Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Metal grated against metal. A curse exploded into the air. Others rose, too—perhaps to offer whatever shitty logic they used to glue their argument together. Ei did not give a fuck and he flipped his chair across the room for emphasis.

The door hissed shut behind him as he stormed out. Blood singed his veins and screamed in his ears like a neglected teapot. He somehow navigated the twisting halls of the facility and emerged outside, but even the fresh air offered no relief.

What transpired with his so-called peers reverberated in his thoughts, in his heart, in every fiber of his being.

“There is vital information to extract if we—”

“Think of it like—”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to go back and—”

“Imagine everyone who—”

“Isn’t there anyone you’d like to—”

“Don’t you miss any—”

Ei flinched, coughed up a terrible breath, and collapsed by a tree. It almost felt like yesterday when they escaped that eternal cage. They could start over—finally live.

And yet almost five years later, every single fucking compatible agreed to reboot the simulation, to dive into the system that chained them, and—

Nausea pulsed through Ei. He clamped a hand over his mouth and reclined into that tree. The afternoon sun filtered through the dancing leaves and blooming flowers, all recent additions after the brutal winter they endured. Birds and insects intermixed with the breeze, something he didn’t know he missed until he spent over a year in absolute silence. But they were stable now; they took root in their new home and helped spread new life across the planet. A step in the right direction. Progress, even.

So why did anyone wish to return to the simulation?

Ei tilted his head and closed his eyes. Vague memories washed over him. It was like a dying flame refusing to flicker out. Something at some point within him wished to stay there, to restart, to make a difference. Or maybe that was a dream haunting him while awake.

Dreams weren’t real, though. So wasn’t the simulation.

Tears squeezed past his shut eyes. Why couldn’t he remember most of his existence? The more recent memories persisted, like what truly transpired in that back alley with Chihiro Morimura, but prior to that? His childhood, his summer days, his stupid attempts at being a decent student, and everything in between? Most of it slipped through his fingers like running water and drifted elsewhere. But he still felt it—a part of him and yet not.

If only there was something he could hold onto—something that would fucking stay for half a second—then maybe—

“Hey.”

The voice roused no anxiety; if anything, Ei expected it. “Unless everyone changed their minds, I don’t want to hear it.”

Ryoko loomed over him, blocking the sun and the magnificent view of forests and rivers carving through the rolling hills. “At least hit Gouto with your chair if you’re going to throw another tantrum.”

“Duly noted.” He scoffed. “I’m fine, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Want me to leave?”

But he hesitated, thus Ryoko settled beside him.

“No one’s forcing you to go back,” she murmured after a moment.

“I know,” Ei replied.

“It kind of works out, though; we’d need someone to monitor the pods when we sync with the simulation.”

“Great, so I’m the designated babysitter?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah. Don’t reboot the damn simulation.”

“You can say no.”

Maybe, but who else was better suited for juggling multiple monitors and comprehending software snags on the fly?

“I don’t know how you do it,” Ei said.

Ryoko never flinched. “Do what?”

“Get over the past.” He averted his gaze and rubbed his neck. “And move on.”

“Bold of you to assume I moved on.”

He smirked. “I wish I was strong as you.”

“Why?”

Fragments of a life he swore he lived flashed to mind. He remembered late-night conversations and echoes in an empty hangar. He remembered how his heart skipped, how he smiled, how his stomach twisted in a way that was reserved for ogling boys on the baseball team after school. He remembered lying, prepared to commit something worse if it meant another chance to be together.

He remembered never saying goodbye and....

Well.

“Because maybe then,” Ei said, more to himself than to Ryoko, “I’d be truly happy in this world.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

He wasn’t, but— “Would you prefer I stop installing privacy screens?”

Ryoko stood at the other end of the growth pod room. The once cold exterior now exuded a bit of warmth, thanks to a handful of personal touches over the years. Ei’s contribution was the aforementioned screens; if the simulation launched in another month, everyone deserved some sense of privacy before stripping naked.

“No,” Ryoko said, “but I like to think you’d at least care about the logs I found on—”

Ei nearly dropped his power tool. Just when he thought he forgot his original iteration, it proceeded to figuratively deck him in the face. Of course the other compatibles unearthed footage from 2188—of themselves. Whether it was due to morbid curiosity or a desire to learn what they were capable of now, everyone binged those logs like fad Netflix releases.

Besides, what the hell was Ei to glean from a former assassin to support humanity’s future?

But that wasn’t the only reason why Ei avoided the logs. Some of them, they... had notes. Audio ones, at that. All created by the one who unearthed the existence of the logs and—

Ei winced. A small bit of metal struck his jaw and rolled onto the floor—a loose bolt, from a glance. Ryoko hovered over him, her eye twitching while she folded her arms.

“You’re doing it again,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, feeling’s mutual.” He rubbed his jaw and resumed his work. “At least you didn’t throw a wrench this time.”

Ryoko huffed and snatched his damn power tool. “Ei-kun, I’m serious.”

Instead of wrestling it out of her hands, he collapsed onto the floor and cocked his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s—” He blew out a breath. “I wish I could be of more use.”

“The screens were your idea.”

“No, I mean with everything else. The others are excited about something, whether it’s... this or an addition to the facility or a development with our solar-powered efforts and I’m just... here.”

Ryoko bent at the hip to meet his gaze. “Need I remind you that you’ve done a wonderful job with the backend tasks.”

He snorted. “Yeah, what would you ever do without that.” No amusement surfaced on Ryoko’s behalf and his brief smirk died out, too. “Everyone’s found their place in this world, except for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It certainly feels like it, then.”

Kneeling beside him, Ryoko fidgeted with the power tool in her lap. “What would help make it feel like home for you?”

That question plucked a delicate nerve, akin to a pebble dropped in a still lake.

What did home feel like? It sure as hell wasn’t in that digital cage everyone raved about, nor was it entirely in the sterile dormitories awaiting them upon waking up. Perhaps it was somewhere over the mountain range or past the forests they had yet to properly map out. Ei wondered if he’d ever find solace in any corner of the planet.

Everyone lost something—someone—in the simulation, but... they also grew close to one another. Found love, even. Some started families already. Maybe that life could’ve been his, as well, if things had played out differently.

Not in the real world, but also back then, when they believed the illusions shoved down their throats. Maybe he should’ve given Iori a ride home after what happened with Ida. Maybe he shouldn’t have tracked down Yuki to ask for one final favor. Maybe... he should’ve expected the worst after abandoning him in the athletic building at Sakura High.

Maybe he deserved to be alone.

Of what he remembered, Ei wished he could’ve wiped that memory out of existence. Even if he couldn’t bring him into the new world—the real one he fought so hard for, despite knowing it wasn’t ever meant for him again—Ei hoped to save him.

It was the bare minimum he could do—for everything they shared.

And now?

“I don’t know,” Ei said.

Ryoko jabbed his shoulder. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That, however, did more than pluck his nerves; it snapped every single one.

“At least I’m not obsessed with something that was never real in the first place,” he spat out and immediately regretted it.

Muscles pulsed along the edge of Ryoko’s jaw. “If you were listening to anything I was saying, then you’d know I’m trying to make them real.”

Ei froze and paled. Wait, are you serious or—

“I thought you’d be excited about my findings and research notes,” she continued. “For my own sake, that is, but....” Her shoulders and lips quirked—disgruntled at best. “I won’t bore you anymore.”

“Ryoko—”

“Have fun building stuff.” She placed the power tool on the floor. “I’ll get out of your way and—”

“Hey.”

Ei latched onto her hand. Ryoko paused and blinked at him. Before uttering something stupid, he focused on his breaths, waited for her to sit, and finally released her.

“Please, Ryoko,” he murmured, “tell me more.”

So she did. And Ei listened.

He didn’t finish building the privacy screens that day. Or the next. He also didn’t sleep that night, wasting the witching hours thinking about the possibility of reviving the AIs in their own physical bodies. There, in the waking world.

And of the possible candidates for the initial test run were the former compatibles from the previous loop. The ones who survived in the final loop, despite the odds.

“Due to identical genetics,” Ryoko had explained, her voice echoing within Ei while he tossed and turned in bed, “it would be easier and wiser to start with those who were once us.”

But Miura—his Miura—was dead. He erased himself. Ei didn’t believe Yuki when she told him the truth. Or even Natsuno, but who believed half of her ramblings, anyways? But when Keitaro confirmed it....

Ei groaned into his pillow. It’s been almost five years and you’re still hung up on the voice stuck in a damn robot.

Except it was more than a voice, because Miura was more than an AI. He was real, once. None of them, despite their efforts, recovered their previous incarnations from former loops. Once it was gone? That was it. Even the data from Sector 0 displayed no remnants of him.

Ryoko’s plan was a shot in the dark, but so was breaking free from the simulation. Maybe it was possible, but... no. It was better not to dwell on it any longer than he already had. And if everything did miraculously work, who was he to force himself upon Miura? They were... friends. Nothing more. No sense in devising implications that weren’t there.

But still.

Thinking about having Miura back, perhaps even sharing a life with him?

It was nice.

Universal Control was once tangled with errors and misfortunes, but no obstacles emerged upon rebooting the system. Cooling fans spun, processors hummed, and the systems ran as smoothly as their creators intended it.

That did little to calm Ei. Sitting in a repurposed desk chair along the wall, he watched as each compatible entered the growth pod room. Shadows shifted behind translucent screens. Some chatted, giddy with anticipation. Others held their tongues, though entered all the same.

Silence claimed the room, broken only by idle whirs. Ei released a heavy breath; the status screen glowed green once everyone synced with the simulation. After that? Well... he was used to sitting around and doing nothing for hours on end.

