Chapter Text
The surroundings spiraled to his command, dizzying motions that would leave anyone frozen with terror. The pattern could be seen in infinite circadian formations, painted by the earth’s unwavering goal of rebirth, coiled and worn by the evolution of animals. It was familiar, but to him, it was something that made him above all. It allowed him to transverse into places he had left feelings in, places he commanded, and places he deemed secure. But that was only a few. It gave him a bunker where time stood still, plastering images that motivated him towards his ultimate goal, memories that showed the worst of their world.
Relationships, love, war, death, and trauma—the elements of them all coiled around his body. It had enveloped his soul the moment he witnessed the results of those selfish acts of people with power, playing with the lives of children and gambling with the seconds of their lifespans until they died in their twenties. The concept he had not realized until it was spoon-fed to him from the barks of trees sucking up rotten corpses of innocents went over his head as he clutched the body of his friend, his first and final love. It had killed him once more, killing even more slowly than when his life flashed before his eyes in that blasted cave. What he thought would be the final time he’d ever feel her touch under the crushing weight of a boulder had been replaced with the flooding warmth of blood leaving her body. They may have reversed their fates, but even when Obito’s heart stayed beating, he remained dead.
You watched me die, and now it was my turn to see you abandon me.
It was not unusual that this cycle had repeated once more; the memories and feelings were the same as they had happened. His Sharingan had been, above all, a mere watcher of his consequences, as it was a tool to be used from his lineage. It was cosmic at the time; maybe that was why he had been so desperate to awaken it, so he could feel of use. Now that he was full of purpose, he’ll make sure to make up for the mistakes he made as a child. He’ll create new opportunities for the current generation with the power of their mind.
Was he not fit to belong? Sometimes the doubts piled up in the back of his mind. It would slither into groups, steady and slow. Then the crushing pressure of a purposeful seal etched in his skull would violently jerk his thoughts back to the glossy eyes of beautiful brown ones, their glow already gone by the time his own single one flickered to either. Perhaps they were still seeing. Perhaps she saw the unfamiliar symbol of his despair, too complicated from the one he’d awakened from a coma ago. Too soon were the requirements met. Too pathetically soon. He remembers what he sobbed out at the time; maybe she heard his voice tremble in the vastness of horrible emotions before the final sense had dissipated into death.
That cave should have blinded him completely. That cave should have been his grave. That cave should have erased any remaining skin cells and combined them with the earth’s surface.
But it didn’t.
Obito had been clutching at the right side of his face in his personal dimension of cubes, bright orange mask off to the side. His fingers traced his facial scars absentmindedly, unwavering by the vivid blood on his fingers lingering from his imagination. An index finger circled and traveled across his cheek, following the path and picturing himself traveling across it. It was an endless maze he only found himself getting lost in. He wondered if the thinning walls he was approaching meant an unspeakable end or the promise of something even beyond him. These crevices were proof of war, proof he had survived. When the bud of his finger followed the damaged skin and found his eye, the answer was unspoken. He solemnly closed it. The vast endless dimension was impossibly quiet; not even the ringing of his ears could be distinguished. Nothing could echo off the cubes that littered greatly in randomized layers. It had always been dark, ever since he stepped into the gift his mangekyō bestowed upon his loss. The dimness was appreciated by its only inhabitant. The only place he allowed himself to feel safe in.
Even with the quivering breaths of a dying voice in his ears.
Suddenly, a mortifying pain stabbed into his only eye, the one that was in the process of pulling him into the linings of inner and outer dimensions. He flinched to grasp it and attempted to divert the convulsions away by adding a source of hurtful dredging, clawing into the skin. It began to flood with blood. His vision was blinded by red, and he doubled over to his knees. He’d already paused using the technique as soon as the first strike of his brain screamed at him to halt, but no matter how much he dug his mental heels in, his eye kept stretching his head apart. The spirals were faster and endless, turning into a black hole with the speed and pressure. It was an injury he’s never experienced, all gathering in one center and pulling his senses in until it was beyond unbearable. There was a shout of desperation he almost didn’t register as his own, lost in the darkness. Liquid fled from his fingers and fell onto the grey stone. It kept flowing and dripping like a waterfall, plopping audibly on the ground the more it gathered. Sickening nausea made him ill, more of a fabric of imagination inside his mind than anything, unaware of this cataclysm being concluded elsewhere.
His entire body was being pulled away. He didn’t know where, and that fear was enough to keep him fighting with his sanity, even when the cramping nerves were comparable to the shockwaves of a supernova. Like the deafening silence of an explosion, everything stilled and froze in time. He gave up when he could no longer bear it. Cold air hit his skin when his knees landed on a different texture, more rough and uneven from the previous cubes. All senses returned, the suffering overcoming them and honing Obito’s focus on it.
He damned it all.
When the flashes of his past appeared in his head, the ache had finally passed and dulled into pulses. Obito panted and clutched at his chest, sweat dripping off his face. The blood reached his tongue and he gagged out of adrenaline. Nothing came up. His body had settled into a comfortable position to catch his breath, looking as if he were apologizing to someone he had wronged and lied to.
The only thing that remained was emptiness. What had the Sharingan done? Obito pushed himself to stand up when the copper drops stopped oozing, and the smell eased.
This place wasn’t his.
The architecture was a mix of modern and old; even the poorest of houses seemed well built. He had teleported to the most abandoned of places, the night making it feel dreadful. Instinctually, his senses spread out to locate any form of life. Not even the trees breathed. Staying here held no information, just the aftershock of having nothing left to lose. In a lost sense of direction, he headed off to the glowing lights radiating the sky that hinted of life.
The technology was far ahead of its time, even if the town he had tiptoed around in was evidently on the low-funded side. It was strange seeing devices he could not test. Most townsfolk ignored the abandoned ones, walking past the biggest contraptions he’s seen thus far. Why make useless scrap metal if it will go to waste?
He had seen a tiny white snake with glowing red eyes speak to its owner from a distance, curled around their shoulder and observing the holographic messages the woman was receiving. It had two layering voices too close to each other, artificial vocal cords, a new sound to his ears. They were like ninja animals. When the small serpent noticed his gawking, Tobi gave a quick wave before slithering behind a building.
He decided to ignore technology that was unusable and hid around corners to rely on spying. Whispers of a place far superior bounced off the old walls, one most seemed to be nearly pious of. They all yearned for the chance of having the opportunity to experience it themselves now that it was within their grasp. Obito’s mind automatically slid into the use of manipulation tactics.
The poor and rich always yearn for more.
