Archive of Our Own

The clock strikes midnight, and Subaru is still awake.

Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, of course. He rarely sleeps before 2, if at all, and he's used to tracing patterns in the ceiling with his eyes until they dry out. That's if he even bothers to crawl into bed, rather than sit by the windowsill and count the stars in the sky.

Subaru never reaches more than five hundred. Beatrice makes sure of it, dragging herself out of her thick blanket and into the weary arms of her contractor. He'll blink, sigh, and hold her until he feels even slightly tired enough to lay down. Swaddled by the summer heat and the warmth of a cuddle, they'll spend their night hand in hand, her head against his chest.

But tonight's not that kind of night. His companion is in his arms as usual, but she's been basking in the moonlight with him, not once insisting on moving on over to their shared bed. She's been listening to him ramble about constellations and meteors, hearing him insist they're different to metias, and hasn't raised a single complaint yet.

Something's wrong. Probably. Or he's overthinking, and she's just really clingy for no reason other than missing him.

He worries his lip and remains quiet for a few seconds too long. If he doesn't say anything, Beatrice will pick up on it. If he says something…

She'll pick up on it.

With a surprising amount of energy, Subaru lifts himself and her off the chair, taking care not to shift her too much. He rolls his neck from side to side, working out the cricks and soreness from slouching in a chair all evening. It's a bad habit–one she's gotten on his case for a number of times–but he can't quite check how Beatrice is doing with his head against the headrest.

She grumbles a little at the sudden movement, scrunches her face up all cute, and Subaru wishes not for the first time he still had his phone.

"Okay, time for bed. You still awake?" Subaru asks, fixing a loose lock of hair on her face.

Beatrice blinks–once, twice–before processing what Subaru had said. "Betty isn't so weak as to fall asleep on you, in fact," she replies, eyelids still drooping heavily.

"Even though you always worm your way over to my side of the bed?"

"That has nothing to do with this, I suppose! Betty's Subaru is warm, so she naturally cuddles into him," she says, making a little noise of indignation.

Yeah, sure. He'd believe that, if not for the countless nights he's gone to bed shivering and found her curling warm hands around his cold wrists. It's a matter of pride, though, and he's quick to layer on compliments like blankets on their bedding.

"Cu~te. My Beako is the cutest," Subaru coos, carrying her towards their shared bed. He places her upright on the side of the bed, giving her time to kick off her slippers and glare at him for teasing her too much.

She sighs, and the little fog the noise generates reminds him how late it's gotten. The air has grown crisp and wintry in the fireplace's absence, long since extinguished by Frederica on her night sweep of the mansion. It hadn't been a problem when he was too busy holding her to his chest, but with her down on the bed, the cold had quickly chased out any lingering warmth hugging her brought.

Should he get a few more blankets? It wouldn't hurt to pile up before settling in—they can always throw them off, if it's too much—but he's not too sure if it's worth the effort in the first place.

Looking at Beatrice, he nods his head in the general direction of a few quilts on the dresser. She shakes her head, and he grabs an extra blanket anyway—for himself, this time. The action has her click her tongue at him, but she waits dutifully upright for him to come back.

Grinning, Subaru drops down and sits right next to Beatrice, draping the blanket over his lap. She turns her back to him, and he goes to work, combing through her twin tails using his fingers. It's quite therapeutic, honestly. They snag a few times, caught on a particularly stubborn lock of hair, and he makes sure to apologise each time it happens. As gentle as he's being, it's inevitable the action causes some discomfort, but she never really seems to protest.

He knows she can do it herself. It's not a complicated act by any means, and he's pretty sure she can change the form her hair takes, but it's…nice, detangling her hair before bed. Feels right to him, he guesses, in the same way putting his arm around Otto's shoulder or ruffling Garf's hair feels more instinctive than an active choice.

Like they're family. Not blood-related, but that hardly matters, right? They can't replace his parents, but they can make the pain in his chest a little bit lighter. Even if they don't know the full truth, even if he never sees his parents again, he…

Subaru pauses for a moment. Where'd that come from?

"Subaru?" Beatrice says, turning to face him. He jolts at the noise, pulling his hand out of her hair to slick his own hair back a bit. "Are you alright, in fact?"

That's a loaded question. Subaru's not, like, bottom of a barrel upset, if that's what she means. It's nothing too serious in his opinion. Just—lots to think about. Plenty to beat himself up over, but nothing active enough to warrant bothering her about it.

Best to let sleeping dogs lie, though he's certain Beatrice wouldn't agree with that sort of sentiment.

"Ah, yeah. Don't worry about it," he says, and takes care to look at anything but her, knowing exactly what kind of glance she'll be sending his way.

Beatrice grabs his hand, putting it on top of her head. She passes him a brush wordlessly, waiting for him to pick up from where he left off, and it's- sweet of her, honestly. She doesn't need to cut him that slack, but she does, and it's not lost on him how much she must be holding back. Just lets him stew for a bit, then gives him the right tools to pull himself out of his slump.

He gets back to work, focusing on her ends. They have a habit of being the most stubborn part of her hair, all too happy to curl back up, but not happy enough to stay tangle-free. Using his fingers first, he pries the knots in her hair loose, pulling the more tangled parts away from her hair to better separate the locks from themselves.

They make idle chatter as he goes through the usual motions, far more focused on getting her ready for bed than on anything they're talking about. It's all stuff he's heard or said a number of times prior, like her favourite book, his latest sewing project, or what they're planning to do tomorrow. Small talk, yeah, but the type that makes him feel all warm and homely.

It's as he's brushing her hair out that he finally slips up. The sensation's really soothing, see—kind of like stroking a cat, except the cat is a tired and reticent spirit, ready to curl up and call it a day. Which, same, but he's finally got this one persistent knot out, and it's only a few quick pulls of the brush until her hair's all done.

"You know, I never really expected brushing hair to be this relaxing," Subaru says. "It always looked like a hassle whenever Mom did it, but it's kinda satisfying brushing it out like this."

"Did you ever brush her hair, in fact?"

He pauses. This isn't the first time he's brought her up, but it still catches him off guard, hearing Beatrice ask about his mother. "Nah. Never saw any reason to, since she could take care of it herself, I guess. I didn't really get to ask if she'd… want something like that, anyway."

Beatrice nods, and he finds himself grateful she doesn't press the topic any further. There's a lot left unsaid in the ensuing silence, but it's a comfortable one, a form of quiet that gives them room to soak in each word the other says and doesn't say. Her lack of response is telling, to say the least, and he wonders if she's asking out of curiosity or a little bit of envy.

Or maybe he's projecting too hard onto her. Echidna doesn't really seem like the type to do something that domestic, but he's only ever seen the Echidna that tried to trick him into a contract. It's (probably) not fair of him to hold his own opinion of her over the years Beatrice had spent with her mother.

Fuck her, though. A neglectful parent is still a parent, but that doesn't make him any less angry for what she's done to them both.

He sighs, putting the hairbrush on their bedside table. Her hair's not perfect, still clumping together despite his efforts, but it's more than enough to leave Beatrice be for the night. His arm aches, and he's a bit sour from thinking about Echidna, so he can't really find it in himself to care that her hair's not in tip-top condition for bed.

Padding over to his side of the bed, he lays his blanket out atop the duvet. Subaru's already changed into his nightwear, aside from his slippers, and he takes no time at all kicking them off in some nondescript corner of their room. He pulls the blanket on his side up just enough to sneak in, taking a moment to appreciate the plump pillows and the smell of fresh linen coming off their bedsheets.

It's the smaller things taken for granted in life that act as tangible proof he's still here. Tasting a new homemade dish Petra's learned, sweeping the floors with Frederica, and looking after the residents yet to wake up with Ram.

They're also the things that make him feel the most lonely. Kind little actions that mean nothing, in the grand scheme of things, but mean everything to him once they're gone.