If only he could’ve spent that time in a secluded hangar with a Sentinel, who always listened and in turn, always spoke—

Wincing, Ei smacked his face. The hell is wrong with you? Get over yourself. Swallowing hard, he slid that hand down his jaded features. Besides, you need to focus. If something goes wrong now? It’s on you.

So he swiped the air and manipulated the floating overlay to summon fifteen feeds. Each one displayed a different compatible within Sector 4. It was a touch jarring seeing his adult peers in their teenage bodies again, but what bothered him more were their smiles.

They were happy to be there, as if they were coming home after years of radio silence. Did they forget what they fought for? What they broke free from? Why welcome those chains again? Perhaps now was different, considering no one needed to defeat Deimos to exit the simulation, but... Ei found no allure in that lie.

“This,” he grumbled, reclining in his chair, “is going to be a long night.”

The live footage persisted. The walls buzzed—proof that the servers and simulation remained online. His eyes glazed over. Maybe he could get away with playing games or reading a book so long as—

A glint of silver flashed in his peripherals. He hitched his breath. No, that wasn’t what he thought it was, because why would it be? But Ei glanced in the upper right corner, where Natsuno’s feed unraveled, and nearly choked on the rapid pulse pounding in his throat.

No. It can’t be.

It wasn’t the form that he was accustomed to when he thought of him, but neither that nor the Sentinel were actually him.

But I thought—

Because if Miura had spoken the truth all those years ago?

You’re supposed to be—

He was human once.

“You’re alive,” he uttered above a whisper.

His hands quaked while maneuvering the overlapping screens. Natsuno’s footage pervaded Ei’s field of view. One more flick and sound crackled through embedded speakers.

She cried in the locker room, collapsing to her knees to embrace the scout unit she once believed to be an alien. Ei chuckled; how the hell did Miura play along with that with a straight face? Maybe it was easier as an AI, especially when his memories and functionalities were broken apart. The amusement died out, however, when he remembered Natsuno first mentioning that a month after they awoke and how fondly she spoke of him—BJ, she dubbed him, for... some... reason—and how he left mid-recollection.

At least she could speak fondly of him. What memories Ei still possessed—in general, let alone with Miura—riddled him with anguish. Maybe there was something worthy of a smile, but from what gaps lingered in between, Ei regretted not spending more time with him, not speaking the damn truth.

Not saying goodbye.

But perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, for was it truly goodbye if Miura returned in the end? If there was a possibility of them reuniting and—

Ei’s blood ran cold. No, he couldn’t cling to Ryoko’s revival idea as if it was a hundred percent foolproof. Complications could arise. Failures, too. Ei winced, hating the notion of torturing Miura any further. He had endured enough.

But even if it was perfect, maybe he’d refuse. Maybe... he didn’t want a human body. Or to see the real world.

One last option taunted Ei, one which soured his stomach until his face contorted. Perhaps it was easier for him to meet Miura in the simulation and—

Bitter laughter burst out of him. “Why the hell would I go back?”

No answer gave Ei peace of mind, though. All he knew was that he missed Miura. Was it worth rejecting his discomforts and stubborn beliefs to share that?

Or maybe... Miura didn’t want to see him again. Not after the lies and abandonment and utter absence to ever properly part ways.

Maybe it was better like this—being apart. For both of them.

But Ei watched Natsuno’s monitor well after that scout unit hid in her bag, unable to contemplate anything else.

“Did you know?”

Ryoko’s blurry silhouette froze behind her privacy screen. “Know what?”

Ei paused amidst his pacing and scoffed. “That he was restored?”

A majority of the compatibles remained in the simulation. Nenji was the first to eject—something about checking in on the kids—followed by Yuki. Ei paid neither any attention, but when Ryoko’s feed went offline, he rushed to her growth pod.

“You’re going to need to be a bit more specific than that,” Ryoko deadpanned.

Licking his dry lips, Ei slowed to a halt and stared at the floor. “Miura.”

Only the rustle of clothing sounded between them.

“The... Sentinel number 17’s AI. Minami’s scout unit that she—”

“BJ?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I... saw him with her.” And again. “Is he okay?”

Is it really him? he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“The simulation is running smoothly,” Ryoko said, “so in theory, everyone should be okay, but that’s not what you’re asking, is it?”

No. No, it wasn’t.

Stepping into the open, Ryoko smoothed out her loose shirt and pants. “We used data prior to the Deimos invasion. Gouto wanted the starting point to be hours before that, but....” She sighed. “I convinced him otherwise.”

Ei’s heart skipped. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” She smiled slightly. “If we were restoring something you hated so much, might as well preserve one thing you loved, right?”

The weight of her words didn’t impact him until Ryoko was gone. Was his pining that obvious? Regardless of Ei’s sentiments, the truth was simple; Miura was restored alongside all of Sector 4. But he was trapped in a cage Ei didn’t wish to experience again, the very one Miura begged him to escape from until it was too late.

Miura was right—about time being relative. Maybe it wasn’t possible to be late or early or anything. Things happened for a reason. Ei had failed to comprehend it, but as he returned to his seat to monitor the simulation, he contemplated what he would’ve done and said differently if he had, in fact, possessed the ability to travel through time.

Chapter Text

Trips to Sector 4 transformed into weekly excursions, sometimes more frequent, depending on the individual. Iori and Tomi dove in every other night while Renya and Tsukasa returned outside of the usual time frame. Ei was always there, always slumped in his chair, always keeping vigil for anything amiss.

And he perked up whenever Natsuno hurried to her growth pod.

Sometimes she dragged Keitaro along, but she also went alone. Just to see him.

He couldn’t blame her, really.

Natsuno hid Miura in her locker, or tried to. Of course he jumped out and wreaked havoc in her absence. That roused a smirk out of Ei, but then his delight deflated. How long had Miura been resigned to an empty space? Not as a scout unit, but even in the vast hangar housing the Sentinels. He resided in the same spot, unflinching. A cage within a cage, perhaps.

No wonder Miura longed to shatter their shackles.

I wish you could’ve escaped with us, he mused while watching yet another live feed with Natsuno and Miura. I wish you could see everything we fought for, what waited for us on the other side. His brow furrowed. I wish you were here.

Natsuno’s laughter and rambling crackled in the speakers. Miura rolled behind her, then slowed to a standstill. The inaction gripped Ei’s heart.

So did the tilt of his head, blue eyes staring directly at him.

An abrupt inhale clawed Ei’s throat. He jerked forward, flailed at the projections, and banished the surveillance footage. The whir in the facility’s foundations ebbed until only his rapid heartbeat thrummed.

He imagined that, right? The angle and timing... just a coincidence. Surely Miura didn’t suspect anything, let alone detect when others in the real world were viewing the simulation. Stop reading into this, Ei scolded himself. Get a hold of yourself and—

And what?

Move on?

Forget they ever shared anything at all?

“Sekigahara,” that voice once uttered, marred by digital overlays and mediocre speakers, “we’re friends, right?”

Maybe if he had asked while in a human body, his voice untampered by technology, Ei could’ve responded with how he absolutely, truly felt.

“Hey,” he called out when Natsuno exited her pod and dressed.

She blinked and tilted her head. “Oh, Sekigahara. What’s up?”

Now that he garnered her attention, Ei shrank into his chair. They had conversed in the past, mostly for the sake of communal chores and killing the awkward silence. No different from his interactions with the others, really.  Still, chats with Natsuno dissolved into her fannish chatter, leaving little room for a serious discussion. Ei didn’t mind, though; hearing her gush about a new video game she found in the archives or a movie trilogy he had already watched a dozen times, all from his era, made him smile.

Honestly, it reminded him of the late nights with Miura and how he once opened up to Ei about his beloved science fiction novel collection. Of course Natsuno bonded with him. At least I left you in good hands when I did abandon you, Miura.

“Was the trip alright?” he asked, trying to remain motionless.

Natsuno’s eyebrows knitted together. “Um, yeah? Same as always.”

“Ah, that’s... that’s good.”

She shifted her feet towards him instead of the exit. “Something on the monitors says otherwise?”

“N-no, they all read normal.” He chewed his lower lip and forced himself to make eye contact. “I had a question, though.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“I noticed you’ve been hanging out with Miu—” He winced. “With BJ.”

To that, she lit up brighter than the starry nights on their home planet, free from light pollution. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s been so long since I’ve seen the little guy and I was so worried he’d be gone for good, but when I found him in my locker and he remembered everything right before he erased himself, I—”

Memories slammed in Ei—of hoping to see Miura one more time, of discovering the news, of walking away while the world blurred until it went numb, of riding his motorcycle, of ignoring his increasing speed on a highway that didn’t exist, of not caring if he crashed, because at least then he’d feel something.

“Is he well?” Ei asked, unaware if he interrupted Natsuno.

“Yup!” she replied without missing a beat. “Just the same old BJ we know and love.”

His mouth twitched, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Has he....”

“Hmm?” Natsuno shuffled closer. “What was that? I didn’t catch it.”

No, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to burden you with this. If he’s okay, then that’s all that—

“Has he mentioned me?”

Natsuno’s silence was like a dull knife carving him open from navel to throat.

“I... I don’t think so?” she said. “I mean, he’s usually pretty quiet. Hard to get a good read on him. But he’s doing alright! No MIB guys are hunting him down and he doesn’t need to worry about finding a Sentinel, so all’s good, if you ask me.”

“Right.” His eyes drifted away. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Want me to tell him you said hi?”

And he nearly toppled out of his chair.

“I know you’re not big on this whole simulation thing, so I don’t blame you for sitting this out, but if you want me to relay a message or—”

“Y-you don’t need to do that.”

