Chapter Text
– Chapter 1 –
And then there was darkness
Nothing could be done. The words resonated in his bones. Nothing.
The sky was clear—a big, blue sky of nothing. Chuuya sat on the bench outside of the hospital, looking up, trying to grasp the situation. Arou was gone; Arou was nothing.
Nothing could be done.
Tsugurou was Chuuya’s little brother, always stuck to his side. He was supposed to be at his side now, staring up at him with those big blue eyes—the same color as the big nothing sky above him.
Chuuya called him “Arou,” because it had an easy way of rolling off his tongue at any moment.
“Come on, Arou, let’s go,” Chuuya had said these words daily, even just this morning as they left to run to a nearby park.
Arou complained briefly to Chuuya about a headache for a few days now. An active child, Arou had no time to be slowed down by a headache, but a creeping sickness hid behind those small complaints, and by the time a doctor finally took a look at him, it was already too late.
“Bacterial meningitis,” they said, and then, “Nothing can be done.”
Brain failure came quickly. This boy, who could never stop moving, was lying still in the hospital bed, his eyes wide open but lifeless. His body was there, but now Arou was nothing. Chuuya’s mother hugged and consoled the young boy.
Although Chuuya had yet to cry, his mother sobbed, hugging Chuuya more tightly than he could remember, “Nothing could be done. Tsugurou passed away, but we must be strong for him, Chuuya.”
Chuuya contemplated the strength Arou had given him, how he could puff up his chest and lead his little brother around the dark alleyways that now surround their historical family house. When he was a baby, the mafia had moved into the neighborhood. His family’s printing business was now under the mafia’s protection. Chuuya turned to look at the large hospital behind him. This hospital, as well, was under the mafia’s protection.
The streets were filled with ability users, both those with the mafia and those who wish to exploit the mafia’s unstable rule of the area. The Nakahara family was well enough off they usually had little to worry after paying their protection dues, but children were discouraged from wandering in the streets alone. With Arou by his side, Chuuya felt stronger, but now that strength had all escaped from his body, leaving behind nothing.
Chuuya’s parents were still inside the hospital, while a few relatives and family friends had come to support the young family, passing Chuuya without a second look.
One aunt stopped in front of the boy, “Chuuya, my have you grown!”
Chuuya had trouble remembering the last time he had seen her, but could place her face from family pictures, “Yes, obasan, hello.”
She continued speaking in an unnervingly casual manner, “Chuuya, you look exactly like your mother. I can’t believe it.”
Nothing made sense. What was she talking about? Nothing could be done, so is it that nothing had truly happened?
“Chuuya, you’re growing up to be a fine young man. Take good care of your mother.”
Just moments ago, she would be saying, “Take care of your little brother,” wouldn’t she? Arou truly had vanished into nothing.
The thought was invasive. By the time Chuuya could release himself from his own thinking, his aunt had already moved inside.
Chuuya thought of his little brother, “Who is going to take care of you now, Arou, if I am not taking care of you? You’re all alone.” Chuuya surveyed the empty benches around him, “You can’t even go to the store by yourself. Are you going to be alright by yourself?”
Chuuya stood, “I must be the last one.”
He turned towards the doors of the hospital but couldn’t bring himself to move forward. His chest tightened. His knees felt weak. His head hurt. He collapsed on the bench.
“I’m alone,” and then there was darkness.
…
Chuuya awoke, dried tears deposited on his cheeks. The tightness in his chest had dissipated into what felt like the acute pain of a thousand tiny needles piercing his lungs. A glowing figure stood over him. It looked much like the angels he admired in the stained glass of the cathedral. He reached a hand out.
“Arou… Take me to him,” Chuuya felt choked. His body wouldn’t move as he wanted.
As his eyes became heavier, the glowing figure disappeared.
“Wait… Take me...”
A woman with striking pink hair in an expensive kimono leaned over the boy’s small frame, “My, my, it’s just as Yasumoto-san said. You do look just like your mother.”
Men in dark suits arrived behind the woman, “Ozaki-san, the boy? Is he still alive?”
“We’ll take him with us. I am certain the Mori-san will want to see him in person.”
Chuuya felt his body lifted from the ground, pain shooting through him, blood dripping behind him. Slipping from consciousness, he could not recognize where he was. There were no buildings, only rubble.
「Continued in the next chapter: Those still living are brazen 」
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Note: Inspiration for this and the subsequent chapter came from a poem by Nakahara Chuuya (below), translated into English here.
死別の翌日
生きのこるものはずうずうしく、
死にゆくものはその清純さを漂（ただよ）わせ
物云いたげな瞳を床にさまよわすだけで、
親を離れ、兄弟を離れ、
最初から独りであったもののように死んでゆく。
さて、今日は良いお天気です。
街の片側は翳（かげ）り、片側は日射しをうけて、あったかい
けざやかにもわびしい秋の午前です。
空は昨日までの雨に拭（ぬぐ）われて、すがすがしく、
それは海の方まで続いていることが分ります。
その空をみながら、また街の中をみながら、
歩いてゆく私はもはや此（こ）の世のことを考えず、
さりとて死んでいったもののことも考えてはいないのです。
みたばかりの死に茫然（ぼうぜん）として、
卑怯（ひきょう）にも似た感情を抱いて私は歩いていたと告白せねばなりません。