He had no trouble following people with useful information. It seemed even the adults enjoyed and went in on the gossip, the most recent news too juicy to keep their mouths shut. A lady squealed about an elder man, excusing heinous actions due to his charisma. A teenager wept to their friend about an in-game idol he would never get the chance to physically see again. A man challenged another man to a fistfight, insisting on getting revenge, which left the other desperately going on about memory issues. It all seemed so otherworldly, but he recorded the information either way.
He familiarized himself with the island he had appeared in. It was controlled by a powerful man who separated it and promised riches to only those who were special. Blackmailing, gaslighting, and corrupting people to his advantage. It reminded him of the villages' kages, all selfish. All the products of the cycle. This was merely the tip of the iceberg if the man had managed to control an entire country for him to own, using it to test ridiculous theories and experiments. In the end, he could not finalize his plans to control the whole world, going missing after a failed mass attack on the residents separated from the rich.
That piqued Obito’s interest.
He had his version of controlling his own, to save. It was disgusting to think about how that man had gone as far as he did. He let the wonder die; his own duties were more important. If he were to partake in their difficulties, it’d be for the benefit of the plan.
As he gathered more information, Obito had learned the hard way that perching on buildings were bad manners. A police officer had noticed his presence above a bar, waving an unknown tool and barking out commands. Obito smiled down at him as his upper body bent to the side mockingly, though it was more out of curiosity at the display of emasculation.
The last time he saw law enforcement was when his clan had been alive. He had always looked up to them.
Even though the cop couldn’t see his face due to the mask, his body language must have pissed him off enough to stop waving the small mechanical thing around to fully point at him with it. The man’s grip tightened as he took aim.
Ah, it’s a weapon.
A crackle of impact blasted and pierced through him at great speed, zooming past his intangible body. A deafening whistle flew past his ears as he turned to watch it blend into the sky as it missed its target. It was impressive. A jutsu with that agility would be powerful. From his Sharingan, he noted the pellet had reached a mile before falling out of view, wind limiting its range and slowing down to a descent. He determined it still had the possibility to hurt. When he turned back around, the cop’s body was shaking, eyes as wide as planets and trembling hands dropping the weapon before turning to run away.
Obito decided to walk on the ground from then on.
On the seventh day, he had given up attempting to use Kamui to return home. He hadn’t stopped relaying on the numerous checkpoints he’d set up in the past. There were many to try with, separated and organized from memory and feeling. Obito concentrated once more and activated the ability he’d been accustomed to, remembering the emotion that was the strongest. The swirls formed and shook gravity in itself, pulling his body in until it dissipated into nothingness. A failure. When he brought up small fleeting memories, it failed. When he remembered the taste from a quick lick of dango, it failed. When he brought up his memory of feeling strong air push through his hair, it failed. When he broke his fingers and saw them heal back up, it also failed.
It didn’t work. Nothing happened.
Obito didn’t want to remain here and didn’t want to waste the feeling of false hope when swirling into a place he’s been before in a stranger’s world. Remembering important intel meant he was planning on staying. Why was he pulled here? Was it fate? A thumb and middle finger prodded at his eyelid, pulling it open as far as it could. Tearing it open, pulling it apart. Why had it done this? Had it more secrets to hide? The other hand pinched the sides, digging into the gaps behind and pushing it out. His skin wanted to twitch close, to protect. The nails stabbed under; a mix of tears and blood ran down his cheek; permanent ripples of scarred flesh healed and dried by time were watered by the hauntings of deniability. He never had hate for anything else in the world besides the dreadful existence of it itself. But right now, he just let the feelings pour.
The eye remained in its sockets, already being aided in its healing process. He closed it and thought of nothing. Made sure to feel nothing. Be nothing.
His body looped out of existence.
The hard concrete floor stilled him, cracked from age. The smell of nasty air from a nearby factory dissipated in his direction. It was familiar. Like a lifelong journey, the wind carried it until it simmered into death. There were more chirping crickets this time around. He equipped the mask from inside his cloak when the healing finished, finally observing his surroundings and noting that it was the place he had first appeared in.
The place he’ll be stuck in.
Obito seethed in anger. Once a distant jump of action echoed behind him, he raised his head.
It was only a glimpse of white, and it wasn’t the first time he’s seen it. Obito had noticed the man before. He’d hop from roof to roof during the day, lull the moon to sleep at night. He had immediately caught Obito’s attention. No one here seemed to have chakra. He could ignore it from the townspeople, as they are mere peasants, but this man was capable of a ninja's talents. It was a huge disappointment to not sense anything from him; it cut out the possibility that he had been transported into the future. With that out of the way, what’s left for him?
When the blur of white disappeared, he decided to approach him as his next step.
The next time he spotted him on someone’s home, he pounced on the opportunity.
Obito jumped in front of the white-cloaked man, earning a startled noise and a slip that could’ve been dangerous if the other had not balanced himself in time.
“Hello, other masked person! Can you help Tobi find out where he’s at?” He made sure to bend the upper half of his body in a polite manner, a finger to the cheek of his mask as if thinking. The Akatsuki robe still adorned his body.
At a closer look, they were wearing a lab coat with a pale buttoned-up shirt underneath and a bright yellow scarf around their neck. It was a nice touch, Obito thought. He took in the color palette of the pure white locks of hair, the worn-out blue of his pants, and the yellow of the scarf into his mind. The most alluring part, though, was the comical-looking gas mask on his face.
When someone makes an attempt to hide themselves, they’re sheltering something dangerous, locked away by an anonymity of identity that didn’t need to be named. The gas mask stared at him without moving. Obito frowned at the thought of torturing him open until the man leaned toward him, arms rising up in fists under his chin as if he was holding a squeal in, like a fangirl.
“A-ah! I haven’t seen anyone else that wears a mask too! Your name’s Tobi? Mine’s Clear!” He pressed his gloved hand on his own chest as he spoke. “Yours is so bright… and swirly…” It looked like he was wagging an invisible tail. The man’s voice sounded soft, high-pitched, and slightly ethereal, but it had an underlying feeling that made Obito want to step back. Genjutsu? No, that doesn’t exist here.
He continued to act as Tobi, successfully slicing off his edge.
“That’s right,” he nodded and nodded. “I’m lost! I need help finding my way back home.” His body drooped pathetically. “Will you help me?” He made sure to look up as he connected the tips of his fingers together shyly, tapping twice. They were the exact same height, hoping that this act of making himself smaller worked, though the clear man seemed the type to gape at butterflies that flew by.
Just like Tobi.
Clear nodded enthusiastically. “I know this area pretty well; I grew up here.” His tone flattened a moment before perking up again. “I should take you to meet Master and his friends!” He said after briefly checking his wristwatch. “Master should be coming home.” Clear shifted closer against the roof tiles, taking Obito’s hands into his own. Black gloves embraced by white ones.
