Archive of Our Own ^beta

Makoto isn’t quite sure who came up with the idea.

Dealing with the aftermath of Towa City as a whole had proved more chaotic than burdensome. It went without saying that he would do anything for Komaru; her decision to stay with Toko and rekindle hope in Towa City was one he fully supported. Byakuya explained some of the logistics of the situation; moreover, Komaru's video helped fill in the lines. Future Foundation would hopefully never discover the truth of the Towa Company. Makoto would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Komaru, though. He held on to the wish that sometime in the future, they’d be able to reunite physically. The thought sent a weird sort of anxiety in his brain. What if she’d grown taller than him?

So Towa City had more or less been wrapped up in a hastily-made bow, leaving Makoto to his usual Future Foundation activities. Mornings slowly dipped into colder weather as the holiday season steadily progressed. There wasn’t much time to celebrate with festive activities, what with trying to stabilize the world out of an apocalyptic state.

“It’s a bummer, you know?” Aoi had muttered, on one of those days where the thirteenth and fourteenth Branches did field work together. “Maybe everyone would be a little happier.”

Group morale wasn’t necessarily a problem within the Future Foundation. The nature of their business naturally teetered toward serious- Hina just had a certain air around her that demanded cheer.

Makoto did not fail to notice, however, that even her smile was faltering. That the rest of the survivors hid the bags under their eyes with varying levels of success.

A loud cough interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to find a slick-haired man holding what appeared to be an envelope in his hands. The bitter stench of fumes wafted throughout the tent Makoto currently inhabited.

“You’re Makoto Naegi,” the man said, bordering on awestruck.

Makoto nodded. “I am.” Eventually, he would learn to control the blush in his cheeks whenever someone addressed him with reverence.

“This is from Headquarters.” The man handed him the envelope with clammy fingers, despite the frigid temperatures. He left after a few seconds of goggling.

Makoto flipped the letter over until both sides were carefully examined. The official stamp sealed it closed. Only his name, scrawled in neat script, was printed on the front. There was nothing on the back, perhaps to save resources. He opened the letter and unfolded it.

To Makoto Naegi

Future Foundation cordially invites you to a celebration dedicated to both the New Year and the Christmas season. You are heavily encouraged to attend. As one of the survivors of the 78th class, your presence would be a welcome motivation for all of us. Your comrades have received this letter. Selected Future Foundation members have been invited; due to safety concerns, multiple events will happen at different intervals to prevent any coordinated attack. Your event in particular will be confined to members of branches 12 through 14. Branch heads may or may not be in attendance. Time and date will be administered to you shortly.

Thank you for your consideration.

A staff party. They wanted him to attend a staff party.

Even more, he was practically required to go. Future Foundation weighed their words with steel precision. To outright demand him would contradict the slightly casual (if you could call it that) tone of the event, which sounded different from an informational meeting. This was purely for enjoyment. It seemed the Future Foundation had decided that in order to re-establish society,  effort must be put into “normal” aspects of life. Makoto agreed wholeheartedly that people needed something to look forward to. A staff party did technically accomplish this goal.

He carried on, per usual, letter tucked into his pants pocket. How would they contact him about the time and date? What space would they use to host a conglomeration of Branch members? There were obvious choices. Some convenient, some not.

It was terribly foreboding. He needed to find Kyoko, ask for her opinions on the letter; she had to have received one. Alas, this was a difficult task. Kyoko rested the title of Branch Fourteen Director on her shoulders, making it much harder to get a moment alone with her. He didn’t know if she was on site, either. Future Foundation tended to separate class seventy-eight during outside missions, due to the metaphorical bounties on their heads. Makoto hadn’t walked through the streets of his ruined city fully accompanied by his five friends since…well, since they were rescued. Living in a school perfectly catered towards their needs (mostly) was nowhere near on the same level as living in a wasteland. He still remembered the infighting.

“You stink, man!” Yasuhiro had cried one morning, pointing an ironically dirty finger at Toko. “It’s unhygienic.”

Toko scoffed. “Oh, and I s-suppose we’re not going to talk about the fact that you’re k-keeping a rat for a pet?”

Udon- who was a mouse, not a rat, as Yasuhiro stated for the fifteenth time that week- kept to himself and accepted the occasional rub on his head. He’d joined their party when Yasuhiro found him scampering around a grocery mart they were scavenging through.

“I don’t know why you keep that thing,” Byakuya muttered from his perch on a cloth-covered wooden crate (he refused to sit on the floor.)

“He’s a survivor,” Yasuhiro grinned. “Like us. We gotta stick together.”

Everyone had gone weirdly quiet at that. A feeling close to melancholy, the painful knowledge of their predicament, and what they’d gone through. It almost felt like they were regaining bits of the life forcefully wiped from their memories. The bickering, the soft smiles. Was this similar to how they talked back when they were really classmates? He knew meager bits and pieces of the answer to that question.

“Naegi.”

Makoto startled and whipped around. It took him a full two seconds to recognize the person in front of him as familiar, lavender hair tied back neatly in black ribbon.

