I myself hid, the other few were either hid by our teammates or friends of teammates. So when the time came to see them, there was no suspicion cast on us.

"In Akira's case, he had it easy since his team controls the area around the Kisaragi arcades. And his team is not as big, but his influence in the South is as great as mine in the East. I'm sure you know about that, being a former member. If he says something- or, occasionally, when Takato says something, people trust him."

Noiz nods to that; even inside Scratch there were people who only really answered to Takato. It's probably still like that today. Koujaku snorts.

"What are you laughing about?" Mizuki turns his head sharply, eyes narrowed. "Akira may be unreliable, but he's doing better than a guy who's more legend than person."

"I can't tell if you're trying to insult me or compliment me," Koujaku says flatly, sounding more challenging then genuinely curious.

Mizuki crosses his arms. "Neither. I'm just saying the truth; your damn vanishing acts are so frequent people don't even recognize you as Benishigure's leader. Girls may like that mystery shit, but that won't inspire confidence in everyone else."

"I don't vanish. I just don't bother showing off like you and Akira," Koujaku protests. Then, under his breath, he grumbles,"I had to be out of the island a lot because of my old man, too."

Noiz sees a shadow from the corner of his eye. Chiyo returns from the kitchen with a tray, succesfully ending Koujaku and Mizuki's argument. Upon closer inspection, as she places the tray on the coffee table, they see biscuits and a tea set.

"If you have to stay for so long, I can't very well have you just sitting around."

Koujaku smiles. "Chiyo-san, you didn't have to. Thank you."

The woman rolls her eyes, though it lacks venom. Then, she looks at Noiz with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you doing, standing there like a street pole?"

Noiz only stares at her. Instead of pointing out that nothing in her attitude invited him to sit in her living room, he nods and says a low "excuse me" as he moves to sit by Mizuki's side. As he does, the woman busies herself pouring tea into cups.

"I know Koujaku-kun's family and I've had my talk with Mizuki-kun and Seragaki-kun." Chiyo places the tea cups for all of them and remains in seiza by the coffee table. She fixes her gaze on Noiz. "So, who are you?"

"My name is Wilhelm. I'm..." Noiz stops for a moment, bites his tongue on a word he wishes was true for them, but isn't. If Aoba was here, Noiz might've said it, just to be cheeky, just to see Aoba's face burn red.

"I'm Aoba's friend."

Mizuki raises an eyebrow. Chiyo hums and takes a sip of her tea.

"That name... I really thought you looked foreign. But you don't sound foreign."

"I'm quarter Japanese. I had practice before ever coming to Japan." Noiz picks up his tea cup, but doesn't drink. The surface ondulates. "If you have trouble pronouncing my name, just call me Noiz."

Chiyo halts as she's about to bring the cup to her lips again.

"Noiz- That's a name my Azusa mentioned a lot back when she... played that damned game." Chiyo's dark-brown eyes are wide. She puts down her cup. "Are you-"

"That was me," Noiz confirms. "I finished second in the Rhyme Tournament Event back then. I was here when the song played, too."

The woman's closed-off attitude completely peels away, revealing her desperate and agitated. Chiyo's gaze darts all over Noiz's face.

"Y-You were like Azusa? But how..."

"Aoba saved me." Noiz looks at the door behind which Aoba is, smiling. "I didn't think that he would go on to help even more people... but he's such a damn goody-two-shoes, of course he would."

Chiyo only stares as Noiz says that. She doesn't look thrilled, nor is she suddenly certain that her daughter will recover her conscience. After relaxing, Chiyo wordlessly drops her gaze and picks up her tea once more. Silently, she waits.

In the quiet living room, the creak of the door opening is deafening. Chiyo's head snaps to the sound as she scrambles up to her feet. Noiz twists in his seat, looking at the door that's now opened wide and finding a blonde girl with black roots grown out. Just as wide are her eyes, skittering over them until they stop in one point.

Chiyo runs over to her daughter. Mizuki and Koujaku get up, hands up in a placating motion and saying something that goes unheard as the woman completely ignores them. The girl, Azusa, stumbles over and meets her mother in a tight hug. Azusa's hoarse voice is nearly unaudible under Chiyo's cries of joy and relief.

Noiz stands up, feeling something he soon finds to be his own share of relief. It's hard to tell whether it's a second-hand feeling or relief for Aoba's accomplishment, and he doesn't particularly care. Noiz almost smiles, but he hears a sigh, which pulls his attention to the men beside him.

Koujaku and Mizuki are frowning as they look at the mother and daughter. That's enough to make any start of a smile die on Noiz's face and he follows their gaze.

Nothing is changed; Chiyo is kissing her daughter's face and Azusa's shock has broken into delight. Before long, though, Aoba emerges through the door behind them. Azusa notices first, calling out to him with a soft, "Aoba-san!"

Chiyo turns her head to him, still holding her daughter. "Seragaki-kun! Thank you so much! How- How can I ever-"

Noiz only sees the woman's motions from the corner of his eye. What holds his full attention is Aoba, as he stares at the woman and the girl with a blank expression, his hazel eyes turned bright gold. Aoba opens his mouth.