“You sure? It’s the least I can do, especially if you’re always on sim babysitting duty.” Her eyes narrowed. “Hang on. Back up a minute. Were you expecting him to mention you?”

Somehow, Ei didn’t choke on his saliva. “Not sure what I was expecting.”

“If there’s something you want to tell BJ, you should just say it.”

Ei gawked at Natsuno. Even past the floating transparent screens, her determined glare was undeniable.

“Sometimes,” she said, “the scariest things in life are the bits you need to tackle the most. I don’t know what it is you need to get off your chest or what you’re hoping for, but—” Natsuno brandished fists mid-air. “—you should do it, even if you’re terrified.”

For all the dread tearing his soul apart, Ei managed to smile. “Been reading more about Carrie Fisher, I take it?”

And Natsuno grinned. “Hey, Space Mom knows what’s up!”

“Guess so.”

As she relaxed, fire still smoldered in her gaze. “I mean it, though. Think of it like this—what’s the worst that could happen? Definitely not Deimos or Sentinels or loops or whatever. At least that helps me with confronting things I’m not a fan of. So... it can’t be all bad, right?”

Ei blinked. The worst that could happen....

He hated how thousands of scenarios bombarded him.

Miura could never want to see him again. Perhaps he, too, forgot about Ei. Or maybe he couldn’t leave the simulation or want to. He could erase himself, skip their goodbyes, even die out when the simulation ran its course.

He... he could change his mind. About them.

Maybe they weren’t friends anymore. Maybe they never were anything to begin with.

Once Ei emerged from the toxic thoughts he drowned in, Natsuno had already departed the growth pod room. But that was like her, always smiling and running off to something new. He never asked her about Miura again, but he also never forgot what she told him.

The weekly visits waned alongside the initial excitement. Some returned for research while others cycled in and out as an escape. The latter confused Ei, though he bit his tongue as couples scurried hand-in-hand to the growth pod room, pried away to enter their assigned pods, and reunited in a digital landscape.

And Ei monitored each one: Iori and Yuki sharing ice cream and laughter; Shu and Juro blowing through tokens at an arcade to beat each other’s high scores; Megumi, Tomi, and Nenji belting late-Showa era tunes in a karaoke room; Tsukasa and Takatoshi shopping for dresses for the hell of it; and Natsuno and Keitaro watching every summer blockbuster. He lingered on the movie feeds, simply because Miura was there, too. Sometimes Ei daydreamed about going to the theaters with him—not as a robot, but an actual human being—and lost track of time and Sector 4’s processing and everything else that required his attention.

He liked that—a date with Miura. Maybe they already had with every midnight rendezvous, but it wasn’t the same.

Students once whispered about their crushes between classes, sometimes mustering the courage to pass a handwritten letter to their love interest—a rare luxury amidst the 2060s. Ei found more ridicule and crumbled novelty paper than actual romance blossoming in the hallways. Perhaps that was why he never pressed Miura for anything beyond friendship. Well, aside from the whole AI-that-may-or-may-not-have-been-a-former-human-now-trapped-in-a-robot dilemma. Regardless, as much as Ei wanted to pour his heart into a piece of paper, flooding every inch with black ink and his shitty penmanship, the thought of Miura regarding it with disinterest and destroying it....

No. He couldn’t. It was better to have something than nothing. Of course they could be friends. At least that way, they were together. Perhaps not in the sense Ei yearned for, but... it was all they had. Once, anyways. Ei sufficed with stolen glances in floating monitors, an entire world and reality separating them.

But then Natsuno’s words crowded his thoughts while his heart fell down ten flights of stairs and Ei contemplated the possibility of—

Don’t be ridiculous, he scolded himself. None of that is real. What’s the point in returning to a place we were meant to outgrow and leave behind?

An answer surfaced. It always did. But he dodged it, a reflex burned into his soul from his boxing days in middle school. Some old habits didn’t die, after all. Assuming his perch in the growth pod room turned into one, too. An instinct, a ritual, a part of his life he accepted. Day in and day out. Rinse and repeat. Why break that? Why disrupt a sense of normalcy they fought for to the bitter end?

Months crawled by and Ei observed Sector 4 without prompt. Spring yielded to summer, then decayed into autumn—in the real world and the simulation. They mirrored one another, welcoming fiery leaves and crisp air and shortened days. AI students swapped uniforms, just as the compatibles broke out longer sleeves and thicker layers. Ei brought a hoodie and throw blanket to his worn chair. Talks of installing space heaters by the pods surfaced at one point, but all Ei imagined was sharing a hot drink with Miura and what he’d think about mulled cider and if it flustered him to share an indirect kiss and—

“Sekigahara?”

Jerking out of his reverie, Ei gazed ahead. Keitaro stood in the middle of the room, serious as ever. Unwavering eyes met him and Ei ignored the chills teasing his body.

He had done his best to avoid Keitaro. If anyone noticed, they never mentioned it, though he also imagined Keitaro was aware. Ei shuddered at the memory of their first meeting in Sector 5 and how he yearned to embrace a different version of Miura.

But they weren’t identical, genetics aside. Events outside of the scheduled loops impacted their beliefs, diverging and molding them accordingly. This wasn’t Miura and never would be Miura. Still... it was nice to fantasize about those intense silver eyes regarding him.

“What?” he shot back.

Keitaro furrowed his brow. “We’re done for the night.”

Were they? Scanning the simulation monitors, he found no one lingering in Sector 4. All growth pods were vacant as midnight claimed both worlds.

“Right,” Ei said. “I’ll wrap things up down here.”

Keitaro neither nodded nor hummed nor moved nor did anything.

Ei ceased his hibernation procedures and huffed. “If something’s wrong, spit it out.”

That keen stare hardened further. “You truly don’t wish to return, do you?”

“Do you want to go back to Sector 5?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Because it wasn’t a place I wanted to see again; it was a person.”

Ei froze as the lingering chill in the room gripped his bones.

“The only reason,” Keitaro continued, “I visit Sector 4 on my own is to see Chihiro. That’s all.”

Perhaps Ei would’ve noticed that if he ever paid attention to Keitaro’s surveillance footage. Instead, he only watched when—

“We all lost someone, Sekigahara. We can’t change the past, but we can promise a new future—for ourselves and those we welcome into this world.”

“And what of those who decline the invitation?” Ei inquired.

“Hard to say if you never ask.”

Ei flinched as his gaze plummeted.

“You know,” Keitaro said, ambling towards him, “whenever Natsuno-san and I visit Sector 4, she asks BJ if he’d like to join us here.”

“Does she?”

“Of course. I can’t fault her for trying. He has the same answer, that he’ll think about it.” Keitaro paused in front of him. “But you already knew that, don’t you?”

No sense in lying; if Miura once saw through his facade, then so would Keitaro. “Yeah.”

“If I had to guess, he’s probably waiting to hear it from you.”

Ei flinched and stared at him.

Keitaro folded his arms, twitching fingers along his bicep. “When we first met and you spoke to me as if we had known each other forever... I thought you were losing your mind.”

“Well,” Ei sighed out, “you weren’t wrong to think that.”

“Everything didn’t line up until later. Much later.”

Ei braced for the inevitable.

“You said the Miura from your era was close to you, that you two were friends.” Tension puckered between his eyebrows. “But I remember how you recalled those memories. They came easily to you, despite having lost them. Even BJ hesitated when I first mentioned you and—”

He did?

“—it was more than that, wasn’t it?” He tilted his head. “It... still is, yes?”

Licking his lips, Ei nodded.

To his surprise, Keitaro smiled, albeit slightly. “He cares about you.”

“Did he say that?”

“No, but he doesn’t need to.”

“Then how the hell can you say that?”

“Because regardless of if he knows you’re out here watching over us? He’s always looking to the sunset.”

Ei blinked. “Okay? And?”

“And I did the same thing,” Keitaro said, the words laced between an airy chuckle, “when I wanted to hear Natsuno-san’s voice.”

Either his heart stopped beating or it drummed so hard that he no longer differentiated between it and the white noise of electronics.

“I don’t wish to tell you what to do,” Keitaro said, pivoting away, “but I see you and him and what’s left unsaid.” He glanced elsewhere. “Forgive me, I didn’t intend to pry, but... BJ and I may not be the same, though we still are.”

“Right,” Ei breathed out, then sat a little taller. “Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“You mentioned Chihiro,” Ei said. “Your sister, right?” Keitaro nodded and Ei inhaled. “Was it worth it?”

“What, exactly?”

“Seeing her again? Despite everything else?”

Nothing prepared Ei for that warm, genuine smile. “It was. She always will be.”

Ei thought about that long after Keitaro left. A stroll through the facility didn’t calm his buzzing mind. Even a cup of herbal tea offered little comfort. Ei found no relief in bed, where he tumbled until the sun rose.

It was after the scheduled communal breakfast when Ei finally passed out. Before he did, however, he sent Ryoko a single message via their comms devices: Can you do me a favor?

“Are you ill?”

Ei drove his shovel into the earth, wiped sweat from his forehead, and peered over his shoulder. “I’m exhausted and borderline dehydrated, but sure, same difference.”

Ryoko raised an unamused eyebrow, then chucked a water bottle at his face. Ei avoided a concussion, though fumbled the item. Amidst their autumn harvest, he prepared the soil for next year’s crops. A divergence from his typical tasks, but physical labor distracted him from... well... the private chat he shared with Ryoko once he woke up for lunch.

Which she shoved into his face while he guzzled water.

“You want me to monitor the simulation?” Ryoko asked.

Ei scanned the immediate vicinity. Everyone else working the field was beyond eavesdropping distance. “Yeah.”

“So you, Mr. I-don’t-give-a-single-shit-about-the-simulation, can jump back in?”