“We need to talk,” Kyoko said. A letter appeared between gloved fingers.

“You got it too, huh?” Makoto sighed.

Kyoko studied her letter. “They want us to attend this…event. In order to cultivate a sense of community and gratitude.”

“That’s what it sounds like,” he said. “ It's probably safe to bet they’ll host it at Base.”

Grouping branches twelve through fourteen into one party was not a half-hearted decision. All members belonging to these factions were housed in what the Future Foundation called “West Base.” It would be too chaotic to stuff all fourteen branches into a single living quarters, but giving each its own hideout didn’t bode well for emergencies or communication issues. The next best thing was to group them off and spread them across the area surrounding Hopes Peak, ground zero, while the official headquarters lie somewhere completely off-grid. The Bases were each named after a different cardinal direction, though this had nothing to do with where they were located. Future Foundation carefully guarded these locations; to give them away in writing would be abnormal.

“I’m sure the others have received theirs,” Kyoko said. “Hopefully they’ll understand that Future Foundation isn’t exactly asking for our attendance.”

Oh, it would make Byakuya’s blood boil. He’d only just begun to tolerate the idea of existing in an outside world system where there was a higher power than him.

A small beep. Kyoko pulled back her jacket sleeve to peer at the slim watch on her wrist. “I have a conference call with Headquarters in five minutes. They may administer more information. I’ll see you later, Naegi.”

The formality of Kyoko’s demeanor never failed. He waved in response, and soon his tent was empty once more.

“Well, that happened,” he muttered, wondering if his zip-up would be accepted for the dress code. There had to be a dress code, right?

He didn’t hear from Kyoko until later that evening. West Base was a nice place to return to after toling around the rubble and smoke; the dining hall, dorms, and office rooms combined created a hotel-esque atmosphere. And while the Future Foundation limited their interaction during work, they apparently had no qualms about what the survivors of class seventy-eight did on their own time. It could be attributed to the higher security presence- top grade surveillance systems and armed guards patrolled at every waking moment. Whatever the case, Makoto was grateful.

They sat in the dining hall for dinner, at a table they’d basically designated as their own.

“I think it’ll be sweet,” Yasuhiro said. He shuffled through a deck of tarot cards.”Good to see they’re getting the sticks out of their butts.”

Practicing his skills in clairvoyance had worked itself into most of his downtime after receiving the news that his mother was safe and healthy. He wanted to impress her, he said, when they eventually reunited. The files received from the wreckage of Monaca Towa’s possessions described each captor in the demon hunting game. Upon seeing the photo of Hiroko Hagakure, there had been a little…confusion.

“No way that’s your Mom,” Aoi had gasped. They were in Makoto’s room, which had become a hotspot for activity, whenever the five of them wanted to discuss things only they could understand. Usually, most rooms came equipped with security cameras. Future Foundation agreed to forsake the technology for extra patrol groups on their floors subsequent to multiple of the Highschool Life of Mutual Killing survivors flat out refusing to stay in a room with cameras. It brought back too many memories.

Yasuhiro groaned in frustration. “I’m telling you, it is! That’s my own flesh and blood!”

“It’s indeed his mother,” Byakuya sniffed. “Looks like the apple fell very far from the tree.” He’d taken slight offense to the glasses Yasuhiro had started wearing, due to eyesight problems that apparently began during the Killing Game.

Aoi’s eyes glittered. “She’s just so pretty!”

“You guys don’t have to be rude about it,” Yasuhiro had muttered.

They’d stopped at his file. Other than Toko’s stinkbug, it was the only one that didn't bring immediate heartache.

In the present, Kyoko fiddled with a strand of her hair. “Headquarters confirmed through a secure link that it’ll be hosted here. In the banquet hall.”

"Kinda weird for all the secrecy in our letters,” Aoi said. She studied the High Priestess card with rapt attention; Yasuhiro had given it to her reversed, proclaiming it was her “vibe” lately.

“Headquarters loves to be needlessly omnipotent,” Byakuya snorted. This earned a shared look between Aoi and Yasuihiro.

Whispers wrapped around the table as people walked past. At a barely appropriate distance, Future Foundation members stole glances at the surviving party of class seventy-eight. Makoto sighed and tried to pay attention to the conversation in front of him. He could tell the others noticed it too- Byakuya did not try to hide his glare- but they’d all gotten used to it by now. None of them cared for the strange popularity.

“Yo, Naegi,” Yasuhiro’s voice sounded confident. “Here’s your card.”

A tarot card was slipped into his hand by Yasuhiro, and Makoto then noticed that Byakuya and Kyoko had additionally received their own. The former held Judgment, and the latter held The Chariot.

“What are you trying to convey?” Byakuya asked bluntly.

Yasuhiro laughed. “You’re telling me I know something Byakuya Togami doesn’t? Oh, man, I wish I had a camera!”

“Imbelice,” the sneer on Byakuya’s face did little to combat the humor of the situation. “I wouldn’t waste my time on things such as this.”

“Upright Judgment represents a major awakening, sometimes spiritual,” Kyoko said. “A transformation from the old patterns of life to a new being.”