“Master?” Tobi questioned. “Is that your lover? Ooo…” he cooed when they began walking in a purposeful direction.
Clear’s pale bangs teetered with a shake of his head. “Nope! Master is master.”
“A lover,” Tobi insisted.
“Wrong.” Clear replied, then stopped in his tracks, Obito pausing as well. He turned to look at him and saw him tugging at his scarf.
“Well… I wouldn’t mind if Master…” he started, turning to look at the emotionless face as much as it was his. “Does Tobi-san have someone they look up to?” Clear gave an unconscious squeeze to his hand. Tobi hummed too quickly, breezing past the inner turmoil of another asset. He took the lead of their steps, both jumping down from the building and landing with a breeze. Clear showed lingering interest after the action, the lenses of the gas mask glinting at him. Tobi just tilted his head.
There were a few silhouettes he would have considered to have guided him before. The sensei of his former team, the legendary Uchiha that saved his life, and his senior in the Akatsuki. He killed his teacher and his wife indirectly, releasing and summoning the cause of their deaths and many of others. It was his decision to follow Madara Uchiha’s path, even at the cost of hundreds of lives. He picked and chose his chess pieces, their freedom stolen until death. It would not matter in the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
“There’s Deidara-senpai.” Obito offered the information after pondering whether to hand it out.
If his growing suspicions were true, he had no reason to fear giving a few secrets, even if this one was tame in comparison. He relaxed the other fist he had tensed, feeling the haunting realization of his life’s meaning going to waste. It struck him deeply. It sent a shiver up his spine. Obito didn’t need to think about it right now; he had set up a timeframe in his head. If he doesn’t figure out a solution for this unfortunate vicissitude in a month, he will..
What will he do?
“What’s he like?” A calm voice pulled him out of his dooming thoughts.
Obito swallowed.
He regretted bringing him up. What was Deidara like? He was young and stupid, always at deaths door banging to be let in. He was suicidal and he knew it, if death answered, he would have given it a fanatic crazed smile. Scratch that, he wouldn’t even wait. The door would be blasted through immediately.
“He’s… brave.” It was the first word that came to his head.
And he hated it. Obito hated witnessing someone so liberating despite being surrounded by death and destruction. How can he see the suffering of innocents and guilty and call them products of artistic freedom? Did he paint on his mental canvas with their blood? He despised it. And even then, he stood beside and called him his partner, his senpai.
Obito wasn’t innocent either.
“He’s cunning, attentive when he wants to be, intelligent when he’s calm, and hot-headed when he’s not. You can anger him easily, but he turns it into strength rather than weakness. He bristles with passion, unwavered by anyone else who can’t see the art of it. And at his brightest, he’s…”
Free.
Obito pursed his lips and frowned at the resolution his mind came up with.
“Amazing.” He finished.
The empty part of town had let them confide in their conversation. Only the sound of a distant bark from a dog interrupted. Wind traced the grass like fingers petting a scalp, overgrown by lack of human care. As Clear took his words in, the first sign of human presence echoed in his ears, only to his.
“He sounds so cool.” The gas mask breathed out. “He kind of sounds like Master.”
Tobi snorted.
“Does your master ever get mad at you and try to kill you?” He asked in a humorous tone.
It would probably be a watered-down version of attempted murder, unlike his own experiences.
“Yes!” Clear gripped his hand again. “He does! But it’s not a bad thing. It tells me he’s doing okay, and if it connects, it’s proof I can feel.”
Obito’s eyebrows furrowed.
At the silence, Clear brought out a large vinyl umbrella from a pocket in his coat, opening it and making it spin once before twirling it back. Its sudden appearance out of thin air reminded Obito of his Kamui. When the abandoned buildings turned to occupied ones, the passing pedestrians glanced at the unusual use of cover on a clear sunny day, but most gawked at the interlock of their hands. Some even glared. Obito smiled indifferently.
When they reached the destination Clear had in mind, he invited Tobi to jump the person he had taken to meet. Obito had to clear up the confusion on which type of jumping, making Clear wave his hands in a panic. So they waited on the roof of a home for minutes, Obito using the surrounding calm wind to sway him into the theory he was starting to confirm.
He can’t return.
Noticing the sound of a wind chime too far away, he opened his only eye he hadn’t realized he closed. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. What is he going to do? He hoped during his absence they continued to gather the remaining bijū. Pain was to be left unguided, and who’s to say it won’t get into his head? If Obito ever returns, the mistrust would be palpable. He’ll be forced to get rid of his greatest asset along with his committed companion. Losing is not something he isn’t used to.
And what about Deidara? That man was too impulsive on his own. Obito accepts immediately that he will hear about his death when he comes back. If ever.
Clear had stopped swinging his legs on the edge of the roof the same moment the wind let his scarf fall from their dance. The hum died in his throat as his gas mask turned to Obito with a concerned tilt.
“Tobi-san, what’s wrong?”
Tobi smiled behind his own.
“What do you mean? I’m doing A-okay!” He brought both thumbs up with a bounce. “I’m so excited to meet your master! Let’s see if he is truly like my senpai.” He extended the last word admiringly.
“Eh… I thought I…” Just then, approaching footsteps alarmed the two on the roof. Clear shook his head in surprise before jolting up and wrapping his hand around Tobi’s. Obito didn’t expect to immediately jump off a building without preparation, but he did so nonetheless.
“Master!!!” Clear crashed face first against the ground right in front of a blue-haired man, exactly where he would have walked into if he had taken just a few more quickened steps. Was he trying to kill him?? Obito sighed in defeat a split second before feeling a few bones break as he fell beside him as well, his hard mask protecting his face from the impact. He swallowed a groan of pain before standing up at the perfect pace Clear did.
The stranger held onto the bag around his shoulder with a look of shock, one hand up to block any more falling men that might drop on him. It turned to anger and then into another face of despair when his light brown eyes made their way to Tobi after registering Clear.
Obito began detailing immediately. He had a ridiculous puffed-out jacket that seemed more of an inflatable vest for kids, with headphones hanging from behind their collar around his neck. He wore a dark blue shirt and a blue belt as bright as his hair. The jeans were an ocean blue. Did this guy just make it his whole personality as soon as he was born with blue hair? He ignored the boots he wore that were possibly custom-made to match his jacket and noticed a tiny canine snout poking out of the bag.
“Clear… no way. Is this?” He looked up at Obito’s hair, his own long strands falling over his chest at the motion. His face scrunched up into confusion before addressing him.
“What’s your name?” His hazel eyes scrutinized him. Obito took it into account.
Tobi let go of Clear’s hand, minimizing the realization that he was the only one of the two still holding onto the gesture. He grabbed the closest hand of the man who gave him attitude.
Obito prepared for a bite that never came.
