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I'm saying all the things that I know you'll like
The Old Resident District goes puttering on as it always does, even long after the excitement of Platinum Jail’s collapse. He’d been there himself, along with a bunch of other misfits and Aoba, though the latter’s been a little down lately, for reasons he can’t quite discern for himself.
Nevertheless he’s always one to try and cheer him up. Lately, Koujaku’s taken to visit Aoba at work much more frequently, especially after the very puzzling fact that he’s no longer using Ren. He has no idea what really happened back there or what had occurred between him and Toue, but Koujaku hasn’t forgotten the sight of Aoba clutching at his Allmate immediately after the Tower’s collapse. Aoba wouldn’t tell him anything—which was fine—he’d tell Koujaku on his own time.
Right now, all he can really do is be there for him, anyway. He’s worried that he’ll just be getting in the way, but Aoba seems relieved at the sight of him, perhaps because he can somehow quell the brats’ more destructive urges. Which is fine with him, too—he’s instinctively nurturing, after all. This may be the reason why he’s warming up to the strange gas mask guy ambling up to Heibon in a parasol. Koujaku still hasn’t quite comprehended all of his eccentricities, and he’s since given up asking for Clear’s innocent but seemingly obtuse answers.
Fine. Clear can tell him in his own time too, if he wants. Right now, Koujaku’s standing at a street corner, one arm resting inside the open fold of his kimono while the other holds a cigarette and he exhales, smiling and waving at some girls he knows as they pass him by, but mostly he’s watching the crowd. This is their usual meeting place, of course—they had just decided one day to meet Aoba at Heibon together, since they frequent the area often enough to warrant it. Makes things easier for Aoba too, who seems…almost relieved that they’re getting along, at least.
Clear’s a nice guy, even helpful at times. And Koujaku certainly hasn’t forgotten how considerate he can be of Aoba, if he’s not being…strange.
You meet all kinds in Midorijima, he guesses. But there—he spots a patch of white bobbing up and down in the sunlight and lets his cigarette drop, tamping it out as he calls, “Oi! Running a little late today, aren’t you?”
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Mink vanished. Noiz came and went, but usually just to bother Aoba. Koujaku, on the other hand, was constant. The more he saw the two friends together, the more he respected and admired their connection, and so he was very happy the day it came around that Koujaku started inviting him along, rather than simply tolerating Clear’s random appearances.
Aoba and Koujaku are his friends. The only ones he has, really. Though Clear still goes on long walks, still meets people in passing day-to-day, there’s nobody else he feels as attached to as those two. Though, granted, he’s starting to get to know the many members of Benishigure as well. It only makes sense to be familiar with all of Koujaku’s subordinates, doesn’t it? So he says ‘hi’ when he sees them, in their distinct traditional attire, and since he is a companion of Koujaku’s, he’s mostly tolerated and sometimes even regarded with a kind of befuddled amusement.
That’s why he’s running a little behind today, in fact.
“Ah, Koujaku-san!” He lifts a gloved hand, waving in response to the other man’s shout, and weaves through the crowd of pedestrians in the quickest hurry he can manage without jostling anyone with elbows or umbrella. “My apologies! I stopped to say hello to Kou-san and almost lost track of the time!”
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Get over here. I’ll wait for you here every day from now on, all right?
Of course, he has no idea that Clear himself is in search of something like an anchor in his life—same as Koujaku, really, though he suspects as much that they’re both after the same thing from Aoba, after a fashion. Koujaku’s keeping Clear from overstepping his bounds in his own rough way, and he’s made sure that Clear doesn’t get involved in any of the gang fights going on between Beni-shigure and those of others. Just courtesy, really.
Not that Clear hasn’t gotten respect from his own gang, despite his being considered as much of a noncombatant as Aoba is. Koujaku’s certainly seen the guy in action himself. He can probably trust him alone with Aoba. Probably.
But that’s not why they’re here together, anyway. Like the
attack on Toueassault on Oval Tower, they’re here for a common goal, and that’s to keep Aoba company. Clear can be trusted with such a hefty responsibility, he figures.“Long as you aren’t getting in his way,” Koujaku says with a laugh, already turning in the direction of Heibon. “Come on, already, or he’ll leave without seeing us.” Not that they wouldn’t just drop by at his home
and Tae-san’s cookingbut you know. Principle of the thing.no subject
“Yes!” His happy voice is practically a chirp as he falls in line at the other man’s side, twirling his umbrella on his shoulder even though the sky doesn’t have a single cloud in it (where it can be glimpsed past the haphazard overhead construction, anyway).
“I didn’t cause trouble for Kou-san, either!” he is equally happy to report, not unlike a child who had gotten high marks from his teacher that day. “There was an old gentleman who had been walking, but his cane broke. He leaned on my arm while Kou-san carried his grocery bags, and we helped him get home. It wasn’t far to go, but still enough to delay me. I will apologize to Aoba-san as well for making us be late.”