The table fell into a stunned silence.

“Kirigi, you’re totally stealing my thunder right now!” Yasuhiro whined. It was evident he felt threatened by Kyoko’s vast amount of knowledge.

Aoi slid closer to the detective. “Do me next!”

“Nope, nuh uh,” Yasuhiro held his hands out in front of him in an ‘x’ configuration. “I’m the one who gives out that information.”

“Fine. What’s mine mean?” Aoi huffed.

“I can’t disclose that at this time.”

Light bickering erupted between the two. Makoto looked down at his card and found The Hierophant, reversed, staring back.

“Did they tell you the date, Kirigiri?” He asked. “For the staff party.”

“Next week, on Christmas Eve,” she reported. “I believe the letters we received were more personal. Other members are being informed by word-of-mouth tomorrow, or a couple days from now.”

The hierarchy system within Future Foundation was convoluted. As Director of the Fourteenth Branch, Kyoko would pass the information on to those below her in power, and it went on and on until finally, everyone invited would know. He wondered how exclusive an event this was.

Kyoko continued. “Fukawa won’t be attending. Headquarters believes it’d be better if she stayed in Towa City. My guess is that they don’t want party guests probing into an already delicate case.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Aoi retorted.

“I’m sure Naegi’s sister will be able to keep her occupied,” Byakuya said. “They’ve grown quite close, haven’t they?”

Makoto recalled the multiple times he’d seen them together through a laptop screen. It was true that, living under the same roof, the two girls had bonded in their own strange way. Toko appeared endeared towards Komaru- or as endeared as Toko Fukawa could be toward anyone.

A voice crackled to life on the intercom system and announced the dining hall would be closing in ten minutes. It was the same pitch and rhythm every time. A recording.  Whoever it belonged to sounded sweet, a doting teacher.

“Meeting adjourned, then. We can discuss this later.” Byakuya rose from his seat, walking off without excusing himself.

Eternally unequivocal. He always had to have the last word. Numbers down to four, the friends said goodnight and left for their own rooms. Makoto did not mention to them how he saw Byakuya slightly flinch when the intercom turned on. After all, the possibility that one day it would not be that melodious woman speaking; rather, a mocking voice, calling for a class trial, a dead body, or simply curfew, installed irrational fear in each of their hearts. Makoto padded through the carpeted floors of West Base and reminded himself that he was safe.

The bedroom Future Foundation assigned him didn’t demand a lot of attention, standard and practical. He flicked on the lights and began his nightly routine.

Sayaka greeted him in the bathroom.

Her smile flickered through the mirror, a haunting yet beautiful reflection. Vibrant blue hair wavered. Makoto took his toothbrush, continuing on, like he always did; her presence had stopped shocking him long ago.  

They all came in their own ways. Not exactly solid hallucinations, but fleeting images Future Foundation said were probably side effects of the slow memory restoration he was undergoing. Future Foundation had made it their mission to fully retrieve the past safely and sanely. His brain had been subjected to the extreme removal of both past events and past emotions. To try and bring them back all at once would be catastrophic; thus, he and the rest of his friends had scheduled appointments in the med-bay of West Base, in a restricted area where regular patients could not access. The sessions probed into the lost memories and initiated them to start unpeeling, similar to an orange. This process of “unpeeling” trickled into the weeks between appointments and, in response, Makoto’s brain reacted by casting mirages of his time at Hopes Peak- before the sky bled red and the air smelled of ash- in between blinks, or in his peripheral vision. There for a moment, then gone. Future Foundation came to the conclusion that his brain was trying to piece together the timeline of each memory, where it fit in the puzzle.

It was rotten luck that it’d manifested in such a cruel manner.

When Makoto first informed the Future Foundation medics about it, they’d gone around asking the others if they were experiencing the same thing. He admittedly had not asked nor wanted for that to happen. The medics reported back that, yes, to some extent, all of the survivors had these visions. He did not inquire about specifics. They gave them to him anyway. Frequency and intensity varied on the person; the subject of the images likely depended on who the survivors were closest to during that time. Because technically, the visions were memories. Just snapshots. Sayaka had smiled that same way in conversation or in passing back when Makoto knew her. Now he was remembering it through a mirror. What she said, what she did…yeah. They’d gotten ice cream that day.

He tucked himself into the warm covers of his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, it snowed. Makoto hadn’t known that was possible anymore. Fat white flakes drifted to the ground and covered it almost completely. He joined his friends in the dining hall for breakfast, smiling; they had forsaken their usual table for a booth near the window.

“It’s so beautiful!” Aoi said. Expression turning serious, she pressed her face closer to the glass. “I want to build a snowman.”

“Future Foundation would hardly allow that,” Byakuya reminded. He held a cup of coffee in his hands. The steam rolled off in tiny plumes, yet he drank with an impassive face.

Aoi muttered something about him being a “buzzkill”, to which Byakuya was about to protest, when Kyoko acknowledged Makoto’s presence.

“Surprised?” She asked, lips curving upward.

Grabbing a bagel off the platter in front of him, Makoto slid into the booth next to a yawning Yasuhiro. "Definitely. ‘Looks kinda out of place.”