“Tobi’s name is Tobi! Are you Clear’s master? Nice to meet you!” He made sure to shake him dramatically, hard enough that the other had to readjust his stance to avoid being pulled and obtruded.
“Hey, hey, hey! Stop it!” The stranger yelled at him, making Clear giggle. Tobi stopped immediately.
“My name is Aoba. Tobi, right?” He said after giving a pout. Tobi nodded and hummed, letting him go.
“Will you be my master too? I’m so lonely and without guidance…” He heard Clear give out a small ‘ehhh??’
Aoba scowled at him even further.
Then, a sharp finger was pointed at him.
“Where are you from?”
“Not from here.” Tobi shook his head from side to side.
“Do you have a family?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Any siblings?”
“Nope!”
“Have you ever dyed your hair before?” His voice intensified.
Obito ignored it, for now.
“I don’t really hop on trends.” He shrugged.
Clear had been flicking his head left to right at the person speaking turn after turn.
“Hmm…” Aoba crossed his arms and sighed, audibly alerting his defeat. “Well, it can’t be helped. Come in?” The door to the home was opened, waiting for him to enter. Tobi stood where he was, silently studying the man inviting him inside. It was obvious the tame look he was giving was forced. The tone in which he was invited in seemed incredulous. He wondered why.
How could they let an unknown man into their home?
If Obito required to murder them, he won’t hesitate.
Clear skipped ahead and went in, quickly taking his long white boots off. He hesitantly followed and ignored the long gaze of the homeowner. When the door shut behind him, he felt trapped.
“Granny!” Clear called out and disappeared into a corner, seemingly giving a person a hug. Aoba kicked away the large ridiculous boots randomly. Obito politely took his own sandals and settled them into a corner. It was a small act of kindness, the bare minimum when you enter a home, but the extra skin that was exposed made him feel queasy.
When he caught up with the other two, he smelled something delicious.
The kitchen was neatly decorated and furnished, the aesthetic chosen by someone on the older side. It looked too similar to Obito’s old home, even through the foggy memory.
The home he shared with his grandmother. The home where he last saw her. The home he hasn’t seen since.
His thought process was deemed correct when he noticed an elderly woman with pink hair making her way through the stove, Aoba trailing behind her in assistance. She was pretty small. If this world was ahead of its time, this home must be a relic.
“Tch. Stop following me. Go sit down and talk with your guest.” She commanded.
Aoba made a grim face, more so of concern, and then sat down across from Clear at the table. Tobi pulled a chair back and sat next to the gas mask. He could immediately tell that the old lady had a temper, and it was better to not rile her up out of respect. The way Aoba seemed to insist on his help made it obvious he deeply cared for her, even if he got swatted away every time. He could only assume.
“Granny’s food is so delicious! I can’t wait.” Clear beamed and settled his palms onto the table, wriggling his fingers against the wood. His eagerness was contagious, because the stern face of Aoba had turned into an honest smile. “Just wait until the holidays; you’ll be speechless.”
“I don’t need you to butter me up, hmph.” The grandmother had begun to lay down finished plates, tiny trails of heat radiating off of their surface. Aoba took the opportunity of her busyness and poured everyone cups of tea. She could only give an irritated look, as her hands were full.
Tobi glanced at the food. All were equally portioned. When a plate was laid down in front of him, he viewed the contents.
It was Mapo Tofu sitting along with white rice, split down the middle to perfectly balance both sides from overtaking the other. The smell of meat made its way inside the mask. He used to eat this, but this recipe had extra pork and an overwhelming amount of chili oil that burned his nose. It reminded him of the time he nearly choked to death when he tried being brave and asked his grandmother for more spice. When he sniffed once more, he noticed that the scent of garlic and green onions overtook any other ingredient besides the meat and spices. Still, the aroma was comforting.
It’s a shame it will go to waste.
“You. What’s your name?” The elder had asked him with an intense look after taking her own seat.
“Tobi.” Obito almost stuttered. Being in a caring home where a family truly loved each other was suffocating.
The dead nostalgic butterflies in his belly were born two decades ago, beginning a life as newborn caterpillars. Caterpillars that formed into cocoons and never got the chance to tear out of their confinements, fated to die more trapped than when they were born.
“Tae.” She offered her name with a close of her eyes, sipping on her cup to end the conversation.
“It’s a shame Koujaku-san couldn’t make it.” Clear circled the table with his fingertip.
“Yeah, he said he was going to visit yesterday.” A wooden spoon bumped against the edge of the plate once. Aoba’s disappointed face turned into a sigh.
“Must he be so busy? Can’t he just have a day off?” Clear asked with a tilt of his head.
Aoba grunted in annoyance.
“That’s not how it works. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about a job because-.” He suddenly cut himself off.
Obito’s eyes sharpened.
“Anyway, not everyone’s a freeloader.”
“Is Master calling me a freeloader? So mean!”
“Is bickering all you youngsters do? Shut your traps and eat!” Tae immediately stopped the approaching whiny exchange with a yell. All three of them flinched.
He let himself pretend. Pretend to be scared, pretend to be happy, pretend to be Tobi.
Obito tightened the close of his lips, remembering he wasn’t a part of it.
Aoba was the first one to begin, eyes looking up between the masked enigmas when he noticed they hadn’t moved. His gaze intensified between the two, staying on one for a brief moment before passing onto the other.
The hands Obito settled on his lap did not move. The stare from the one who’s been on his ass for no apparent reason burned through his headwear. Tobi turned to face him as a challenge. He noticed Clear take the opportunity of distraction to snatch a spoon from the corner of his eye, the farthest his mask allowed. On the outside he was still staring back at Aoba, unmoving. Obito smiled when he saw the man realize the chewing noises were not only coming from his grandmother. He whirled his head towards the gas mask, attempting to catch the slip of a chance for a peep. The old lady rolled her eyes at the childish display of curiosity.
“Mmm! That was amazing.” Clear clasped his gloves together in awe. “Thank you so much, Granny.” He softened his voice. Tae only snorted in response.
“Huh…?” Aoba’s eyes flickered towards the food that had disappeared and then to the gas mask.
When he quickly returned his gaze to Tobi again, his plate was as empty as Clear’s.
“Huh???”
He could feel the true disappointment of missing out on a huge secret expel from his defeated face.
Obito thought Tobi would find this funny. So he let him laugh.
The pouty contortion of muscles returned.
“That was definitely on purpose…”
Aoba had begrudgingly gone back to his own food, peeking at the two masked men from time to time.
When the remaining delicacies were finished, Obito insisted on washing the plates used. It had led to a three-way rock, paper, and scissors match between the other two. Tobi won.