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Though he did find it odd when Koujaku never showed up to meet Aoba with him, he apologized to Aoba on the man’s behalf.
“He was still really tired when I left. Maybe he fell asleep again.”
“Tired? Is he getting sick or something?”
“Nothing like that, I think. Maybe my company is more exhausting than I expected?”
And Aoba, in blissful ignorance, had just laughed softly. “I can imagine that.”
Clear had still had a good time hanging out with his master, as usual, even if Tae-san remarked on the oddity of Koujaku’s absence from the dinner table as well. Still, Clear had a decent handle on what was and what wasn’t polite mealtime conversation—as well as respecting privacy.
Also…Koujaku calling Aoba’s name like that. And Aoba always making such remarks about the hairdresser’s womanizing tendencies.
Maybe Aoba was jealous? It plainly wasn’t an exclusive relationship, but even so…now that Clear had his little glimpse to what was really at stake here, he didn’t want to make Aoba feel worse with any careless remarks.
Clear had had a truly, wonderful, liberating time…and he was grateful…but he wouldn’t do anything more if it meant risking his master’s happiness.
The next day he went about his routine as usual, gravitating to the streets where Beni-shigure’s tag marked every wall and friendly men in traditional attire made themselves available to public assistance. When a group of them spotted Clear they welcomed him in with broad grins as always, asking if today would finally be the day he’d officially join their Rib gang.
As usual, Clear declined, but they were happy to have him around anyway. He joined them in their patrolling, a blot of white in a flock of red, and wondered when he might see Koujaku today.
He had to be sure and let Koujaku know that he didn’t need to worry about Clear getting between him and Aoba at all.
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Still, he’s a little on the pale side, his face drawn, his single visible eye heavy and dull from the lack of sleep. But his crewmembers had been asking after him since yesterday and…he couldn’t let them down. They’re his family, too.
And Clear would be there…
It’s either a boon or a curse that Koujaku’s not one to simply let things be. Laundering Clear’s scarf had been one of the few things he’d done as a functioning adult that morning, along with apologizing to Aoba for not showing up or…returning his messages last night. Fuck. He wonders if he’s in a good enough condition to visit Heibon today—or even to the Seragaki household—but all that hinges on a particular wildcard coming into play, doesn’t it?
So he enters Beni-Shigure territory with a sheepish smile, to the delighted exclamations of his crew. He does his best to address whatever concerns and news they bring—which aren’t much—Rhymers continue to yap at the edges of their territory, the Dry Juice members are recovering at a remarkable rate in the hospital, some of the ladies had been asking after him, yadda yadda yadda…
“Yo, Clear!” he says at last, with a tight smile as he leaves his members about with their own business. “Got a minute?” He slips a hand inside his kimono and draws out a paper package with the scarf inside.
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At the summons, however, Clear trots right over, all sunshine and flowers and good intentions—that grow only all the more set when he gets a good up-close look at Koujaku. Gosh, more than just tired, he looks exhausted…and more than just physical tiredness would speak of, he’s fairly sure.
Surely he’s worried about Aoba as well!
He doesn’t even notice the package in Koujaku’s hand. “Yes, of course! Actually I wanted to speak to you too, about something very important!”
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Of course, in line with his apology of sorts he resumes to treating Clear like he normally does—like a chum, a pal, returning to the old habit of visiting the Seragakis together as always. He speaks nothing of that day and is relieved that Clear can be discreet when he wants to be. Most of all Koujaku tries his best to swallow down a pang off…regret or something—hell if he knows. Or cares. Because he doesn’t.
They’re just…friends.
The incident’s behind them, regardless, and Koujaku’s doing a pretty good job of keeping his feelings private. Neither Aoba nor Tae-san seems to notice anything different, though there have been a few concerned questions when he’d resumed his visits after those last two days. He’d claimed illness, and left it at that.
They’re not entirely convinced, but to his relief they both drop the subject. Last thing he needs is to worry Aoba too, especially after the latter’s depression hasn’t quite worn off after the Oval Tower incident.
It’s precisely that mood that’s driven Koujaku to try and invite Aoba to watch a meteor shower with him this weekend, of course. It’s going to be a fantastic show. Platinum Jail will even dim down its myriad lights to preserve the event’s natural beauty. But Aoba can’t go, for some reason or the other, and he’d asked Clear instead.
Watching it from his bedroom’s out of the question, of course.
“Heh, anyway, the Oval Tower’s the best place for that, and it’s closed right now,” he says sheepishly, on the eve of the shower. It’s not scheduled to happen for about half an hour more, and Koujaku had been ambling about Platinum Jail in his best kimono like it’s a festival day. Just because, of course.
