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NOX claws, frantic, at the side of his grave, sending dirt hailing down on himself. All around him is the stink of wet and rot. The earth sticks to his skin, catches in clumps in his hair. He blinks it out of his eyes, but there's always more, and he can barely open them. The crisp crunch of a shovel, and a wave of dirt batters him again; he gasps for air as he tries blindly to find some purchase.
His hand grasps the edge at last, but a leather boot crushes his fingers, and pain loosens his grip. The gravedigger kicks him away, and NOX feels his back hit the wall of soil. Another avalanche piles onto him.
"Stay down." CODE Number Four's voice is cold, detached. His own.
He looms over the grave, shovel in hand, little more than a shadow against the sky. But there's no doubt it's him. Through his streaming eyes, NOX can just make out the outline of Four's harness, can just catch the glint of the ring on his index finger.
NOX digs the dirt away from his mouth, panting heavily. "You're not real."
"I'm as real as you are."
"A Nightmare-"
"No. I thought you had learned there are worse things. Your own mind is one of them." Four speaks with a tired patience, as if NOX is a young child. A teacher through and through. "This is not so easy as hitting the problem until it stops moving. This is not something you can fight."
NOX tries to ignore him, heart rushing with terror in his ears, to stretch his arms as far as they'll go towards the edge. This time the pain explodes like a cymbal crash, the flat of the shovel bashing his hands, making him cry out as instinct draws them close to his chest again.
"I said stay down. You're smarter than this. All you are doing is making this harder for everyone."
"I…" NOX's head is swimming, stunned. He needs to keep digging, but the pain won't subside. "…Harder?"
"Before you came back, I was all that was left. In your family's minds, your loved ones'. I disappeared." An image flashes through NOX's mind: himself, as Four, with bright eyes and full cheeks, quiet, clean, brave. "And then you came back." Four's words hold no disdain, just honesty, showering over NOX like the earth. "You, in your blood and dirt and funeral suit. Parading your corpse around with the stench of your grave all over. You disgust everyone who sees you, you insult your own memory."
He takes up his shovel again. "I'm merely setting things right."
All of a sudden, NOX stops caring about his hands and scrabbles at the wall, trying to muscle himself up. Four doesn't even have to do anything this time; he just stares with a pitying look as NOX loses his grip and falls back over and over, waiting for him to tire himself out. And eventually, NOX is forced to stop when his fingers refuse to move, and exhaustion washes over him as he stands cradling his hands, the nails dark and bleeding.
Part of NOX is screaming, pleading with himself to stop struggling. Just lay down, just take the beating, it will be over faster, it will be over. Put all your energy into enduring and it won't even hurt that much. It hurts, it hurts so much, at least let it end.
Paralyzed in his indecision, he's dimly aware of dirt piling up around him. Four's shovel moves, crunch, swish, crunch, swish, in an unrelenting rhythm. Just another duty.
"I wasn't like this when I was you," NOX says without realizing it.
Crunch, swish. "Maybe not. But there's the rub, NOX. This is all you." Crunch, swish. "You. Myself. The grave, the dirt." Crunch, swish. "The shovel. All of it."
NOX shakes his head; he can't process the words, and away they go. "Maybe you wanted to die. But I…"
"But you what?" Four lets out a mirthless laugh. "Go on, say it. You can't. You never could. Or have you learned how to lie, at long last?"
He has nothing to say. Four nods, resuming his pace. There's silence for a few minutes, save for the shovel, before a thought occurs to NOX.
"If you are me… that means I could stop you, yes?"
Crunch. "That's up to you."
NOX swallows thickly, tries to summon all his resolve. "I want you to stop."
"Not good enough."
"I-I want… to stop."
Swish. "Try again."
"I want-"
He's buried up to his neck now, so he raises his chin higher, and through the dirt in his eyelashes, he sees the sky.
He sees Baku teasing him about his name. He sees Nem reaching out to him at his lowest, in the darkness of his dream. Nasuka calling him her senpai, even though they barely know each other. Fujimi hanging off of his arm, as if he's the last tether in a storm. Even as tiny specks against the dark, they are so bright.
He wants to feel those things again. He wants…
"I w… I wan…"
Every syllable is a fight against his jaws, suddenly shut tight. His arms are trapped, and tears of frustration well in his eyes as he wrenches his head back and forth, the need to speak bubbling in his chest. "...want…"
"...want t-to… l-"
"-LIVE!" he screams, jolting awake.
He's back in his desk chair at The Lady's estate. On instinct, he paws at his face, shoulders, sides. His chest heaves, and he's drenched with sweat, but there's no dirt, no blood. He takes in a long breath, then lets it out slowly, then repeats it until he stops shaking, the way he was taught to do.
The words are still on his tongue.
I want to live.