The warmth of the water through gloves had made him momentarily space out. Tae, Aoba, and Clear had left to the living room, leaving him to himself. It was appreciated. He pressed harder into a particular spot that insisted on remaining dirty. The scrubbing and rising steam reminded him of the various hot springs his village was decorated with. He used to enjoy going to them when he was still a genin, pretending to unwind after surviving a near-death experience.
It wasn’t far from the truth.
Exploring what he could in this area, he only found a single bathhouse. Obito didn’t feel quite comfortable entering, so he relied on bathing in the rivers like he did during missions. He had replaced his clothes with an extra set from his dimension, assuming he wouldn’t stay for long. Wasting time washing clothes was unnecessary.
He didn’t register the hushed whispers that were muted by the sound of a clock ticking. The right sleeve of his cloak had gotten soaked when his mind returned. He shook it like how a wet dog would dry itself. It didn’t really work.
When Obito joined them in the living room, the tone of the home had shifted. He could feel their suspicions doubling, and he didn’t know why. It was a great lead to get more information, so he sat down on the second couch with the man he was most familiar with.
“Let’s get to know each other better!” He easily erased the remnants of their last conversation. Clear’s mood immediately shifted from looking like an uncomfortable puppy into an excited one.
Tae excused herself after explaining she had an appointment with a neighbor and had no interest in what gangs do nowadays. Huh?
Obito must have practiced body language well, because Aoba began to explain it after noticing his confusion.
“There’s also Rhyme, but to be honest I still don’t find it interesting. I used to kick ass at it when I was younger, though. Before I…” Aoba trailed off, eyes widening for a split second. Tobi hummed for him to go on, making Aoba cough awkwardly.
“Master used to have an evil side of—!” Before Clear could finish, Aoba laughed loudly and yanked on the back of his mask, making him bend backwards with a yelp.
“It was an alias! I was called blue… bomber.” The man scrambled for a cover-up, ending uncertain.
“It used to be so cool! Master used to be so cool…” The gas mask was back up, swooning like he hadn’t been thwarted violently.
“I am cool.” Aoba clicked his tongue.
“So, the people here like to fight in a dream and on the outside?” Tobi questioned.
“Yeah. Well, more like virtual than dreaming. Rib has been here for longer, though. Where did you come from again?” Aoba began to interrogate him once more with a raise of an eyebrow.
“Not from here!” He singsonged. Aoba clicked his tongue even harder.
“Tobi-san, have you met Ren-san!? He’s adorable!” The couch bounced with Clear’s excitement. With a hesitant look, Aoba brought up his bag and opened the zipper the entire way. “Ren.” He called out, alerting the small fluffy navy blue dog that had been sleeping in the gap. It opened its translucent digital eyes and set its eyes on its owner.
“Aoba.” It’s voice was sonorous, contrasting its adorable exterior.
“Uwaaa! So cuteee!” Tobi squealed and leaned closer to get a better look, feeling Clear do the same. “Right?? Ren-san is adorable!” The robotic pet made a look of tiredness and impatience he didn’t know dogs had the muscles to make.
“Hello, Clear. Hello, stranger.” The pup turned to each of them in order.
“Tobi’s name is Tobi.” He nodded.
“Hello, Tobi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine!”
“Likewise.”
“I insist.”
“As do I.”
“Well, I do more—“
Feeling like this had the chance to go on forever, Aoba piped up immediately. “Okay, okay! That’s enough before you guys irritate me.” He zipped his bag halfway like it was before. Ren closed his eyes and presumably went into sleep mode.
“That was funny.” Clear’s smile could be heard. Aoba groaned loudly before grabbing his wrist and raising the cuffs of the lab coat up, the one where Clear had his watch.
After checking the time by manhandling Clear, it was as if the realization of how late it was made him give out a yawn. Clear parroted it right after.
“It’s late. You guys better leave before Granny runs you out.” Aoba grunted as he stretched an arm over his head. The long strands of hair fell as he contorted his body.
Clear thumped a fist to his chest. “Don’t worry, Master. We’ll leave shortly!”
The man left after giving a small wave at them, heading upstairs with slurred thumps of footsteps.
“I hope you enjoyed our company, Tobi-san. Tae-san will most likely scold me the next time she sees me, though... she doesn’t like not getting a heads up. But it happens a lot.” He gave an embarrassed laugh.
“Of course! This was a ten out of ten!” Tobi held up eight fingers. He earned a giggle.
When Clear invited him to take a walk, he didn’t find a reason to decline.
The cracked glass, abandoned cars, evidence of an old murder, and garbage scattered in the corners weren’t a surprise to Obito. The day he was reborn into a different plane of existence, he drenched the outside floors of an abandoned hospital with his blood. For a moment of naivety, he thought he had unconsciously been sick. His sharingan had never done anything as tortuous and out of order as that day; maybe his body alarmed him of danger, maybe his mind sent him to safety.
Maybe it was just a coincidence.
Obito didn’t even glance at the stain that was proof of the event being real. They passed by unfinished concrete floors, feeling the texture of grass on one foot and a hard surface on the other. It seemed everyone who had lived in this area ran out and abandoned their lives. He wondered why.
As the sun finished setting, the wind from the early day had settled down as well. It was getting hard to see in front of him; only the moon’s light painted the path ahead. Since Clear had no chakra for Obito to follow, he focused on the sound of his boots crunching on broken bottle shards and dry leaves. He didn’t like the idea of never feeling someone’s chakra ever again. His sensory abilities were excellent, and to have a physical map of everyone’s soul devoid of daily life made him feel as if the world had faced an extinction without him.
To prove his lack of adaptability on the subject, Tobi ran into Clear when he suddenly stopped in front of him. He let out an ‘oof!’ And apologized, Clear laughing at him and holding his hand to avoid it from happening again.
Obito was embarrassed. Tobi liked the comforting touch.
“This is the Northern District. I lived here until I met Master.” Clear began.
“It sucks here,” Tobi murmured. The memory of needles dripping unknown substances with a used condom next to it flashed into his mind.
“I… agree… I think it was to keep me safe.”
The steady pace Clear had set quickened.
“There’s a place I want to show you.” He said.
Obito was pulled to a building that skyrocketed above them. The darkness ate up the shape of a castle hungrily. When daylight comes, he’ll see the true scale for himself. As the colors of the stained glass windows shone as they got closer, he realized that it was a church.
The place of worship had no doors, and Obito allowed himself to be guided in without missing a beat.
The space was huge, looming over as if threatening to crush them. Long stacks of pews stretched into rows, some stained, some of the wood splintered. The masks prevented either of them from inhaling accumulating dust.