And as he looks at Beatrice, he can't help but wonder if she'll think the same of him when he goes too. He'll never ask her outright—no point raising death flags when he's finally got some peace—but the thought sticks with him nonetheless.

She says nothing in response, because she's not a mind reader. She's saying nothing at all, which is fine, but she's barely moved from where he'd left her on the side of the bed.

It's clear she's got something on her mind, given how quiet she's being, but he knows better than to push when he's been pushing her away for most of the evening. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't intentional, but the intent only makes him feel worse for keeping things from her.

So when she seems to finally settle on something, turning to face Subaru, he decides it's probably better to talk than to keep worrying her over nothing.

"How was your talk with Garfiel earlier?" Beatrice says, testing the waters.

"Fine, I guess." Subaru rubs the back of his neck. "He's been handling everything well. Frederica's still a sore spot, but I'm sure with Ram's help it'll be fine. More importantly, how've you been doing with Petra? You two getting along well?"

"It's none of your concern, in fact! She's incredibly bold, that girl... Always taking Betty around the Mansion... Like a certain contractor, I suppose," Beatrice says, speech clipping in and out of earshot.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"S-Subaru needn't worry about it, in fact." She coughs, clearing her throat. After a long pause, she continues, voice laden with barely hidden concern. "Anyway. Something is clearly bothering you, I suppose. Betty will hear out your troubles, so you should make sure to give her lots of praise, in fact."

That was quick. He blinks, momentarily stunned. "Of course. I would never skip out on praising my lovely Beako! But, uh... I'm not sure where to begin."

Beatrice grimaces. "Garfiel said something absurd, I suppose."

"Am I that easy to read?" Subaru says, pursing his lips.

"Betty prides herself on being a great observer, in fact."

"I wonder," Subaru hums. "Well, you're not wrong about that. We were talking about the trials and-it just hit a little close to home, you know?"

"Is this about losing your qualification? Betty wouldn't think that to affect you so dearly, I suppose."

"It wasn't about that. More about... what we saw. The content of the trials. He was telling me about the past he experienced."

Thinking about the trials for too long always gave him a headache. Even after meeting all the Witches, the brief flashes of the past hit him hard, and it had taken weeks for him to feel properly grounded in reality. Any mention of the subject often left him feeling woozy–something the others picked up on quickly–so he'd gotten used to taking a backseat whenever the topic came up.

Not like that's something unique to the trial. Subaru talks and talks, but he knows the line he walks when bringing up something that reveals too much about himself. The vice grip around his heart makes sure of it, and Subaru is more than willing to comply with its threat.

Something must've shown in his expression, going off of Beatrice's worried frown. That's–fine. He can work with that. Subaru swallows the lump in his throat, inhales, and opens his mouth to speak. Gets ready to give the excuse of the century–only for Beatrice to cut in, giving him no room to walk back the sadness, tiredness, nervousness or whatever else he's been feeling all night. It's hard to say for sure, but she picks it up all the same.

"Hm. Did he ask for your perspective, in fact? He should be more tactful, I suppose," Beatrice says, clicking her tongue in transparent disapproval. The sound's enough to make him wince, but he bites back the urge as best he can.

"Ah - no - he just wanted to tell somebody, I think," Subaru sputters, doing a wonderful job of covering his ass. "Garfiel's been toughing it out for a while. I don't mind hearing him out if it'll help at all."

At this, Beatrice rubs his knuckles fondly. Subaru can only imagine what exactly she's pieced together, and that lack of control–scares him, to say the least. She looks at him, eye to eye, her hand in his, and says nothing.

She examines him, and thinks, and thinks some more, until she lets his hand fall flat against his side.

"I'll take your word for it. Betty will believe in Subaru's strength of character, in fact."

Subaru lets Beatrice's words hang over his head, silent. He could take it. He's taken far worse, been to hell and back, so listening to someone's troubles was a drop in the well. Even if that well's water had long since hit the cobble lip, even if that drop broke the surface tension that kept him together–it would be okay. Subaru would-

He'd figure something out.

Next to him, Beatrice seems to be wriggling in and around the blankets on top of her. One leg goes out, then two - then neither, as she readjusts once more to the mild chill of their bedroom. He bites his cheek, suppressing a laugh. She looks like a puppy rolling around in the snow, legs and arms in all different directions.

If she keeps writhing, her hair's going to be a frizzy mess in the morning. He tries to pull the strands towards him, careful not to disturb her, but gives up after she nearly punches him in the chin while wriggling about.

She can't say he didn't try.

Subaru rolls on over to his side of the bed, pressing his cheek against the cold pillow. He's barely tired, mind running like a hamster on a wheel, but there's nothing really worth the effort of peeling himself out of bed.

So he stays in bed, stares up at the ceiling, and thinks about his place in the mansion.

It doesn't get easier over time. He's slept under this roof for months and still he can't help but feel like that unwelcome guest he was the first time he arrived. Subaru loves the mansion and its attendants. Would do anything for them, if his loops weren't proof enough. For all intents and purposes, they had quickly become family to him, and it had only made lying that much harder to bear.

That scares him. Not to the point of trembling or crying, but enough to make him draw the boundaries far enough that no one could ever truly get in.

This had started as the perfect redo for some of the loneliest times of his life. Living under the same roof as the girl of his dreams, spending nights with his sister, and attending to the innumerous chores the vast residence provided. For once in his life, he has people who stick with him outside of blood ties, but–

It's missing something. He knows he shouldn't take it for granted, and he knows he's got more than he probably deserves. As far as he can tell, this is his life from now on, and it's entirely possible he'll marry someone without his parents there to attend. He's already died before them.

There's always a chance he's wrong, but there's no guarantee he'll ever say "I'm home" to his mother or do sword practice with his father in the garden. Had it not been for Echidna, he's fairly sure he would've forgotten what their last meal together was. The only mementos he has left are his clothes and memories, but even they don't last forever.

Subaru could bring mayonnaise and all his favourite dishes into the Miload estate, but he couldn't bring his parents around to see how far he's come.

His heart aches.

Another shift in the duvets has him glance at Beatrice, fast asleep in bed. She's rolled over towards him, snuggling into his chest, and he readily takes the opportunity to embrace her. Stroking her head softly, he tries to once more readjust himself to be better propped up on the pillows. Might as well get comfortable if he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep.

Beatrice whines at the sudden movement, still clutching on to his shirt. Her small hands remain knit in the fabric of his pyjamas, and it's hard not to crack a smile at how clingy she's being. Even if he couldn't seek out the comfort of his parents anymore, he could at least promise to be that comfort for someone whose mother left her all alone.

She reminds him of Garfiel, to an extent. Both lost their family at far too young of an age, and it's only by their inner strength they're able to forge a new one with the people they've still got.

He's so proud of them. For their courage, and for how much they're willing to put their faith in him. Of course Garf would want to know–Subaru's not blind to how much the kid adores him, even if it feels a little misplaced. If he was Garfiel's age, he'd be asking too, desperate to know how he got through the first trial without breaking.

It's why he can't blame Garfiel for his curiosity. Nor could he find fault with Beatrice's tacit dismissal of Garf's impulsiveness.

Either way, Garfiel or not, the question had haunted him for days after the trial.

"What did you see during the first trial?"

It's something Subaru has all but heard from everyone around him. No one asked out of courtesy, but the curious stares from Garfiel and Emilia alike following the liberation of the Sanctuary had spoken volumes as to what they wanted to say. It's understandable, really. Subaru had to hold himself back from spinning the question back on Emilia, to pry into why the first trial had been so difficult for her. He'd speak about the values of being there for a friend, always willing to hear someone out, but it reads as curiosity all the same.

Consider it an equal trade-off. It sounds so much nicer than admitting he just wants to know more about his teenage crush.