Damn, when she said it like that.... “Y-yeah.”

And she squinted. “So you can hook up with your robot boyfriend and—”

“H-he’s not my boyfriend!”

Ryoko smirked. “Oh. Sorry. My bad. Your boy toy you can’t stop eye-fucking from across the—”

Now he chucked the water bottle at her.

“Can you,” Ei said through a set jaw, “or can you not cover for me?”

Ryoko retrieved the water bottle she dodged from the ground. “I guess it depends.”

Ei squinted. “On what?”

“On whether this is a one-time thing or a weekly occurrence. I need to schedule accordingly if it’s the latter.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his neck. “Um... I won’t know until I dive in.”

“Worried your boyfriend doesn’t want to see you?”

“Something like that.”

Ryoko snorted. “Not going to correct me that time?”

Blush blistered across his face. “I don’t want to assume shit and work myself up over nothing.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It is. That’s why I said it.” Ryoko bopped the water bottle against his forehead. “But I can tell this means a lot to you.”

“How so?”

“Because despite losing your memories, you managed to hold onto him, didn’t you?”

The words—the truth—hardened in his throat. While Ei opted for silence, Ryoko’s features softened.

“Give me a time and date,” Ryoko said, her voice almost stolen by the passing breeze, “and I’ll be there. I promise, Ei-kun.”

Ei released a breath he didn’t know he clung to. “Thanks.”

She nodded, tucked fallen hair behind an ear, and ambled off. After several steps, another thought struck Ei and he whirled to Ryoko.

“You think it won’t be bad?” he asked.

Ryoko stopped. “You breaking your word on visiting Sector 4 or seeing your boyfriend?”

“He’s not—” Ei rolled his eyes and groaned. “Both, I guess.”

She scanned the landscape before speaking again. “You were always stubborn. That much I do remember. But you were terrified, too. No matter what happens, Ei-kun, I’m glad to see you trying something outside of your comfort zone.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not still petrified,” he grumbled.

And yet she smiled. “We all are, though. It’s a matter of what we do when we’re afraid. That’s what separates the cowards from the brave ones.”

As Ryoko drifted across the field, Ei leaned into his shovel and regarded the sun sinking into the horizon, wondering if Miura ever feared anything as he traversed a world that wasn’t meant for him.

“Shit, it’s cold.”

Electronics buzzed in the facility’s walls, the growth pod hissed open, and Ryoko snickered from afar.

Ei glared at her silhouette past the translucent privacy screen. She cozied up in his seat quite well, legs draped over the chair’s arm while pressing a mug of tea against a cheek. She didn’t have to agree to any of this, but she arrived without additional teasing. It mirrored their childhood shenanigans, or at least what he thought he remembered.

“Maybe now you’ll install the space heaters,” Ryoko called out.

“It’s a waste of resources.”

“So is staying up late for you to jump in for a secret date.”

“It is not a date,” Ei muttered to himself while stripping the last of his clothes.

Monitors popped up before the growth pod—vital signs for both Ei and Sector 4. The clock read the same time in both worlds: several hours before midnight. Everyone else was asleep or preoccupied with matters elsewhere. All the better for Ei to sneak in unnoticed.

Still, he hesitated before entering his growth pod.

“Doing alright over there?” Ryoko asked after a moment.

“Yeah,” Ei said, ignoring the chill crawling up from his stomach. “Just... a lot to take in.” No response. “What if I spend the entire night tracking him down and find nothing?”

“I doubt that. You have a knack for finding things.”

“In that case, I’m worried about what I’ll say when I do find him.”

“Why?”

He grimaced. “Because... I don’t want to mess up. Or push him away for good.”

“Treat it like one of your nights in the hangar.”

“Wow, you remembered that?”

“I remember you leaving my texts on read and that dumb smile on your face in class the following day. If you showed up at all.”

Scoffing, Ei raised his hand over the screen to flip Ryoko off. She cackled and he smirked while climbing into the pod.

“Thanks for the advice,” Ei said, “and... for this.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ryoko replied. “And you owe me big time.”

“Quality blackmail material, huh?”

“Hey, you said it.”

“Don’t follow me too much while I’m in there, yeah?”

“Why? You dragging your boyfriend to a love hotel?”

Ei nearly whacked his head on the pod’s hatch. “The what now?”

“There’s one at the edge of Tsutsuji Ward across the street from—”

“We’re not doing any of that!”

“Suit yourself.” She paused. “A bit contradictory of you to ask me to monitor the sim, but don’t want me to—”

“Alright, fine, then don’t record the footage or whatever. You know what I mean.”

He could almost hear Ryoko grinning. “Duly noted.” Another bout of silence swept by. “You ready?”

No, he truly wasn’t. This was the worst idea ever. It was better—safer—to run away and avoid the heartbreak. But other voices eased into his consciousness, the ones who extended kind words and insight over the months.

Focusing on his breaths, Ei calmed himself enough to reply. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The pod sealed shut. Ryoko’s voice emerged via speakers, reminiscent of the Sentinels’ cockpits. New monitors blipped to life, ranging from Sector 4 status reports to a—

“Why the hell is there a character creation menu?” Ei deadpanned.

“I see you’ve been zoning out on our weekly team huddles,” Ryoko teased.

“Wow. You caught me. Great job. Add that to your blackmail pile.”

“Gladly.” She paused. “That addition is thanks to Okino-kun. Some of us were uncomfortable regressing to our younger selves—”

“So you implemented this?”

“You’re welcomed to ignore it and suffer puberty again.”

Ei had as much interest in being sixteen as he did in walking the streets of a false world. Thankfully, a toggle setting enabled scanners to copy his current physical form. Far easier than wasting an afternoon creating an avatar in a video game. And with a link to the facility’s database, Ei pinpointed his favorites folder for 3D-printed fashions, selected a suitable attire for autumn, and poked the aptly named START button.

“Good luck, Ei-kun,” was the last thing Ryoko said before another voice overwhelmed his head.

Ei closed his eyes. He didn’t miss that voice—his own—echoing around him, but it rattled off information in preparation for the simulation sync. Steady breaths coursed through Ei while his heart ricocheted in his ribs.

It’ll be alright, he told himself as inhales and exhales slowed.

It’s not the end of the world, he insisted as a numbness prickled his skin and swallowed his body.

Just find him, he repeated like a mantra as he slipped into another world.

Miura.

Find Miura.

Just.

Find him.

Chapter Text

Sound exploded into earshot. Ei gasped and staggered. Upon opening his eyes, he froze and absorbed the spectacle before him.

Neon flashed and bled along the streets. Buildings towered alongside dense clouds blotting out the skies. Young adults clustered together and laughed on their way to some location he never heard of before. Vehicles rushed down the road, no different from the swelling crowds on the sidewalks. Ashitaba City thrived without the threat of an apocalypse and everything felt real.

Ei wrinkled his face. That didn’t make his return any easier to swallow, but... at least he knew he could leave whenever he wanted. It’s like a dream, he mused. A very vivid one.

And in said dream, he was no longer a teenager on the run; he was twenty-five and traded his school uniform for a pair of fitted jeans, a simple T-shirt, an oversized hoodie, and an asymmetrical leather jacket. Perhaps the style evoked more of the 2060s than the 1980s, but he was comfortable, warm, and... well, hopefully it was nice enough to catch Miura’s eye.

Speaking of which.

Ei scouted the immediate vicinity. The stretch of road before him was familiar—one he frequented while a mysterious voice sputtered from a walkie-talkie. Returning to Sector 4 to meet Miura was the extent of his plan. What they’d do after that, though? Ei hadn’t prepared that far ahead. What if he combed the city and discovered nothing? Or maybe Miura wished to remain hidden, as if Ida’s men continued to track him.

He shoved that toxic thought aside. I can start at the school, he reasoned while walking with the flow of foot traffic. Minami probably shoved him in a locker. Ei scoffed. Knowing my luck, Miura won’t be there and I’ll get caught and Universal Control will need to fix whatever disaster that turns out to—

“There you are.”

Air clawed his throat. That voice.... Anyone could’ve uttered those words amidst the shifting crowd, but that voice seeped into Ei, seized his soul, and enthralled him. It was why he froze, why he held his breath.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Why he bothered to return to this hell at all.

Forcing himself to turn, Ei sought the source of that voice. People marched on, unfazed by his dumbstruck expression. Past the sea of bodies, he found a telephone booth and a familiar figure leaning against it.

He had seen that military uniform before on someone else. Now, it clung to a lithe form. A human form. Not a scout unit and definitely not a Sentinel. And human eyes met his own as the entire world seemingly stood still.

“Took you long enough,” he said, that gentle, yet rich tenor no longer marred by digital filters or shoddy speakers. And it flooded Ei with goosebumps.

“Miura?”

A short-lived smile graced his features. “Hey.”

The willpower Ei required to not launch himself at Miura and drown in his touch borderline strangled him. But he coughed up a laugh and shuffled forward, to reach him.

“It... really is you,” Ei said.

Miura hummed, pushed himself off the telephone booth, and uncrossed his arms. “You had your doubts?”

“Understatement of the year.”

“I suppose we all did at one point or another.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

He slowed his steps and stood before Miura. His heart raced, as if he piloted his Sentinel again. What was he to say now? What could he possibly—

“You’ve changed,” Miura offered.

“You’re one to talk,” Ei quipped. “I was expecting you to be smaller and... squarer.”

“Does this form not suit you?”

Was that a joke question? “N-no. Just... took me by surprise.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I wasn’t keen on being a student again, so... figured I’d be, you know. Me.”

A flick of silver examined Ei from head to toe. Muscles twitched as he set his jaw and swallowed. Or maybe Ei imagined that. He was in a digital landscape and—

“You look well, Sekigahara,” he said, returning his eyes to Ei’s.