Boots and sandals tiptoed around broken shards of glass art, accompanied by unknown crumpled pieces of paper that incited a notice. The limited moonlight assisted their prancing through shattered linings. Clear let go as they reached a symbol hidden from the darkest black of shadows. The end of the expertly cut wood dug into the floor, as if to say the building will forever be a part of it.
Clear gazed at it. Then he spoke up without breaking from its entrancing presence.
“Tobi-san. Do you believe in a god?”
It was a simple question.
If there was a god, they’d save. If there was a god, they would have to beg for forgiveness. The answer was as simple.
“No.”
The gas mask glanced up into the void. The whites of his gloves grew dusty as he smoothed over the details of the carving.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“How about not thinking at all?”
Clear hummed.
“Let’s go gaze at the stars.”
They exited swiftly. The same empty doors he was pulled into he left with intention. Before making his own way out, Clear picked a daisy that had grown from the wild vines of abandonment.
Hopping on the building was easy. It was one of the first lessons new ninjas were required to learn. Build muscle in your legs, and use chakra to propel yourself up into the air. It was tricky feeling his own energy flame to life and using it accordingly. It tickled once and never again. The hardest part of it was landing. He remembers how he got a concussion on his third try. He forgets the faces that laughed at him. Life used to be so whimsical, even if he cried a little on his way home that day.
But there are no ninjas here. No chakra. It made Obito incredibly curious as to how Clear was able to move as agile. He did notice the man avoid sticking to walls, using the surface of valleys of the church’s withering roof as trampolines. It was almost elegant, he thought.
They reached the highest point the church was built to. The largest steeple towered behind them, surrounded by smaller versions of it. Their spires could not compare to its grand architecture. Looking down, the only visible thing was the growth of never-ending plant life. Clear settled on the hip’s slope and held himself up from the stylized edges of the eave. Tobi nestled up to him, right shoulder bumping against Clear’s left.
Obito didn’t want to think about it, but he was softening. He should have pulled out a kunai and held it up to all of their throats, pulling and tearing out information so he could get back to his world faster. The other half of him, the one who has been enjoying their stay, was giddy at meeting new people. That part of him had slowly poisoned his mind, feeding into the idea that maybe… maybe he could renew a life where his history had no meaning. It was a stupid thing to think about, he thought, shaking his head disappointingly. It’s feeling of relief didn’t waver despite his attempt of moving on. He turned to Clear who had begun pulling petals, humming the childish tune of a distant crush. The daisy looked just like him.
He ignored the memory of a limp body in his arms.
“You’re not human.” He flatly stated in his Tobi voice.
Clear did not flinch, simply stopping his fingers from tearing another petal off.
They did not tremble.
Obito remembered stalking him the first time he was aware of his existence. He made sure to keep his steps hidden and kept his distance far. No matter how quiet he was, the man in the lab coat would turn his head to the muted sounds of the night, aware of someone trailing after him. The man would walk off buildings as if to end his life, only to rise up as if nothing happened. After the dinner they had with his proclaimed master, Clear had excused himself to the bathroom when they passed a gas station. There was no use for the sale of gas, so they mostly offered snacks and different types of drinks. Obito made sure no one saw him transverse into the walls, hearing the gags of a stomach expelling itself from unnecessary added content.
If Clear was not human, the futuristic timeline could only point to him being an android.
“How… did you know?” The robot asked nervously. Obito crossed his arms and hummed out as if thinking.
“Oh, it was obvious.” He made sure to sound relieved.
The man, the mechanoid, the one who had unknowingly begun to give himself away since the moment they met, audibly swallowed. He settled the plant to his side where they did not connect. He began after an inhale.
“No. No, I am not. But I must ask you,” Their masks made eye contact. Clear’s hand grabbed onto his, untangling his arms in the process. Obito could not make out warmth through the glove. “Is Tobi-san also not human?”
He did not move. What did that implication mean? Clear didn’t think he was alive? Did he think he was not human enough? How could a machine even be able to distinguish between its own existence and the requirements of flesh and blood? He grew furious before remembering that to be no one, it required feeling nothing other than fuel for the shared dream.
Clear rubbed his thumb covered in silky cotton over the rough skin of leather.
“You… remind me of myself. Master and Tae-san think you’re an Alpha. One that’s broken. I thought so too, but the way you act is different. I wanted to ask you myself.” He shook his head in confusion before continuing.
“The Alphas… they were products of a dictator made to control people, to oppress and manipulate. When Master came back, he said he saw someone who looked like me… then I remembered everything.” Clear broke the focus of connecting looks and raised his head to the full moon. “You’re… just like me.” He dreamily said. Obito swears he saw the reflection of the moon’s light cast heart-shaped glints on the gas mask’s lenses.
Clear is too soft.
Obito was troubled. He connected that Clear’s existence was only granted to be a tool, used and disposed of. But even from the moment they met, he knew that Clear was his own person, thinking for himself and making his own decisions, his own goals. It proved he was anything but. So why did he think Obito was like him? He was nothing close to freedom; that’s why he decided to spend the rest of his life fighting for everyone’s future. So they could never feel their life was worthless, never feel they had no ounce of control in their lives, and never feel so minuscule. In the ultimate dream, they were the main center of attention.
Clear had achieved something he could have never imagined doing.
“You’re wrong.” Obito whispered. His heart sunk. Wrong, wrong, wrong. “I’m nothing like you. I’m no one, even if I have a body that can be drained of blood, even if my heart pumps with emotions and stops when I die.”
“Tobi…” Clear exhaled.
“Your veins are of wires, bleed false blood, and cry fake tears, but I truly think you are more human than I. You are humane. Even if your body can never rot after death, metal can rust.” He slowly finished.
Obito doesn’t know Clear at all.
He hopes he never does.
Clear was kind hearted and naive, not caring or thinking of the dangers when he allowed someone he treasured invite him into their home. He’d taken him into a sacred place of loved ones as someone who had appeared out of nowhere, as if his background didn’t matter as long as he had a good time.
It was from suspicion.
Then why had they fed me?
Why hadn’t they threatened him when he was within their grasp? That wasn’t tactical in the slightest, leaving him free was dangerous. If this mistake was made as shinobi, they would not have made it far enough to reach Jounin level. Their bodies would collect along the dead ninjas who were too weak to be born in such a cruel environment.
This isn’t your world, remember~?
To provide as an excuse, the Tobi side of him brought up instances of residents being overly comfortable in the streets. Making out in the open, yelling out of windows, fighting outside a market, eating in groups near a no littering area, and even snorting the newest drugs with a cop. This entire population was living as if there were no greater danger, as if their lives were not fed and grown from tragedy.
It was a different calamity they experienced, unfamiliar to his own.
Obito thought they were privileged. It can’t last forever.
