Chapter Text
A nightmare situation.
But it’s fine.
He’s been through his own share of nightmares and he’s always made it out too. Especially after falling into Da’at the first time—granted he only got away with it because of his luck, but he’s always been lucky.
It’s how he got into Jouin and how he got that wonderful piano tutor and finally how he got to meet Aogami.
Adult-ish Aogami who’s suddenly become very “Adult-like”.
He takes a deep breath and scrolls through his phone. The Line group chat is filled with the usual clutter about assignments and complaints about teachers—the sort of shit that’s acceptable for a group chat of acquaintances and situational friends.
Nothing about him.
It makes sense. Jouin’s full of students with a variety of tastes, but Jouin students are also trendy. The piano is out of vogue unless it’s within some interesting OST, and the student body is rife with pockets of people burned by unrealistic expectations of parents unable to provide the support system needed to become a genius.
He’s not special.
Jouin is a place where broken souls mingle with the sun and stars. Relationships here never last long, but the ones that do are nigh impossible to break.
Everyone in this place is scrambling over the necks of others in order to shine at the top, so his uncharacteristic blandness makes him effectively invisible.
Sure his classmates know that he exists, and he’s cordial with them all, but that’s all he is.
He is not a threat and has never tried to be a threat, which erases him from their minds.
Until he decided to start some shit with the soccer team, but they really are too busy gunning for Nationals to worry about some minuscule third-year that has accomplished nothing of note.
This means he has time.
He starts reporting the video, banking on copyright to get him out of this mess. His image was used without his permission, and he offers his school ID as proof of identity. It’s annoying wrestling with companies like this, but he needs to do this.
Report, fight, and fight again.
He was in the dorms. That’s private property.
That was in a common area and taken by another student also privy to the dorms. There was no trespassing, and one could argue that the student also had the right to film in the area.
He did not consent.
See above.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He doesn’t know which asshole took the video and going on a manhunt will destroy that tiny head start of his.
He bites into his forearm—better that than his wrists and hands—chewing on the skin to calm himself.
It’s a bad look after that mess of a weekend, but the shitshow that’ll come from him playing “trash” for the whole world to see will make Saturday look like a playground spat.
He punches in the number for the family lawyer.
Three hours later and the video has been kicked off social media. It’s probably still being circulated around in hobby circles, but who cares about that? Those people aren’t popular enough to make anything go mainstream.
Maybe his parents will be proud of him for being so proactive.
… Yeah right.
His phone starts buzzing once the bill comes in, and his thumb is accepting the call while he’s still reeling over what to say.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Something went wrong-! I’m sorry, I’ll handle the rest, what? No, it was probably just a classmate. Everything? No, I can’t, it’s the internet-!”
Another call comes buzzing in and he runs away to it.
“It’s Atsuta. I saw that you handled that whole issue with that video, but do you need any other help?”
“Uh…”
It’s not anything that they can help him with. His parents are for him to deal with. It’s a lesson he learned only after years of broken friendships and lost tutors.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got the rest handled.”
“… Your face looked a bit bruised in that video.”
“Aogami pointed that out too. He’s been acting weird lately.”
“Even if he’s a Proto-Fiend, I believe that his care for you is genuine.”
“I know. That’s why it’s weird. Aogami doesn’t…”
He gathers his thoughts.
“Aogami doesn’t do stuff like that,” he concludes. “As long as I’m safe, he doesn’t need to worry. It’s weird that he’s gotten pushier about stuff lately.”
“You think he’s being pushy?”
There’s a shift in the other boy’s voice. It’s… hard yet smooth, like river polished pebbles being swirled in someone’s palm. Pleasant, but not welcoming.
“Yeah.”
“… I see.”
The gap in the conversation is his chance.
“My parents are calling right now.”
“Oh, I apologize.”
He switches back to his original call, gritting his teeth as the unreasonableness of it all continues.
There’s no way for him to scrub that video from the internet—isn’t it good enough that he got it off social media? It was a half-assed effort that won’t make him go viral. The only reason it even got as many views as it did was because of his looks.
“I’m a third year. Can’t we treat it as something like me showing my face to the public before I’m back in the spotlight?
The answer seems to be a resounding “no”.
He sighs and keeps listening.
