"I've got about fifteen minutes..." Hamuko said, trailing off as she looked into this... stranger's face. Really looked. The furrow of the brow, the weight in his expression... her own polite smile sank as subconscious realization came to the forefront of her mind.
He's like me.
He's there, he's present, more than just pleasantries. Expressions she only remembers in dreams. Expressions she used to see from her loved ones back in... high school? No, back in that other dream. That other life.
He's going to walk away.
A small panic rose in her chest. Don't leave. Right now in the moment would be the 'appropriate' time to walk off, the stranger's body language even looking like that, but more than anything she needed to talk to him just a little more, to know she wasn't crazy--
"Say-- you're really handsome," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could control herself. Her face burned bright red, embarrassed at herself and her desperation, but she tried to play it off by twirling the end of a lock of hair around her finger.
You know he won't buy that. The bags under your eyes, your sleeping in public, you're a wreck.
"U-um, I mean... won't you sit with me for a little bit? It's a little lonely waiting by myself. Um! I'm Arisato, by the way. Nice to meet you."
The air between them stilled for a moment after Hamuko’s words. Maruki had been poised to step back. He’d nodded politely, ready to retreat with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to remaining unnoticed.
But her sudden statement made him freeze.
"Say—you're really handsome."
His breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else. He blinked, turning to look at her again. The faintest furrow of his brow deepened as he took in the bright red flush on her face.
For a moment, the world shrank to just them.
The rush of wind through the trees softened, leaving behind only the sound of her unsteady breathing and the rustle of his coat as he shifted.
Maruki knew what he should do. He had been observing her quietly for a while now, preparing to oversee one of her sessions in secret to understand more about her. Hamuko Arisato, the mysterious problem case—her mind weighed down by memories of a life that shouldn’t exist. He should have stayed at a distance. Professional. Detached.
And yet, here she was. The desperation was unmistakable—so familiar.
Someone begging to be heard. To be s̶̫̈a̷̤̐v̸̢̈́e̴̜̚d̴̮͊
His response wasn’t immediate, but his voice finally broke the silence.
“Well...” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m not sure I buy that, but—thank you. Really. That was...unexpected.” A small, self-effacing grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
His first instinct was to decline. His place was behind the scenes, observing, analyzing, ensuring perfection from a distance. But...
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since someone talked to me like this.
His gaze lingered on her. The exhaustion beneath her eyes. The way her hands fidgeted. Her nervous smile.
She needed this.
“Shibusawa.” He introduced himself with a name that didn’t belong to him but still felt safe. “I’ve got an appointment too. Fifteen minutes, just like you. Fair enough—I’ll sit for a bit.”
He lowered himself onto the bench next to her, careful not to crowd her space. His brown flat cap remained firmly in place as he adjusted his coat. He looked down at his tan shoes as a leaf fluttered and made its way close to them as he shook it off.
Then Maruki—Shibusawa—turned to her with a grin. It was boyish, awkward, but the hint of amusement behind it was genuine.
“Tell me, Arisato-san,” he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Are you always this expressive right after waking up? Or did you really not get enough sleep last night?”
"Sometimes I'm a little more groggy, I admit," she laughed lightly, the amusement floating on her breath more than anything. "But... something about you snapped to my attention," she added, smiling more sincerely and less out of niceties.
"You're seeing a specialist too, Shibusawa-san? The way all the doctors talked, I didn't think anyone else going through something! Oops, there I go, oversharing - you don't have to say anything if you don't want to," she hastily pulled back her words - after so long of people never responding well to talking about negativity....
But Shibusawa didn't have the same look. There was something present in his expression, even as he was trying to wall off and close away. The fact that he was doing that at all, even-- Hamuko leaned in a little almost entirely subconsciously.
But...something about you snapped to my attention.
'Shibusawa' tilted his head, letting the words linger as he adjusted the brim of his flat brown cap. “Ah, so you’re just that expressive, huh?” he teased lightly. His voice carried a warmth that softened the playful edge.
Yet, behind his casual demeanor, his mind churned.
That sounds very problematic. And worrying. No one else in the world seemed to realize him or notice him at all, a man of his prefecture who was doomed to a story forgotten by everyone.
Still, her sincere smile brought a certain warmth he desperately missed.
"..."
No one else going through anything.
That's right. That was his world. Beautiful and perfect. Why were you seeing a specialist, Hamuko? Your answer is right in front of you, he wanted to say. But instead, he held steady, keeping his polite smile in place as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze turned skyward for a moment, watching the birds flitting across the clear blue sky.
“No, it’s alright,” he finally said, shaking his head. “We’ve got time to spare.”
He paused, then added more softly, “I seem to have a rather terrible case of chronic headaches. Maybe it’s just from years of overworking myself to the bone—who knows.” He shrugged, trying to smooth out the tension with a slow clap of his fingers against his knuckles. "I am free from the work now so all I am left with is treating this little quirk."
There was no headache.
Azathoth had stopped itching into his brain for months now.