Crush might be underselling it a little. They're close-have to be, since they've spent the best of themselves fighting for each other on two separate stormfronts. But that doesn't mean they know everything about each other. Case in point: she doesn't know about the whole dying thing, no one does, except for… The witches, if that counts, and Roswaal. Yikes.

In all fairness–he did try. Just didn't go as planned.

He'd give everything to be able to properly tell Garf and Emilia about the trials–about Earth–but he couldn't risk them asking questions he physically cannot answer. Subaru doesn't know the full extent of what others have said about Earth, but even a brief description of the differences between here and there feels out of this world.

It'd take either of them asking "how did you come here" to leave him reeling, and it's not exactly an uncommon question to ask. He's just been lucky enough no one's ever called into question what Beyond the Great Waterfall truly means.

Not like he's complaining, though. It allows him breathing room should he slip up and say something that raises a few eyebrows.

While he isn't opposed to talking about Earth, his knowledge never really came up in conversation. Outside of his wonderful invention of mayonnaise, he scarcely used anything he'd learned on Earth out of a lack of opportunity. Barely even exploited the things he brought with him to Lugunica. Granted, he hadn't really planned ahead or carried anything particularly useful.

Sure, his phone had been useful in negotiations and bartering. It's not exactly going to protect him from getting a lethal wound in battle, unless the Archbishops got super unlucky.

But much like his tracksuit, they were the only mementos he had from earth. All his photos of his family are inaccessible now, and it makes talking about his experiences so much harder without something tangible he can show them.

No way of introducing his new little sister to the rest of his family, either. She'll have to go off vague descriptions and Subaru's looks alone. It's not perfect, but he wants Beatrice to share in his memories of the people and places that made living worth it.

If there's one person who deserves to know about the world he came from, it's Beatrice. Someone who'd been isolated for centuries, who had seen the world shift through iterations of Roswaal, yet never left the forest of bookshelves she was left in. He wishes he could've been there for her sooner.

Subaru has been in Lugunica for barely a decimal of the time Beatrice has. He can't offer her the Kingdom, but he can at least share with her the peaceful days he spent with his loved ones.

His mother would have loved her. Would pat her head and rub circles on her back until the loneliness wore off. Beatrice hasn't experienced a family meal around the table in aeons, if ever, and the thought of that killed him inside.

As if on cue, the Spirit in his arms tightens her grip on his shirt, and her face scrunches up in what he assumes is thought. She seems to be stirring slightly, likely debating whether to leave the lull of her dream or stay asleep til morning. Subaru waits for a moment, careful not to move too much, and begins absently rubbing her back in thought.

He could tell her. He's told her much worse, held more heart-to-hearts with her than he ever had with his dad, but this feels more intimate than anything he's said before. Only Echidna had known and offered him that closure he never got. It's almost ironic that the first person he's seriously considered talking to is her not-daughter.

"I could tell you about it, if you like," Subaru whispers, only just loud enough to be heard.

Beatrice rubs her eyes, clearing them of sleep. Unfurling from her position on Subaru's chest, it takes a minute to register what exactly he's saying to her.

"About earlier, I suppose?"

"You're awake, huh? Yeah. I don't mind telling you, if you wanna know," Subaru answers.

"If you want Betty to know, she will hear you out. If this is something you don't want to share, then don't, I suppose."

It's an easy out. She's not going to push the issue, which he appreciates, and instead leaves him with an option to back away before he has the chance to weasel out himself. Her answer is nothing he hasn't heard before, but the words ease the pressure on his chest far more than he'd like to admit.

Each word carries its own weight, laden with tired support, spoken more out of habit than true intent. They've done this song and dance so many times it's become muscle memory, picking the right words to say out of a wealth of options they've tried the night before, or the night before that, or—

Caring for someone is indescribably complicated. Caring for Subaru is a Trial in and of itself, and he's always amazed at how level Beatrice can be despite his…everything. If he asks, he knows she'll deny it as tedious, but it doesn't make the fact that trying to be there is a challenge—one she actively engages in, but no doubt one that actively weighs on her. He doesn't want to burden her more than he already does, but he doesn't want to make her worry either. Both options feel like lead on his tongue.

It's so easy to back out now, quit while he's ahead, and refuse to give his thoughts a voice. Subaru can avoid his problems for as long as he likes. But how long can he keep running?

Forever, probably. Time holds little meaning to either of them.

He clenches and unclenches his fist, staring at the motion with passive interest. This is something that he's probably going to regret later, when the memories he'd repressed all come flooding back, but he didn't want to stop himself.

Subaru's come this far with her by his side. Taken down the Great Hare together, trained together, slept together. They're family in all but blood, and she deserves to know about his parents just as much as he does.

"I want you to know. You, more than anyone else in the world right now," he says.

She reacts the exact way he expects. First by peeling herself away from him, giving him that physical space to talk comfortably while close by her all the same. Then, as the words truly sink in, her expression shifts. Her eyebrows furrow, and her lips press together thinly. Beatrice's face goes all taut and concerned, but it's hard to conceal the way her eyes light up at the "more than anyone else" part of his speech. It's cute, and he really wants to tease her for it, but there's a time and place for that sort of thing.

When she nods, he breathes in, holds it for a few seconds, and breathes out. His heart starts beating like crazy, too–he's lucky Beatrice moved away, or she would've heard the thump, thump, thump more than anything he would've said. But it's not like he can calm himself down, either. Being vulnerable is intense work. It's why he prefers helping over being helped–there's less risk of saying too much when it's not you under the microscope.

How should he even begin? Does he bring up the tea parties, or should he just jump into the first trial? Does she know how the trials work?

One thing at a time, he reminds himself. If she gets confused, she can always just ask.

Okay.

Time for him to open up about some of his biggest insecurities like it's no big deal. Nothing could go wrong, except for possibly everything, but he's trying not to think about that.

Trying and failing, mind. But trying nonetheless.

…He's stalling.

"Before I met Emilia," Subaru starts, voice thick and weighty, "I lived in a place far away from Lugunica."

"Beyond the Great Waterfall, I suppose," Beatrice adds.

He nods amicably.

"It was just me, my mother, and my father. Our house was tiny compared to all this." Subaru waves his arms around the room, trying to encompass the mansion in his grasp. "But it was perfect for us. The kitchen was just the right size, and man, I can't tell you how much I miss only having to walk downstairs for a midnight snack."

Now? He has maids more than willing to cook and provide for him. It's a luxury, one he really can't complain about, but it's the convenience that makes him all homesick. Everything is provided for him, which means no more late night store trips, no more snooping through the magazine rack to pass some time, and no more running errands for his mom and dad just before dinner.

Subaru could, theoretically, become a total recluse and never have to worry about a thing. The thought should, would normally feel like second nature after months of being a shut-in, but it's something he's never really thought about since meeting all the mansion residents. They've given him a reason to wake up each morning and pitch in with any housework left undone.

Still, he can't help but miss all the things that made modern life easier. Having a vacuum cleaner instead of a broom, or having a heated blanket instead of bundling up when the nights start to drag on and the temperature starts to drop.

"There were a lot of things like that, thinking about it. If I wanted to contact you or Otto or even Reinhard, I could send a message and it'd reach you in an instant. I wouldn't need to write a letter, nor come see you in person, even if that's always a plus with you," Subaru teases, rolling over to give her an obligatory pat on the head.

He expects her to shrug him off a bit, or for her to try and focus the conversation back on what his issue is. Instead, she leans into his touch, content to soak up the affection like a sponge, and he's so pleasantly surprised at how readily she accepts him scruffing up her hair in response.

Beatrice even takes his other hand and holds it like a teddy bear, close to her chest and right by her heart. The sight reminds him of how he'd sneak into his parent's room, crawling up the blankets and nestling himself in between their arms whenever he felt lonely. Their warmth kept the scary thoughts at bay, and he wonders if Beatrice has ever felt that heat in the same way he has.

"I took a lot of it for granted. You don't really think about the things you'll miss until you're missing them."