“Get used to it,” said Byakuya. “Based on what I gathered from the former Ultimate Meteorologist, we’ll be seeing this for a while.”

Kyoko raised an eyebrow. “That’s information I collected.”

“Which I’m now giving to him,” Byakuya replied. “I hardly think how the information gets around is important, so long as it does.”

“It’s too early for this,” Yasuhiro said. He stretched his arms out across the backseat of the booth. “Let’s talk about something else. For example, what we're gonna wear to the party!”

It was typical for conversation to jump from topic to topic, from snark to laughter, at a rapid pace. Nondisputably, they were an odd group of people, and odd people in general. Their personality differences would spell disaster in any other situation; indeed, it almost had, back at Hopes Peak. Nevertheless, they prevailed. Makoto considered each of them his friend.

“I hate to burst your bubble,” Kyoko said. “Future Foundation dress code calls strictly for our uniforms, to maintain formality.”

Yasuhiro frowned. “Lame. Super lame. “

The snow had stopped falling outside. West Base stood smack in the middle of a winter wonderland. Soon the dining hall would close for breakfast and Branch Fourteen members would report to the digital callboard for specific assignments. Byakuya pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“This is a dignified event. I, of course, have attended many in my life. Obviously, the same can’t be said for you.” His tone wasn’t necessarily venomous, indicating that he at least held nothing against Yasuhiro for this fact.

“If they’re gonna throw a party, they should throw it right,” Yasuhiro argued. The implications of Byakuya’s statement didn’t seem to bother him; they’d grown used to their friend’s antics and had more than enough courage to tease him about his uptight personality. Byakuya would wonder aloud why he even associated with them- and so on, and so on.

“I bet we could do a better job,” Aoi joked.

An almost visible light bulb appeared over Yasuhiro's head. He said nothing, but looked deep in thought until, eventually, the announcement that the dining hall was closing sent everyone scattering to clean up. Makoto watched in the corner of his eyes as his friends departed for the call board. He turned his attention to the snow outside the window, and thus missed two things: one, Yasuhiro pulling aside Aoi and whispering into her ear, and two, Kyoko silently moving to stand beside him.

“Truly, it does look magical,” she observed.

Makoto started. He tried his best to play off the fact he’d nearly jumped out of his own suit.  “You’re too quiet for your own good, Kirigiri.”

The woman nodded, her nose scrunched. She stared out into the snow as if it were hiding a secret from her.

“When Hina mentioned the snowman,” she began, “I saw an image.”

There were differences in how each of his friends talked about the strange side effects of their mental restoration. Byakuya got frustrated at his inability to fill in the lines, Aoi turned solemn and silent.

“We built one,” Kyoko whispered. “Our class. I saw Fujisaki and Maizano rolling snow for the body. The more I think about it, the clearer the image becomes. Kuwata challenged the boys to a snowball fight.”

Makoto did not have that particular memory yet. Future Foundation assured the survivors that they would all reach the same destination of full restoration, though the process would vary from person to person. What Kyoko had experienced was new. The implications of a word or phrase triggering a vision would fascinate the workers in the med bay to no end.

“I didn’t contribute much to the snowman’s construction,” Kyoko admitted. “But I remember…enjoying myself. Immensely. We all did.” Bewilderment shone just barely through her resonance.

He was about to inquire deeper into her openness on what seemed to be an intimate memory when the sound of shoes against tile snapped them both to attention. They turned to greet the newcomer, a man with blonde spiky hair, clipboard close to his chest.

“Director! You’re needed.”

Kyoko hummed in acknowledgment. “Very well. Have a good day, Naegi.”

Responsibilities and requirements did not adhere to convenience. Ever since joining Future Foundation, Makoto had learned this unfortunate fact. He’d have to wait to catch Kirigiri at another time.

Head filled with pressing thoughts, he exited the dining hall, filing into the ranks of members who woke up late, scanning the call board for his assignment. On the right-hand corner of the board was a poster depicting the Remnants of Despair in small boxes. Their last known whereabouts were printed in red bold text under their pictures. Intimidating. Deadly.

Students at Hopes Peak, once upon a time.

The tie settled stiffly around Makoto’s neck.

Choosing to wear a new one wasn’t the best decision. Granted, they were all mostly new- he didn’t wear ties often. He bit his lip and tried to focus on perfecting his arrangement. Twenty minutes until the first official holiday staff party at Future Foundation began. Aoi had promised they’d meet up next to the main entrance of the banquet hall. She bounced around with such enthusiasm that Makoto couldn’t help but get excited himself. He didn’t remember the last time he’d attended a party.

Unprecedented, a rhythmic knock on the door echoed throughout the room.

Anxiety trickled into Makoto’s head. Seven pm was an odd hour for guests to appear- why hadn’t the person announced their presence? What if they were sneaking around, testing to see if he was home? He felt akin to an animal frozen in fight or fright.

“You’re being slow,” came Byakuya’s voice from behind the door. Makoto relaxed. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway to greet his unexpected visitor.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Byakuya let other people come to him, not the other way around.