"Oof, headaches, huh... I can handle a lot of different pains, but headaches are the worst - they make it hard to think straight!" she agreed with a slight laugh, leaning back against the bench and swinging a leg a little as she spoke.
"My sleep's kinda wrecked," she contributed back. "Dumb brain's putting me through the wringer with nightmares."
It wasn't really nightmares. But how else to put it? And... it wasn't really getting startled from sleep that's made her tired. It's from her attempts to sleep more often that've been throwing her body out of whack.
If... that's really why. If this 'reality' is the real one. If not, then...
"...Migraines can be so fussy. Sometimes they need super specific medicines, right? And other times it's just, oh, I didn't have enough salt in my diet, damn it! Hehehe."
His lips twitched in agreement. Hard to think straight. That was something he could relate to all too well.
And then... the mention of the Nightmares. Maruki felt the tiniest pang at that. The mind had a way of replaying things it couldn’t let go of. He knew that better than anyone.
What came after that drew an unexpected chuckle from him. “Ah, yes—salt, the sneaky villain of headaches.” He leaned back a little, adjusting his glasses. “It has to do with electrolytes and how they regulate fluid balance in the brain. Too little salt can actually cause cells to swell and create pressure, which can feel like a headache. Our brains are annoyingly particular sometimes.”
He paused as he raised one index. "Yes, I looked that up online as well. I looked through a LOT of headache articles."
“You know... I went through a lot of tests myself,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “CT scans, MRI scans—everything came back normal. The doctors kept reassuring me that I was fine. And yet...” He shrugged. “I just sort of live with the noise now. It comes and goes.”
There was a long moment where he let that hang between them before glancing her way again. “Nightmares aren’t something you can fix with electrolytes, though,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with that. Do you want to share anything about them?” He gave a small, lopsided smile. “No pressure. But, hey—talking to a guy with a phantom headache might not be the weirdest thing you do today.”
Edited (OKay yeah sorry missed few words.) 2025-02-21 02:24 (UTC)
"Hmm... okay, but you're not allowed to call me crazy, deal?" she hummed, but honestly? If he called her that, at this rate, she wouldn't really mind. It'd feel... more sincere.
Still... it was easier said than done to say it out loud. When she'd first snapped awake, naked in the street in the dead of night, the first second past midnight - she felt SO much more confident in those memories being real. But each day afterward it felt less certain, less... real.
...After a moment to breathe, she figured she may as well. People's reactions were always... the same.
She could handle it two more times today.
"When I was young, my parents weren't really in the picture... mom passed giving birth to me and my twin brother didn't make it, and dad died before I really knew him. I grew up with a loving foster family, went to high school, fell in love a few times, graduated... except," Hamuko leaned forward, gesturing with her hands.
"...Except I don't feel like that's true. When I sleep, I... remember it a lot different. My family in a car crash when I was ten, getting passed between a lot of different fosters, and only really finding my footing in high school. The people I loved still loved me, too, but... we were all having a hard time. I think that's why we connected."
She missed that connection more than anything else.
"So I keep waking up and I feel like... I don't know if I've woken up, or fallen back asleep. I think at this point doctors are gonna get ready to scoop out bits of brain to stare at what the hell is going on."
Really most of it stemmed from the wishes of the collective consciousness. While Maruki had weaved through everyone's wishes and tried to adhere the perfect solution that would grant everyone's happiness there were some people which...left the blank slate slightly blemished. Some of them were from Tokyo still, Inaba and then Tatsumi Port Island. He had learnt about SEES, about the intricate involvement of the Kirijo group and how he had allowed Azathoth to proceed and actualize their wishes. Surrounded by loving friends and family.
And one of those friends was Hamuko Arisato.
The one who had thrown herself at Death...was it?
He listens intently, leaning in as his shoulder angles towards her. When he was perfecting his treatment over the course of those two months convincing Akira-kun and the rest of the phantom thieves, he ran into similar problems with others as well but he had eliminated any and all confusion in the public unconsciousness.
Then how...?
"So in a way… you might be dissociating," he mused. “It makes sense, in a way. When your memories conflict, the mind tries to reconcile them the best it can. It’s just... not always the most pleasant process.”
A beat. Then, his voice softened, careful but curious. “You said the connection between you and your friends felt different... stronger, even, in the life you see in your dreams.” He tilted his head slightly, glasses catching the light as he considered her. “What was that like?”
Maruki smiled—small, warm, the kind that made it hard to tell if it was teasing or genuinely kind. “I mean, it sounds like a lot to unpack, sure. Probably a little weird to spill all that to a stranger, but hey—since I can’t call you crazy, I’d rather not walk away being the only one who sounds like they’ve lost it.” He tapped his temple lightly with a lopsided grin. “Mutual confusion makes for good company, don’t you think?”
"It's like..." Hamuko trailed off, thinking. She hadn't been able to find a way to explain this feeling, yet, to anyone else.