“T-thanks.” He hesitated, then added, “Same to you, Miura.”

He huffed, shifted weight from one leg to another, and adjusted his cap. “I didn’t have many options to choose from.”

“Did Okino give you access to a character creation menu thing, too?”

“No, but I did find the administrative rights to the system and the folder he kept said adjustments.”

A smirk teased Ei’s lips. Of course you did.

“Though I suppose I could improve on this.”

Before Ei inquired further, pixels sputtered mid-air. Dull colors blazed bright as the image of Miura glitched, highlighted by sheens of blue. He blinked and the transformation completed; what stood before him mirrored the current Keitaro in physique and age. Except it wasn’t him. Not even a little bit.

“There.” Miura tugged at the sleeve cuffs to a crisp, fitted jacket—still a homage to his military days. “This should suffice.”

It did. It really did. And Ei hoped his gawking wasn’t noticeable, because holy shit, now wasn’t the time or place to reignite whatever tailored suit kink he forgot he had—

“Sekigahara?”

Ei shook himself free from that wanton haze. “Sorry, this is....”

“A lot to digest?”

“More or less.”

His nostrils flared while forcing out a breath. “I won’t fault you for leaving.”

“What?”

“If you’d rather—”

“Miura, I just got here.” He stepped forward, leaving less than an arm’s length worth of space between them. “I... I just found you. I was hoping, if it’s not too much, that... that we could—”

This was stupid. Pathetic, even. Why would Miura wish to waste any more time with him, of all people, than he already had?

Once Ei parted his lips, the words cascaded out and he couldn’t hinder a sound. “We could spend tonight together.”

Miura’s eyes returned to him. Ashitaba City’s glory glittered in those silver irises like a kaleidoscope. Ei yearned to gaze into those very eyes until sunrise. Or forever.

“We could,” he continued, a slight waver on his tongue, “do whatever we wanted.” And he barked out a laugh. “Especially now that you have a body—a human one, I mean—and we don’t look like some punk kids running around past curfew and....” His initial streak of courage fizzled and Ei slouched. “I thought it would be nice. Like old times, you know?” He stole a sheepish glance in Miura’s direction. Damn it, him just standing there and looking like a suave officer strutting out of an erotic livestream was not helping. “Back when I’d visit you in the hangar and we’d stay up all night.”

Or maybe it wasn’t nice.

Maybe it wasn’t what Miura wanted.

Maybe this was a mistake.

And maybe it was best if Ei forgot the one thing his piece of shit brain decided to latch onto, despite the amnesia, and finally move on with his damn life.

But.

For fuck’s sake, Miura, can you say something?

Maybe it didn’t need to be like that.

A deep breath expanded Miura’s chest. He moistened his lips with a swipe of his tongue, scanned the busy roads, then brought his intense stare to Ei.

“You mean that?” he asked, barely audible above the city’s ambient hum.

Ei cracked a smile as his heart pumped for a different reason. “Of course.”

And Miura flashed a smile. “Then lead the way.”

Throughout high school, countless students made plans together after class. Most were friends, giddy to traverse the city and forget their studies for the evening. Others attempted to ask a special someone for something more. Ei paid little attention to either, especially when the latter ended in tears, but he wished he had eavesdropped to have an inkling as to where people went for their first date.

Except this wasn’t a date. Technically. Ei’s heart fluttered whenever he imagined it as such, but it was wiser to take it slow. No need to force anything. Besides, if their trips to Sector 4 meant anything, his peers loved eating good food amidst even better company. And to Ei’s delight, Miura didn’t shoot down the suggestion.

“This will be a new experience,” Miura said.

Ei glimpsed at him, almost tripping on the damn sidewalk. Why did he have to be so attractive as a human? “First time eating?”

“In this body, yes.”

“Really?” Miura nodded and Ei’s lips quirked. “How you liking it?”

Miura flexed his fingers. “It’s... odd.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

He scouted the neon-lit streets, where food stands remained operational—for the late-night crowd and the inevitable drunks wandering out of bars. A thick aroma of frying oil and bonito flakes permeated the crisp autumn air. Strangers loitered to the side, munching on street food with friends and loved ones.

And it was all a deceptively beautiful lie.

“Honestly,” Ei continued, ignoring a shudder, “I’m surprised you didn’t shift to a human guise sooner. Figured it would make your outings with Keitaro and Minami easier.”

Miura flinched. “It’s best if I don’t.”

“Why’s that?”

And he folded his arms and lowered his head. “I don’t wish to distract Natsuno like... this.”

“Oh.” Who was he to blame Miura when he avoided Keitaro for years due to a similar reason? “I hope you’re enjoying it now.”

Miura perked up. “I’m enjoying the ability to spend time with you.”

Now it was Ei’s turn to stare at the ground. They hadn’t done anything, save for walking half a dozen blocks and chatting like it was another night in the hangar. Nothing special. That’s all.

“I’m glad,” Ei murmured. “It’s been... really good to—”

He peered back and ceased walking; Miura halted before a takoyaki stand. Wide eyes regarded the chef turning each ball of stuffed dough in rapid succession. Ei smirked and joined his side.

“See something you like?” he teased.

“I can’t remember when I last ate this,” Miura said.

“Didn’t know you could buy takoyaki with ration tickets.”

“No, not then.” His features contorted. “It was after Morimura found us and brought us to Sector 2, during my loop.”

Ei cocked his head. “You visited Sector 2?”

Miura’s lips pursed as he glanced at Ei. “I wouldn’t call it a visit, but yes. I was there.” A beat, then, “Your future had... quite some interesting choices.”

“At least the food didn’t change that much?”

“It seems that way.”

A bout of silence swept by before Ei approached the front counter and placed two orders of takoyaki.

“Sekigahara? What are you doing?”

He peeked back while fishing for a wallet in his various pockets. “You wanted food, yeah? What else do you think I’m doing?”

Miura’s shoulders slid up his neck. Upon releasing a heavy exhale, he nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.”

Ei found said wallet buried in his hoodie’s front pouch along with something else. Fingertips brushed cool metal. Upon recognizing the small object, he smirked. Guess Universal Control didn’t skimp on any of the details.

He paid for their meal and eventually handed Miura his share of takoyaki. Together, they stood by the food stand and basked in sauce-drenched morsels. Seeing Miura’s face light up after the initial bite warmed Ei’s heart. The same could be said when they ventured to other stands and savored korokke and kashi pan. Each time, Ei focused more on Miura than his portion of street food; the nanomachines convinced him every bite was real, but what stole his breath was knowing he was right there, sharing the moment with him.

That was real, wasn’t it? Even if Miura was an AI of a deceased compatible, he was still there, still existed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have piloted Sentinel number 17 or accessed the physical alteration settings—nor would he have been a candidate for the revival project Ryoko diligently worked on.

But Ei never mentioned that, because neither did Miura. Then again, they hadn’t brought up anything with the potential of ripping open old wounds. Ei nearly lost his appetite halfway through his kashi pan as those thoughts inundated him. Did Miura not desire what thrived beyond the digital world? Was he displeased to have survived?

Did he truly not wish to say goodbye to Ei, all those years ago?

“Sekigahara?”

Damn it, whenever Miura said his name, it was another tremble in his knees, in his core, in his chest. “What’s up?”

“Are you not going to finish?”

Ei followed Miura’s line of sight to his half-eaten kashi pan. Only a wrapper lined with crumbs remained in Miura’s hands.

“A-ah, right.” As proof, Ei tore out a bite. “Sorry, got lost in my head for a second.”

Miura frowned slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he rushed out. “Just... a bit surreal.”

Miura hummed and brought his attention elsewhere. After another bite, Ei slowed down and reconsidered.

“Um... did you want to try it?”

Miura snapped his eyes to Ei. “I’m sorry?”

“You asked if I was going to finish it.” Ei extended the remainder of his kashi pan. “It’s custard instead of red bean paste, but you’re welcomed to have a taste, if you’d like.”

Silver eyes flicked between Ei and the treat. “Thank you,” he murmured, then approached to accept it.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Ei said. “Was starting to get full, anyways.”

No reply. Only the sizzles and clatters from each food stand echoed down the street. Ei kept his sights on Miura, who simply froze and regarded his kashi pan. After a moment, he sampled it—far more carefully than the previous foods he devoured. And Ei swore pink marked his cheeks while he chewed. Another thought blipped to mind, one which hitched Ei’s breath and warmed his face, as well, and—

A pleased hum swelled on Miura’s smiling lips. “This one is delicious.”

Ei mirrored his expression. “Got a new favorite, huh?”

And he chuckled as Miura crammed the rest into his mouth. Maybe wandering the city and trying random food wasn’t a bad idea, after all.

“Thank you, Sekigahara,” he said, disposing of both wrappers in a nearby bin. “This has been quite a treat.”

Ei tilted his head. “You make it sound like we’re winding down.”

Miura evaded his gaze. “It is getting late.”

“You’re not wrong, but the night’s young.”

“Perhaps, but... I shouldn’t keep you from....” He sighed. “You must be tired.”

“Hardly. Took a nap and drank some coffee before jumping in.”

Miura breathed out a half-hearted laugh. “Sounds like you’ve had this planned for a while.”

Ei rubbed his neck, hoping the nearby red signage lights masked his flushed cheeks. “I-I’m honestly winging this.”

“You had me believing otherwise.”

A smile came and went. “Can’t say I actually know what we could do in this era. Way past curfew, that’s for sure.”

“When did that ever stop you?”

It hadn’t. The reminder deepened the blush overwhelming his face. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“No, we’re not.” He paused. “I’m also uninterested in spending the night in a bar, if that’s what you’re proposing.”

