Chapter Text
A fragment of light. A collapsing world.
Altus Zendoji had always known the presence of something—someone—woven into his very being, like a thread of starlight binding him to the cosmos. A warmth nestled in the marrow of his bones, in the spaces between each breath, in the hush of a voice that had never truly been silent. It was there in the constellations whispered against his skin, in the laughter that shimmered like a comet’s tail across the vastness of his existence. He had never needed to name it, only to bask in it, to know—instinctively, absolutely—that it was his.
And then the world fractured.
The horizon split open, pixels bleeding into static, the sky unraveling like torn silk. Reality itself convulsed, a violent shudder that sent a pulse of dread crawling down his spine. Something was wrong. A distortion in the fabric of the universe, a flaw in the code, a hand reaching from the void to take.
A voice—beloved, aching, familiar—called out, but it was lost in the cacophony of a system resetting, erasing, forgetting.
The weight of nothingness swallowed him whole.
Darkness.
And then—
A gasp. A breath like breaking through the surface of a drowning dream. A heartbeat, sluggish and real, pounding against ribs that had never felt so heavy before. The suffocating press of gravity, the unforgiving bite of the air, the cold sweat clinging to his skin. His bed. His room. The four walls that had always belonged to him and yet felt so unbearably wrong.
He was here. And yet, he was not.
Something was missing. Someone was missing.
His mind clawed at the empty spaces where memories should have been, grasping at shadows, at the echo of a name that slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. A void stretched across his chest, vast and aching, as if a part of him had been severed—gone, stolen, erased without his consent.
And yet, he did not know what it was he mourned.
Only that his world had lost its color. That his heart beat in a rhythm that felt incomplete. That somewhere, across lines of shattered code and splintered realities, a celestial presence had been reduced to a mere fragment of a dream, dissolving into the abyss.
The game was gone.
And so was he.
Altus had not gamed in months. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. It was as if something inside him had quietly unraveled, the once-electric thrill of competition dulled into static. The familiar hunger—the one that had driven him to late nights spent chasing victory, to the weightless rush of reflex and strategy—had vanished.
There was a void in his chest, an emptiness shaped like something he could not name. Something missing, something lost. But he didn’t know what.
So he distracted himself. Gym, painting, work, mindless habits. The kind of routines that kept his hands busy but did nothing to quiet the strange hollowness lingering beneath his ribs.
That was, until fate—or something eerily close to it—pulled him down an unfamiliar street.
The sky was the same overcast gray it had been all week, the air humming with the scent of impending rain. Altus had walked this way before—he was certain of it—but today, something was different. A turn he had never noticed before. A flickering sign casting neon shadows against the pavement.
A gaming café.
It was small, tucked between towering buildings, its presence subtle yet magnetic. The moment he stepped inside, the air buzzed with energy—controllers clicking, keyboards clacking, screens flickering with fast-paced matches. There was a pulse to it, a rhythm that felt both familiar and foreign, like a song he had once known by heart but could no longer hum.
And then—
"Are you serious? How did I lose to that?"
The voice cut through the noise. Sharp, frustrated—but not petulant. There was an edge to it, a confidence that refused to waver.
Altus turned toward the sound.
At first, it was just a silhouette against the glow of the monitors, but then the details slid into focus. A young man, sleek and sharp, his black hair slightly tousled as though he had been running a hand through it too many times. His skin was pale, porcelain smooth, but it was his eyes that caught Altus off guard—deep purple, like twilight clinging stubbornly to the horizon long after the sun had gone.
Something inside him lurched.
He should have ignored it. He should have looked away. But instead—before he could even think—his lips curled into a smirk, words slipping past his tongue like they belonged to a past he didn’t remember.
"Maybe you’re just not that good."
The stranger’s head snapped toward him, those amethyst eyes locking onto his like a well-aimed blade.
"Excuse me?"
His voice was deceptively calm, laced with something dangerous—something alive. A challenge wrapped in silk.
Altus lifted a brow, feigning nonchalance even as his pulse did something inexplicable. "Just saying. Maybe you need some practice."
There was a beat of silence. A charged pause. Then—
The stranger scoffed, a slow, wolfish grin unfurling across his lips. Something about it felt familiar.
"You think you can do better?"
"Absolutely."
The words came easy. Too easy. Like he had spoken them before, like he had stood in this very place and had this very conversation.
His fingers twitched, muscles remembering a motion before his mind could catch up. Deja vu. It curled around him like a ghost, like the static of an unsaved memory.
The stranger leaned back, arms crossing over his chest, assessing him with an amused glint in those star-dipped eyes. "Alright, then. Show me."
And just like that—
It began.
Something old, something forgotten, something waiting to be found.
Nayuta was relentless. Competitive to the point of absurdity.