"...It's like... I don't know... it feels like no one has the depth they usually do. Like every conversation is the same, whether I'm at home with someone or whether I'm passing them in the grocery store. It's so much worse when I try to talk about these feelings, too - like they can't even really grasp what I'm feeling."
Hamuko hummed, unsure why she felt self conscious about it.
"Especially when I get into the more surreal parts of the dream. Or god forbid, started crying about it. I learned really quick to keep that to myself."
Maruki could tell from her hesitance, the tells of anxious behaviour that she was having a rough time opening up. That was...really strange. Perhaps this was just the universal pattern when it comes to persona users?
"I don't think any person can truly understand one's pain. Most if not all words of comfort come from the need to make sure the other person isn't hurting anymore but it never actually stops the problem itself."
"That's not true," Hamuko argued immediately, though doubt crept back in...
It's only not true in the dream, right?
"...It's definitely not true. It's true, you can't... understand exactly someone else's hurt. It's true that sometimes kind words are about hurrying to help deal with someone else's hurt. But it doesn't have to be..."
Stop being so negative. He'll leave. He'll go like the rest of them.
Before a panic attack has a chance to catch hold, Hamuko took a slow, deep breath. He'd asked. He was still here, listening.
"...It doesn't have to be. Sometimes, kindness is sitting with someone who's in pain. Sometimes it's not trying to fix it, because things can't be fixed... sometimes it's being there so they don't have to be alone. Because you remember how much it hurts, too, and how much you wished you had someone with you when it hurt, too."
Maruki's expression twists a little, his smile dropping as he chuckles wryly. "The human mind is rather fragile. It tricks itself into seeking comfort rather than mulling in its pain- its in our biology. Some people just managed to grasp that easier than the others."
"Besides kindness doesn't cut it in our world." The moment he punctuates that statement, his gaze becomes fleeting. He leans back on the park bench, at ease by the words he just uttered. "Kind people always suffer. Alone. Like you are."
The shift in Shibusawa's demeanor... something about it made Hamuko's hair stand on end, and something... something whispered at her from the back of her mind somewhere.
Discontent.
She is alone. She is alone. But for the first time in months, there's a fire in her chest, and all over again the 'real' world she's been living in feels like a facade.
Slowly, she turned and looked at Shibusawa, brows furrowed. The way he spoke--
"You... you know what I'm talking about," she challenged, turning in her seat to stare him down with the intensity that was true to who she actually was. "You know-- you do know, don't you? That something is wrong right now - the world isn't supposed to be like this."
Maruki keeps his expression even, feeling her stare on him. It doesn't deter him really, not when he's spent months or perhaps even years keeping his expression in check more often the not.
Still, that didn't mean he could get more reckless about this then he already is.
He considers pretending to be another actualized individual drowned and savouring their own happiness. A life of comfort. A life where they are loved and appreciated for who they are.
But wouldn't that just bring Hamuko even more pain?
“Hmph… do I now?” His voice was light, almost amused, as he tilted his head downward, thumbs idly fidgeting together. He let the silence stretch, just a second longer than natural, just enough to make her question herself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he crossed one leg over another.
“I think the world is perfect,” he said simply, voice smooth, even. “People have moved on with their perfect lives. Happy, content, without their past weighing them down.” His eyes flickered toward her, searching, studying, even as his expression remained kind. “And yet...here we are.”
He tilted his head, the corner of his smile twitching as he papers down on his own feelings and scratches over the itch. “Perhaps the wrong here isn’t the world, Arisato-san. Perhaps it’s us—the ones who refuse to let go. The ones still clinging to the pain, the memories. Licking each other’s wounds instead of simply... moving on.”
Hamuko's stunned silent for a long moment, staring into Maruki's face like she could vivisect it and discern his actual intentions. But... how could she.
Maruki would recognize immediately the look of someone emotionally closing off - the way they used to - as Hamuko sat back against the bench and pulled her knees to her chest, looking away from him.
"Maybe... but in that case, maybe it's better if..."
If I disappear.
She can't say that.
She can't say that because then she would imply that Shibusawa also should. And she knows, deep in her gut, that there's no way that Shibusawa should kill himself for being discontented in the world.
With a sigh, Hamuko buried her face into her knees, biting back the urge to cry. "I'm sorry I'm such a depressing person."
Hamuko's reaction only seems to relax him even more. It's twisted. It's terrible- just how satisfied he feels when he sees someone struggling without his treatment. That his doubts were simply just that, a doubt. It was the same as him chuckling to himself when he waited in his palace for the phantom thieves to infiltrate and change his heart, only to face his Eden till the deadline passed. He convinced them. He was in the right. He was right.
Azathoth festers inside, clinging to the parts of his body like a presence permeating between the gaps of two cells, a high that never seems to give weight to just how happy he gets when other people don't suffer. Their bright smiles are..
So, slowly, carefully, he leans in, mindful of the space between them as she curls into herself. He watches the way her shoulders shake, the way she folds inward like she’s trying to disappear. His hand moves before he fully thinks, resting lightly on her shoulder, his touch featherlight—comforting, coaxing. Encouraging.