"Forget me."

Aoba's voice vibrates in his ears in that way Noiz hasn't heard in years—the two times Aoba saved him. It's not directed at him, but the haunting effect of his voice and words still root Noiz to his spot, stunned as the mother and daughter's knees buckle.

Mizuki and Koujaku are already there, breaking their fall. Aoba's chest descends and the glow in his eyes diminishes. They move away from the cluster before him, finding Noiz's gaze.

The two say nothing. Aoba looks away and Noiz watches as he staggers past Koujaku and Mizuki, almost clearing the path to the hallway door until he stumbles. Noiz is close enough that he can reach out a hand and close the distance to hold him up.

"Oi," Noiz interjects in a vaguely chiding tone. Surprisingly, Aoba leans on him for a moment, but it's only long enough for him to regain his footing. With a muffled "thanks," Aoba draws away from him and pushes through the door to the genkan, swiftly pulling his coat from the hanger on the way.

Noiz glances back at Mizuki, who smiles wearily at him while carrying Azusa to the couch. Right behind him, Koujaku is carrying the girl's mother with some difficulty. As Mizuki tilts his head towards the door, Noiz is already following Aoba out.

In the genkan, Aoba is sitting down, putting on his shoes. By the time Noiz reaches Aoba, he's clearly done with his shoelaces, but he looks like he's gathering strength or motivation to get up.

Noiz slips his feet into his loafers."Ready to go?"

"Huh?" Aoba looks up at Noiz, his look a bleary brand of frustrated.

Noiz smiles a little at that. "I'll be your chauffeur today. Tell me where you want to go and I'll take you there."

"Where did... that come from?" Aoba groans, trying to get to his feet. Noiz helps pull him up, to Aoba's visible annoyance. Once stable, he continues with, "Did Mizuki put you up to that?"

"Not really? I wanted to talk to you; he just told me where you were."

Noiz opens the door and watches closely in case Aoba needs help. Although he does progress on slow feet, they make out of the house without incident. In the dimming daylight, Aoba raises an eyebrow at him.

"Talk? About what?"

"Just talk." Noiz shrugs one-shouldered, unlocking his car as they near the parking lot.

Aoba doesn't ask for further details. When they get inside the car, he sighs with something akin to relief and curls in on himself, shaking with a shiver. As they descend into night, winter tightens its icy grasp on Midorijima. Noiz starts the car and glances momentarily at Aoba, who has his eyes closed.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know."

Regardless of the non-answer, Noiz starts pushing out of the parking lot. "Home?"

"My home or your home?"

"My home is an option?"

Aoba laughs a bit, smiling like someone having a pleasant dream. "It is, actually."

Noiz looks over to Aoba again, lingering a moment longer before turning back to the road. It's hard to feel good about how relaxed Aoba looks now; it's evidently heavy with exhaustion and a resignation Noiz can't start to understand.

"You can rest at my place for a while, if you don't want to go home yet."

"... Thank you."

Noiz huffs, his gaze straying to the pink golden sky blanketing the street. It's hardly a sacrifice.

Aoba falls asleep over the course of the short ride. Noiz only realizes once he stops in the parking lot of his complex, when Aoba doesn't react to being called out. After Noiz tries again, to no avail, he heaves a sigh and closes his door, keys in hand as he circles the car and opens Aoba's door. Gingerly, he unbuckles the seatbelt across his torso and lifts Aoba into his arms.

Thankfully, the apartment complex is respectable enough to have an elevator. Still, it's only slightly less awkward to fit the slumbering Aoba into it than walk up narrow stairwells with him instead. Noiz's next door neighbor, a hunched-over old lady who walks around with a cane, comes out of her apartment just as the elevator door opens, stopping when she sees Noiz and Aoba. Her already thin eyes narrow into slits, the wrinkled skin around them marked critically as she watches Noiz walk past and stop in front of his door.

"I know you've seen him here before," Noiz declares to his lock as he awkwardly gets it open. The old lady lets out a soft squeak of surprise. "He's my boyfriend. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Throwing a last glance to the nosy neighbor he's never talked to up to this point, Noiz opens the door and enters his apartment. A smile teases at the corner of his lips; although Aoba is still out like a light, it was entertaining to see the woman's stunned expression.

Since his couch is comfortable and spatious enough, Noiz lets Aoba rest in it, pushing a small cushion underneath his head. Noiz sits on the floor with a huff, his back against the couch, and he turns his head. Aoba's profile is peaceful as he breathes regularly, his messy and yet soft-looking hair sprawling over the off-white fabric of the couch.

"I'm not getting any job done today, am I..."

Aoba starts frowning in his sleep and the way his nose wrinkles forces Noiz to muffle a laugh. What is he doing, worrying about things even in his dreams? Noiz feels relaxed enough to doze off right here. However, when his phone vibrates with a call from his advisor, he reluctantly drags himself back to his office.

But not before stopping beside Aoba and lightly pressing his thumb against the crease in his forehead. Aoba doesn't stir from his slumber.

Noiz gets back to work, quickly finishing the list of resources he's meant to send his advisor and taking the moment to check up on some business acquaintances. After a while of sending e-mails back and forth, a knock comes from his door.