“Don’t look so shocked,” the man said. Then, evidently reading Makoto’s mind on the irony conspiring: “I can do as I please.”

Makoto blinked; he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Did you want to walk to the party together?”

A beat. Silence spread between them. For a moment, unmasked shock flickered on Byakuya’s face. He composed himself quickly and, instead of answering, deflected with a disapproving tsk. “Your tie is tied wrong.”

Makoto looked down. It was. Shoot. And he had tried so hard, too.

He reached to fix the messy job, but to his surprise, Byakuya swatted his own hands away.

“You’ll only make things worse,” he said. Deft fingers brushing across Makoto’s suit, he quickly rearranged the tie to where it felt and looked pristine.

“Hopeless, honestly. You have to take better care of yourself. Now, come on. We don’t want to be late.”

They set out for the banquet hall in an awkward attempt at tandem. Makoto glimpsed Byakuya from the side, stunned at how he managed to favor so extraordinarily in his company-issued outfit. Poise and elegance must’ve been chiseled into his very being since he could draw breath. The light-year difference in their lives before attending Hopes Peak cemented the strange dynamic of their relationship…whatever that was. Makoto considered Byakuya his friend; he didn’t know if Byakuya reciprocated the feeling.

“Are you excited, Togami?” he asked.

Byakuya’s gaze did not tear away from the path in front of him. “Well, I admit I want to see what Future Foundation has prepared for us.”

“It’ll be nice to unwind and just have some fun,” Makoto shrugged.

“How unfortunate it is that you think this is the kind of event we are attending.”

Ominous, but when was he not? A knowledgeable look in his eye drew Makoto’s eyebrows down.

“There you two are!” Aoi’s voice echoed loudly. She, Kyoko, and Yasuhiro stood by the door to the banquet hall. The party had already started. Makoto heard soft conversation and light music.

“About time,” Yasuhiro said. He’d actually worn his tie, a reason to celebrate in itself.

“Right, because you’ve arrived early to everything in your life,” Aoi said. Her sarcasm cracked a small smile out of Kyoko.

“Don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you,” Yashuiro told Aoi, no real anger in his tone, though the familiarity with which Aoi responded to this comment- rolling her eyes with a smirk- confused Makoto.

“Did I miss something?” he questioned.

“Something ridiculous, probably.” Byakuya interrupted. “ Hurry up. We don’t want to keep our audience waiting.”

He opened the door to the banquet hall and walked inside. Oblivious to who exactly their “audience” was, Makoto followed, side by side with the others.

Decorative lights and quaint ribbons lay scattered up and down the pillars of the space; the carpet was plush under his feet; a record player had been hooked up to a speaker system, gently surrounding everyone in classical music.

Makoto immediately felt out of place.

He hadn’t expected such an elaborate setup. Future Foundation put a lot of effort into creating a defined atmosphere for their members. It was…surreal. Unbelievable. Like he could exit at that moment and walk out into blue air and shining buildings. People chatted politely, sipping sparkling cider, fraternizing without a care in the world. At least, that’s the way it seemed before Makoto stepped more than seven feet into the room. He swore everyone had shifted their attention toward him and his friends. They stole glances and whispered in the ear of the person nearest to them.

Kyoko didn’t look phased. “We should split up.”

“‘Give the peanut gallery something else to gawk over,” Aoi muttered, flustered blush lightly gracing her skin. She inhaled deeply and smiled. “Let’s enjoy ourselves!”

Cumbersomely, the group drifted apart to separate locations within the banquet hall. Kyoko slinked her way through the crowd. She played her part of detective even in a time when she was supposed to loosen up. Fun, he reminded himself. He was here to have fun. Future Foundation had asked- well, slightly coerced- him to join the festivities.

“Mr. Naegi,” a voice said. “Excuse me?”

He rotated a few inches to find three Future Foundation members ram-rod straight. They mirrored students at a morning assembly.

“Wow, you’re really him,” the male of the group said.

Makoto chuckled nervously. “I am.” The phrase was automatic. He watched one of the women cross her arms in awe.

“It’s not the same seeing you in person,” she said. “I mean, we all watched the broadcasts.’Hard not to. You were so brave in there.”

His stomach fell. He knew the entirety of the killing game had been livestreamed across Japan, infecting those already weak and pessimistic with despair only possible from seeing the best of the best crumble and die, mere ants under a boot. He’d promised he'd survive for his friends. And he had. Now it was no longer survival on his mind, but reconstruction. People looked up to him, members of Future Foundation or not. He didn’t want to let them down- because it’d be letting his friends down, wouldn’t it?

“It’s a shame what happened to that Maizono girl,” the man lamented. “To all of them.”

“Do you remember anything about Enoshima?” a woman asked. “From before?”

Of course he did. She haunted him just the same; she laughed at him, teased him, asked for homework answers. He could hardly look at her image without feeling nauseous.

“I, uhm- sorry. I’m feeling kinda dehydrated.”