“Don’t apologize for something like that,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, his brow furrowing just slightly. “You’re your own person, Hamuko-san. Our pain is real. Our grief is real. And you’re allowed to feel it. You're allowed to escape it too when the time comes.”
Then, softer still, he asks, “How long have you been saying that to others?”
You're allowed to escape it too when the time comes.
Without lifting her head, Hamuko shook it. No, she can't. She doesn't want to.
He knows - there WAS a world before, there WAS credence to these memories. But now... now that means there's no one protecting humanity from Nyx. Everyone is happy, but will that really keep the end from coming? The thought of that moon crashing into the earth, the giant red eye watching with emotions that Hamuko can still feel from having been the Seal, something alien but familiar in its drive and urgency to meet those suffering humans and bring them calm.
No. She can't. She won't.
The hand on her back feels too fleeting in the face of that.
How long have you been saying that to others?
Since that night. When the second hand ticked away from twelve, officially pulling the world into a new day after midnight. She'd been dreaming for so long before then, only for it to feel like... falling. She'd jolted upright, in a body that was older, full to the brim with a lifetime of memories she didn't recognize.
Maruki watches her carefully. Every breath, every slight tremble, the way she curls in on herself like a wounded animal. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move more than necessary—just watches. His fingers remain where they are, resting gently against her back, the weight of his hand more of an anchor.
An intrusion.
Her reaction is telling.
The shake of her head. The tightening of her form. The way she refuses to lift her face, as though whatever she’s holding inside might spill out the moment she meets his gaze.
And then—
"February fourth."
Her voice wavers.
Maruki stills.
February fourth.
It’s September now.
Six months.
Six months she’s been carrying this weight alone, in a world where suffering shouldn’t< exist. From the moment he thought he had completed his work, this one young woman had slipped out of his radar somehow. How.
Six months, and he hadn’t noticed.
Hadn’t treated her.
He had let her suffer.
Something inside him twists, his breath catching before he can school himself back into composure. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.
Without thinking, he breathes out, “I’m sorry.”
It slips out before he can stop himself, too raw, too genuine. And he knows—he knows—he can’t afford to let that thread of doubt linger.
His grip on her shoulder tightens ever so slightly—not enough to startle, but enough to ground. A slow, steady reassurance. Then, smoothly, he pulls it back, voice softening, carefully measured once again.
“I didn’t mean to... if this is too much,” he murmurs, giving her space. “Take deep breaths. You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to. It’s alright.”
The apology, the I'm sorry cracks through what Hamuko had left for composure. A shaking sob wracked out of her - and with a start, she sat upright again, wiping her eyes, trying to will the facade back in place.
He remembers.
He understands.
But with the acceptance of everyone else being this strange 'happy'... he wouldn't understand really. And-- even if he remembered life before, that didn't mean he knew anything about what she'd seen. About the ever present threat.
"I'm okay, I'm fine. I'm sorry. Ugh...! I was supposed to save this for the specialist," she laughed amidst sniffling, wiping her sleeves against her face over and over. She's glad she didn't go with mascara today! "Thank you for listening. T-thank you for-- for speaking with me. I feel a lot better."
Ah, he knew the facade when he saw one. While most people around him were genuinely happy (they were happy); the choked out sob, the cracks in her composure, it made him panic. Undeniably so. His fingers twitched and a certain deep voice throttled within him.
Seek me, Azathoth's voice brimmed right through as Hamuko sat up. Enough of this nonsense, Takuto. You know what to do.
Maruki closed his eyes for the briefest second, inhaling slowly, deeply, before exhaling just as carefully.
Not now.
Not yet.
His expression softened, but his gaze remained sharp, searching. Watching as her laughter warbled between gasps, a sound so utterly wrong that it nearly made him wince. He forced a breath out through his nose, lips barely quirking upward as he tilted his head.
“Do you really?” The words weren’t harsh, but there was something knowing in the way he said them, something that danced between concern and quiet challenge. But then, a huff of air, a slight shake of his head, as if dismissing his own thoughts. “Well, I doubt you’ll fall apart like this in front of your specialist, but... I’m glad I could lend an ear, at least.”
He moved then, dipping forward slightly, a shift that could have been the prelude to standing up.
If only for the briefest moment.
And then, smoothly, he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, offering it to her.
“Here.” His tone was light, teasing—something to ease the burden pressing down on her shoulders. And then, with an amused lilt, he added, “If you keep wiping your face like that, you’re going to end up with sleeves that smell like snot for the rest of the day.”
"And I feel like I might feel responsible for that."
She'd jolted a little then, too, seeing him move as if to get up. Even if she felt distressed by him, her gut SCREAMED at the idea of him leaving her because she broke down - just like everyone else.
So the shift, the change to him pulling out a handkerchief instead... to giving it to her, a gesture of kindness and acknowledging her pain...
He was real.
"I do. Genuinely... thank you," Hamuko nodded, taking the handkerchief and sniffling as she wiped her eyes.
