"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?”
"I'll live," she said through a sniffle, though now she was unsure whether there was a point in going to these specialists. If she was right.
She had to be. That's the only thing that made sense.
Her phone started chiming, the little alarm she'd set to wake her up in case she'd fallen asleep outside - which she had - reminding her about the appointment. Obligating her to move forward.
"Fine, okay, okay... time marches on," she sighed, turning off the alarm, reluctance weighing every cell in her body as she slowly stood up anyway. She turned to give Shibusawa a bow, passing the handkerchief back - mercifully free of snot, at least! "I'm sorry again for overreacting. I hope we bump into each other again, Shibusawa-san."
It had been a while since he’d needed to focus so intently on one patient, but he would correct this. He knew what to expect now. What to prepare for. What adjustments needed to be made.
Even if he had made a miscalculation today, Azathoth would allow him to smooth it all away.
After all, his presence—his true presence—would be too painful for anyone else.
Maruki didn’t flinch at the alarm. He had already been keeping track of the time, watching it slip away like the slow, deliberate movement of Azathoth’s tentacles curling through the fabric of reality. A quiet, ever-present rhythm. He was aware of it, just as he was aware of himself, down to the smallest details—the way each new grey strand in his hair blinked out of existence the moment he noticed it.
Time moved forward.
And yet, in some ways, it didn’t.
He stood as well, exhaling as he glanced at his watch—just a little act, a tiny performance. A sigh, practiced but natural, like he too felt the weight of time’s obligations pressing down.
"Ah- no, I didn't think there was any overreaction," he continues comforting with a quick wave of his hand before accepting his handkerchief.
I hope we bump into each other again, Shibusawa-san.
We will. Don't you worry.
His lips quirked ever so slightly, though there was something else behind his gaze—something obscured just enough to be unreadable. He tilted his head, letting his words come slowly, deliberately.
“But that would mean we’re still struggling, wouldn’t it? If we meet again in a place like this?” A beat. A slight shrug, light and casual. “Let’s just hope that, next time, I get some sort of upgrade from these ridiculous headaches instead.”
It was feigned ignorance—just enough of a deflection to seem natural. But the meaning was there. The point was there.
His expression softened again, his voice dipping into something gentle, something soothing.
“Still, I wish you a speedy recovery. You deserve to spend your days carefree.”
Then, as if just remembering something, he reached into his coat pocket.
A moment or two that passes, light reflecting off his glasses to obscure his gaze before he reveals a small donut wrapped in plastic. "Here." It's smaller in size, clearly more of a snack then an actual dessert as he presents it to her with casual amusement. "Just to make the whole process a little pleasant. I usually keep these on me too."
"Hah! Oh, that's fun," she laughed in surprise, despite how... stiff? Cold? That Shibusawa was being.
...But despite the fact that he was cold, that in and of itself was... a relief. He was unpleasant, in a way that someone that knew what before was like could only be. And despite being unpleasant, there was still a normal man behind the wall he was holding up.
Maybe that's why Hamuko felt a little tug at her heart. Something warm, something that gave her... purpose. Hope. Resolve.
There WAS a world before. Nyx does exist, but something else is happening. She just needs to figure out what.
Shibusawa is just trying to cope with the world they're in now, and she can't begrudge him that.
"You're right, though. It'd be a little glum to only keep meeting at a doctor's office. Let me give you my number... that way we can go on a date."
Maruki had already begun his usual routine—his quiet, polite exit.
His fingers tucked back into his pocket, and with an easy, practiced motion, he dipped forward slightly, just the barest inclination of a bow.
“Well then,” he murmured, the words smooth, automatic. “I won’t keep you any longer—”
And then—
"—that way we can go on a date."
For the first time in a long, long while, Takuto Maruki stopped.
It wasn’t just a slight hesitation, not the quiet, calculated pauses he sometimes took in conversation. No, this was a full stop, a complete derailment of the train of thought he had so carefully constructed.
His breath hitched just slightly, his weight shifting awkwardly as his head lifted to look at her, blinking rapidly, dark brown eyes staring in what could only be described as pure, unfiltered confusion.