Like the feeling of lazing under a kotatsu, peeling an orange, listening to your dad talk about his day. Making plans to visit a shrine together when the snow clears up. Wishing that you'll get a girlfriend, and that your parents stay in good health for the new year. Wearing the scarf your mother knit for you herself, far too short to drape down his uniform, but long enough to keep his neck protected from the bitter cold.

Subaru smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Like food, for example. I can make mayonnaise off by heart, but I can't make my mom's favourite dish without the recipe. The only recipes I learned were the ones I liked, and I thought that was okay at the time. If I wanted anything else, I could just ask Mom to teach me. "

Kararagi was a godsend, at one point. Japanese architecture, the Kansai dialect and the cuisine he recognises from the menus outside of restaurants in his hometown. It felt like Japan, and more importantly, it gave him hope he'd find that one thing that reminded him of home.

He had tried an okonomiyaki and it just wasn't the same. The seasonings were right, and it had the right consistency, but it wasn't his mother's. It wasn't even close, and that only solidified how far away his parents are.

"I never did ask her. I know what her favourite food is, but it's too late to learn it, and it's–silly. I know it's silly to get upset at this. But I don't have anything to remember her by. Not even a photo, or a note, or something I can look at and go 'This is Mom. She's still with me, even if she's not here physically.'"

Beatrice looks at him, and he knows he's talking off topic but he doesn't want to acknowledge the day he disappeared. Saying the words out loud makes it feel more real, somehow. It forces him to address the reality that he might not get to go back home.

That his only closure was through Echidna–someone who took his trust, his faith, and used him without remorse. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

"But I don't have anything like that. All I have are my memories, but it's only a matter of time before I start forgetting the small things I never paid attention to. I don't even remember the names of my grandparents, or if I've ever met them. They could be alive, or dead, and I won't ever know."

The same goes for his parents, too. They could be alive and well, living only with each other, or they could have had another kid. There's also a chance they've died in the months he's been gone, struck in some fatal accident that took them out together.

Subaru could have a little brother, or he could be an orphan, but he'd never know for sure.

"I'm rambling. I know I'm rambling. It's just…hard. The words I want to say just won't come out."

He doesn't notice Beatrice getting up out of bed, giving him an unreadable look from the bedroom door. Far too much is playing on his mind to even think about her and–it sounds really bad. Of course he thinks about her, but he's thinking of what to tell her more than what her reaction has been to everything he's said so far.

So he sits there, tongue tied, consumed by every thought that passes by him. It's only thanks to her pressing a cold glass of water against his cheek that he manages to snap out of his own stupor.

"Thanks," he murmurs, voice hoarse.

Beatrice strokes his head in kind, the soothing motion enough to loosen that lump in his throat a little. In his glass, Subaru's reflection frowns at him. He swirls the water around enough to disturb the image.

The gesture seems to catch Beatrice's eye, and she tosses him another worried look from the other side of the bed.

"You don't have to keep going if you don't wish to, I suppose," she reminds him.

Subaru wants to keep going, though. Wants her to know about him the same way he knows about her. He nods at her, flashing a weak smile in thanks, and goes back to staring at his own reflection in the water. It smiles back at him.

"I didn't intend on coming to Lugunica. I was just heading out for a bit. I thought it'd take 10 minutes, tops. So when–"

There's a noticeable tremor in his hands. His waters shaking–not enough to spill completely, but enough to splash a fat droplet on his lap and get him to finally convey what he's been struggling with this whole time.

"When my mom was at the door, I didn't say goodbye."

The 'I never saw her again' remains unsaid.

Beatrice says nothing. She's been so quiet this entire time, stewing in every word he says, and it's the first time he's struggled to read what she's thinking.

When he says 'mom,' is she picturing his mother? Or does she picture Echidna instead?

The room grows cold in the silence, causing him to pull up the blankets up his torso. Whatever Beatrice is thinking–he's sure she won't do something like pity him, but he wonders how much she'll read into the things he's saying. She's been around for far, far longer than he can even think about, and has no doubt loved and lost just as much as he has.

And maybe he's being selfish, wanting Beatrice to know about his fear of losing people. Being human means he's bound to leave her behind too.

But there's a comfort that comes with actually addressing the elephant in the room. They have a limited amount of time together, and it's never going to be enough for either of them, but it's all they have. Better to make that time count, finding reassurance in the family that remains, rather than grieve for a future that just isn't meant to be.

It's not easy. It's one of the most difficult things he's had to deal with, but he's with the one person who's been there hundreds of times prior.

So when Beatrice finally speaks, he goes stock still, and soaks in her words like gospel.

"Betty didn't say goodbye either. It was far too late for me to say anything that mattered, so I let my objections go unsaid, in fact," she says.

"No matter how much I wanted to cry or beg her to stay, Betty listened to Mother. I didn't want to be left alone, but what good comes from knowing that fact, I wonder? Begging Mother to stay would have made no difference. It should have made no difference, but…"

"Knowing that doesn't make it easier," Subaru finishes.

He gets it, honestly. Regardless of whatever he did or didn't say to his mom, he wasn't going to see them again. That longing feeling, that yearning to say something to his family–it would have always stuck with him, even if he had managed to give them a proper goodbye.

But that doesn't stop them from thinking about the what-ifs; the possibility that Echidna would have stayed if Beatrice asked, or that Subaru would've been able to go home had he said something to his mom.

"Betty waited, and waited, and waited to hear from Mother again, I suppose. It was far easier to believe that it was some elaborate test than to accept that she was gone," she says.

A test always comes with two outcomes. There's no weird grey area to worry about, and that's the whole issue for the both of them, right? No one's told them what the right answer is, so they'll spend years wondering if their conclusions were wrong. If Satella can bring him to Lugunica, there's a chance she could bring him home, too.

And if there's an Echidna that occupies the Castle of Dreams, there's a chance Beatrice can see her mother again. Without a clear answer—a line drawn in the sand—they could lose the opportunity to finally talk to the people they've lost. Sure, being wrong isn't a sin, but the guilt weighs on him all the same.

Weighs on her, too. He places a comforting hand to her cheek, but finds himself surprised at how dry her eyes are. She's come a long way, huh?

He could learn a thing or two from her.

"There were many days Betty would question whether this was what Mother wanted, I suppose. It's not something that can so easily be answered by a 'yes' or 'no.' But at the very least–just a little bit–Betty would like to think Mother is proud of me, in fact."

"Of course she's proud of you. How could she not be?" Subaru exclaims, voice just a tad too loud for how late it is at night.

But he can't help it. Beatrice is one of the greatest people he's ever met, so kind and so true to herself, and it's an insult to think she's in any way a disappointment.

It doesn't matter if she does right by Echidna's standards. Familial love is unconditional, unrestricted, and it's certainly not something that wavers based on how much a child takes their parent's word as something near biblical.

He may not have known the same Echidna Beatrice does, but he knows just how proud he is of the girl in front of him.

"You…really don't see it, do you?" Beatrice asks, looking somewhat–heartbroken, maybe?

Is it that hard for her to see why people love her? Has he not done a good enough job showing her four hundred years' worth of love?

The bed creaks below them, and Subaru feels Beatrice's hand come to rest on his shoulder. He doesn't quite know what to say. Whatever answer she's searching for is lost on him, with her hand quick to retreat back to his shirt upon realising that fact.

On his shirt, her fists tighten, shaking. They settle within moments, still clutching to his top like a lifeline. Beatrice does not look at him, and he gives her that privacy in turn.

"...Nevermind," she says. Her voice wobbles, but her tone reads as resigned.

Silence captures the room once more. Both try to avoid meeting each other's gaze, but it's almost an inevitability when they're this close together. There's so much both of them have to say, yet the words they have for each other never seem to match up.

They're similar, but far too different to make this easy. They know so much about each other, but that only makes it harder to say something new and meaningful. Everything they could possibly say has been said in countless conversations prior. If it hasn't sunk in already—

At what point do you call it quits? Is this something he can call quits on?