And it was true - a simple, frustrating minute of conversation cut through six months of extreme doubt. She knew now. The uncertainty of does Nyx exist and am I just insane were gone completely out of the window, with a single disagreement from a stranger being abrasive. Six months of feeling violently emotionally disconnected from the people she loved most finally felt like it made sense.
God, that did not bode well for reality, then - there had to be something going on.
"Ugh. I needed that," she mumbled into the handkerchief.
His words seemed to...improve her? All he really did was try to push the hopeless narrative that something was wrong with her. He was right about it too since she had no choice but to cling to that pain since his paradise was too disorienting for her. The fact that when it felt like he was getting up, she jolted because why wouldn't she? He wasn't part of his own paradise and he accepted that rather readily.
The price, the cost of it all justified the end.
Maruki let out a quiet breath, watching her carefully. His lips curved into something easy, something pleasant, but there was a slight tension in his brow, the faintest flicker of something calculating just beneath the surface.
“Glad I could be of service, then.”
The warmth in his voice was measured, controlled. It lacked the same gentle patience he usually carried—like someone swallowing down the taste of something off.
Something had changed.
With her.
And change was dangerous.
But he smothered the thought down, tucking it neatly away. A single conversation wouldn’t upend anything. Would it?
He exhaled slowly through his nose, letting the easy smile settle, the mask fitting snugly back in place.
“I take it you’ll be alright for your appointment?”
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no subject
He's like me.
He's there, he's present, more than just pleasantries. Expressions she only remembers in dreams. Expressions she used to see from her loved ones back in... high school? No, back in that other dream. That other life.
He's going to walk away.
A small panic rose in her chest. Don't leave. Right now in the moment would be the 'appropriate' time to walk off, the stranger's body language even looking like that, but more than anything she needed to talk to him just a little more, to know she wasn't crazy--
"Say-- you're really handsome," she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could control herself. Her face burned bright red, embarrassed at herself and her desperation, but she tried to play it off by twirling the end of a lock of hair around her finger.
You know he won't buy that. The bags under your eyes, your sleeping in public, you're a wreck."U-um, I mean... won't you sit with me for a little bit? It's a little lonely waiting by myself. Um! I'm Arisato, by the way. Nice to meet you."
1/2
But her sudden statement made him freeze.
"Say—you're really handsome."
His breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else. He blinked, turning to look at her again. The faintest furrow of his brow deepened as he took in the bright red flush on her face.
For a moment, the world shrank to just them.
The rush of wind through the trees softened, leaving behind only the sound of her unsteady breathing and the rustle of his coat as he shifted.
Maruki knew what he should do. He had been observing her quietly for a while now, preparing to oversee one of her sessions in secret to understand more about her. Hamuko Arisato, the mysterious problem case—her mind weighed down by memories of a life that shouldn’t exist. He should have stayed at a distance. Professional. Detached.
And yet, here she was. The desperation was unmistakable—so familiar.
Someone begging to be heard. To be s̶̫̈a̷̤̐v̸̢̈́e̴̜̚d̴̮͊
His response wasn’t immediate, but his voice finally broke the silence.
“Well...” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m not sure I buy that, but—thank you. Really. That was...unexpected.” A small, self-effacing grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
2/2
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since someone talked to me like this.
His gaze lingered on her. The exhaustion beneath her eyes. The way her hands fidgeted. Her nervous smile.
She needed this.
“Shibusawa.” He introduced himself with a name that didn’t belong to him but still felt safe. “I’ve got an appointment too. Fifteen minutes, just like you. Fair enough—I’ll sit for a bit.”
He lowered himself onto the bench next to her, careful not to crowd her space. His brown flat cap remained firmly in place as he adjusted his coat. He looked down at his tan shoes as a leaf fluttered and made its way close to them as he shook it off.
Then Maruki—Shibusawa—turned to her with a grin. It was boyish, awkward, but the hint of amusement behind it was genuine.
“Tell me, Arisato-san,” he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Are you always this expressive right after waking up? Or did you really not get enough sleep last night?”
A silent question, just to gauge her.
no subject
"You're seeing a specialist too, Shibusawa-san? The way all the doctors talked, I didn't think anyone else going through something! Oops, there I go, oversharing - you don't have to say anything if you don't want to," she hastily pulled back her words - after so long of people never responding well to talking about negativity....
But Shibusawa didn't have the same look. There was something present in his expression, even as he was trying to wall off and close away. The fact that he was doing that at all, even-- Hamuko leaned in a little almost entirely subconsciously.
no subject
'Shibusawa' tilted his head, letting the words linger as he adjusted the brim of his flat brown cap. “Ah, so you’re just that expressive, huh?” he teased lightly. His voice carried a warmth that softened the playful edge.
Yet, behind his casual demeanor, his mind churned.
That sounds very problematic. And worrying. No one else in the world seemed to realize him or notice him at all, a man of his prefecture who was doomed to a story forgotten by everyone.
Still, her sincere smile brought a certain warmth he desperately missed.