The Oval Tower itself had been repaired since its collapse and subsequent investigation, and while this rebuilt one isn’t nearly as tall and magnificent as the first, it’s invariably the highest point in Platinum Jail so far. And it’s closed for the night already.
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He misses, but he is neither jealous nor envious. He is grateful. There is loneliness in his heart, but it exists beside something bright and warm that was never there before. Ordinarily it’s something he would ask Aoba or Koujaku about, but…for obvious reasons, he cannot go to his usual source of answers this time. Able to consult only himself, Clear decides it’s fine.
He’s grateful. It’s not to be repeated, but he’s allowed to be grateful. Clear is as boisterous and odd as ever otherwise, a regular fixture around the Seragaki household, Heibon, and Beni-shigure territory.
So now he walks at Koujaku’s side, in the midst of Platinum Jail. Now the place is every bit the recreational area it was originally touted as, free of Toue’s machinations, and open to the public. Clear isn’t precisely sure what a meteor shower is, but he’s never one to turn down an invitation from his friends.
He has nowhere else to be, after all, as long as he isn’t intruding.
And he looks…the same as ever. Same scruffy white hair. Same overcoat. Same boots and pants and shirt that’s just a little too small. After a year awake, they’re getting a little worn looking in places, but are still miraculously clean. Still, not even the mask earns him much in the way of odd looks here in the middle of Platinum Jail. By comparison to a great many of the people walking around, he looks downright tame.
But there are vendors giving out little bags of star-shaped candy in commemoration of the event, one of which has found its way into Clear’s gloved hands. His mask never seems to move, but as usual, he’s managing to enjoy the treat anyway.
Crunching one between his teeth, he gives Koujaku a curious look for his latest remark. “So you mean it’s better to watch from someplace up high?”
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“The higher the better!” Koujaku replies, trying to be cheerful. In the face of his own feelings it’s a tad difficult, but if he’s survived his family’s massacre he’ll get over this. Eventually.
It’s just…it feels so right having Clear by his side. They’ve been at it for forever now.
He returns his attention to Clear and his candy instead, once again wondering just how this guy eats considering that he’s got a normal enough mouth that can kiss normally enough—
ABORT ABORT
He actually makes a strangled little noise at the turn of his thoughts, and here he is again, laughing for seemingly no reason just to tuck away that unsettled feeling. “Ahh, fuck. Come on, already. The meteor shower’s gonna start in a few.” And he starts in the direction of…nowhere in particular, given how his thoughts are beginning to encroach into his sense of propriety.
Even Platinun Jail has so many hidden alleyways…
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It had been too late for him to contact Clear about it, if the latter was even sleeping at all. But first thing the next morning he’d left a little message in Clear’s Coil asking if he’d found the hair pick. It’s very important, he told him. Please keep it safe until then.
So he waits at the gate to the North District, holding his ponytail in place as an autumn breeze whips it about, mindful of the deepening colors surrounding him. Despite its name Midorijima does have pockets of the more deciduous plant life, and they spring into view over the junkyard’s horizon now, blazing reds and oranges that put his kimono to shame a thousand times over. And he’s waiting by the North District because he presumes that it’s the home Clear returns to every day—hell, Koujaku’s practically berating himself for thinking that Clear has no home to go to prior to yesterday.
He soon hears that familiar gait (feels like he’s heard it forever), and he turns in the direction of that noise, waving him over as always.
“Yo, Clear!”
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But he hears Koujaku long before he sees him and delight quickens his step. When Clear appears, it's actually by running in along a low rooftop. No shortcut necessary to Benishigure's territory today if Koujaku's come to greet him!
He stumbles a little on the jump down, boots kicking up dust from the rarely-traversed ground. His mask is on his face again, but there's an odd spot of red in his hair--
Ah. Koujaku's hair pick! Clear's hair is too short to support it alone, but he's tucked it behind the straps of his mask to keep it in place.
"Koujaku-san, good morning!"
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It doesn’t last. He pulls away moments later, his scalp tingling with another’s touch. Then he mumbles an apology without so much as a look at Clear, before walking away.
The next time they meet Koujaku smiles like nothing’s happened, glad that Clear’s kept the incident a secret for the most part, though he is considering a good time to ask him to keep mum on his mommy issues, too. Hell, even Aoba doesn’t know that she’s dead yet.
Not long after his clients get a bit of a shock—for the first time in his career Koujaku’s finally taking an appointment. He sets up shop in a busier part of the East District, too, to cut Clear’s hair as promised. Beni-Shigure members stand close by, anticipating this “special” client of his with the full intention of giving them moral support as per their leader’s orders, whilst women seethe, likewise anticipating the arrival of that no doubt attractive young lady that’s somehow special enough to get an appointment with Koujaku-san.
Koujaku wouldn’t reveal their identity at all. Everyone notes how oddly cheerful he is as he sets his little workstation up. First comes that folding chair, then as a final touch, he even drapes his barber’s cape over his arm, checking his Coil at the same time.