It's not. He'll listen to the same talking points until they start to sink in. They'll trip and fall, lose faith in the process, but they'll keep picking each other up for as long as it takes.

Before he can say anything, Beatrice sighs, likely having reached her own conclusion too. Releasing her grip on Subaru's pyjamas, she inhales, and continues her train of thought.

"In the centuries Betty has lived, there have been dozens who have come and gone through the Library entrusted to me, in fact. Betty has said goodbye more times than I care to admit, yet the one person I wished to say goodbye to had gone far sooner than I had hoped," she says.

Subaru's breath hitches, caught on how matter-of-fact Beatrice addresses his biggest (current) issue. If she notices, she says nothing, focusing more on getting everything off her chest.

"It was you who gave me that closure, seeing her for one last time, in fact. If Betty could give that closure for you in kind, I would without question."

But he's already gotten that send-off in the trial. He saw his parents again, and he said what he wanted, and they were so so good to him. They said everything he thought he wanted. Mom and Dad were proud of him, and loved him, but–

Why couldn't he accept that? Would they love him now, nose runny and eyes puffy?

They would, a small part of him replies. You're a product of their love.

As much comfort as that brought him–it didn't give him that satisfaction he had come to expect with closure. He's not quite sure what would, and that's the problem, right? All this—guilt? regret? — with no outlet.

He opens his mouth, but promptly closes it. What is there to say, exactly? Beatrice isn't saying anything wrong, but some part of him wants to argue with her and disagree with the idea she needs to fix him, or something.

And that's really unfair on her, when all she's trying to do is help. Subaru's only as upset with her as he is with the owls hooting outside, or the flicker of lights in the corridor as the manor retires for the night. Her caring for him isn't a problem. He just doesn't want to put a word to what he's been feeling, as if a name makes it all the more real to him.

She tilts her head, snapping her fingers in front of him, and he takes a few seconds to register what exactly she's been saying to him. How much did he miss?

A lot, going off how she purses her lips and retreats a little further back on the mattress. Fuck. Subaru starts to blabber out a string of apologies, but the sharp look she shoots him halts him in his tracks.

"Struggling with the concept of guilt and closure is normal, in fact. However." Beatrice raises a finger in front of his mouth, shushing him. "There was more to your trial than getting to say goodbye and making peace with all you have lost, I suppose."

He wants to argue a little, but there's not much he can really say to that. It's a bit…worrying, being read that easily, but it doesn't surprise him at all.

"...Yeah. You're just as smart as you are cute," Subaru says, rubbing the back of his nape.

Not for the first time, he thinks she's far too good for him. Still, selfishly, he runs his hand through her hair. Lets himself indulge in that feeling of being wanted, even if he knows he doesn't deserve it.

Beatrice comes closer to him. Forgives him without words, and grounds him enough to listen to her artificial heart thumping in tandem with his, a reminder that they're both alive. Her breath is warm, and her hands are little space heaters keeping the bite of winter at bay.

She tucks herself neatly into his side, moving his arm to cradle her so, so gently. Like she'd break if he put even an ounce of strength in his grip, and it's so, so ironic given how strong the girl in his arms truly is.

The hug doesn't bring him home to his parents. It doesn't wipe away the searing loneliness he feels when his dad doesn't burst down his bedroom door, mom right behind him. She's not a rebound from months of missing his family—she's an extension to it. A cut thread stitched into brand new fabric, right along the neat rows like it had always been there in the first place.

"If anyone can see these thoughts through to the end, It's Betty's contractor, in fact," Beatrice says. "Have more faith in the you I chose. If that's an insurmountable goal, have faith in the me that chose you, I suppose."

Believing in himself is hard. Loving himself is harder. They're both promises he's made, boulders on his back, but the weight of his word feels lighter with her by his side. With someone like Beatrice in his corner—with Garf, Otto, Emilia, Petra, everyone—there's gotta be some part of him that's worth all that.

They wouldn't stick by him if he wasn't worth it, right?

Maybe, just this once, he'll give himself a chance. Subaru closes his eyes, clearing his throat. He breathes in slowly, then holds that breath, holds, holds, lets it go. His chest rises and falls, heavy and steady, up and down.

One minute later, he opens his eyes.

"My trial… Echidna's trials and the first one in particular… they didn't just show you the past. They brought you to the exact moment of your deepest regret, requiring you to overcome that trauma in order to pass," he says.

"For Garfiel, it was a moment in his childhood that haunted him for years, and for me... It showed me at my lowest." Subaru curls his lip, shaking his head in dismay. "The time I had everything I could ask for, and still managed to take it for granted."

He pauses. There's so much he could tell her, but so much of what he's thinking of requires him to actually acknowledge the problems he has. He has no idea how she'll react to it either, so maybe it's better if he cuts himself off before he says something he'll regret.

But he promised to tell her. She's looking at him, tired but obliging, and he knows that if he waits till morning he'll find some way to distract them both from his reluctance to talk.

So he takes it from the top, starting with the person that meant the world to him and their little neighbourhood town.

"When I was a kid, all the adults in our neighbourhood used to dote on me. They'd tell me I was just like my dad, and it'd make my whole day just being compared to him."

Mom used to tell him how much he'd grin whenever he talked about his dad to someone. There was the inherent pride of being able to call someone like Kenichi his dad, and while he had grown to resent the comparisons between them, he never lost that feeling of admiration when his dad came up in conversation.

He can't help but wonder if he's grinning now, too.

"Everything about him was just so perfect. He was so strong, and so kind, and one of the most amazing people in the world. If you had any troubles, he'd help you in a heartbeat, even if it meant spending his entire day off getting you back on your feet."

"Like you, I suppose," Beatrice says.

He scoffs. "I wish. If I could be even a fraction of the man my dad was I'd be happy. He was always there for me and for a while I had thought I'd be able to match up to him some day, as long as I just imitated everything I saw at home."

It didn't matter if he wanted to be something else. Being his own person was far too daunting, and with the perfect template in front of him, he had even less of a reason to ever truly find himself. He would be Kenichi until his acting took over any last trace of his own personality.

Maybe it was better that way. The reboot's never as good as the original, right? Subaru's only been able to mean anything to people who've never met his dad, and it's so sickening how green he is with envy over it all.

He'd do anything to see his parents again. He'd do anything to keep his father's legacy as far from the Miload Mansion as possible.

If Kenichi could see him now, he'd be so disappointed.

"I would win medals at school, but none of it really mattered. It's what was expected of me. I was Natsuki Kenichi's son. 'Kenichi's son will surely grow up to be like his father' or 'Kenichi's son will surely turn out amazing' … it was never about me. It was about who I was, and I did my best to keep up but..." He tilts his head up, blinking a few times to stave off the tears.

Beatrice squeezes his hand in kind. "Keep going, Subaru. Betty is here for you."

Subaru squeezes back. The gesture's nothing special, but it's enough. Her presence is more than enough, more than he deserves, but he's not so wrapped up in himself to refuse to hold her hand. Like their contract, it's a link between them. Two people learning to be kind to themselves, step by step, hand in hand.

But there's so much he hates about himself. There's so many reasons to disregard him as just another waste of time.

Because as much as he writes off his problems as nothing, Subaru pities himself more than anyone in the world. It's a wonder no one's ever socked him in the jaw for it—excluding Julius, if that counts. He scoffs at the thought.

Figures. Of all the people to hold him accountable, it's that asshole.

"I tried to make things work. I kept to myself in middle school, made sure I wouldn't stand out. But I was alone, and that's the opposite of what my dad was like," he says. "So I tried something different in high school. Gave myself one last chance to be something, and it just resulted in me getting even further from living up to my dad's legacy."

"At that point, I finally realised what the problem was. That I would never be my dad, and that I'd never be worthy enough to call myself his son."