Clear didn’t respond after his words. The silence that enveloped them comfortably stung, like a cut beginning to heal after being bandaged. The grip over his hand trembled momentarily. A small wet sniff was muted by a gas mask, the one that was looking down onto the overgrown plant life below them. He could see the other man clutch tightly onto his own scarf. On a star far away, it darkened and twinkled for the last time. Obito closed his eye and eased himself against Clear’s shoulder, leaning his weight on him as a caring motion. It was promptly returned.
Now that they were against each other, Obito could feel it. Heat.
Clear was warm.
What had made him think he was like him? The lack of a front in search for guidance? The silly exterior akin to his?
A part of Obito would have preferred going without meeting the man in the first place. Questions tumble his thoughts into doubts, making them grow the more perplexed he became. He was relived to have gathered useful information about his circumstances, quickly assorting through the hints he’s been given as if they’re hidden files. The other part was to be ignored.
Clear had been made by that man.
Obito only began thinking and the robot had already made his way into the growing tension of his mind. It made him curious. Had Clear given into the commands of a dictator and chased the need to reclaim himself? Had he been born with freedom or was he the cause of the loss of it? Was he both? The robot must have sensed an interlink between them when they met. How could that be? How did he know he was suffering from identity?
He’ll need to find that horrid oppressor immediately. For now, he swallowed and prepared his throat to mouth an unfamiliar word.
“Clear?” He called out. The hand that had weakened over his knuckles returned their strength at the call of his name. Obito couldn’t look at him, turning his head away to look down at the wild chicory whose buds glowed white from the moonlight.
The name was uncomfortable on his lips, disgusting. This was crossing a line of unfamiliarity. Mental chains pulled him back harshly, threatening and leaving him pathetically bereaved at the devastating hallucinations he could only blink away.
“Why did you ask me about believing in a god?”
Obito felt Clear’s gaze on him.
He wanted to rip the feeling off.
At his question, the man inhaled quietly before picking the flower back up from his side. A single petal on the corolla remained, one tear away from being apetalous and proving the calyx useless. It gave a small twirl and a somber bow.
“I’m not sure. It.. seemed right. I wanted to know how Tobi-san would answer.” His voice was eerily soft, tender. It comforted worries in the worst way.
Determination rose when the gas mask gave a small nod, gathering courage for the next words.
“You’re hurting.” Clear reached out and let the daisy fall from his grasp, spinning with the faltering wind like a melting snowflake until it grouped with the other weeds.
Another hand held his own from under, sandwiched between the other. Obito flinched and turned at the extra contact, heart thumping in alarm.
Delicately, it was guided to Clear’s body, repositioning the hold so that Obito’s palm could rest on his chest. The embrace of hands was suffocating, clasping as if he was a bird that might fly away. An intruding thought made Obito wonder how soft the gloves would be on bare skin.
A glint of specular light flashed on the gas mask’s reflective panoramic lens, gone at the speed of sound. Obito had shifted their weights in a pure shock of adrenaline, looming over the man with the threat of a kunai’s edge pushing through the scarf and into the vulnerable gap just above the thyroid. The gas mask rose to meet his face, locking unseen eyes and deepening the handle of the weapon into his throat.
Obito has taken lives, planned mass destruction, cleaned off different temperatures of blood from his skin, heard screams of mortal ends grieving loved ones, and witnessed how loss can skin a person alive. But the contact Clear had given him, warm and attentive, was kindness he has hasn’t experienced in years.
Not since…
Clear’s grip never wavered. It only tightened, even when his neck bled onto the yellow. Red mixing with light, Obito saw his eye stare back at him from Clear’s lenses.
Why isn’t he fighting? Why is he holding onto him like he’s putting his entire trust in him? He should kill him right now. He’s going to kill him right now—!
Obito used his weight on the man to fully force his grip to slice through skin, pulling once before slitting the throat completely open. The piercing smell was immediate, slurping tumultuous squelches of the injury emitted organic liquid and formed mottled patterns on a labcoat. Obito’s heart was racing, the relief of the murder faltering his heart’s rhythm slightly. He waited until the man died, watching how the saturated contrast of a deathly color overtook the bright palette of clothes.
There will be no obstacle to slow the plan down anymore. He won’t repeat his mistakes any longer. Obito didn’t have the strength to destroy his weakness the first time he went through the palpable fantasies of an idyllic outcome. Repeating a little lie over and over waned him from disposing of an artistic mind that was uniquely bumptious. Undeterred and adamant, it spoke to him earnestly. He needed to see how far that mindset could take someone.
Perhaps he’s rid of him now.
Obito’s eye widened when his hand was caressed wistfully, yet still full of life. Under his palm, the rapid pulses of a heart from the robot’s chest snapped him out of his bloodthirstiness, rising from the murderous position and spiraling into a panicked escape in a blink of an eye.
Leaving Clear alone.
The body turned to its side on the hardened bed, pulling the covers over its shoulders. Sore muscles from leaning over a desk for hours at a time grew irritated from the change of position. The mind repeated the day’s events over. It went from repetitive loops of workdays into a drastic change of pace that destroyed a peace finally granted after fighting a battle forcibly born in.
Through the fog in his mind, he thought he heard singing.
It was a new step in his life accepting love that had been boiling over for years. At first it made him terrified, but the life he had lived until now did not change after the acceptance of feelings. In fact, it made it better. Being loved was embarrassing; being in love back was amazing.
A tinge of an unconscious smile formed.
Eyes opened and landed on a beige wall at the sound of thumping footsteps above. Aoba groaned and rubbed the crust out of his eyes, curling into a ball and shoving the pillow over his head. The familiar presence of a small fur ball relaxed his growing anger.
The soft touches of affection tickled his body. It held no insidious intentions and only chased after his needs. It turned into warmth he recognized too well as it combined their bodies like missing puzzle pieces, the last ones needed to complete the entire canvas. He couldn’t see it, reaching out into the blur of reality to touch what they had created. A bloom of soft petals tickled the nerves of his fingers.
The thundering landing of feet on his veranda shook him awake. Aoba hissed out his anger, ordering for them to go home and let him sleep. When he got no answer, he sat up on the bed in annoyance, carefully avoiding punting Ren with his foot. His room was not lit up. Sounds of his breathing could not bounce off the walls due to the cluttered mess of personal belongings. It’s not his fault; he’d been too tired to tidy up recently. Even his signature jacket was draped over the table instead of hung. The glossy, censoring glass made him unable to distinguish the silhouette outside. It almost blended in with the night.
His eyes widened when a red glow illuminated on the other side, right where an eye would be.
The clink of the lock falling to the floor made him stand up on guard, adrenaline making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Whoever was on the other side had sliced through it. Silently, the door slid open, but he couldn’t distinguish a single feature of the intruder. It was as if they were made of an obfuscated abyss. The only thing that was close to a light was the ominous predatory eye staring him down. Was he having a nightmare?