They let him go. Unfortunately, more and more people introduced themselves, and anxiety built in his joints. Burning questions, praise, and even kind conversation- it all felt like a test. The members of Future Foundation were calmed by his presence. He couldn’t understand it. The drinks table inched back five feet every time someone came up to talk to him. Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Then an hour. Each conversation went by in a haze. Makoto was currently listening to a woman discuss report updates from different shelter bases. He nodded along to the best of his ability.

An arm wrapped around his shoulder loosely. “Hey, Naegi. Can I steal you for a sec?”

Yasuhiro. That scent of sandalwood was unmistakable. “Sure, o-okay.”

Once they were a reasonable distance from the woman, Yasuhiro sighed. “What a party, huh.”

He led Makoto over to a deserted corner and dug a cookie out of his pocket, holding it for the latter to take. Makoto declined.

“I’m not digging it at all,” Yasuhiro said. He popped the cookie into his mouth. “Udon isn’t either.”

“Udon?” gaped Makoto. “Don’t tell me-”

A squeak cut him off. Udon poked his head out of Yasuhiro's other pocket, tiny nose sniffing, searching.

“Obviously I had to bring him along!” Yasuhiro grinned. “He can’t stay holed up in my room, y'know."

Yes, Yasuhiro had kept Udon even after getting rescued. The mouse lived a surprisingly luxurious life in the cage Yasuhiro brought in from an old pet store.

“Anyway,” he said. “That’s besides the point.” He paused, reconsidering. “‘Or slightly related to the point? I think Kirigiri’s already left, so it’s your turn. Head to my room.”

“My turn for what-” Again, he was cut off by Yasuhiro grabbing his arm, keeping to the outskirts of the banquet hall. They stopped by the bathrooms. Which, Makoto immediately noticed, was right by the back entrance to the banquet hall. The dots began to connect.

Yasuhiro pointed to the bathroom door. “ Thanks again, man. I’ll just be a minute.”

He was gone in an instant. Still baffled, Makoto glanced around to see if anyone was watching; the party chugged along at a steady pace. No eyes were on him. They had no reason to be- it appeared as if Makoto was simply waiting for Yasuhiro to finish in the bathroom. He glanced at the back entrance. A destination and no explanation. He accepted the fact that this was absurd and discreetly slipped out the entrance. The door shut with a muted click.

Next step: Yasuhiro had said to go to his room. That was on the other side of West Base.

Makoto walked in silence, quite overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the staff party. Segments of thoughts danced around in his brain. They wouldn’t finish, cutting off to start another, unable to make sense of why he couldn’t handle simple conversation with his coworkers.

He arrived at Hiro’s door without a clue about what he was supposed to do now. From inside, he could hear laughter and…was that Byakuya speaking?

Makoto stood there for six seconds and finally knocked on the door. Giggles and chatter ceased.

“It’s me,” he offered.

The door flew open. Aoi beamed and pulled Makoto inside.

“Did Yasuhiro not tell you about the secret knock?”

He shook his head. This was not the biggest concern on his mind. He pointed, rather bluntly, at Aoi’s hair. “You let your hair down.”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “And I put Kirigiri’s up. There’s more, though!”

He walked further into the room in a dazed stumble. He’d been in here before, but it was as if someone had taken a magic wand and sprinkled fairy dust all over. LED lights glowed next to warm candles. A gaggle of beanbags sat in a circle in front of Yasuhiro's bed; there were pillows, blankets, and a ridiculous amount of board games in one corner. In the middle of the beanbags stood a cardboard box.

“This was the best you could manage?” Byakuya said, shifting around in his beanbag. It sagged and slumped against his efforts to sit composed and straight-postured.

Aoi snorted. “I told you, you can sit on the bed.”

The suggestion did not please Byakuya. He tilted his head toward the box. “Are you gonna tell us what’s in there?”

“Wait until Hiro arrives,” Aoi said.

On cue, someone knocked on the door in a funky and unorganized manner. Aoi ran up and ushered Yasuhiro inside the room. He laughed loudly when he saw Makoto, Byakuya, and Kyoko all sitting in beanbags, plopping onto one of his own. Udon crawled out of his pocket, scampering off into the darkness. Apparently, Yasuhiro gave him free range.

“I can’t believe we got this to work,” he said.

Makoto tentatively raised a hand. “What is…” he gestured around the room. “This?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now,” Kyoko said. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, true to Aoi’s word.

“We’re having a party, man,” Yasuhiro said. “Hina and I decided to have a backup plan if the Future Foundation thing was a dud. Which it was.”

It seemed their experience within the banquet hall hadn’t been too far off from Makoto’s. He’d caught glimpses of his friends here and there. None of them particularly looked like they were enjoying the party.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Byakuya chided. “Based on the letter, I instantly knew what our role was.” He spoke with the smallest hint of remorse, resignation. “We’re good for the morale of the members of Future Foundation. They see us in a normal setting- a celebration, for example- and have hope that in the future, such events await them. This is what Hopes Peak was designed for. People looked to Ultimates then, and they look to us now.” He struggled inwardly for a moment. “Especially you, Naegi.”