“My special client will be arriving in about…now!”
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So he couldn’t be late. So he had to take his usual shortcuts. His usual shortcuts were getting a bit too well-abused by his constantly traversing them. Just one cracked roof tile is all it takes and—
“…now!”
Crack! “UWAH!” Sliiiip!
Faces look up in surprise, and poor Kou has to jump out of the way of the sudden descent of a transparent umbrella.
“Ah! I’m sorry! Koujaku-san, I’m here!”
About two stories up, Clear dangles from an eave by the timely grasp of one hand, swinging gently back and forth like a windchime while he waves his other in apologetic greeting—and then lets go. Wait, no. The tile cracks again and drops him.
He hits the sidewalk feetfirst, at least, pinwheeling a bit as he struggles not to go the rest of the way over and—ah, thank you Hagima. The big Ribster moves in just in time to catch the team’s oddball little pseudo-mascot (because let’s be real, he’s practically family to the lot of them by now) and help him get stable on his feet again without faceplanting.
Clear thanks the man profusely, patting his mask back in place before turning in search of his truest friend…and really realizing how many people are present already. Oh my gosh just look at that line!
“Ah! Koujaku-san, am I too late??” he flusters, looking down at his watch.
And all around him, the crowd goes silent. It's the Ribsters that break it first, laughing with obvious good-natured delight. “Boss, are you serious?!” someone calls from the ranks. “Your special client is Clear?”
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It’s another Black Needle night when it happens. Clear’s a boisterous ball of energy, everything everyone’s come to expect of him just without the mask in the way. It’s already become quite the joke that his mask was necessary to protect the world from how bright his smile is, and he’s already been subjected to at least two headlocked hair-rufflings before they’ve even gotten through their second round of drinks. Koujaku, Mizuki, Aoba (Ren stayed home from weakness again). All his friends. Everyone that Clear trusts and adores, some far more so than others.
They’re all here to see it. There’s a couple televisions set up for people’s entertainment, but Coils start bleeping all around the bar as well. Emergency broadcast. Breaking news.
The company that took over after Toue, simply called Platinum Inc, tried to renovate and rehabilitate some of the old technology found in the wreckage of the old tower. It’s been almost a year in the making: a new advancement in robotics, one that might’ve changed everything they knew for Allmate technology.
Instead, the two test robots went haywire. Something in their programming has driven them to attack people with some kind of sound-based ability. The police are already mobilizing to apprehend them and the main entrances to the Jail have been blockaded but people are warned to stay inside, even if they live out in the Districts instead.
If you see these people, get away as fast as you can and notify the police.
Faces that are almost Clear’s are finally shown. The hair is longer and the beauty marks are missing, but the resemblance is otherwise the same. Physically, anyway. Clear’s expression has never been so cold.
Glass shatters in the silence as Clear drops his drink. All eyes are on him, expressions ranging through every degree of shock and disbelief and horror that he always expected to receive. Clear looks around, mouth working wordlessly, but he doesn’t know what to say.
Pink eyes fix briefly on the red ones that have always captured his attention most of all.
“I…I’m not….”
But then someone else starts to move and Clear panics, turning and running, shouldering aside people that weren’t even trying to stop him and just happened to be in the way of the door.
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But he takes back everything he’d ever thought and said about Clear’s gramps. Now he knows. The gas mask, it’s all…it’s all a mistake. There he goes again, fucking up the lives of the people he cares about.
Yet Clear’s not like them. Those Alphas have none of Clear’s eyes.
His gaze meets those of such heartbreaking cherry blossom warmth…
I…I’m not…
“Clear!” he calls out, just as the former bolts out of Black Needle. He thoughtlessly shoves Mizuki aside as the latter tries to restrain him—the rest of the gangs are just too shocked to move. When the pings on his Coil get a little too persistent he even simply…tosses it aside, until even Beni is too shocked to protest about getting tapped into sleep mode and tucked inside his kimono. There’s no time to stop and listen to anyone’s arguments—he knows Clear, and it’s all his fault.
Of course he doesn’t have a means to contact Clear by Coil now, but it’s unlikely that the guy would even answer him, anyway.
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Most of all he’d felt a supreme sadness, and turned to his bedside table.
When the nurse had come in later that day she found him sound asleep, his fingers clutching onto his mother’s hair stick.
After that, he woke up in short intervals, his mind hazy from the sedatives as he tried to piece together the last few moments before that near-fatal fall. The doctor told him he would make it, but he’ll have to give up doing Rib for the rest of his life. There were a few folks from Beni-Shigure at the time, and they reluctantly accepted his relinquishing his post to Hagima.
Aoba and Ren pay regular visits, of course. The latter even engages in pleasant conversation with Beni as always. Koujaku could almost believe that Ren was an Allmate again, and that the adventures of long ago were all but a dream.