His mouth, which had been poised to continue speaking, parted—then hung open.
A single, awkward laugh slipped out of him, utterly unguarded, more of a startled chuckle than anything else. His hand came up, fingers rubbing at the back of his neck as he let out another awkward, breathy, “I—I don’t follow.”
Oh, he did follow. He just really, really wasn’t sure how to process it.
Because—
A date? A date?
His gaze flickered to her, as if trying to assess if she was serious or if this was some elaborate joke at his expense.
"Did you think I was joking about how handsome you were?" she teased.
...It felt good to tease someone like this. And not have it feel... wrong.
"We got off on a strange foot, but...! I think we could have a little fun seeing a movie, or going to a cafe. Probably a much better way to pass the time waiting for appointments, right?"
'Shibusawa' truly looks at her like she's grown a second-head. It's not like he isn't aware that people...seem to hold that opinion of him. Even back in Shujin Academy some of the students used to comment on his looks. Most of them were rather overwhelmingly positive or pointedly neutral.
Which was strange since Takuto only ever really put the effort in making himself look more put-together.
His lips parted again, before closing, before parting again, his brain actively short-circuiting. He hadn’t had a patient catch him this off guard since—
Since—
...It had been a while.
So, with a slightly forced, slightly frazzled chuckle, he cleared his throat and gave a helpless sort of gesture, waving a hand lightly as if that would dispel the sudden shift in atmosphere.
“Aha, um—” His voice cracked. “That’s... very kind of you, but I—uh, I really don’t think that’s—”
Still, spending time with her might give him an idea of what aspect of his reality makes her click away.
He's thinking.
He's been seeing people-couples and others laughing away to themselves, holding hands as they go on dates, shopping away with their friends and what not. Maybe if she saw what made his reality so beautiful, she would find it easier to accept it again without feeling like she isn't a part of it. That she could thrive in it.
Takuto didn't have any particular feelings to the date itself. His goals and his research took a lot of time from his normal life and a part of him knew that spending time on distractions would be another second he wasted where someone might be going through something far worse.
"...I'm not sure," he looks away, slight red on his cheeks. "I'd hate to take up your time like that."
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no subject
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."
no subject
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?”
no subject
"...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."
no subject
"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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
1/2
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.
no subject
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.”
no subject
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."
1/2
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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She had to be. That's the only thing that made sense.
Her phone started chiming, the little alarm she'd set to wake her up in case she'd fallen asleep outside - which she had - reminding her about the appointment. Obligating her to move forward.
"Fine, okay, okay... time marches on," she sighed, turning off the alarm, reluctance weighing every cell in her body as she slowly stood up anyway. She turned to give Shibusawa a bow, passing the handkerchief back - mercifully free of snot, at least! "I'm sorry again for overreacting. I hope we bump into each other again, Shibusawa-san."
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This...oversight would not be tolerated again.
It had been a while since he’d needed to focus so intently on one patient, but he would correct this. He knew what to expect now. What to prepare for. What adjustments needed to be made.
Even if he had made a miscalculation today, Azathoth would allow him to smooth it all away.
After all, his presence—his true presence—would be too painful for anyone else.
Maruki didn’t flinch at the alarm. He had already been keeping track of the time, watching it slip away like the slow, deliberate movement of Azathoth’s tentacles curling through the fabric of reality. A quiet, ever-present rhythm. He was aware of it, just as he was aware of himself, down to the smallest details—the way each new grey strand in his hair blinked out of existence the moment he noticed it.
Time moved forward.
And yet, in some ways, it didn’t.
He stood as well, exhaling as he glanced at his watch—just a little act, a tiny performance. A sigh, practiced but natural, like he too felt the weight of time’s obligations pressing down.
"Ah- no, I didn't think there was any overreaction," he continues comforting with a quick wave of his hand before accepting his handkerchief.
I hope we bump into each other again, Shibusawa-san.
His lips quirked ever so slightly, though there was something else behind his gaze—something obscured just enough to be unreadable. He tilted his head, letting his words come slowly, deliberately.