The acknowledgement weighed heavy in the air. After a few beats of silence, Yasuhiro groaned. “We’re here to let loose. This is a party! Not a stuffy, souped-up staff event. It's Christmas Eve, too. I don’t wanna hear any more of the depressing stuff. “

A small bead of sweat ran down Makoto's temple. “I don’t think we’re taking into consideration that we’re ditching a party Future Foundation organized for this.”

“It’s hardly our fault they threw such a drab gathering,” Byakuya said. “ Are they going to give us a stern talking to? We can come and go whenever we want.”

Yasuhiro tapped his nose, pointing a finger at Byakuya. He shot out of his seat and side-stepped over to his bed, kneeled, and pulled out a container from underneath the mattress frame.

It was a twelve-pack of beer.

“We’re normal people, having a normal, fun time. A couple of young adults hanging out together.”

Makoto was not old enough to drink, missing the mark by one year. He knew Aoi and Byakuya, both nineteen as well, were not permitted from a law standpoint. Kyoko had turned twenty in October (they baked her a cake and decorated her office with balloons), and Yasuhiro was twenty-one. So technically, the acquisition of beer, as long as Yasuhiro had been the one to buy it- steal it? It was anyone's guess- didn’t break any laws.

“I’m not drinking that cheap poison," Byakuya stated.

“That’s the fun part,” Aoi argued. “It’s cheap and probably shitty, but this is like, a core experience for people our age!”

Makoto could see how devoted Aoi and Yasuhiro were to the idea of having a “normal” night. Their high school years had been ripped away brutally; they’d witnessed countless die, holed themselves up in their school to wait out the end of the world, participated in a killing game designed by their classmates…the list went on.

He noticed how no one brought up how some of them would be drinking underage. It made sense. The moral dilemma became much smaller when compared to their life of killing at Hopes Peak.

Byakuya leaned over and opened the cardboard box. Craning his head, Makoto saw colorful fabric varying in patterns and size.

“You really did think of everything,” Byakuya asserted. It was the closest he’d gotten to approval of the groups’ antics in a while. He picked up a dress out of the box and held it like a cat by the scruff. “The quality is subpar, though.”

Aoi frowned. “Sorry, we’ll raid the luxury boutique next time. We wouldn’t want your skin to break out in a rash.”

Byakuya spluttered, offended, and Makoto looked at Aoi.

“Those are for us?” More and more clothes were being pulled out of the box and laid out. Dresses, tops, pants; a department store had thrown up all over the floor.

“Yep,” Yasuhiro affirmed. “A good party has good fits.”

Aoi held a mid-length white dress to Kyoko’s chest. It wasn’t frilly or gaudy, plain with long sleeves and soft material. Something for a calm hangout between friends.

“This one is so pretty!” Aoi said. “Cmon, let’s try it.”

Her own choice of wear already draped over her shoulder, she slid her hand into Kyoko’s and they walked into the on-suite bathroom. He heard a quiet, startled "Asahina-!" before the door shut.

“I’m good with turning around and changing if you guys are,” Yasuhiro swore. “Bros honor.”

“I’m not changing,” Byakuya said.

Makoto rummaged around until he discovered a comfortable shirt and pants combo. Truth be told, his Future Foundation uniform was getting a bit itchy.

“Fine, you can just stare at the wall till we’re done,” Yasuhiro said. “And at least ditch the blazer.”

Once everyone was in place, Byakuya had gotten through his complaints, and the girls were informed to exit only when given the green light, Makoto began to undress. He prayed no one would look around at the wrong time. A personal world record might’ve been completed; he nearly fell over trying to get his right leg through the pant hole as quickly as possible.

The boys agreed that everyone could turn around or come back into the room. Byakuya had, surprisingly, taken off his blazer, but kept his tie firmly in place. Yasuhiro's outfit consisted of baggy pants and a shirt. He relaxed back into his beanbag, grabbing a beer from the pack.

“Drink responsibly, kids.” He mimicked an old informational video shown to kids by their parents. Makoto remembered Komaru thinking she’d die drinking a single sip of alcohol if she was underage that first time they’d watched it, eight and nine respectively.

Soon the girls joined, Kyoko wearing the white dress, whereas Aoi sported an emerald blouse and dark blue shorts. The shorter girl fawned over Kyoko’s ability to make such a simple dress look beautiful and elegant. Makoto swore he saw the detective blush.

Everyone settled into their beanbag chairs. The start to their “party” was a little rocky. None of them seemed to have an expert grasp on what to do in this situation.

The beer might’ve helped.

“Three minutes,” Aoi said. They’d gone down a rabbit hole of quirky abilities, and Makoto had asked how long she could hold her breath underwater. “Four if I'm willing to push it.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”  Somehow, Byakuya had been convinced to take a few sips out of his drink- it seemed that despite his qualms, he needed release from the staff event as well. That, and Yasuhiro had bet he wouldn’t take a can because his tolerance was so low he’d pass out before he reached the bottom (“If I must sink to your level for a night,” he’d scowled, cracking open a beer.) Twenty minutes later, almost all of them were tipsy.

“Yeah, where’s the proof?” Yasuhiro asked.