Mizuki also drops by, teasing him for landing himself in the hospital just as he’d gotten out of it.
Beni fills in the gaps on most days, however, and he has no idea what has become of Clear. He’d been in sleep mode at the time of the fiasco, after all. Any attempts to contact him were met with a “Not Found” response—even Aoba has no clue where he went.
Even so, his days are full of friends and laughter and even a little teasing about his tattoos, and about the one to his face in particular. Koujaku bears it all with good humor, and wonders if he’s killed Clear after all. It’s nonsense, of course—last anyone had heard, everyone had vouched for Clear’s innocence when the Alphas were loose on the streets. And while several will always remain suspicious of Clear, Aoba and his family and the big Rib teams around the area would never forget what Clear and Koujaku both had done for them. They’re practically heroes.
“Practically?” Koujaku would laugh, but would say nothing more about it.
Spring comes early, and so is Koujaku’s scheduled departure from the hospital. He’s recovering at a remarkable rate, he’d been told. It probably has something to do with those chemicals they’ve found in his body—those would certainly explain why he’s a bit…different in the security footage.
A doctor has even offered to study him just in case they can isolate his condition and find a cure, and Koujaku says he’ll think about it.
And every day he recuperates in his home, watching the flower petals fly in through his window. He’s refused visits since he’s gone home, though he appreciates the efforts of his well-wishers all the same. Beni has to keep disappointing his many fans by turning down dates and offers of cooking meals for him at his home. He can handle it.
His wrist feels like new and while he still walks with a limp, it isn’t so bad. He’s even adjusted to having only one eye to see with, even if baring his facial tattoo still makes him feel…vulnerable, somehow.
But mostly he just feels lonely. Lonely and frustrated. Aoba had obtained his closure after Platinum Jail and so had Mizuki, but he…he never did. Did Clear? He wonders about the latter. That song had been the last thing he’d heard, and he was almost sure it had summoned the ghost of his mother in what seemed like his final moments.
“Feeling better today?” Beni asks from his perch next to Koujaku’s empty ashtray. His master hasdn’t felt like a smoke since he was discharged, and even now he doubts that it’s due to the hospital’s influence.
“I’m fine,” Koujaku laughs, reaching over to tap Beni into sleep mode. “Just give me a little peace and quiet, all right?”
Then he leans over, on a whim, to pluck a cherry branch off of the nearby tree.
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It’s like a mirror of the possibilities of another time and place:. When Clear comes to—or rather, is deliberately reactivated—he’s a torso on a lab table. A robot’s strength cannot be trusted, so they detached his limbs. There’s a sense of absence in his throat as well. He cannot sing if he doesn’t have a voice.
They keep him awake and aware, observing his responses as they expose his mechanical cores and study his insides. He’s plugged into computers that analyze his programming, and it’s noted that he’s been scrubbed of all signs of a serial number.
He sees the remains of the Alphas on other tables, undergoing similar investigations, although the Alphas never wake again. He sees screens pulled up, replaying security footage. They’re hovered in front of him and he’s made to rewatch them.
He cannot move. Cannot speak. But his one eye tracks Koujaku’s movements across the screen and the technicians make notes of his tears.
They give him back one arm, first. Then he’s able to communicate in text. He tells them his name, he tells them about his grandfather, he tells them about his friends and the life he’s lived since the fall of Oval Tower. All he has is the truth so that is what he gives them, to be scribbled away in their studies and case files. Except for when he cries, he is listless.
He’s a monster. A thing. Just like he always knew it.
Time has no meaning…until it does.
They start putting him back together, using pieces from the Alphas where necessary. Your story checks out, they tell him, kinder now without their fear. It seems like half the people in the Districts are petitioning for you to go back. We’re not even sure how they found out you’re here.
(A little rabbit told them.)
Platinum Inc. is not Toue Inc. The public speaks out and is heard, but there is no grand ceremony when Clear is released and allowed to go on his way. He’s just put back together, dressed up in new clothes, and give well-wishes.
You’re a free man. Best of luck.
It’s not until he leaves the Jail and its permanent night sky that he realizes spring has arrived. A mild breeze tousles his hair and brushes his piebald skin. As expected, his hair hasn’t grown a millimeter since Koujaku cut it, and his skin is mottled now because of the repairs made with Alpha parts. They were newer models, after all, and not a perfect match. His repair systems hum away, however, and the flaws are—mostly—aesthetic only.
There’s uproar in Benishigure when he runs into their territory. An impromptu celebration tries to erupt right then and there, but as soon as someone reveals that Koujaku isn’t present, they suddenly find themselves devoid of their would-be guest of honor.
He wants to see Koujaku more than anything. Everyone can tell him that he’s out of the hospital and doing well, but he has to see it for himself. He needs his last memories of the man to be proven wrong.