They always get tired. He just needs to last longer.
The call stretches on to another hour, and he remains prone in bed. Mattresses in the dorm are soft enough, but he can’t feel comfortable right now.
It’s a battle of attrition and he needs to win this one. He wants to stay in Jouin and be part of Jouin. He wants to stay with everyone and live away from home.
He wants to be around Adult-ish Aogami.
Sure they need to save the world, but when they mutually agree to become the Nahobino, he also feels himself curling into it, his existence coiling and weaving into Aogami. The stitches are strong and even, and the creation that results is something that teeters on the edge of “perfect”.
He can let go and fall into the comfort of stability.
He’s never been allowed to fall.
Yet with Aogami, he can.
How can you be afraid when the strings attached bind the two of you together?
Warmth bleeds out from the Nahobino’s core, and the piece of him that’s still somewhat sentient sighs and tightens the stitching attached to Aogami.
Someone to lean against.
He doesn’t need anyone like that, but it’s too addicting.
Dangerously addictive.
He’s already been spoiled by Aogami’s care, by the Proto-Fiend’s ‘Adult-ish’ attempts to help, and his clumsy yet effective attempts to become a place of respite.
What will he do when all of this is over?
When the Nahobino must be discarded?
After all, what use does a peaceful time have for a fledgling god?
No more Aogami.
No more rest and comfort.
No more unconditional love (love?) for him to hedonistically consume.
He chokes and tosses his phone to the ground, digging his nails into his chest.
Air sloshes in and out of his lungs, his voicebox rattling and groaning as he spasms over the bed.
Something is gagging him, jammed in his throat. He sucks in sips and sips of air but only wisps of oxygen slip past the rock choking him.
The thin blanket tangles into his legs from how heavily he thrashes about.
Air air air air air not enough air-
His brain and vision sparkle at the edges, the world peeling apart. Silent screams leave him at the mercy of fate.
His chest squeezes up and down, as he tries to tear apart his throat with his breaths.
A hot coal is pressing into his esophagus, scorching his lungs as well.
Too much.
Too much.
The bruise on his face aches the voice buzzing from the phone pokes holes into his eardrums, the collar of this shirt is too tight and rough his eyes hurt hurt hurt-
“Young Man!”
“…Huh?”
His face is pressed into something hard, but warm.
Like a glass tabletop left out under the setting midsummer sun.
Solid arms surround him, his body pulled halfway into someone’s lap. His spine is being twisted like half-assed churro.
Wait, it’s been years since he ate a churro—they were overseas. The fried dough was twisted like a bar of candy, but far more decadent and luxurious than some novelty lozenges.
His back is turned into a weak twist, and unlike that fried dessert, he’s just a sad and pathetic kid. Body half on the bed and the other half encircled within Aogami’s arms.
Huh?
“Ao… Aogami.”
He blinks second by second at the weak glint of light bouncing off the Proto-Fiend. The deep grooves in the man’s chest are highlighted at the edges. A breath is pulled out of him in a thin, long wire, and this time he keeps his eyes shut.
He lets himself fall, while his parents buzz away on the floor. It’s uncomfortable, but curling into Aogami is an instinctive action—it feels right.
“I didn’t force us to become the Nahobino.”
“… The only time you ever forced me, was when I first dropped into Da’at,” he murmurs, slumping into the steel hold.
“But back at your school, you didn’t want to.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“… Alright. I won’t push the issue right now.”
Right now.
Fuck him.
Aogami is acting more and more like an Adult.
What the fuck.
It’s good, but he also… this weakness is shameful.
“I don’t want you to push.”
“I feel as if it is something that must be done.”
“It is. But I don’t want to.”
“You will someday.”
“I know. How did you get in here?”
The outside world floats in with the sounds of chattering students, cars, adults rushing from meeting to meeting, and the blinds crinkling.
“You broke the window.”
“My brother will pay.”
“The goddamn Prime Minister of Japan.”
“I will request that the job be done discreetly while you are at your classes.”
He sighs.
“Your lap hurts.”
“I apologize. I will get up.”
“Don’t.”
“Alright.”
Aogami’s voice reverberates through his steel shell. Dark hair rubs against his face and he laughs with closed eyes.