"..."
No one else going through anything.
That's right. That was his world. Beautiful and perfect. Why were you seeing a specialist, Hamuko? Your answer is right in front of you, he wanted to say. But instead, he held steady, keeping his polite smile in place as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze turned skyward for a moment, watching the birds flitting across the clear blue sky.
“No, it’s alright,” he finally said, shaking his head. “We’ve got time to spare.”
He paused, then added more softly, “I seem to have a rather terrible case of chronic headaches. Maybe it’s just from years of overworking myself to the bone—who knows.” He shrugged, trying to smooth out the tension with a slow clap of his fingers against his knuckles. "I am free from the work now so all I am left with is treating this little quirk."
There was no headache.
Azathoth had stopped itching into his brain for months now.
no subject
"My sleep's kinda wrecked," she contributed back. "Dumb brain's putting me through the wringer with nightmares."
It wasn't really nightmares. But how else to put it? And... it wasn't really getting startled from sleep that's made her tired. It's from her attempts to sleep more often that've been throwing her body out of whack.
If... that's really why. If this 'reality' is the real one. If not, then...
"...Migraines can be so fussy. Sometimes they need super specific medicines, right? And other times it's just, oh, I didn't have enough salt in my diet, damn it! Hehehe."
no subject
And then... the mention of the Nightmares. Maruki felt the tiniest pang at that. The mind had a way of replaying things it couldn’t let go of. He knew that better than anyone.
What came after that drew an unexpected chuckle from him. “Ah, yes—salt, the sneaky villain of headaches.” He leaned back a little, adjusting his glasses. “It has to do with electrolytes and how they regulate fluid balance in the brain. Too little salt can actually cause cells to swell and create pressure, which can feel like a headache. Our brains are annoyingly particular sometimes.”
He paused as he raised one index. "Yes, I looked that up online as well. I looked through a LOT of headache articles."
“You know... I went through a lot of tests myself,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “CT scans, MRI scans—everything came back normal. The doctors kept reassuring me that I was fine. And yet...” He shrugged. “I just sort of live with the noise now. It comes and goes.”
There was a long moment where he let that hang between them before glancing her way again. “Nightmares aren’t something you can fix with electrolytes, though,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with that. Do you want to share anything about them?” He gave a small, lopsided smile. “No pressure. But, hey—talking to a guy with a phantom headache might not be the weirdest thing you do today.”
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Still... it was easier said than done to say it out loud. When she'd first snapped awake, naked in the street in the dead of night, the first second past midnight - she felt SO much more confident in those memories being real. But each day afterward it felt less certain, less... real.
...After a moment to breathe, she figured she may as well. People's reactions were always... the same.
She could handle it two more times today.
"When I was young, my parents weren't really in the picture... mom passed giving birth to me and my twin brother didn't make it, and dad died before I really knew him. I grew up with a loving foster family, went to high school, fell in love a few times, graduated... except," Hamuko leaned forward, gesturing with her hands.
"...Except I don't feel like that's true. When I sleep, I... remember it a lot different. My family in a car crash when I was ten, getting passed between a lot of different fosters, and only really finding my footing in high school. The people I loved still loved me, too, but... we were all having a hard time. I think that's why we connected."
She missed that connection more than anything else.
"So I keep waking up and I feel like... I don't know if I've woken up, or fallen back asleep. I think at this point doctors are gonna get ready to scoop out bits of brain to stare at what the hell is going on."
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Really most of it stemmed from the wishes of the collective consciousness. While Maruki had weaved through everyone's wishes and tried to adhere the perfect solution that would grant everyone's happiness there were some people which...left the blank slate slightly blemished. Some of them were from Tokyo still, Inaba and then Tatsumi Port Island. He had learnt about SEES, about the intricate involvement of the Kirijo group and how he had allowed Azathoth to proceed and actualize their wishes. Surrounded by loving friends and family.
And one of those friends was Hamuko Arisato.
The one who had thrown herself at Death...was it?
He listens intently, leaning in as his shoulder angles towards her. When he was perfecting his treatment over the course of those two months convincing Akira-kun and the rest of the phantom thieves, he ran into similar problems with others as well but he had eliminated any and all confusion in the public unconsciousness.
Then how...?
"So in a way… you might be dissociating," he mused. “It makes sense, in a way. When your memories conflict, the mind tries to reconcile them the best it can. It’s just... not always the most pleasant process.”
A beat. Then, his voice softened, careful but curious. “You said the connection between you and your friends felt different... stronger, even, in the life you see in your dreams.” He tilted his head slightly, glasses catching the light as he considered her. “What was that like?”
Maruki smiled—small, warm, the kind that made it hard to tell if it was teasing or genuinely kind. “I mean, it sounds like a lot to unpack, sure. Probably a little weird to spill all that to a stranger, but hey—since I can’t call you crazy, I’d rather not walk away being the only one who sounds like they’ve lost it.” He tapped his temple lightly with a lopsided grin. “Mutual confusion makes for good company, don’t you think?”