Clear remembers his manners. He learned a great deal of them from Koujaku in the first place, didn’t he?
With his feet firmly on the ground, he knocks on Koujaku’s door.
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As far as he’s concerned, this is Clear’s home too, and sometime in the future Koujaku can ask him to move out of that dingy old place—however cozy it is—and move in with him. There’s a lot about the future that needs discussing, like how the hell a one-eyed man can continue being a hairdresser, but they have the rest of their lives to discuss that, now. He reaches over to toss the blanket over them both, brushing his fingers over Clear’s marred cheek that seems to mirror his own, and allows the silence to settle over them both.
He might have drifted, might have caught sight of their clothing piled together on his floor and smiled a little at how familiar they’ve gotten over a relatively short period of time. It’s like Clear’s already living in here.
Mostly Koujaku’s still trying to mentally adjust to the “living” part, but with Clear around that should get easier now.
But the day draws on and they both find little else to occupy their time besides those intimate silences, the small snatches of conversation about the most trivial things, the way the cherry blossoms cling to Clear’s hair before Koujaku has to brush them off…
Little things. Like the heat of the day seeping into their skin, Koujaku’s eyes still a little on the puffy side though they’re smiling now; and when he feels the need to shift a little underneath Clear to flex his numbing muscles the friction between them sparks his desire anew.
And he doesn’t even have the decency to blush.
“Clear,” he whispers, running his fingers through that short crop of hair with a laugh. “You wanna…?”
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Because Clear is a fool when it comes to turns of phrase, he doesn’t know he’s been told that Koujaku’s feelings are as strong as his own. Clear has said I love you. He hasn’t heard Koujaku say it the same way, but he isn’t waiting for him to do so, either.
He’s happy just to be allowed to express his affections. Any return he gets on them is already more than the nothing that he ever expected.
He’s giving Koujaku the same adoring look he always has, but now it’s right in front of the man’s face, rather than behind a mask or his turned back. Clear spends more than a little of that lazy nooning resting with cheek and ear to Koujaku’s chest, listening to his breath and the only heartbeat between them. He’s happy with conversing and with the spaces in-between.
Koujaku is still his light-and-shadows, but the darknesses are different and not so deep. They can’t be, not with the light of two bright wishing-stars shining into them.
And he knows just what to say when Koujaku toys with his hair, a sparkle in his eye. Clear pulls himself up on his elbows, his body deliberately dragging against the other’s as he moves his face closer.
“Be quiet and kiss me, please.”
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Alternate / Bad End
They might have lost the Alphas, but something far more interesting fell into their laps instead. A beast. A prototype. A pair of things strangely resonant with each other….
Disassembly. Reassembly. Security feeds. Scrutiny and interrogation. Where’s Koujaku? Is he alright? No one will tell him.
Months go by. Is it months? It must be. It’s hard to say for sure, because he cannot see the stars anymore. Just the empty white tiles on the ceiling overhead and the pillars of machinery to either side of him. They don’t even bother to repair him, really. His self-maintenance systems eventually close up all the holes in his skin, though—and that’s how he knows a great deal of time has gone by indeed.
But however physically whole he may be, he’s empty inside. Koujaku isn’t here. No one will tell him anything. Platinum Inc never really reformed at all, did it?
Then one day, without telling him why, they move him. No one speaks to him directly, but from comments that pass between the men and women around him he wonders: is he being discarded again? Is he spent and used up and of no more value?
Not quite.
Grey hallways. Footsteps echo heavily. Clear’s limbs barely respond to him and so he is dragged by the nape of his neck. He barely registers the clothing he’s been clad in. It’s not his own.
It’s Alphas’.
He’s brought to a cell, as dark as the bowels and secret black heart of this corporation. A heavy, iron-barred door clanks and echoes far too loudly as it’s open and then shut again behind him after he’s been thrown onto a cold, stone floor.
Clear lies on it, upon his stomach, his cheek pressed to the ground and his eyes staring with a kind of miserable disinterest into the darkness at the back of the cell. Is this it, then? They’re just going to lock him up and keep him here, dressed up like his misbegotten siblings?
He has no reason to stir. No reason to lift his head, look harder, and realize he’s not alone.
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And there’s that doctor—the one who’d spoken to Koujaku about finding a cure for his…condition.
You should have accepted, he’d told Koujaku when the latter had gone for a checkup months afterward. You’re too dangerous to be left alone, you know?
But I’m not alone—shit!
Rumors of Morphine’s activities have started up again, even if their former leaders have long since left the country. Beni-Shigure can complain all they want, but the police is as useless as ever.
There’s little anyone can do, even for a once-prominent gang leader. It’s fine. Life goes on. Everyone has no choice but to accept it.
But not Clear, right?