The wind is rushing in, clearing the filthy air. The buzz of the phone fades in and out.
“You had a panic attack.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of my bullshit?”
If Aogami has anything else to say, he cuts off the Proto-Fiend.
“Why would I ever be annoyed by my Knowledge utilizing their knowledge?”
“Your programming is stupidly tolerant. Well, I’m a doormat too.”
A comb with wide teeth runs through his hair. Aogami’s fingers or some tool pulled out of nothingness? A scalp massage that loosens the tension in his skull and ignores his lungs.
“It started in your brain.”
“I guess. My throat is kinda sore but doesn’t really hurt.”
“That’s good.”
He laughs and stretches his arms as Aogami moves away. The tendons and muscles pull and drain out the lactic acid. It’s now spread throughout his limbs instead of pooling around his biceps.
“You’re too kind.”
“… So this is kindness.”
“You also just shattered my fucking window to show me your ‘kindness’. Kindness can sometimes cause more problems.”
“I see. So, kindness is an emotion that has an edge on both sides.”
He pushes himself off Aogami’s chest and opens his eyes.
Golden light floods his vision, but the room clears as his pupils shrink. Glass glitters over the floor. If he tries to walk, his feet will bleed. There are scratches all over his phone.
That’s what he gets for procrastinating on that screen protector.
Aogami shifts him to the side and goes to pick up his phone before he asks. Someone calls, and Aogami tilts his head, holding two fingers to the side of his head. It looks like him pressing an earpiece to hear better, but it’s not like that.
It’s instinctive.
The Nahobino does it too, like how a dog’s ears will twist and turn to face curious sounds.
“It seems that your friends have finally noticed your window,” Aogami says.
“Did any of the glass fall outside? My room is on the tenth floor.”
“I made sure to prioritize safety when reaching you.”
“Hm. Why’d you come? I’m grateful, but…”
“This is something that you cannot handle on your own.”
Ah, fuck.
Aogami’s not wrong, but he’s not right either.
He was in the throes of some sort of attack, but it was also a thing that could’ve been easily waited out.
His arms that fold up without warning make one of Aogami’s eyebrows twitch. As he closes his eyes and thinks over what to say while splayed out over the Proto-Fiend, the man doesn’t move.
He wants Aogami to poison him with artificial love programmed to be unconditional.
He wants to pretend that Aogami is an Adult (flawed as the being is), and indulge in that delusion.
He wants Aogami an arms-length away, to prevent the Proto-Fiend from getting too close. From breaking past his walls, and pushing into the territory of true unconditional love, and the discomfort that comes with such vulnerability.
He’s survived by closing himself off from anyone that is a Parent or tries to become a Parent.
His Parents must have their whims catered to, while other Parents must be selectively chosen, cultivated, and then picked.
Against all odds, Aogami is stumbling through all those careful procedures and is about to smash into him.
Not him, but him.
That core that even he isn’t quite aware of—that thing that is most definitely there, but taking a form that eludes him. The irony is that to be aware of what that core is would elucidate his perception of reality and aid him, but he already spends so much time protecting himself from reality and the danger.
Don’t lie to yourself.
You felt it, didn’t you?
The relief that coursed through your veins when the Truth was revealed—that the Tokyo you knew was a lie; a pleasant dream borne out of God’s mercy.
The real reality is so much simpler.
Tokyo has been cratered and desertified by a war that expands far beyond the pitiful strength of humanity.
In true Tokyo, in Da’at, you can become the Nahobino and be at peace. You coil into another being that is near perfection, and one that you can let your consciousness melt into.
You Think, but you do not think.
Compared to the false reality, things seem so much easier in Da’at.
You fight, you speak with demons that are charming, disgusting, and stupid, but mostly, all you need to do is to follow your own emotions and beliefs.
When you learned that that was your true reality and not the life you were living, you were terrified, but were you not also freed?
Freed from those lead shackles called obligation and fear?
The sad thing is that he realizes that he loves the fake Tokyo more than he ever knew.
The warmth and stability of everyday life.
The existence of his old piano tutor on social media and being mentioned on the TV in the background.
The only time he and Aogami can exist in peace.
Ah, stupid stupid stupid-
Da’at and Non-Reality are blending together into the thing that threatens to become his happiness.