Well, better than shooting down a love hotel. “That’s a hard pass for me, too.” Ei snickered. “Are there any midnight showings at the theaters?”

The most unamused expression pierced him. “Also a hard pass.”

“Already see everything three times with Minami?”

“No.” His folded arms tightened while he sucked in a sharp breath. “I’d rather not spend my free time sitting around and... watching footage, so to speak.”

Realization struck Ei and he averted his gaze. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

And yet they stood there, unable to look at each other or utter another word, let alone suggest a new idea. A gust swept by and Ei zipped up his jacket. Amidst adjusting his outerwear, an item shifted in his hoodie’s pocket and Ei perked up.

“Hey.”

Miura lifted his head. “Something the matter?”

Ei unearthed a key to twirl between his fingers. “Want to go for a ride?”

“A ride where?”

“Around the city. Don’t need a destination to enjoy the journey.”

Unfurling his arms, Miura nodded. “I suppose we have no other alternatives.”

“Let’s ride, then.”

Ei smiled and pressed the button. Where Universal Control stashed his 2060s-era motorcycle was unknown, but it would find its way to them. Ei headed towards the nearest sidewalk, beckoning to Miura. He followed, shivering whenever the autumn air picked up. If that seeped into his bones, then their joyride would end sooner than Ei desired.

Thus he unzipped his leather jacket upon reaching the curb. “Here.” He shrugged off the dense weight and extended it. “Take this.”

Miura stiffened. “Your jacket? But don’t you need it?”

“Not as much as you do, apparently. You’re shaking like a leaf, Miura.”

He coughed up dry amusement. “I forgot how fragile human bodies can be. My apologies. I didn’t wish to inconvenience you.”

“You’re not.”

And if the cold truly bothered him, Ei could always summon another jacket... somehow. He furrowed his brow, though; couldn’t Miura also do the same thing? Or was that something else he needed to adjust to, along with a human form?

The notion escaped Ei as Miura retrieved the jacket. The black leather was darker than the uniform he donned. Also a little big for his narrow shoulders, but it suited him. Quite a lot, actually.

“Better?” Ei murmured.

Miura sighed, burrowing into the collar. “It is. Thank you, Sekigahara.”

“My pleasure.” But his smile faltered. “What’s up?”

“It’s, um....” Miura gestured between them. “You... you have something on your face.”

Ei blinked. “I what?”

“It’s custard, I believe? From the kashi pan? It’s not that—”

“This whole time?!”

Miura cowered. “I didn’t want to come across as rude, but—”

Ei groaned and patted his pocket in search of... something to clean his face. Of course he made a mess and looked like a total idiot in front of the guy he was hoping to impress. Great. Just freaking great. What the hell is going to happen next? Driving the damn motorcycle off a bridge?

“Um, Sekigahara?” Miura piped up. “I-I can check the food stand for napkins if you’d—”

“No, it’s fine,” Ei huffed out. “I can—”

He cursed and swiped around his mouth. A dollop of custard marked his skin, then balanced upon his thumb. Ei sucked it off the digit, swallowed, and popped it free with a slight hum. Tasty, even after the fact.

“There,” he grumbled and turned to Miura. “Did I get it? Or is there still some—”

Wide unflinching eyes locked onto him, but it was his crimson face that rendered Ei breathless. He shouldn’t have been so brazen with cleaning himself up like that... or maybe he should have done it sooner.

“Miura?” Ei uttered.

That sent a visible shiver through him. “Ah, y-yes. It’s all gone now. My apologies again for not—” He cleared his throat, eyes darting elsewhere. “—mentioning it sooner.”

Ei couldn’t help but recall the nights in the hangar and how often Miura lingered in silence before responding. Was he as flustered then as he was now? Ei longed to tease him some more, but a shadow blurred in his peripherals. The motorcycle he summoned arrived, slowing to a halt at the sidewalk.

“And here’s our ride,” Ei said, mounting the driver’s seat. “Hop on.”

Confusion overwhelmed Miura. “Uh... forgive me, Sekigahara, but where am I supposed to sit?”

Ei raised an eyebrow. “The back? Behind me?”

Red reached the tips of his ears. “T-that’s... there’s barely a seat.”

Blinking, Ei examined said seat. Miura wasn’t wrong, but it was more than what most motorcycles offered.

“Guess you’ll need to stay close and hold on, Miura,” he purred, his lips curling up ever-so-slightly.

The city rumbled around them as Miura considered the elusive seat. “If you insist.”

Miura mounted behind him, beyond cautious and anxious. For all his time spent in a Sentinel and a scout unit, Ei figured he would’ve been accustomed to unusual and unwieldy modes of transportation. Guess there’s a first for everything, he mused.

Ei paused, however, before turning on the ignition. The frame no longer wobbled from Miura’s added weight, but his presence was also absent—or not crushed against Ei.

“Hey.” He peered over his shoulder. “You should hold on.”

Miura blushed harder while gripping the meager edges of his seat. “To... what, exactly?”

“To me, silly.”

“Excuse me?”

“Unless you’d rather walk around the city. I’m game either way, but....” He sighed. “I don’t want you to fall off.”

I don’t want to lose you again, was what he truly wished to say, though.

Miura glared, then squinted. “Alright.”

Ei gasped as his legs slid against his own.

“If you say so.”

Heat sank into his back, warming him better than any hot drink.

“But don’t go too fast.”

Loose arms snaked around his waist—a touch timid.

“I’m not accustomed to this.”

At least Miura couldn’t see the pink blooming upon Ei’s cheeks. “Didn’t you have bicycles growing up?”

“This is different.”

No argument there. “What about in the 2060s? In your loop?”

Miura’s breaths teased his neck. “I... I don’t remember.”

Ignoring the twinge in his chest, Ei reached for the key. “Then let’s make some new memories.”

If Miura replied, his voice and the entire city yielded to the engine’s abrupt roar. Steady vibrations flowed through Ei and he smiled; riding his motorcycle again was worth the trip to Sector 4. So was Miura, tightening his embrace as Ei kicked off the curb, merged into traffic, and sped off into the night.

Chapter Text

Lights blazed by, nothing but smears against reflective buildings. Cars cruised along the highway as a black motorcycle zoomed ahead and wove through the gaps. Cold air burned Ei’s face, but the adrenaline kept him warm enough.

So did the rigid hold of a certain someone behind him.

As they meandered the city, Ei glimpsed at Miura’s reflection in the side mirrors. He melted into Ei over time, like he belonged there. Sometimes he perched his chin upon Ei’s shoulder, drinking in the city swirling around them. Other times he gasped, shut his eyes, and burrowed into Ei’s neck.

Ei rather liked that last one. All the more reason to shift gears and disobey a few more traffic laws.

But it was also late. Fewer bodies and vehicles congested the streets. Storefronts darkened one by one, reminiscent of stars blinking out with the promise of dawn. Except they still had time. It wasn’t over yet.

An idea struck him. Smirking, he veered onto a different road and drifted away from the heart of the city.

Maybe if they weren’t trapped in a simulation, Ei could’ve driven to the countryside. Perhaps the stars were visible out there. They could enjoy it—alone in comfortable silence. But that wasn’t how any of the Sectors worked, so Ei headed for the next best option.

Miura squeezed his waist. “Sekigahara?”

“What’s up?” he shouted.

His nose brushed Ei’s neck. So did his voice. “Where are we going?”

If only he could ride forever, just to savor Miura right there. “You’ll see.”

The narrow road widened and opened. No longer flanked by towering buildings, they emerged onto Sumire Bridge and overlooked the water. Every light in the city glimmered on the rippling surface. Maybe it wasn’t the stars, but the sight was nothing short of breathtaking.

Upon reaching the far end, Ei pulled over and slowed to a stop. “Here we are. Figured we could use a break. Might as well have a nice view while we’re at it.”

But as Ei killed the engine and nudged out the kickstand, Miura remained seated.

“You okay over there?” Ei teased.

And he flinched, breaking his hold on Ei. “It’s fine.”

Is it, though?

Together, they dismounted and stood on the sidewalk. Miura returned the leather jacket, too. Ei almost refused. It looks better on you, he wanted to say, but withheld. Zipping up the jacket, Ei paused to inhale the new scent intermixed with his own; it reminded him of a fire crackling amidst a forest. He yearned to bury into the collar until that aroma flooded his lungs. Or maybe he could get away with nuzzling into Miura’s neck to better intoxicate himself.

But he didn’t. Not when Miura leaned into the bridge’s railing with a blank expression.

“Used to love driving on this bridge when I was a kid,” Ei said, bracing against the cold metal in the sweep distance. “I’d beg my parents to pull over so we could watch the world go by, but... we had places to be and couldn’t waste time standing around and doing nothing.”

“That’s a shame,” Miura said. “Views like this... you don’t appreciate how magnificent they are until it’s gone.”

Ei couldn’t look anywhere except at him, though. “Yeah.”

The wind shifted, skittering across the water until the reflected lights danced.

“It’s funny, though,” he continued, “thinking back on it. My folks were barely present during my adolescence. Could’ve done whatever the hell I wanted without them breathing down my neck.” Chewing his lower lip, he slid closer to Miura. “I could’ve come here and wasted all the time I had.”

“But you didn’t?” Miura noted.

“No.”

Another step, another skip in his chest.

“I spent all my nights with you, Miura.”

It took every ounce of willpower to restrain himself from cupping Miura’s face and stealing a hard kiss. Instead, Ei minded the distance, hoping that somber expression wasn’t anything to fret over.

“I enjoyed that,” Ei said. “A lot, actually.”

No response. If he screamed, would Miura even react?