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"...It's like... I don't know... it feels like no one has the depth they usually do. Like every conversation is the same, whether I'm at home with someone or whether I'm passing them in the grocery store. It's so much worse when I try to talk about these feelings, too - like they can't even really grasp what I'm feeling."
Hamuko hummed, unsure why she felt self conscious about it.
"Especially when I get into the more surreal parts of the dream. Or god forbid, started crying about it. I learned really quick to keep that to myself."
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"I don't think any person can truly understand one's pain. Most if not all words of comfort come from the need to make sure the other person isn't hurting anymore but it never actually stops the problem itself."
"Its a rather tragic cycle, isn't it?"
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It's only not true in the dream, right?
"...It's definitely not true. It's true, you can't... understand exactly someone else's hurt. It's true that sometimes kind words are about hurrying to help deal with someone else's hurt. But it doesn't have to be..."
Stop being so negative. He'll leave. He'll go like the rest of them.
Before a panic attack has a chance to catch hold, Hamuko took a slow, deep breath. He'd asked. He was still here, listening.
"...It doesn't have to be. Sometimes, kindness is sitting with someone who's in pain. Sometimes it's not trying to fix it, because things can't be fixed... sometimes it's being there so they don't have to be alone. Because you remember how much it hurts, too, and how much you wished you had someone with you when it hurt, too."
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Maruki's expression twists a little, his smile dropping as he chuckles wryly. "The human mind is rather fragile. It tricks itself into seeking comfort rather than mulling in its pain- its in our biology. Some people just managed to grasp that easier than the others."
"Besides kindness doesn't cut it in our world." The moment he punctuates that statement, his gaze becomes fleeting. He leans back on the park bench, at ease by the words he just uttered. "Kind people always suffer. Alone. Like you are."
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Discontent.
She is alone. She is alone. But for the first time in months, there's a fire in her chest, and all over again the 'real' world she's been living in feels like a facade.
Slowly, she turned and looked at Shibusawa, brows furrowed. The way he spoke--
"You... you know what I'm talking about," she challenged, turning in her seat to stare him down with the intensity that was true to who she actually was. "You know-- you do know, don't you? That something is wrong right now - the world isn't supposed to be like this."
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Still, that didn't mean he could get more reckless about this then he already is.
He considers pretending to be another actualized individual drowned and savouring their own happiness. A life of comfort. A life where they are loved and appreciated for who they are.
But wouldn't that just bring Hamuko even more pain?“Hmph… do I now?” His voice was light, almost amused, as he tilted his head downward, thumbs idly fidgeting together. He let the silence stretch, just a second longer than natural, just enough to make her question herself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he crossed one leg over another.
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He tilted his head, the corner of his smile twitching as he papers down on his own feelings and scratches over the itch. “Perhaps the wrong here isn’t the world, Arisato-san. Perhaps it’s us—the ones who refuse to let go. The ones still clinging to the pain, the memories. Licking each other’s wounds instead of simply... moving on.”
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Hamuko's stunned silent for a long moment, staring into Maruki's face like she could vivisect it and discern his actual intentions. But... how could she.
Maruki would recognize immediately the look of someone emotionally closing off - the way they used to - as Hamuko sat back against the bench and pulled her knees to her chest, looking away from him.
"Maybe... but in that case, maybe it's better if..."
If I disappear.
She can't say that.
She can't say that because then she would imply that Shibusawa also should. And she knows, deep in her gut, that there's no way that Shibusawa should kill himself for being discontented in the world.
With a sigh, Hamuko buried her face into her knees, biting back the urge to cry. "I'm sorry I'm such a depressing person."
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Azathoth festers inside, clinging to the parts of his body like a presence permeating between the gaps of two cells, a high that never seems to give weight to just how happy he gets when other people don't suffer. Their bright smiles are..
They are perfect.
...?He needs to treat her. He has grown negligent.
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“Don’t apologize for something like that,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, his brow furrowing just slightly. “You’re your own person, Hamuko-san. Our pain is real. Our grief is real. And you’re allowed to feel it. You're allowed to escape it too when the time comes.”
Then, softer still, he asks, “How long have you been saying that to others?”
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Without lifting her head, Hamuko shook it. No, she can't. She doesn't want to.
He knows - there WAS a world before, there WAS credence to these memories. But now... now that means there's no one protecting humanity from Nyx. Everyone is happy, but will that really keep the end from coming? The thought of that moon crashing into the earth, the giant red eye watching with emotions that Hamuko can still feel from having been the Seal, something alien but familiar in its drive and urgency to meet those suffering humans and bring them calm.
No. She can't. She won't.
The hand on her back feels too fleeting in the face of that.
How long have you been saying that to others?
Since that night. When the second hand ticked away from twelve, officially pulling the world into a new day after midnight. She'd been dreaming for so long before then, only for it to feel like... falling. She'd jolted upright, in a body that was older, full to the brim with a lifetime of memories she didn't recognize.