“Young Man.”
“Hm?”
He opens his eyes and gets off of Aogami, sitting on his bed and prodding the broken glass with his bare feet.
“Young Man, that is not safe.”
“It’s fine. It’ll only be dangerous if I try to run onto it or something. What were you going to say?”
Aogami watches the glass glint near the Young Man’s bare feet, and he takes a moment to situate the boy lengthwise upon his bed. The Young Man rolls his eyes but lets himself be shuffled around.
“The Saintess and your other peers will be here shortly.”
The Young Man stares at Aogami, then takes a deep breath and holds it for four seconds. He then spends the next six seconds exhaling.
“Okay.”
“Hey, are you alright?! Did something happen?!” Dazai’s voice rings out.
“I’m fine! Aogami just barged into my room! There’s glass, so be careful!”
“I’ll go borrow a broom and dustpan,” Atsuta says as his steps plod away.
Aogami gets up and walks over to the door, the glass crunching under his heels. Isonokami and Dazai can only stare at the carnage when they finally look inside. The Young Man stares back from the bed, jaw snapping shut.
It seems that communication will be defaulting back to the usual.
“I have already arranged for the window to be replaced during class the next day. The only thing left to do is to clear the ground.”
“Oh… huh… May we?” Isonokami asks.
Aogami defers to the Young Man, and the boy nods. The two walk in, taking light steps. They must be worried about embedding small pieces into their rubber soles.
“Holy cow, you just cannonballed in,” Dazai says, going straight over to the crumpled blinds. He observes the mess for a bit, then nods. “Yep, I think I can untangle this. I’m actually pretty good at this sorta stuff!”
The Young Man nods, and Dazai goes straight to work.
“I’m going to clean the glass off your desk, and I’ll see if there’s any on your chair too,” Isonokami says.
It hasn’t even been five minutes, and the Young Man’s room is being tidied up at a steady pace. Aogami is glad that Bethel is on their side, but also that these students are so willing to help his Young Man.
The Young Man pulls his knees into his chest and watches his room be cleared. Atsuta arrives only minutes later, and the task switches over to sweeping up all the glass. Responsible as he is, he’s come with three trash bags to triple layer.
No one goads the Young Man to come help, and he shows no sign of wanting to help. He merely watches and waits. Aogami hears the cellphone beginning to buzz again, and he picks it up before the Young Man can.
Why did he do that?
The Proto-Fiend watches as the phone demands to be answered in his palm, and the Young Man reaches out, grey eyes dull like stone-washed steel. Aogami looks between his two options.
Give the phone over to the Young Man, or keep it with him and delay the inevitable. The choice is obvious (give it over), but Aogami doesn’t do the obvious.
A thread yanks at his brain, but he fights the irrational urge.
Yet when he lets the Young Man take back the phone, an odd coolness swirls within his skull. He is only a Body, but his existence is rebelling against itself.
It’s just a phone, but Aogami is beginning to realize that it isn’t “just a phone”.
He’s not sure how, so he observes as the Young Man answers the call and starts making noncommittal sounds of vague affirmation.
The room is filled with sound—the broom making glass shards clink against each other, the plastic bags crunching and crinkling, voices chatting away with each other, hard rubber soles clicking against the sealed concrete—yet it’s not loud enough. The Young Man’s quiet form and soft voice are sharper than the glass on the ground, cutting through what little normality is still there.
“Mn. Ok. Un. Mn. Mn, ok.”
A set of sounds and replies is cycled through different patterns and intonations.
When the garbage has been tossed and the blinds untangled, the Young Man ends the call. His hand has its strings cut over the bed, the phone still caught between the fingers.
“Young Man…”
The Young Man’s lips remain sealed, save for a small exhale.
“Um, hey, your face,” Dazai stumbles, “compared to icing it, a cold compress is probably easier.”
“I have some in my room,” Atsuta says.
“Nah, those are for Miayzu, right? Lemme go get some from the conbini,” Isonakami interjects, leaving before anyone can dissuade her.
The Young Man’s eyes follow her in a languid arc as she leaves. He glances back at the other two, before gazing through his shattered window, at the sunset reflecting off the nearby buildings in a fiery haze.
“Huh? Oh! Oh, I gotcha! I’ll go with her since it’s getting dark!”