“It’s been a good night, Miura. Can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much. Or stayed up this late. Thanks for spending it with me. I’m glad I got to share this spot with you. Kind of the best of both worlds, huh?”

Miura tilted his head to Ei. Despite the entire city glittering in his eyes, nothing glowed there. “But you’ve been staying up late to watch over things, yes?”

Ei blinked. “Watch what?”

“This. The simulation.”

He forgot to breathe.

“Whenever the other compatibles returned, it was you who stayed behind to monitor the system.”

Even if he wanted to lie, he couldn’t. Not to Miura. Not ever again. “Yeah.”

Sighing, Miura looked away. “I thought I was imagining things, but....”

“But what?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Miura?” He stepped forward, closer than when they visited the food stands. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and tugged the brim of his cap down. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it’s about you.” More silence. “I... I’m sorry that it took so long for me to come here.” A dry chuckle burst forth. “I didn’t want to reboot the simulation, either, if I’m being honest, but when I found out you were here again? That you were alright? That was enough of a reason to get over myself and visit this place.”

“If I wasn’t here,” Miura began slowly, “would you have bothered coming back?”

“No.”

He exhaled and diverted his gaze, but his voice still reached Ei. “That means you’ve settled into the real world, correct? Made it your own?”

And yet Ei hesitated. “Something like that.”

“I’m glad, then.”

“About what?”

Silver eyes locked onto him. “That you’ve been well all these years.”

Was he?

Come to think of it, Miura hadn’t asked how he was doing. Neither had Ei in regards to him. They just... spoke of anything but the lost time. Idle chit-chat, something to fill the air and the abyss that grew in each other’s absence.

So Ei started there. “Have you been well, Miura?”

He scoffed. “I haven’t even been alive for six months or assumed a human shape for more than a day.”

“And?”

His eyes fell from Ei’s. “And I don’t know.”

“Is that why you keep dodging Minami’s question about the AI revival project?”

“Wow, you eavesdropped on that, too, huh?” Miura deadpanned.

“You can tell me to fuck off, you know.”

“No, it’s not that. I—” He turned on his heels, crossed his arms, and leaned back into the railing. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But do you want to be here?”

Miura removed his cap and fiddled with the seams. No scar carved into his forehead. Only then Ei noticed he was taller than Miura, peeking over the top of his pale hair. He could’ve dipped in and kissed that forehead if he so wished, but Ei desired many things, all of which he ignored while awaiting Miura’s answer.

“What I want,” he eventually said, “is for this night to not end.”

It was as if the entire simulation froze, until there was just Miura and his soft, steady voice.

“But you don’t belong in this world.” Miura stared at the cloudy skies. “You belong out there, in the real world. It was meant for you.”

“It can be yours, too, Miura.”

“That’s what Natsuno says.”

“Maybe she’s right.”

“Maybe.” A pause, then, “But I’m more accustomed to death than whatever life there might be for someone like me. It’s unfair.”

“How so?”

“That I am allowed infinite chances to live while those from my loop never had a choice.”

Tension swelled in Ei, lumped in his throat, and pummeled him with endless thoughts.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve such kindness,” Miura said. “I only wanted you and the others to succeed, to experience something I used to dream of every night.” He scanned the length of Sumire Bridge. “This place... I’m not fond of it.”

Ei’s heart traded places with his stomach. “I’m sorry, we can—”

“No need to apologize. I didn’t expect you to know.” Anxious fingers drummed his bicep. “I’ve said goodbye to too many people here.”

Those words sank into Ei like an uppercut to his jaw. It deprived him of his voice as his mouth hung open. And Miura turned to face him.

“I don’t want to say goodbye anymore,” he murmured.

Voices shrieked in his head, each demanding his attention. No clarity shattered that cacophony. What was he to say, anyways? What could mend the damage that was already done?

A gentle tap against his cheek silenced his mind. Ei blinked at the sensation. Even Miura wrinkled his face and held out a hand. As moisture slicked exposed skin, the heavens lit up briefly, then sounded with a low rumble.

“Didn’t know it was going to rain tonight,” Ei said. Maybe he should’ve paid better attention to the Sector 4 status before diving in.

“That makes two of us.” Miura secured his cap upon his head. “I’ll let you go, then.”

“Excuse me, what? Go where?”

“Home. To the real world.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Some rain isn’t enough to interrupt the night.” I’d weather any storm to spend more time with you.

Rain rolled off his cap while he lifted an eyebrow. “Then what do you suggest?”

Ei tossed up the cowl of his hoodie. “Hell if I know, but maybe there’s somewhere down that way—” He jerked his chin beyond the end of Sumire Bridge, where residential districts lined the edges. “—and we can find a dry spot. Now come on.” Ei marched in the general direction, fussing with the bike’s key.

“What about your motorcycle?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said as it revved to life and rushed elsewhere to take cover. “We’d get drenched if stayed on it.” Ei sighed. “Are you coming, Miura?”

After the conversation they shared, he anticipated Miura to opt for silence and leave. Maybe even assume his scout unit form to fly off into the night. Instead, he nodded and rushed to join him, gripping his cap intermittently to prevent it from falling off.

It wasn’t how Ei planned to spend their first night together—both the rain and dwelling in the past—but it was better than leaving, better than five more years stewing in regrets and stolen moments, better than never reuniting at all.

Dark clouds sailed over Ashitaba City. Puddles pooled in the streets, mirroring the surroundings until Ei and Miura dashed through them. The thick fabric of his hoodie soaked up every droplet and adhered to his body. The nanomachines amplified autumn’s chill, but he preferred feeling something than numbness.

“Hey!” Ei called out against the pouring rain. “Down here!”

Miura was but a blur in the shadows, thanks to his dark uniform. He maintained momentum, though, and darted into a narrow back alley with Ei.

Overhangs from houses offered minimal reprieve amidst the storm. Ei discovered a dry enough patch to fit both of them. Barely.

“This should work,” Ei said, tossing off his cowl and gulping jagged breaths. “Not exactly ideal, but... whatever. Either this or standing in the rain.”

Miura leaned into the worn foundations beside Ei, folded his arms, and glanced at him. “I suppose so.”

“Sorry this all kind of blew up in our faces.”

“I don’t expect you to control the weather, Sekigahara.”

“No, but we could tell Universal Control to postpone this shit for another time.”

He smirked slightly. “Not a fan of the rain?”

“Not a fan of our options slimming down to zero.” Ei paused as Miura’s gaze drifted to the puddles teasing their shoes. “I guess I already messed that up before the rain showed up.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“No, but if I had known Sumire Bridge was a bad place for you, I wouldn’t have brought you there.”

Silence swelled between them. The longer they held their tongues, the deeper Ei submerged into his thoughts, and the more a single sentiment screamed in his soul until it scorched his throat and demanded to—

“You,” Ei began after a spell, softly and slowly, “never said goodbye to me back then.”

Miura lifted his head—a minuscule motion to contrast the weight suffocating Ei.

“Takamiya told me,” he explained. “I hadn’t realized that you....” Memories haunted him, then receded into nothing. “Why didn’t you tell me? And don’t say it was to protect me from Ida or because I was difficult to track or that I wouldn’t remember.”

“It wasn’t,” Miura said over the rain.

Muscles tensed and burned. “Then why? It’s the least you can tell me.”

Miura remained motionless, staring ahead like he witnessed a ghost, but nothing remarkable stood before him. Rain struck the toe of his shoes, sodden fabric clung to his lean figure, and the storm swirled overhead as Miura found the strength to speak.

“You never wished to come back to the simulation,” he said, “because it was simply a lie, yes?”

Blood boiled within Ei. He didn’t want to be furious with Miura, but he needed to know. “Yeah.”

He inhaled, wrapped his arms tighter around himself, and uttered, “One time, I never wished to speak with you.”

A frantic heartbeat pounded in his ears. “What? Why?”

Miura closed his lovely eyes. “Because I also thought you were another illusion in this loop.”

Millions of questions bubbled within Ei. He swallowed down every last one and waited.

“We’ve met before,” Miura explained. “Not in this life, but the previous one—when I used to be human and not... whatever this is.” He extended a hand into the rain, curling fingers as if to catch the elusive drops. “When Morimura found me and Takatoshi and Tamao, she spirited us away to the future, to save humanity. I barely had time to adjust to... anything, really. Despite my military training, all I wanted was to curl up in the Shikishima-issued apartment and pretend it never happened.

“I didn’t, though; the Sekigahara from my loop slipped through my defenses and helped me out of my shell.”

“He sounds like a troublemaker,” Ei attempted to joke, but neither he nor Miura cracked a smile.

“He was kind to me,” Miura said after a deep breath. “And patient and welcoming. He didn’t need to be, but he was. And we....” His face contorted, either from anguish or shame. “We were close. Quite close.”

Miura held his cap to his chest. He craned his head and gazed above. The storm persisted, refusing to show any weakness. Stray raindrops trickled down Miura’s features. It wasn’t until he spoke again that Ei noticed the waver in his voice.

Noticed it wasn’t rain, but tears.

“I loved him,” he murmured into the night, though it screamed in Ei’s ears.

No more needed to be said. That simple confession clogged every gaping hole between their interactions. Such revelation, however, squashed Ei’s heart. And as he stared, unable to comprehend what to say after that, Miura proceeded.

“I shouldn’t have left him. He said he would catch up and meet me at the gate. He... told me not to worry. I believed him.” Miura scoffed. “I believed everything he ever said. And when he never showed up as promised and I returned to Sumire Bridge and found so many compatibles gunned down and he was—”

Miura shut his eyes and clamped a hand over his mouth. Convulsions consumed his body. A muffled sob escaped his lips. Ei longed to sweep him into his arms until the storm around and within them drifted elsewhere.