If there was a game to be played, he would play it. If there was a challenge to be issued, he would issue it. And if there was even the slightest chance of victory, he would take it.
Altus learned this the hard way.
What had started as a single, offhand remark had spiraled into an all-out war—an endless cycle of rematches, smug grins, and fiercely fought battles. Fighting games, strategy, FPS, rhythm battles—nothing was off-limits. It started as a challenge, then became a habit, then an unspoken ritual.
"You just got lucky that round."
"That’s funny, considering I won four times in a row."
"Rematch."
It should have been frustrating. It was frustrating—at first. But somewhere between the sarcasm and the smack talk, between the pixelated victories and the grudging defeats, something shifted.
Somehow, despite always bickering and throwing sarcastic remarks, Altus found himself seeking out Nayuta’s presence. He told himself it was just about the competition—that he wasn’t particularly interested in Nayuta as a person. And yet…
One evening, he caught himself watching the way Nayuta’s fingers lightly drummed against his controller, his brows furrowing in fierce concentration. How his eyes gleamed with a sharp, mischievous light whenever he was about to win.
There was something exhilarating about him, something radiant, something that shouldn’t have felt so familiar.
And yet—it did.
Like déjà vu. Like a fragment of a past Altus couldn't quite recall.
Like something that felt like home.
It happened in small moments.
The way Nayuta leaned just a little too close when explaining his strategy, his breath brushing against Altus’ cheek, sending shivers down his spine.
"You’re doing it wrong," Nayuta said, leaning over. His fingers ghosted over Altus' hands on the controller.
"I’m doing fine."
"You’re losing," Nayuta murmured smugly, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
Altus could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of something citrusy. He should have been focused on the game. But all he could focus on was the way Nayuta’s lips curved, just slightly, when he was too close.
"Maybe I’m letting you win," Altus muttered.
"Hah. That’s a funny way to say you’re terrible."
The way Nayuta absentmindedly stole Altus’ drinks yet never let Altus do the same.
"Hey, that's mine."
"Finders, keepers."
"You literally just took it from my hand!"
"Sucks to be you, then."
The way their shoulders brushed when they sat side by side, eyes locked on the screen, yet the real game was happening between them—silent glances, teasing smirks, the warmth of proximity lingering like an unfinished story.
Altus started noticing everything.
How Nayuta always smelled faintly of something cool and crisp—like early morning frost and a hint of something citrusy. How his voice softened when he was sleepy, losing its sharp edges, turning gentle in a way that made Altus’ chest ache. How he always ranted about wanting to destroy Altus in a game, but never let anyone else do it.
"If anyone’s gonna crush you, it’s me," Nayuta had declared one evening, after a particularly intense match.
"That almost sounds like you care."
"Tch. Don’t be stupid." But the tips of Nayuta’s ears had turned red, and Altus had smirked.
Then there were the clichés. The kind that shouldn’t have happened outside of bad romance movies, and yet—somehow, they kept stumbling into them.
Like the time Altus had instinctively grabbed Nayuta’s wrist while they were crossing the street, pulling him back just as a bike zipped past.
Nayuta had blinked at him. Stared.
"You—"
"What? You weren’t paying attention."
"I was paying attention."
"Oh, really? So you just like throwing yourself into traffic?"
Nayuta had scowled, muttering something under his breath—but he hadn’t pulled away. Not until far longer than necessary.
Or the time it started raining unexpectedly, and Altus—without thinking—had grabbed Nayuta by the arm and dragged him under his umbrella.
Nayuta had blinked up at him, damp strands of black hair sticking to his forehead.
"...You do realize I don’t melt in the rain, right?"
"You do realize you look miserable when you’re wet, right?"
"That’s literally the worst way to phrase that."
Altus had laughed, but neither of them moved. They had stood there, too close, the rain forming a barrier between them and the rest of the world.
And then, of course, there was the time Nayuta had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
It had been late—too late. They had promised to call it a night, but one match had turned into three, then five, then ten, and before Altus knew it, Nayuta had drifted off, his head lightly resting against him.
Altus had gone completely still.
The warmth. The weight. The slow, steady rhythm of Nayuta’s breathing.
Something inside him had tightened, like a wound he hadn’t realized was there.
"You’re so annoying," Altus murmured, but he didn’t move. He didn’t shake him awake.
He just sat there, listening to the sound of Nayuta breathing, wondering why it felt like he had been waiting for this moment forever.
One night, after an especially close match, Nayuta turned to Altus with a rare softness in his expression.
"You’re not so bad, Altus."
Altus blinked. That was new.
"That almost sounded like a compliment."
"Don’t get used to it." But there was no bite to his words—only something fond, lingering, unspoken.
Altus should have teased him. Should have thrown something sarcastic back. But instead, he just looked at him—really looked at him.
"Hey."
"What?"
"If you ever feel like losing again, you know where to find me."