Dazai runs off after her, leaving just the three of them in the room.
“Do you…?”
Aogami watches Atsuta’s throat bob up and down. The boy pauses to breathe. His breaths are even and light—unthreatening with no tells.
The Young Man is also watching, and Aogami feels the threads between them tighten.
“You are valuable to Bethel. Ask for anything, and I’m sure we would give.”
The Young Man tilts his head, and something chews on Aogami’s fingers. He sees nothing physically present, so he glances up to see the boy’s fingers twitch.
The Young Man nods, then extends his hand towards Aogami. He takes his cue and the Nahobino’s geta ring against the concrete. The sound is pure and rings true; so out of place compared to the cramped and droll dorm.
Blue silk ripples around its body, and it notices Atsuta’s wide eyes. That makes sense. It’s his first time getting such a close, clear look of the Nahobino.
The Knowledge answers the Body’s confusion.
It is inhuman, and even a flawed being not yet at godhood will draw the eye.
What looks like the skin is simply a surface that is soft yet carries the appearance of polished marble. Eyes that used to be grey and dark enough to be mistaken for black, are now bulbous clumps of golden tissue. If Atsuta stepped in close, he’d see pupils that never shrank and never widened, drawn over a texture eerily similar to that of a citrine crystal.
Atsuta steps in, past their ring of silk and sound.
“Stay with us. Even if you feel safer in that form.”
The Nahobino spins around, cutting off Atsuta with a sweep of hair.
“I’ll be back,” it says.
For most people, it’d be dangerous to walk around after sunset. It’s why Dazai went with Isonakami to the conbini.
The Nahobino goes around without a care.
It chats with some demons wandering about, scares off anything that wishes them harm, and is content to stroll around the city.
Young Man, your friends are most likely back at your dorm by now.
Understanding fills the mouth with bitterness, and the Nahobino is gently teased apart, back into two.
Warm air seeps into his soft skin, the remaining glow of the summer sun filling the air with muggy heat. He glances at Aogami, then breaks his line of sight.
“Let’s go get some dinner for everyone.”
“The dorms serve dinner.”
“Let’s eat something different today.”
With Aogami by his side, he ambles back to the conbini that Isonokami and Dazai probably just left twenty minutes ago. He takes his time tossing things into a basket, walking round and round the small store.
It’s only after they leave, that he tries talking again.
“Aogami… They say they’re my friends, right? And Atsuta says that Bethel will help me, but… We hardly know each other,” he muses, digging through his bag for an onigiri that’ll hopefully appeal to him. He wasn’t paying attention back there. “I mean, they only care because we can become the Nahobino, right?”
The Proto-Fiend looks utterly baffled, arms folded and eyes unblinking.
“Both of us hardly know each other.”
He scoffs at the man.
“That’s different.”
“Is it that hard to believe that they are good people?”
“Yes.”
He snips at Aogami, regretting the emotion the moment it swells in his chest. The good thing is that it's Aogami, and not some human capable of punishing him.
“Normal people don’t just… care about someone that they’ve barely known for a week.”
“They are good people.”
“Good… or just naïve?”
Aogami stalls and he ends his line of questioning, so as not to fry the Proto-Fiend’s circuits again.
“My bad,” he says, cutting off his own query. “I guess you need to be a bit naïve in order to be that kind of person. It’s… It’s not a bad thing.”
He sprouts off words that logically are right, but are unable to satisfy his heart. The onigiri he bites into has sour plum—the flavor he hates the most.
“We should return,” Aogami says.
He stares at the dorm, a strip of white barely visible behind layers of office buildings and the construction roughage that usually surrounds such areas.
“Yeah. We should.”
He returns to his room with the bag full of food, and eats amongst everyone’s dinnertime chatter, letting Dazai hold the compress against his face.
Aogami locks eyes with him but makes no move to solve his unease.
He lets him stew in the unfamiliarity of friendship and naivety.
It only makes him feel worse.
Leaving him alone is the right thing to do—the Adult thing to do.
Aogami is no longer Adult-ish, he finally admits.
Aogami.
Is.
An.
Adult.
He breaks his gaze away and chomps into the sour plum he’s been nursing for too long.
What is he going to do now?