"Come on in," Noiz calls out, finishing one last e-mail. The door opens.

Noiz looks up after sending out the e-mail, finding Aoba wordlessly blinking at him from the doorway.

"What is it?"

Aoba narrows his eyes. Then, he makes a face like he's conflicted, chewing on his bottom lip. Noiz forces his own into a straight line, staving off a grin while Aoba is trying to say something. So funny.

"N-Nice glasses."

Aoba is trying and failing to sound teasing, coming off genuine instead. Noiz's mask breaks and he smirks.

"Oh, you like them?"

Aoba rears back his head, lips moving exaggeratedly as he babbles, finally making sense when he grumbles, "Sure, they're okay. I guess."

Noiz laughs softly, getting up from his seat. The glasses usually don't go anywhere further than his desk, but Noiz keeps it in place as he walks up to Aoba, stopping with his hands in his pockets.

"You can look closer then."

"Cheeky brat."

This kind of banter has been slowly returning; it's reminiscent from the time when they first met. Noiz doesn't know if Aoba realizes he's fallen back on the same old patterns. While he's not too fond of the seniority rhetoric, that's much better than Aoba's previous self-deprecation.

"Here." Noiz removes his glasses and makes to put them on Aoba. "Try them on."

"You little- Woah!" Aoba squeezes his eyes shut when the yellowish lenses come close, turning his head away.

Noiz stares for a short moment. "Sorry, did it hurt?"

"No, I just got surprised." Aoba takes the glasses from Noiz's hands, studying them curiously. "I thought they were just computer glasses, but they're kinda strong. Since when do you use them?"

"Two years or so ago. Too much time spent reading boring shit on screens," Noiz grumbles, remembering his work at the time.

Aoba smiles sympathetically. "I see."

"Before, I would've tried to force my eyes through the blurriness, but I have to pick up on hints for stuff that pain would usually warn me against."

"Well, that's good. Don't make yourself blind."

Aoba folds the legs of his glasses and hands them back to him. Noiz looks at Aoba for a moment. Then, he takes the glasses, slipping them into his shirt's breast pocket.

"How are you doing?" Noiz asks.

Aoba jerks his head up. "Oh, I'm feeling better, thank you. But, uh, did you carry me here? I don't remember coming up at all."

"Yeah."

Aoba sighs heavily, slouching forward like he's suddenly drained. Then, he straightens up with a hand on his hip, lips twisting in a troubled look.

"You didn't have to do that. Now I feel awkward."

Noiz smiles. "Just pay back the favor then."

"I'm not carrying you-"

"Why do you erase people's memories after Scrap?"

Aoba stops with his mouth open around a silenced sentence. Then, he closes it, wrinkling his forehead.

"Why do you wanna know?"

"I just didn't know you could do that." Noiz recalls the look in Mizuki's face when the mother and daughter reunited, as if he was bracing himself for the unpleasant part in a movie he's already watched, and how swiftly he and Koujaku moved to help the two when they went unconscious. It's something they're used to.

Aoba exhales, shrugging dismissively. "It'd be troublesome if all of these people went around knowing about what I can do."

Noiz regards him silently for a moment, then nods. That's an explanation he can accept easily, even approve of. But...

"How about those who you knew weren't going to spill? Like Mizuki's teammates, did you..."

Aoba looks away. "I had to cover all bases."

"So the only ones who remember you are your brother and me."

"Don't make it sound so bad. They just can't remember who talked to them in their heads," Aoba says with a strangely resigned smile. Then, he looks at Noiz and lets out a huff. "Why are you making that face?"

Whatever face Noiz is making, he doesn't know why he's so hung up on that, either. Why does it bother him that Aoba erased himself from their memories? Is it wrong to meddle with people's memories without their consent? Is it because Noiz saw the slightest bit of resemblance between himself and Azusa? Was it unjust of Aoba to do that?

"... I never did thank you."

Aoba's smile drops. "Huh?"

"I think I've apologized plenty, which I really ought to," Noiz says, eyes glancing over the walls. However, he quickly forces them back towards Aoba, swallowing his inadequacy. "Above that, though... Thank you. I know how exhausted you were, after you had already used Scrap on Ren. Even like that, you still got through all the stupid barriers in my head and saved me. I'm here because of you."

No. Noiz is not bothered by Aoba's actions for the sake of those people; he doesn't particularly care for them or their feelings on the matter. Noiz cares about Aoba. And if he's been carrying this weight all on his own, turning his back on the gratitude and recognition of those he helped, then Noiz will make sure Aoba knows he remembers.

"You're exaggerating," Aoba laughs out awkwardly. "I did horrible. I was figuring things out on the spot."

Noiz opens his arms slightly. "I mean, I'm fine. Is there anything wrong with me?"

"No. You're perfect," Aoba says, and his words and the look in his eyes strike Noiz down where he stands. "But I wasn't good enough. If I were better, you- Virus and Trip wouldn't have taken you."

"That was my bad. I made my choice."

"I was supposed to be in control of the situation. If it were now, I could-"