It took a step closer. His back hit the drawer next to his bed, knocking a boombox down with a clash. The black inside the red spun in circles, as if trying to tune into a signal.
What the fuck is he doing? He has powers!
Aoba opened his mouth to inhale a breath. Focusing as fast as he could to tear out his prowess. He blinked in shock at the hard pressure crushing his throat, closing his windpipe and blocking his vocal cords. His mouth had also been sealed, a large hand squeezing his face dangerously in, digging threateningly. How could they know? How could they have possibly known!?
His body thrashed against the larger one. Maybe if he made enough noise, Granny would call the police!
“Don’t.” He froze.
His face was twisted back, a mysterious pop in his neck alerting him to the immediate cramp. If he complied, saving Granny would be enough for him. It wouldn’t be her fault.
“Look at me.” And he did.
The voice was haunting, deep, and intimidating. Deadly. Why hasn’t he killed him already? Aoba attempted to glare, but it was shut down by the gaze of blood before it could form. It remained on its own, staring.
Staring, staring, staring.
The pattern on the single eye changed into a new one. And it stared. Stared at him. The grip on him never weakened, and he faded into a haze. He clawed at the arms, unable to make out the feeling of them. Before he could pass out, the hand let him breathe. He inhaled desperately once before being choked again. The eye never left him. A shock to his body struck him, an electricity that made his head split open in agony. He couldn’t stop the audible cry from clawing up his throat, muffled by the threatening hand.
It must have been what they were looking for.
Aoba hissed at his brain beginning to tear itself apart, as if the wrinkles turned into bloody cuts that tore more and more. It was as if he had been shot in the head point-blank, but the bloody explosion was slowed down for him to experience every aching millisecond. He couldn’t scream. The torture was excruciating; death was mercy. In the back of his mind, someone else was screaming alongside him. He didn’t know if his head had imploded or if it was the exhaustion that shut his consciousness completely off.
The last thing he would have remembered was the color red.
There was no heart to drop. The deepest pit of a whirlpool pulled him in, combining with the current of ocean waves. Soon a body would be cast onto shore, just like the plastic and debris of wasted potential. It was dizzying. The blue and white bubbles were blinding. In a gap of the twisting layers, a jellyfish was pulled in with him. Are these what dreams were? He tried to reach for the nearest living thing, but it flinched away when it sensed his touch. Deepening further, it turned from beautiful proof of life underwater to the empty edges of an old dirty pool. He closed both eyes and accepted that death was a drowning vortex.
They opened as he was dragged to the surface, feeling the water inside his body flow inhumanly out of his ears. He attempted to find who saved him. There were only blocks of matter, softly colored with reflections of water flashing by. It fell from his eyes, from his nose. It wasn’t his body releasing it from overflowing his system; it was from the stinging and burning of feeling fear.
There was no natural blur of eyes adjusting to the dark, quickly scanning the walls to assess whether returning to a forgotten place was the best choice for the turmoil of code. Shiny glints from the moon bounced off the bottles decorating the room. Nostalgic memories flowed and emitted a feeling close to warmth in a belly.
Clear arose from the bed. After pondering it for a moment, he abandoned the tear that had rolled down his cheek, protected by the cover of his mask. It wasn’t even from the dream itself, it was the realization that he had one in the first place. He inhaled shakily and placed his bare hands onto his neck, the elongated cut already gone from his natural repairs.
What does this mean for him?
The multicolored bottles clunked together when a soft gust rattled them from an opened window. It nearly made Clear fall back asleep.
A horrific scream pierced into his ears. Clear sprang immediately to action and ran out of the home, leaving his coat behind through the urgency. Some bottles fell from the speed, but managed to not shatter. He had no time to waste; Aoba was in danger.
When he reached The East district, his body allowed him to jump from building to building. The nights in Midorijima were always still, quieter when workdays were in session, and manageable when parties were thumping. The day didn’t matter when all Clear could hear were bloodcurdling screams, nearly unrecognizable if he had not known better. What could be happening for him to be suffering so severely!? The worries of people reporting unknown thumps on roofs were thrown out of the window. He didn’t care; he needed to see if his master was okay.
It stopped. He feared the worst.
Clear had no need to breathe so heavily, but he still did, landing on the outside of Aoba’s room where the sliding door had been closed. He opened it hastily, not noticing that the lock that was recently replaced had been destroyed.
He didn’t see anything out of place.
Aoba was dead asleep, curled up on the bed alone. His boots accidentally kicked a magazine out of the way. Out of the panic that never left him, he shook him awake roughly.
“Aoba-san? Please wake up!” He grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up. The body didn’t move. Tears began to flow before the man whimpered awake.
“Clear…?” Squinted eyes looked in his direction. They were red around the edges, and his voice was hoarse. He could see his mask reflect back at him. “Ah!” He hissed, and Clear automatically let go of him. Aoba must have been too groggy to catch himself, because he fell back before being caught immediately. At this angle, the purple on his throat was unmistakable.
“Your neck! Who did this to you!?” Clear leaned closer, making sure Aoba could lay on him in case he fell. The weakened man lifted a hand to his head, grimacing until he could speak. “I don’t… I don’t remember...” Blue locks of hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. He turned toward the room, but not a single item looked like it had moved an inch. Something was really wrong.
“I heard your voice…” Clear’s own shook. “It was… you were screaming.” He bit his lip before the emotions made him weep.
Aoba held onto him as a jolt of agony cracked his skull. He let out a yell that had Clear asking panicked questions. His hands weakened and lost strength, letting go of an arm before passing out.
Clear cried out his name, reaching for his hand and feeling for a pulse. It was the first time he’s touched his skin, warm and alive. He landed his ear against his chest, hearing a loud heartbeat simmer into calmness. It wasn’t enough of a reason for his panic to die, so he immediately went downstairs to wake Tae. She had yelled at him when she slid the door open but went quiet as she heard Clear’s shivering voice.
From her expertise, Tae had cleared that Aoba was resting it off, turning to the other with a hardened expression.
“What happened?”
Clear swallowed, the positive news of his master eased his heightened emotions.
“I heard his voice. He.. he screamed until it died out. I couldn’t make any words.” His hand tightened on the scarf. “When I arrived, nothing looked wrong. There was a bruise on his neck, but he said he remembers nothing.” The old woman closed her eyes with a furrow of her brows as he ended.
“I see. Thank you for checking on him.” She nodded sternly.
Clear did not hesitate, “I will stay here.”
Tae did not say anything, simply nodding once more before taking her leave. She was to begin a new medicine from her theories immediately.
And Clear will stay with Aoba for the rest of the night.