If he couldn't be his dad, who could he be? Subaru was a nobody. No one cared about him, and there was nothing more to him beyond the surface, and that's how it was meant to be. The only way he could get attention was to be somebody else, but when that failed–he was nothing.

It's completely different to now, where he's managed to worm his way in the hearts of the people around him. The Natsuki Subaru people know now is nothing like the Subaru everyone knew back home.

But even now, as he surrounds himself with people that care for him greatly, he can't see it. He can't see where the lines between his true personality and the reliable, determined version of himself the others see in him are drawn.

He's not reliable. He gives up easily and runs away when things get hard. He's clingy, and he's annoying, and a bit of a loser. Natsuki Subaru is a hero, but he isn't.

He's just plain old Subaru.

"I started skipping school. One or two days a week, I'd stay home and give excuse after excuse as to why I wasn't going in. Then it became three days, and four days, and within a few months of my high school debut, I was no longer attending high school," he says.

"Did your parents say anything, I suppose?" Beatrice asks.

Subaru shakes his head. They never even asked him why, content to wait for him to open up in his own time.

But he never did. Even in the trial, he couldn't tell them everything. They understood–of course they would, but it wasn't him who told them.

"I told myself this was the best option. That there was no point in trying, and I would continue to get hurt the longer I pretended that the back I'd been chasing since I was a kid was something within reach."

"No matter how much I tried, I never made it even a step closer to being like him. I could do everything my dad did, and I would still never match up to the real thing," he says.

It was easier to give up. Come up with excuses. Thoughts like "when it's past 8, I'll be late. If that's the case, then it can't be helped" became as natural as breathing to him. With no one holding him accountable, it didn't matter.

Why bother trying? It wasn't like anyone would've given him the time of day, anyway. All he had to his name was his family history, and even in that aspect he'd fallen short of people's expectations for him. Times change, people grow, but no matter how much Subaru tried he couldn't win that scrap of validation he so desperately sought from the people around him.

Because it was easier to thrive in self-pity than to put in an ounce of effort into being someone likeable. If wakes up late, it's the fault of his alarm clock not ringing. When his attendance plummets, it's his parent's fault for not stepping in more, for catching all the warning signs he was throwing.

Everyone's fault but his. He kind of wishes Julius could've beat the ego out of him sooner, but that'd require knowing the jerk for more time than he's comfortable with.

"I wanted my parents to hate me. I wanted them to demand I go back to class, or kick me out, or tell me they don't love me anymore. I needed to feel like my problems were something bigger, and the only ones who could give me that ultimate excuse were the people least likely to do so.

Beatrice's shoulders stiffen at that. Given her own complex relationship with Echidna, he wouldn't be surprised if she believed at one point that her mother had given up on her. Left her a gospel, a library, and nothing else but a promise Beatrice never managed to keep.

As she settles, Subaru reaches for the glass on his bedside table. After taking a sip for himself, he offers her the glass, which she readily accepts in turn.

Outside their window, the cicadas hum a pleasant tune. They listen to its song for a few moments, soaking in the noise of something other than them, and lean back on the stack of pillows behind them. The noise is surprisingly soothing, but he knows it'll grind on him soon enough.

Most things do, given enough time. Hear anything enough times and it'll drive you mad.

"Above everything else, I wanted a reason to give up. The way I was back then-I was pathetic." Subaru says, gritting his teeth. "But I didn't want to admit that I was losing my grip on what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be."

"So I resented being my parent's kid. It felt like I was doomed from the start, so there was never a point in trying to be anything more than that."

But they never gave up on him. Kenichi had done everything he could to bring Subaru back, and Naoko had waited for him to come to her first.

No one gave up on him. Emilia knighted him, Ram acknowledged his merits, Otto called him a friend and Rem called him a hero. To his parents, and to his friends, he was someone worth saving. To himself, he's an unlucky guy with more deaths on his conscience than people he'd actively call his friends. And to those he does—

When they look at him, what do they see?

Do they see the broken man bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders? Do they notice the creases in his smiles, the colour purple on his eyelids, signs of the same weakness he swears to bury?

The butterflies in Beatrice's eyes do not reflect him. The Subaru she sees is not the Subaru he is, and he gets it. Honestly, he does. Kenichi's more myth than man, one of the first people he'd latched onto, so it's unsurprising that Beatrice and Garf do the same to him in turn. Doesn't make it any more bearable, doesn't make him any less tempted to shake them down until they realise the full extent of what he is, but it's easier to understand it as more of a ducklings thing than something born from his own virtues and character.

With her only other reference being the woman who placed those butterflies there, taught her the world and made her remain in the four walls of an uncaring manor, Subaru's really not surprised she sees him as so much more.

Not surprised, but–annoyed, maybe? Like finding a stain on a black shirt. The only person who sees it is you, and that's the problem; you're aware it's wrong, you know no one else can see it, so the only person who can judge you for it is you.

And you're a far more unforgiving judge to yourself than to anyone who's wronged you.

At the end of the day, Subaru's got no one to blame but himself for this. He lies more than he thinks (which isn't hard) and he dresses himself in all black like he's allergic to colour.

It's no one's fault he remembers more than anyone else. But it doesn't make him any less frustrated when they worship an incomplete version of him, dismissing anything he says about himself as just self-deprecation.

They mean well. They really do. But he just—keeps fucking up, losing people, never able to come up with the right words at the right time. And he knows they can relate to that, but empathy doesn't make him any more capable. It doesn't let him see his parents again, and it doesn't bring Rem back.

Even if it could, the only person in the goddamned world who remembers them is him.

He bites his cheek, then lets his hands cradle his face in an attempt to hold himself back. Beatrice isn't at fault for caring about him. There's merit to getting everything off your chest, but he doesn't want that to come at the cost of hurting her more than he has in the past already.

She's already withdrawing from him, clearly worried about whatever rabbit hole he's gone down mentally. The act only adds to his mounting frustration, making it ever so harder to bite back the words that come to mind.

With a heavy exhale, he continues, grasping for something that wouldn't result in either of them blowing up at each other.

"I thought no one would understand me. That I was all alone, and that was my punishment for never being good enough," he says.

It's the wrong thing to say.

"But you are good enough, in fact!" Beatrice counters, a twitch of anger in her voice. "You were always good enough, but your own misconceptions blinded you to that fact, I suppose!"

"It's not a misconception!" Subaru snaps back.

If there's one person who sees Subaru for who he is, it's himself. Nobody—except, of fucking course, Echidna—knows the same Subaru he does, and it's always everyone else that gets a say in the type of person he is.

"I just think of you as a friend, Natsuki-san."

Why?

"So make sure ya do it right, Cap'n!"

Why him?

"You are my hero, Subaru-kun."

Why can't they see the version of him he sees?

"The Subaru that you see is nothing like the one each of us has grown to care for. Every word you have used to describe your father rings more true about you than any self-deprecating comment you've said, I suppose."

She's not seeing him. She can't see him, because he's nothing like his father. If he was, then he wouldn't have been rejected by everyone. He would've been happy, and back in school, and living a life his parents would be proud of.

Why can't she see it? It's so clear to him.

Beatrice pokes him in the chest, brows furrowed. "Were he here with us, Betty has no doubts he would be immensely proud of his son."

Would he be, though? Maybe Echidna was right—he had no way of knowing if his parents in the trial would've reacted the same way. It's entirely possible he came to a conclusion that best fitted him, and that he was far too arrogant to declare any other alternative an insult to his family.

"Parents love their children not for vanity, or for them to become an imitation of themselves, I suppose. Parents–your parents love you because of who you are."

Of course he knows that. Naoko told him that directly in the trial, and he's not so bull-headed as to think his parents had anything but good intentions with him. No shit they love him. Most parents do, and he's not questioning whether they loved him or not.

He's doubting himself. It just so happens that a huge part of his identity comes from the bits and pieces he's taken from his parents.