But he didn’t. What would that accomplish? If Ei was a reminder of what Miura once had and could never have again... maybe it was better if distance expanded between them. Maybe the simulation wasn’t meant for him.

Maybe this was a mistake, after all.

Miura’s sobs quieted. His hand fell, allowing a sigh to break free.

“When Ida restored me in the next loop,” he said, “the first thing I asked was where Sekigahara was. I asked that every time. Dozens and dozens of times as he reset me and tried to... I don’t know what he was doing. Ensuring I was stable enough to pilot a Sentinel? Upset that he wasn’t the only one who lost a lover? At least that’s what Tamao told me. She... begged me to let Sekigahara go, that she couldn’t bear to watch me get erased and rebooted again, just to suffer the same damn thing.

“So I complied. I should’ve done that from the beginning. I’m an Imperial soldier, yes? That was in our training. Don’t be selfish. Sacrifice yourself if necessary to secure victory. And don’t question your orders.” He paused—far too long for Ei’s liking. “But if Ida was able to revive his Kisaragi, then why couldn’t—” Miura sank teeth into his lower lip until the trembles ceased to torment him. “What was worse than needing to hold my tongue was that everyone else... they acted like that loop never happened. That I wasn’t once human, that I didn’t come from a war-torn era, that I never....”

He hung his head. Fresh tears cascaded down his cheeks. Ei froze in place, stared with ajar lips, and listened.

“I tried to find him,” Miura said. “If they resurrected me from old data, then surely he was somewhere, too.” He shook his head. “I found the logs from 2188 instead.”

“I’m so sorry, Miura,” he breathed out, or perhaps he imagined it.

And Miura whipped his head to lock stares with him. “No. Please, don’t be. You didn’t know, nor did I expect you to. If anything, I should be apologizing for how I treated you.” His eyes flicked away for but a moment. “I wasn’t aware then of the truth—that we were resetting instead of time traveling. When I first met you, I thought it was a joke. I knew what I saw at Sumire Bridge; you were supposed to be dead and Ida said you couldn’t come back, but... you were there, like it never happened.” He blinked as more tears surfaced. “Like we had never met before.

“I feared you were an illusion, much like myself, but once I figured out who you were....” He huffed and placed his cap on his head. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I didn’t want to become attached to a ghost of someone I once loved.” His lips quirked up, tinged with bittersweetness. “And yet I did. Perhaps harder this time. Some might say that’s romantic, to always fall for the same person in every lifetime.”

Ei held his breath as a memory emerged, one his amnesia couldn’t rob him of—just blurred.

“Sekigahara... we’re friends, right?”

If only he allowed himself to read further into that question and answer with how he truly felt.

“But it didn’t matter,” Miura said. “I wasn’t human anymore. Even if I hadn’t erased myself, I couldn’t go with you. I... I didn’t belong in your loop. I was supposed to disappear along with all the data from my own. The real world wasn’t meant for me anymore; there was already another Keitaro Miura, the one who would wake up instead of me. No amount of love can change that.”

A massive inhale filled up Miura’s lungs before he uttered, “And that’s why I never told you—that I was erasing myself for the sake of the logs, for your future. Regardless of your mental state, I couldn’t... I didn’t want you to see me die. No one deserves that. I wish I could’ve done the same for Natsuno, but considering the circumstances—” Miura sucked on his teeth and dug the heel of his palms into his eyes. “But you also didn’t deserve absolute silence. I don’t expect you to forgive me, Sekigahara. I tried to numb whatever pain would arise from discovering my fate, but I made matters worse, didn’t I?” Hands dragged down his tear-stained face. “I thought it would be easier if you only viewed me as a friend. That you could move on without me. That... you didn’t need me like I once needed you.”

That rippled through Ei, much like the raindrops in the growing puddles. It was all it took to crack Ei’s inaction, splintering across his body until he stepped forward.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered.

Fingertips brushed Miura’s jawline. A breath caught in his throat as a violent shudder jolted from head to toe.

“It’s not true, Miura.”

Ei curled his fingers into him, enough to nudge that handsome face towards him. Wide silver eyes glistened against the limited light... but they weren't completely silver. Flecks of bright blue scattered in that gaze. He hadn't noticed until now. And Ei drank in every last detail as the space between them shrank and disappeared.

“I missed you,” he breathed upon his lips before closing his eyes, “so much.”

Soft lips melted into him. A hint of a hum vibrated against Ei. It was a cautious kiss, but he refused to scare Miura. Not now. Not after he poured out his heart better than the storm. And despite yearning for another taste, another chance to hear that subtle coo, Ei willed himself to let go.

Don’t cause any more damage than you already have, Ei thought. Besides, you can’t replace the guy he once—

Shaking hands grasped a handful of Ei’s hoodie. He blinked and Miura pivoted towards him, to jerk him back in, to pierce his soul with those eyes.

“So did I,” was all he said, then sealed it with a hard kiss.

His heart pounded harder than the rain. Whatever bitter cold nipped his bones now scorched. Every polite thought, every pleasantry, every attempt to be careful and gentle and not a fucking idiot dissolved. And when Ei stepped into Miura and opened his mouth for more, he was pleased to discover Miura met him halfway.

Feet shuffled as hands wandered. A whimper sounded between them as Miura pinned Ei to the opposite wall. No overhang protected them from the storm, but the rain never hindered their advances. If anything, the water washing over them—a stark contrast to the desire igniting within—was but a reminder that this?

Right now?

This was real.

Fuck the simulation and loops and everything else—nothing was going to deprive them of this moment.

So Ei savored it. He welcomed the weight crushed against him, legs intertwined while they embraced like their lives depended on it. An open palm sank into the small of Miura’s back as the other knocked of his cap to thread pale locks. Ei closed his eyes and memorized the motions they shared. Each nibble and gasp and grope was another reason to delve deeper, harder. After the literal years they ignored that mutual attraction, why slow down? Why settle for anything less?

And Miura ravaged him, every kiss hungrier than before. Perhaps if Ei had room to breathe, let alone think, he might have teased Miura about his shameless streak; surely someone as quiet and reserved as him wasn’t capable of asserting such dominance. And yet he devoured Ei with those decadent lips, gripping the juncture at his neck and jaw along with pawing his chest, only to dive in for more.

Sector 4 had limitations, though. They still required air, still needed to pause to ease their racing hearts. Past the layers of drenched fabric, Ei felt Miura’s pulse, out of sync with his own. As their kisses tapered off, they lingered against one another. Ei cracked his eyes open and rested his forehead against Miura’s.

“How long have you been holding off on that?” he finally quipped.

Miura let out an airy chuckle and licked his lips, close enough to stroke Ei’s. “Since the day I met you.”

Blush warmed his face. “I hope this is okay.” He nuzzled into him. “I know I’m not him, but—”

“You don’t need to be.” Miura smoothed a thumb along his cheek. “There are plenty of similarities, but you are your own person, Sekigahara.” His eyes twitched, as if examining Ei’s features. “And I’m glad you still remembered me.”

“Kind of hard to forget someone like you.” Ei kissed between his eyebrows and squeezed tight. “Need more than amnesia to separate us.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Something wrong?”

“No.” He retracted enough to better view Ei. Both rain and tears streamed down his cheeks, but he smiled bright enough to rival the sun. “I’m... I’m happy you came back. To see me, that is. I never thought you would. Thank you.”

“Sorry what took so long.”

“Well, you were always skeptical and stubborn—in both loops.”

Ei rolled his eyes, but chuckled. “Good to know.” He tilted his head. “You were really waiting for me, weren’t you? Back on the streets when I jumped in tonight... it was like you expected me to show up.”

“Maybe,” Miura replied slowly, stepping back into Ei, “it’s because I have been. Every night.”

“I hope I was worth the wait.”

Laughter fluttered out of Miura—something he hadn’t heard from the likes of Keitaro. “Then I’ll have you know,” Miura purred, “that you were.”

Smiling lips brushed over Ei’s. Rain dripped off their chins while they melted into one another again. And before Ei lost himself in those lovely lips, Miura’s words echoed in his soul.

“You always will be.”

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Ei blinked, as if he woke up from a deep slumber. The growth pod chimed as monitors flickered with reports on the recent sync and Ei’s vitals. He barely registered Ryoko’s voice humming in the speakers.

Not when his mind was elsewhere.

“Have yourself a good time?” she asked from the chair she borrowed when the lid popped open.

Ei rubbed his eyes, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck. Goosebumps teased his skin, no different from when he stood in the rainy alleyway and indulged in passionate kisses. That nearly convinced him to stay, but Miura insisted on not keeping Ei to himself for the remainder of the night. It was a shame the storm raged on or else Ei would’ve suggested returning to Sumire Bridge, watching the sunrise, and creating a new pleasant memory together.

Instead, they pried themselves apart and bid each other farewell.

“Promise me,” Miura’s voice still thrummed in Ei, “that this isn’t goodbye.”

It wasn’t. It never would be, so long as they were alive. Even if Miura remained in the simulation, there was an opportunity for him to leave it, if he so chose. Maybe if Ei visited him again—made a habit of it, even—he could coax Miura to join him in the real world. And maybe they could properly, finally start over together.

So Ei promised, sealing it with a kiss before he faded out of Sector 4. Seconds transpired since he last saw Miura and his heart ached from the absence. No doubt Ryoko saw more than enough to taunt Ei for the rest of his life, but no such ridicule graced the growth pod room.

And before Ei stepped out of his pod, another screen blipped into view. He smiled at the simple text message from an unknown user: When can I see you again?

“Yeah,” he replied, more to himself than to Ryoko. “I really did.”