"February fourth..." she answered, voice shaking.
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An intrusion.Her reaction is telling.
The shake of her head. The tightening of her form. The way she refuses to lift her face, as though whatever she’s holding inside might spill out the moment she meets his gaze.
And then—
Her voice wavers.
Maruki stills.
February fourth.
It’s September now.
Six months.
Six months she’s been carrying this weight alone, in a world where suffering shouldn’t< exist. From the moment he thought he had completed his work, this one young woman had slipped out of his radar somehow. How.
Six months, and he hadn’t noticed.
Hadn’t treated her.
He had let her suffer.
Something inside him twists, his breath catching before he can school himself back into composure. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.
Without thinking, he breathes out, “I’m sorry.”
It slips out before he can stop himself, too raw, too genuine. And he knows—he knows—he can’t afford to let that thread of doubt linger.
His grip on her shoulder tightens ever so slightly—not enough to startle, but enough to ground. A slow, steady reassurance. Then, smoothly, he pulls it back, voice softening, carefully measured once again.
“I didn’t mean to... if this is too much,” he murmurs, giving her space. “Take deep breaths. You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to. It’s alright.”
His smile is warm, kind, as he tilts his head.
“I’m grateful you opened up this much.”
He means it.
And yet, deep down, something in him itches.
She shouldn’t have to feel this pain.
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He remembers.
He understands.
But with the acceptance of everyone else being this strange 'happy'... he wouldn't understand really. And-- even if he remembered life before, that didn't mean he knew anything about what she'd seen. About the ever present threat.
"I'm okay, I'm fine. I'm sorry. Ugh...! I was supposed to save this for the specialist," she laughed amidst sniffling, wiping her sleeves against her face over and over. She's glad she didn't go with mascara today! "Thank you for listening. T-thank you for-- for speaking with me. I feel a lot better."
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(they were happy);the choked out sob, the cracks in her composure, it made him panic. Undeniably so. His fingers twitched and a certain deep voice throttled within him.Seek me, Azathoth's voice brimmed right through as Hamuko sat up. Enough of this nonsense, Takuto. You know what to do.
Maruki closed his eyes for the briefest second, inhaling slowly, deeply, before exhaling just as carefully.
Not now.
Not yet.
His expression softened, but his gaze remained sharp, searching. Watching as her laughter warbled between gasps, a sound so utterly wrong that it nearly made him wince. He forced a breath out through his nose, lips barely quirking upward as he tilted his head.
“Do you really?” The words weren’t harsh, but there was something knowing in the way he said them, something that danced between concern and quiet challenge. But then, a huff of air, a slight shake of his head, as if dismissing his own thoughts. “Well, I doubt you’ll fall apart like this in front of your specialist, but... I’m glad I could lend an ear, at least.”
He moved then, dipping forward slightly, a shift that could have been the prelude to standing up.
If only for the briefest moment.
And then, smoothly, he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, offering it to her.
“Here.” His tone was light, teasing—something to ease the burden pressing down on her shoulders. And then, with an amused lilt, he added, “If you keep wiping your face like that, you’re going to end up with sleeves that smell like snot for the rest of the day.”
"And I feel like I might feel responsible for that."
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She'd jolted a little then, too, seeing him move as if to get up. Even if she felt distressed by him, her gut SCREAMED at the idea of him leaving her because she broke down - just like everyone else.
So the shift, the change to him pulling out a handkerchief instead... to giving it to her, a gesture of kindness and acknowledging her pain...
He was real.
"I do. Genuinely... thank you," Hamuko nodded, taking the handkerchief and sniffling as she wiped her eyes.
And it was true - a simple, frustrating minute of conversation cut through six months of extreme doubt. She knew now. The uncertainty of does Nyx exist and am I just insane were gone completely out of the window, with a single disagreement from a stranger being abrasive. Six months of feeling violently emotionally disconnected from the people she loved most finally felt like it made sense.
God, that did not bode well for reality, then - there had to be something going on.
"Ugh. I needed that," she mumbled into the handkerchief.
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His words seemed to...improve her? All he really did was try to push the hopeless narrative that something was wrong with her. He was right about it too since she had no choice but to cling to that pain since his paradise was too disorienting for her. The fact that when it felt like he was getting up, she jolted because why wouldn't she? He wasn't part of his own paradise and he accepted that rather readily.
The price, the cost of it all justified the end.
Maruki let out a quiet breath, watching her carefully. His lips curved into something easy, something pleasant, but there was a slight tension in his brow, the faintest flicker of something calculating just beneath the surface.
“Glad I could be of service, then.”
The warmth in his voice was measured, controlled. It lacked the same gentle patience he usually carried—like someone swallowing down the taste of something off.
Something had changed.
With her.
And change was dangerous.
But he smothered the thought down, tucking it neatly away. A single conversation wouldn’t upend anything. Would it?
He exhaled slowly through his nose, letting the easy smile settle, the mask fitting snugly back in place.
“I take it you’ll be alright for your appointment?”
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end of thread for now