"Betty's contractor is full of love for everyone around him, but you need to extend that to yourself too, in fact. Your parents would hope you get better, not for your sake, but your own." She looks at him, stares deep, and he forces himself to keep eye contact until it gets too much to bear.

"We love you, Subaru. Not some abstraction, or ideal version of you, but the man who brought us all together, I suppose," she says.

"You're arrogant. Stubborn to a fault. You take up everything on your shoulders, but leave no room for others to help ease the load, in fact. Always willing to lend an ear, even at the cost of your own wellbeing."

"You're not the chivalrous knight saving the princess from the dragon, I suppose," Beatrice says, "but there's more than one type of hero, and more than one type of knight."

"More than anything, you're the man Betty has chosen, and I could not have chosen a better person to dedicate myself to, in fact."

Subaru has seen Beatrice cry before. He's seen her mourn centuries spent alone, seen her beg for someone to kill her, and been the reason she's died before.

There's only so many tears you can shed before you start to build yourself back up again. But like this—hands gripping him so desperately, body trembling under the weight of two people's worth of loneliness—it only makes him wonder if there's even a limit at all.

"I want to see you happy Subaru, to love yourself as you love us and your parents, in fact." Beatrice puts her hand on top of his, hoping he could see in himself what everyone else saw.

Subaru's tears fall like the beginning of summer rain. It's gentle enough for him not to notice, but enough for Beatrice to realise he's heard her loud and clear.

"I know. My parents said as much, but I can't forgive myself. I've forgotten so many memories with them, things I treasured so much," Subaru murmurs, sniffling a little, "yet completely forgot about."

There's so much weight on him to remember everything. From his family to Rem, school life to knighthood, every little detail takes more and more space in his head, and it's only a matter of time before the dam breaks. He can't afford to forget any of it, but he can't hold onto things forever, as much as he clings to the same old memories as an infant to its mother.

Forgetting feels like letting each memory die, and he's seen enough of that to rival any seasoned serial killer. He can't remain stuck in the past, he knows, but letting go is far too much for him to handle on his own.

"Then tell me, I suppose. If we can share in those memories, then it's not just Subaru who has the weight of remembering it all."

Beatrice is right, but he doesn't know what exactly to say. His head is pounding, mouth dry as a bone, and he's not sure if he's really ready to talk about some of the heavier stuff with her. Subaru wants to. More than anything, he wants someone else to share the burden with him, to help keep the memories of people she doesn't know alive.

They can take turns telling stories about the strangers they've met and the adventures they've been on before they met each other. Frederica can bring them some hot cocoa and rekindle the fireplace, giving them a reprieve from bundling up under layers and layers of blankets to keep warm. The pair of them have more than enough time to cover centuries worth of stories, and for the ones that need more time? He's more than willing to write a book on the great Kenichi and Naoko the world never knew.

But that's a tale for another day. As much as he goes on about their free time together, it's late, and he's not about to slip out of bed for an impromptu story time when they're both emotionally and physically exhausted.

Taking a sip of water, he sits for a bit, trying to think of the best story to tell her.

In the corner of his eye, he spots a vase sitting atop the wooden dresser. One of the flowers droops down towards the spare blankets, starting to wilt at the petal's edges, and he can't help but think "you and I both" seeing the state of the bouquet.

Rem used to replace the flowers regularly, back when they were still in the Mathers estate. Said they'd bring new colour to his room, and he'd tease her about it, make comments about how openly she's courting him. He doesn't know flower language, but he likes to think the ones she brought held meaning to her in some capacity.

Petra changes the flowers now. She doesn't pay as much attention to them as Rem did, replacing the flowers whenever they'd started wilting instead. The bouquets she chooses are lovely, but they're not the ones Rem would've chosen for him.

He places his glass down on the side table, and wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. Flowers probably don't make for the most interesting story about Earth, but if there's anything he wants to share with Beatrice, it's the family traditions that come to mind first.

"Every year we'd all go to the flower-viewing festival. Mom would set up the picnic early enough to get the best spot in the park, and we would watch all the cherry blossoms bloom and rain these little pink petals on us," he says.

"I used to think it was boring. I loved my mom's cooking, but the flowers weren't anything special. I'd complain about it a ton, but the flowers we saw together were one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen."

It's one of the few traditions they ever took to heart. Mom would always spend the previous day preparing layers upon layers of bento, taking time to fill their picnic basket with that weird fusion of Japanese and Western food she was known for.

She always prepared more food than they could eat, often giving out whole boxes and trays to any picnic goers who couldn't afford their own supplies. Sometimes they'd pack a section with seeds too, hurtling sesame and sunflower at the base of trees for squirrels and birds to enjoy the festival as much as the people do.

The petals weren't anything special by any means. What mattered most to him was family; seeing his mother dote on the neighbourhood kids running around, and seeing his father fall in love with her all over again. He never believed in magic—not til he saw it first hand—but the joy those flowers brought the people of his hometown? That was magical.

And it's something he'll likely never see again. There would be no more fishing petals out of his pockets and bags, or combing a stray blossom out of his mother's hair.

There would be no more family picnics, either.

"I took it for granted. Instead of enjoying spending time with my mom and dad, I was too hung up on things that really didn't matter, and ended up forgetting even going in the first place."

It's by chance he had seen a photo of them during the trial. He could've easily glossed over that picture, and never remembered the flowers, or the days they spent before he dropped out and became a recluse.

He's lucky. Subaru's got a good memory, something that's carried him loop after loop, and he's rarely had to worry about forgetting what's important. Ram forgot her own sister, and yet he's here whining about flowers like they're even remotely comparable. It feels selfish, focusing so much on his own grief, but it's the only grief he knows how to process.

Maybe he can afford to be a little selfish, for once.

"There was so much I had forgotten about. The bookstore I used to go to after school, and the udon place we always went to on special occasions–they were both so important to me, but I couldn't even remember their names."

Losing the memory itself was one thing. He's not some mega-genius with a photographic memory, and he's bound to lose one or two things as he grows up. What gets him most is the patches, with details more foggy than completely gone, because it's a lot harder to ignore an incomplete puzzle than no puzzle at all.

When he fills in the blanks, there's always a chance he's just making up whatever conclusion suits him most. Nothing can ever verify what's in his head, and that's the crux of the problem, isn't it?

"It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but if I can forget parts of the neighbourhood I grew up in, what else can I forget?"

The look Beatrice sends him is telling. He bites his lip, ready to apologise, but Beatrice quickly stops him.

"It's hard to say. What you may remember vividly now may become nothing but an afterthought in a few months' time, in fact."

She pauses for a moment, deep in thought. "You may not be able to preserve all that you hold precious to you, but you don't have to carry these moments alone, I suppose. Betty is here to support you, be that through noting your experiences down, or by listening to your stories at night, in fact."

Noting them down…? He's not sure how well that'd go, given how much context he'd have to layer into each story, but it might be nice putting it down on paper. Gives him a physical record of what he's been through, something he can add to whenever the anxiety sets in.

"And, well…" Beatrice adds, fidgeting, "Betty would like to try it, too. So you won't be alone in your endeavours, I suppose."

Diary writing, huh. It's an unusual family tradition, but a welcome one nonetheless.

They can write enough stories to fill their shelves, each narrative painstakingly crafted by hand. And when they've run out of things to write about, they'll make new memories to write about too. Beatrice can show him four hundred years worth of history, and he can show her a wealth of knowledge her Library never spoke of, giving her one more connection to the greediest person he's ever known.

The pages won't fill the part of him that misses his parents. A diary won't bring Echidna back, nor finally give Beatrice guidance on how to navigate years and years of solitude.

They're just books. The stories they hold are special to him, but it's Beatrice's passion for them that gives them meaning. He'll write as many books as it takes to keep her smiling, even if it costs him an arm and a leg in the process.