Koujaku resists at first, manages to keep his tattoos at bay after he’d woken up from the visit, drugged and bound to an operating table, groggily blinking at the glare of lights. He’s fully naked. And cold.
Cold steel pokes at his flesh and voices murmur above him as he tries to make sense of his surroundings, to seek out an escape. He strains against his bonds, but his body remains numb, unresponsive. He’s sure he’d yelled out obscenities, even cried out for Clear, but even his own voice had felt distant, had faded away the moment his vision had finally focused on a pair of spectacles, when the shocks began.
— Clear —
— Clear —
— CLE —
I’m sorry…Mom…Clear…
His nose itches.
He can’t reach for it, anyway. None of those “masters” of his would let him. He’s completely naked now—they hadn’t bothered to clothe him for a long time now. He’d only ended up shredding the whole thing before the day was out. And anyway, he’s just…an animal.
Toue’s drugs had completely taken him over. And there he resides, within the black scar of Platinum, Inc.’s clean, white building. White as his hair.
His wrists are chafed, his fingers curled behind his back—the claws had sharpened to a point, until he couldn’t close his fists properly anymore. His hair is long and dirty and matted—a red cascade falling past his waist, should he deign to stand up to full height.
He’s forgotten all about doing that. It’s hard to keep his balance with the shackles forcing booth his arms behind him. They’ve been stuck that way for so long that it doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s become numb to all but an all-consuming rage, forever eating up his mind because his father Ryuuhou Toue the Alphas Morphine Mom Mom AobaMizukiTaeClear—
— Clear —
Is he okay? Is he still waiting for him to come home? Did he try to rescue him at all? Did it matter?
The subject’s most recent diagnostics confirmed an increase in blood pressure, which might account for the unusual pigmentation. Red seems to leach into all parts of his body—including his groin, which had remained permanently engorged.
Some pitying souls threw whatever animal or failed experiment at him whenever they could, so he could fuck them and then devour them afterward. That helped to supply all that blood his body was now churning out in rapid amounts, searing through his flesh, into his very being.
They’d written his changes off as permanent, irreversible. Somewhere along the way they’d gotten careless—or maybe they’d grown tired of him shifting back into sanity in the middle of tests—maybe Koujaku willingly lost himself into the deep, bloodstained abyss of his mind.
They’d extracted all the data they could from him, but no one hard the heart to…dispose of him, nevertheless. His feral antics might have even amused them—and anyway, Platinum, Inc. needed a new mascot, didn’t it?
Some have even entertained the thought of taming him.
Koujaku raises his head at the sound of footsteps, growling low in warning as the door to his cage is opened for a spell, as something is discarded in front of him.
Then, the dull clanking of iron bars. Then, recognition.
Or something close to it, anyway. He’s come to loathe everyone within this place, but something about the sight of this strange, pale shape they’d left behind…
It’s stark and white and glimmering in the dirt of his cell, even…curiously…warm…
He crawls forward, on his stomach, on his knees, dragging himself across the filth until he can nose at this newcomer, try to figure it out, somehow. It neither smells nor acts like prey, and somewhere in the dark bowels of its mind it can feel a deep affection, and a deep sadness.
His mouth finds its way to Clear’s throat, fangs sinking into synthetic flesh until it can feel the hard jut of the metal framework that serves as Clear’s skeleton. The sensation is familiar, even calming in a way, and he continues to tear off the softer parts of Clear’s body with his teeth.
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Koujaku tosses his blankets over them, the cherry blossoms strewed therein scattering from the motion, and drifts away. Outside, that errant little Beni-Shigure Ribster walks back to the gang’s favorite watering hole and whistling a little tune under the afternoon sunshine. He’s already done his part in checking on the ex-boss, though he’ll say nothing about what, precisely, Koujaku’s been doing to recuperate.
Everyone could see it anyway, he figures.
And so Koujaku recuperates with their own little brand of “physical therapy,” even if Clear’s acting more and more like his mother and behaving quite apologetically whenever he has to refuse Koujaku the more strenuous activities. That may be why Koujaku doesn’t argue afterward.
But there comes a day when he just has to get out or he’ll go insane. Clear can’t keep looking after him forever, and Beni can’t keep babysitting the guy while Koujaku stays in bed and sulks in the sunshine like an old man. Clear has to get out, too, and he’d only been joking about the being recluse part. He needs to work, to run and live and laugh again, especially after everything they’ve gone through.
They should go have a picnic soon, he thinks. Just sit under the trees and laugh and remember how it all began. For the time being they make their way into less savory territory, with Koujaku hobbling along on his crutch with occasional assistance from Clear. He doesn’t want to be carried, doesn’t want to be supported the rest of the way, because it’s therapy, he’d insisted. He’s supposed to get his legs used to the idea of walking again, of exerting all that effort. The doctor says that he’ll never be able to move about with the same kind of ferocious, intimidating energy he’s always had, but damn if he’s gonna let himself get soft for the rest of his life.
