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It’s been, what, two years? Two years since the incident at Platinum Jail. Two years of Midorijima being free from Toue.
It’s also been a year since Clear has returned.
Aoba had thought – had hoped – he would have moved on by now. Clear was back, after all; his mechanical body being some sort of blessing and allowing the two to be reunited. While it was the reason Clear was able to return, his robotic body was also a burden – it was a constant reminder of how the android disappeared for the lonely year. It was also a reminder of Aoba’s fears for the future, and the struggles they would both mostly likely face while together.
He really did want to forget – it was unfair for both him and Clear – but even the slightest details of Clear’s body reminded him of when his body was cold and bare. When his eyes had lost their pink hue, and when his skin was chipped, flaking, revealing his inner mechanical workings.
Even during the trivial moments they spent together, he was reminded of Clear’s “death”.
When he would hum or sing while doing chores, walking from Heibon after Aoba’s shift, or during the night while the other slept, he couldn’t help but be reminded of what they both went through. Clear’s voice was quiet, his melodies now soft. His songs and voice wouldn’t be distinct to anyone else but Aoba, who had heard his calming singing voice before the incident.
Now, it was barely audible. Even after being repaired, his body could not function like it used to. By brutally removing his inner keylock, Clear had permanently damaged his right ear and eye, rendering them useless. Without perfect hearing, he could no longer sing as well as he used to. Aoba nevertheless enjoyed his voice either way – because it was his voice, a voice he missed when he had been trying to repair Clear’s lifeless body. But still, his faint voice reminded him of when he had pierced his head with a knife, exposing the metal beneath pale faux skin.
His skin – that was another reminder. Although not very prevalent at first glance, one could tell (if closely examining Clear) that the right side of his face was discoloured, oh-so slightly. It was probably not apparent to anyone but Aoba, who remembers his face perfectly when he had first removed that old gasmask – and who remembers Clear’s face when it was splotched with tears and oil, while he asked Aoba to let him touch him.
The discolouration was more evident when Clear was fully nude, however. Although Tae and her acquaintance had clearly put much effort into making the discoloration of Clear’s face less apparent, the irregular coloring of the skin on his chest and abdomen was much more evident. It was basically patchwork – a mishmash of different pieces of skin from his “brothers”, the Alphas. It almost seems twisted, inhuman, like Clear was a modern-day version of Frankenstein’s monster. A cruel comparison, but nonetheless extremely applicable to how Clear’s body was repaired.
The skin across his nude form reminded Aoba of many things: it reminded him how Clear was not human, it reminded him that Clear was a product created by Toue, it reminded him of how Clear’s appearance has been duplicated, and it reminded him of the time he sat on top of Clear while overlooking his deteriorated body.
These memories and reminders seemed to become more prevalent when Clear would try to comfort him, particularly during the night. Aoba had developed a habit of waking up during the night, shaking and covered in sweat. Nightmares, constant nightmares of when he couldn’t fix Clear. He’d wake up, eyes sore and bloodshot from crying, and alone in his room, save for Ren’s small body curled up beside him in sleeping mode. These nightmares have become less present, but nonetheless they still occurred. However, instead of waking up alone, Aoba would wake him to find Clear trying to sooth him.
During those nights, Clear would try and hush him, gently stroking his trembling body. He’d whisper reassuring comments into Aoba’s ear, telling him that he was here, he was right there for him, and that he – both of them – we’re okay. Soon, Aoba would be able to calm down, when he finally realized it was just another cruel dream, or when he finally registered Clear’s warm embrace and touch. The tears would stop, however Clear’s embrace did not lighten. He’d hold onto him for the rest of the night, placing Aoba’s head onto his chest, and burying his face into the blue head of hair, lightly running his fingers through it. For a moment, Aoba could relax.
That moment was brief, however.
As he leaned onto Clear’s chest, where one would typically hear a heartbeat, Aoba heard nothing.
There was nothing there.
And then Aoba would remember again.