She means everything to him, and he's really nothing special. Still, for as long as she wants him, he'll do anything within his power to make her happy.

Subaru ruffles her hair, then leaves his hand to rest comfortably on top of her head. "I don't deserve you," he says, tone light but sincere all the same.

She pinches his cheek accordingly.

"What was that for!?" Subaru whines. The pinch barely even registers, but he makes a grand display of rubbing his cheek until the redness fades away.

"Cease putting yourself down like that. It is through your merits and tenacity that the mansion's residents are here today. Betty cannot make you see what's in front of you, but I will tolerate no disrespect to the man Betty chose, in fact."

"Even if he ended up disappointing you?"

He knows what her answer will be. He's still desperate to hear it, still that same young kid clamouring for his dad's approval, hoping for someone to finally notice him. All he wants is for people to care about him, and to have someone to equally care for.

Subaru's got the latter in his arms already. But no matter how many times he hears her praise him, the words never sit right, cloying kindness being far too much for him to acknowledge.

Despite everything, he just wants someone to say those four words once more.

"The person Betty chose is not some infallible hero, able to surmount any wall in front of him through sheer will alone. You are just as much of a hero as you are human, and that vulnerability is what makes you so endearing to the hearts you've touched, in fact," Beatrice says.

That's what bothers him most. Subaru isn't the type of hero who could rescue a damsel with ease, and it's that weakness that has him so distinct from his dad. Where Kenichi would be right in the action, taking blow after blow for his family, the most Subaru could do is die for them and reset the timeline.

He's by no means a cool, suave hero. He's just Subaru.

Rem's hero.

But maybe that's all he needs to be.

Mom said it best–that he's half her and half dad. He didn't have to be his dad, because he's more than just a carbon copy his parents raised. Subaru just has to be himself, whatever that means, and they would love him regardless of what type of person he becomes.

If that's the case, then perhaps it's okay if he's half hero, half human too.

Beatrice strokes his head. Runs her tiny hands through his hair, soothing him the same way he soothes her. She makes no comment on the tears running down his cheeks, or the vice grip he's got on the bedsheets.

"I'm proud of you, Subaru," she says.

The words leave him reeling, and it's–confusing, at first. This was all he wanted. Someone's finally acknowledging him, admiring all his hard work, but it stings much more than any insult ever could. He should be happy, throwing his arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug. Not sobbing, not trembling, just–vindicated. Worthy, for once in his life.

But it's all so bittersweet. Subaru's finally made someone proud, yet the sentiment only makes him miss them even more.

Why?

"It hurts," Subaru says. "I want to see them so badly. But I can't, and I'm just–so scared of forgetting. I don't want to forget them."

"I know," Beatrice tells him.

But she doesn't know. There's so much he needs to tell them. He's got enough words to fill a dictionary, but he's got no one to tell them to. No one to tuck him into bed, to wake him up in the morning, kiss his forehead and draw the curtains open.

Just one day. He'd do anything for just one day, just one opportunity to see them again. To tell them everything from the top, to hug them enough to last a lifetime, to finally show them how far their son has come. To hear those four words from his dad, so so proud of his son for becoming someone after all these years of not knowing who he is.

He never said goodbye to them. They'll never know what happened, and they'll always wonder. His case will grow cold if it hasn't already. Natsuki Subaru will be yet another unsolved disappearance, "buried" in an empty grave, and they'll never know the truth. The last time he'd seen Mom must haunt her. It haunts him just as much, always acting as a leash whenever he feels like he's finally becoming part of something.

In the corner of his eye, he sees Kenichi stand by the door, frowning. Then, as he blinks a thick tear bead away, the image vanishes. It's the first time he's seen his dad look so sombre.

Beatrice rubs his back, but he can barely feel the motion. Can barely feel anything beyond his chest aching, heart thumping and thumping and racing far too quickly for him to process.

"I can't let go. But I can't move forward. I'm stuck, and I can't do this. I can't be the person you need me to be. I can't."

Because he can't live in both worlds. Without even trying to find a way back, he's already given up on the possibility of going back to Japan. He'll cry and sob and beg for someone to bail him out, but no one's going to answer. If he didn't get a choice in being brought to Lugunica, what makes him think he'd get a choice in coming back?

He'll always doubt himself, whether the path he's walking on is the right one for him. But it's the path he's chosen to walk, hand in hand with Beatrice, Emilia, Rem, and everyone in their camp.

All he can do is keep going. One foot after another, doing as much as he can for the people he's got in front of him. It'll never be enough, but it's all he's got. They'll carry him across the finish line if they have to.

"I'm scared of losing you guys, too. If I went back, I'd lose you, and Emilia and Rem and Garfiel and–"

"You won't. Whatever path you choose, or route you take, you do so with the memories of everyone who led you to that path," she says heavily. "And you won't make that decision alone. You'll have Betty with you no matter what you plan on doing, in fact."

Looking at her hands, it takes a few moments to register the shaking he's seeing as more than just the result of his breakdown. She's full-on weeping, barely able to keep her voice level as she talks to him, and he's stunned for a moment. Beatrice had cried earlier, but the last time he'd seen her this distraught would've been…

God, he must've reopened some old wounds in her. It's only been recent she's laid her mother to rest, and he's not even sure if that made things any easier. She'll never hold it against him, far too forgiving for something like that, but he can't help but feel like an ass for putting her in that position in the first place.

Using the pad of his thumb, he wipes the tears from her eyes. She freezes at the touch, then melts into it, pressing her face against his hand eagerly.

"Subaru?" Beatrice asks, ever so quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Betty won't ever leave you. If you are to remember one thing, please make it this, in fact."

Yeah. He'll have the best little sister in the world right by his side, be it on Earth or right here in Lugunica. They'll spend the rest of his life together, and he'll dote on her with three centuries worth of love for as long as she wants him around.

If nothing else, they've got each other.

But even knowing that, the pain still resides in his chest. It's not something he can easily bounce back from, and that's okay. He doesn't need Beatrice to solve all his problems for him. He just needs her to be happy, and if part of her happiness is being there for Subaru, then he's glad that he means that much to her in the first place.

He's no longer alone. He never was, but it was her who made him realise that.

The weight on his shoulder lifts. For the first time in a while, he's at peace with himself, and it's surprising how quickly that feeling of tiredness swoops in once his head clears.

Maybe it shouldn't surprise him. He's scraped by all week on three to four hours of sleep a day, so it's likely his sudden drowsiness is his body's way of forcing him to take care of himself. Beatrice definitely isn't going to complain about him getting some shut eye, but he kind of wishes he had more time to chat about the more mundane, happy memories he has with his family.

Subaru wants to share it all with her. But he's got all the time in the world to tell her, and just as much time to cuddle his sister as much as he pleases.

"Beatrice?" he asks. When she doesn't respond, he looks down, and sees her cover a yawn with her hand in front of her mouth. Subaru laughs a little at the sight.

"Thank you," Subaru says. "I love you."

"Love you too, I s'pose," Beatrice mumbles, pressing her face into his chest.

They've no more words for each other. Everything's been said already, in a thousand ways and a thousand different forms. For once, the quiet is welcoming, a weighted blanket cradling them to sleep. It's indescribably warm. His eyelids droop, but he blinks back the drowsiness long enough to settle in a more comfortable position with her.

He kisses the top of her head, and pulls the duvets up high enough to cuddle the pair of them. Before closing his eyes, his gaze flickers to the vase, eyeing the petals as best he could with only the moonlight to aid him.

They're still wilting. Nothing's going to change that fact, but as he watches the light trace the shape of the petal, he doesn't seem to mind it. The flower's still got plenty of time left, and he does too.

So he closes his eyes, satisfied. He'll never stop missing home, but he's more than willing to start a new one with the family he's found 'll make new memories, good and bad, but they'll always have each other.

About five or so minutes later, when the clock strikes one thirty, Subaru is no longer awake.