“But that would mean we’re still struggling, wouldn’t it? If we meet again in a place like this?” A beat. A slight shrug, light and casual. “Let’s just hope that, next time, I get some sort of upgrade from these ridiculous headaches instead.”
It was feigned ignorance—just enough of a deflection to seem natural. But the meaning was there. The point was there.
His expression softened again, his voice dipping into something gentle, something soothing.
“Still, I wish you a speedy recovery. You deserve to spend your days carefree.”
Then, as if just remembering something, he reached into his coat pocket.
A moment or two that passes, light reflecting off his glasses to obscure his gaze before he reveals a small donut wrapped in plastic. "Here." It's smaller in size, clearly more of a snack then an actual dessert as he presents it to her with casual amusement. "Just to make the whole process a little pleasant. I usually keep these on me too."
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...But despite the fact that he was cold, that in and of itself was... a relief. He was unpleasant, in a way that someone that knew what before was like could only be. And despite being unpleasant, there was still a normal man behind the wall he was holding up.
Maybe that's why Hamuko felt a little tug at her heart. Something warm, something that gave her... purpose. Hope. Resolve.
There WAS a world before. Nyx does exist, but something else is happening. She just needs to figure out what.
Shibusawa is just trying to cope with the world they're in now, and she can't begrudge him that.
"You're right, though. It'd be a little glum to only keep meeting at a doctor's office. Let me give you my number... that way we can go on a date."
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His fingers tucked back into his pocket, and with an easy, practiced motion, he dipped forward slightly, just the barest inclination of a bow.
“Well then,” he murmured, the words smooth, automatic. “I won’t keep you any longer—”
And then—
"—that way we can go on a date."
For the first time in a long, long while, Takuto Maruki stopped.
It wasn’t just a slight hesitation, not the quiet, calculated pauses he sometimes took in conversation. No, this was a full stop, a complete derailment of the train of thought he had so carefully constructed.
His breath hitched just slightly, his weight shifting awkwardly as his head lifted to look at her, blinking rapidly, dark brown eyes staring in what could only be described as pure, unfiltered confusion.
His mouth, which had been poised to continue speaking, parted—then hung open.
Nothing came out.
A blink.
Another.
And then, finally—
“Uhh.”
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Oh, he did follow. He just really, really wasn’t sure how to process it.
Because—
A date? A date?
His gaze flickered to her, as if trying to assess if she was serious or if this was some elaborate joke at his expense.
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...It felt good to tease someone like this. And not have it feel... wrong.
"We got off on a strange foot, but...! I think we could have a little fun seeing a movie, or going to a cafe. Probably a much better way to pass the time waiting for appointments, right?"
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'Shibusawa' truly looks at her like she's grown a second-head. It's not like he isn't aware that people...seem to hold that opinion of him. Even back in Shujin Academy some of the students used to comment on his looks. Most of them were rather overwhelmingly positive or pointedly neutral.
Which was strange since Takuto only ever really put the effort in making himself look more put-together.
His lips parted again, before closing, before parting again, his brain actively short-circuiting. He hadn’t had a patient catch him this off guard since—
Since—
...It had been a while.
So, with a slightly forced, slightly frazzled chuckle, he cleared his throat and gave a helpless sort of gesture, waving a hand lightly as if that would dispel the sudden shift in atmosphere.
“Aha, um—” His voice cracked. “That’s... very kind of you, but I—uh, I really don’t think that’s—”
Still, spending time with her might give him an idea of what aspect of his reality makes her click away.
He's thinking.
He's been seeing people-couples and others laughing away to themselves, holding hands as they go on dates, shopping away with their friends and what not. Maybe if she saw what made his reality so beautiful, she would find it easier to accept it again without feeling like she isn't a part of it. That she could thrive in it.
Takuto didn't have any particular feelings to the date itself. His goals and his research took a lot of time from his normal life and a part of him knew that spending time on distractions would be another second he wasted where someone might be going through something far worse.
"...I'm not sure," he looks away, slight red on his cheeks. "I'd hate to take up your time like that."
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end of thread for now