His heart’s enough.
They enter Clear’s old home and Koujaku gratefully sinks onto a chair. His leg burns under the weight of him but at least he made it. They made it.
“You’ve let this place go, Clear,” he laughs, not at all minding the thin layer of dust coating everything. After all, Clear’s spent a long time looking after him.
He wonders if that tarp is still there.
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Months ago. A lifetime ago. Almost a literal lifetime, at least in terms of changes. Koujaku…he’d invited Clear to move in, after all. To live with him. To be a part of his life, to be there every time he wakes up and every time he falls asleep, to have not just a house but a home with someone beloved to him within it….
Of course, Koujaku’s invitation hadn’t been quite so flowery, but it had encompassed all of those things in Clear’s mind. As to be expected, and even though he’d been a live-in guest for quite the while already by then, Clear had cried quite the mess of happy tears, too.
Clear may not have had many possessions to his name, but with Koujaku prompting him he had realized there were things he’d want to take away from his Grandfather’s old home and into Koujaku’s. Into…his. Theirs. Like Grandfather’s photo, and his glass collection, and maybe other things would attract his attention as well if they just fell under his gaze.
He migrates towards the little kitchen space and begins dusting things off. Koujaku looks understandably worn out, and the Northern District roads are dusty ones.
“I’ll make some tea before we get started, Koujaku-san.” Good thing the stuff is packaged well and didn’t spoil in his long absence!
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Bad Ending 2: Electric Boogaloo
If this counted as living, anyway.
They’d been taken to Platinum, Inc., of course. Someone from the company had obtained security footage detailing his unfortunate transformation. One of the researchers had recognized a colleague’s old handiwork, and set to searching out the relevant data from old Toue, Inc.’s archives that had curiously been spared from getting expunged. The research was mostly obsolete, given that it had had several years to stew in the company’s old database, but Koujaku’s case was interesting enough to be considered for funding. He was shipped from the hospital while strapped down onto a gurney, helpless and barely conscious and most importantly, sedated.
Platinum, Inc.’s eager to see an old project get revived, to help it gain an edge and rise to Toue, Inc.’s former glory, as a bastion of science and technology in these troubling, even barbaric, times.
All lies, of course. As far as anyone up top was concerned, it was all about power.
And there’s one to be obtained from him, provided that they’ve extracted enough data from such a damaged test subject. Koujaku’s injected with sedatives in order to keep him from thrashing about as they take notes, shine lights in his single eye, administer shocks, twist and pull at ailing muscles, force samples out of him by bleeding him, making him urinate or ejaculate as they see fit, and poke a hundred, thousand needles into his skin. Those sterile vials of chemicals of theirs make their way into his bloodstream, weakening and angering him by turns, thinning out his resolve until he’s forced to live out waking nightmare after waking nightmare. Midway through the proceedings someone had decided to block out his sense of sight altogether, by keeping a blindfold on him 24/7.
Then agents hired to investigate into his background returned with a ton of info: the massacre of the yakuza in the mainland, Koujaku’s relationships from present and past, all his dirty laundry dredged up for the benefit of researchers looking to rile him up. They play voice recordings, take off that blindfold to force him to watch videos, slideshows of pictures depicting happier times, as he either lies or sits there weeping, begging for Clear, for Aoba, for Beni, even for his dead mother. As time goes by he barely has enough steam in him to even think of fighting back and finding a way out. They eventually stopped strapping him down altogether.
Now he lies on a cold, cold operating table, with his arms flat on either side of him, staring up into the familiar nothingness that he’s learned to hide into. With nothing to see, he can even forget about his missing eye. The cold here makes him numb, and he only shivers here and there from his nakedness, but he otherwise remains still.
At least until he hears a voice.
And Koujaku hasn’t spoken in so long.
“Clear?” he mumbles weakly, turning his head to the side, searching in the darkness. Some part of him argues that it’s only a voice recording, or a video, perhaps. Maybe Clear’s gone and hid. Maybe some members of Beni-Shigure had managed to whisked him away in time. Maybe he’s here to rescue him. Maybe…
A tiny flicker of hope dares to catch fire in his heart, and he lifts a hand to reach out for a specter.
da fuq kind of title is that
The footsteps could be anyone’s, but only one person has ever had that voice. It’s his second utterance of the man’s name, the first being that with which he’d called out to his old friend and had his greeting met with such disbelief.
A gloved palm meets Koujaku’s own, a warm hand clasping his before a second wraps around the back of it. Clear’s footsteps draw him nearer so that Koujaku doesn’t have to reach so far and he holds that scarred hand to his chest like the treasure that it is.
“I’m sorry…I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here….”
the kind that breakdances =w=
...wtf lulu srsly
eue /pap
ene /dodges
ono /follows
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