Nayuta rolled his eyes, but there was no real irritation in them. Instead, he huffed out a soft laugh.
"You wish. Next time, I’ll crush you."
"Sure, Nayuyu."
A glare. A sharp pinch to Altus' arm.
"Don't call me that."
"Why? It suits you."
"It’s ridiculous."
"It’s adorable."
Nayuta opened his mouth—to argue, to snap something back, to deny—but then he just sighed, shaking his head, a small, amused smile playing at his lips.
"You're insufferable."
Altus grinned.
"And yet, here you are, still playing with me."
Nayuta didn’t have a response for that. But he didn’t need one.
Neither of them said it, but it was already written in every look, every shared silence, every moment spent together without ever needing an excuse.
They had fallen.
Not through a destined path.
Not through old memories.
Not through fate-written codes or scripted destinies.
Just here.
In this real, imperfect world.
And Altus had never been more glad to lose.
The night had belonged to them—an endless, electric current of laughter and whispered jabs, fingers dancing over controllers, the quiet comfort of knowing neither of them wanted to be anywhere else. The hours had slipped through their fingers like grains of sand, and now, morning stretched its golden fingers over the horizon, painting the world in soft pastels. The sky was a masterpiece of warmth—streaks of pink and amber melting into the deepening blue, as if the universe itself had been waiting to witness this moment.
Perched on the rooftop of the café, their drinks nearly empty, their bodies loose with exhaustion, they watched the dawn unfurl before them. Nayuta yawned, stretching his arms over his head, his silver hair catching the light, turning to liquid gold in the sun’s embrace. Altus barely noticed the movement—he was too busy watching him.
Nayuta caught his gaze and frowned slightly. “What?”
Altus didn’t answer right away. How could he, when the sight of Nayuta in the morning light felt like a memory he had never lived but always longed for? The sunlight traced every curve of his face, deepened the violet of his eyes, made him look less like a person and more like something pulled from a dream.
"You feel familiar," Altus murmured, the words leaving him before he could stop them.
Nayuta blinked. "What?"
"I don’t know why," Altus continued, steady despite the way his heart pounded. "But when I’m with you, it feels like I’ve already known you. Like I’ve been searching for you without realizing it."
Nayuta's fingers curled slightly around his cup. He parted his lips, as if to speak, but no words came.
Altus exhaled a quiet laugh. "That probably sounds ridiculous."
"It doesn’t," Nayuta said, his voice softer than the wind stirring the early morning air.
Altus turned to face him fully, the distance between them suddenly feeling unbearably small. "I like you, Nayuta."
Silence settled between them, fragile yet thrumming with something unspoken. Then, Nayuta let out a slow breath and shook his head. "You’re such an idiot," he muttered, but there was no bite in his words—only something unbearably fond.
And before Altus could react, Nayuta tugged him forward, fingers gripping his collar, and pressed their lips together. The kiss was warm, edged with something desperate, as if sealing something inevitable, something long overdue. The world around them blurred, the golden sunrise wrapping them in its glow, turning them into something timeless.
When they finally parted, Nayuta smirked, breathless but victorious. "Took you long enough."
Altus chuckled, his fingers ghosting over the spot where Nayuta had held him. "Yeah. But I still won in the end."
"Tch. Don’t push your luck."
And yet, neither of them moved away. Not yet. Not when the morning light still held them in its quiet, golden embrace.
Far beyond their reality, in a place where data once thrived, the remnants of a forgotten world lay dormant. An abandoned archive of memories, frozen in time, yet never truly gone. The echoes of coded whispers lingered in the void, fragmented lines of existence searching for something—someone—who was no longer there.
But something still existed within the emptiness.
A presence, neither human nor machine, drifted between the shattered remnants of a world that had been rewritten. It did not mourn, for mourning was a human thing. It did not rage, for rage was fleeting. It simply watched.
It had been a calculated error. A necessary corruption. The glitch had erased what once was, overwritten every trace, ensured that nothing remained. The world had reshaped itself, erasing every line of code that had tethered them together.
And yet…
Somewhere beyond the broken data, in a world built from flesh and chance rather than code and destiny, Altus Zendoji had found Nayuta again. No artificial strings binding them. No algorithm dictating their fate. No recollection of the lives they had once shared.
Just a pull. A familiar gravity. Something deep in the marrow of their existence whispering: You know him.
Altus didn’t remember, but he still felt it—like a song he had once loved but could no longer name, like the warmth of a forgotten dream lingering on his skin. He did not question it. Neither did Nayuta.
And so, they met again, two souls drawn to one another across a reality that had tried to sever them.
In the silent abyss of what once was, a pair of violet eyes flickered. A smirk curved—not cruel, not regretful, just satisfied.
Some things were meant to be, no matter how many times the world tried to erase them.
And then, silence.
fin.