Aoi crossed her arms. “We can go fill your bathtub with water. Right here, right now.”

“Please do not do that,” said Kyoko. Her designated beer can was still in the pack, tab sealed shut. It wasn’t a surprise for her to abstain from even a small amount of drinking; detective/director work required a clear mind, which Kyoko prided herself on. Nobody was going to tease her over it, either- they knew better.

Makoto didn’t enjoy the taste of the beer. However, he did enjoy the warm and tingling sensation it sent down his throat, calming him ever so slightly.

“Kirigiri, you okay?” he asked. She’d stayed quiet for a lot of the party, glancing back and forth between whoever was talking.

“Yes, of course,” she said unconvincingly. “Just…” With everyone waiting for her response- they had picked up on her mood too- she sighed. “I don’t have a lot of experience with this. I’m worried I’m not very fun to have around at a party.”

She wrung her gloved hands. “ I apologize if that’s the case.”

“Awh, Kiri!” Aoi whined.

“Quit pitying yourself,” Byakuya said. Then, as an afterthought (because Aoi was about to jab in the arm): “You’re adequate. That’s fine.”

Kyoko nodded her thanks, becoming more verbal as the minutes passed. She looked to be enjoying herself, surrounded by people who did not need her to be the ultimate detective or the Director of Branch Fourteen.

Aoi suddenly gasped. She shot up in her beanbag- an epiphany twinkled in her eyes.  “We should call Komaru and Fukawa!”

This earned a variety of responses. Yasuhiro was already pulling out his phone and dialing in the number for a video link. Any calls that went through this system were regulated by Future Foundation to prevent leaks. Makoto shared this with Yasuhiro, who did not stop, instead waving off his worry.

“So what if they see?” he questioned. “It’s the same as leaving that stupid event. They can’t punish us if we’re not breaking any rules.”

To Makoto, his logic was sound enough. He hadn’t talked to his sister in a while. Future Foundation would be okay with one call. They had no right not to be, anyway. They couldn’t complain when they’d brought him in as an attraction rather than a guest at the staff event.

Jeez. The beer had turned him snarky. It wasn’t Future Foundations' fault, nor did the blame belong to lower-status members with their uncomfortable questions.

His friends gathered around Yasuhiro’s phone, which was propped on the coffee table opposite his bed against the wall. Byakuya decided to stay in his beanbag. The link connected after a couple seconds, and Komaru’s face appeared across the tiny screen.

“Uhm, Hey Hagakure, is everything- oh! Makoto!”

He held up his hand in greeting. “Hi, sis.”

“You’re all here!” She leaned back and yelled out into the apartment she shared with Toko. “Toki! It’s Makoto and the others!”

Toko grumbled from somewhere off frame. She slid next to Komaru, staring at her classmates.

“Is T-Togami there?”

Kyoko answered quickly. “He’s in the restroom.”

The obsession Toko harbored toward Byakuya had served as a topic of great discussion since they escaped Hopes Peak. Makoto knew Komaru was helping the former Ultimate Writer with her unhealthier habits, one-sided attachment included. She had yet to cease frequently asking about Byakuya. Though she’d slowly dwindled her use of the word “Master”, so it was a start.

“Diarrhea,” Yasuhiro added with a smirk on his face. ”’ Sounds bad.”

Makoto tried to stifle his smile and forced himself not to look back; Byakuya was most certainly fuming on his beanbag.

“Okayyyyy,” Komaru drawled nervously. “It’s great to see you guys! Any reason for the call?”

Toko looked them up and down. “And…the outfits?”

“We’re having a party!” Aoi exclaimed.

They filled in the two girls on their activities, from receiving the original letter to present time. Komaru ooo’d and ahh’d at anything exciting or funny, and Toko listened, her expression shifting from indignation to minor disgust to confusion.

“Wow. That’s a lot.” Komaru giggled. “We’ve had a boring night.”

Toko made an offended noise. “I m-made dinner! Does that mean a-anything to you?”

On the other side of the screen, Makoto glanced at his friends. Surprised was an understatement of a feeling.

“It does, one hundred percent! “ insisted Komaru.

Conversation shifted from person to person; at one point, Yasuhiro, Komaru, and Toko engaged in a heated debate over tarot cards. It warmed Makoto's heart to see his sister laughing with his friends. They took turns talking, some on the phone with Komaru and Toko, while others sat back in their beanbags and shuffled through the board games.

“You’re doing well?” he asked his sister, alone by the phone. Toko had gone off-screen for a minute to “get work done.”

Komaru smiled knowingly. “You ask that every time we call. I’m doing great, Makoto.”

“You’ve come into your own so much! I remember when we were kids, and you sucked your thumb-“

His sister splayed her hands across her face, blushing. “We promised never to speak of that! I can’t believe…” She inched closer to the camera, doing a double-take. “Makoto. Are you drunk?”

Toko's voice barely reached audibility. “You’re seriously just figuring that out?”

“Oh my god, you are!” Komaru cried.

The embarrassment of being found out by his sister only made Makoto laugh. He’d finished his first can a second ago, mostly convinced that he wouldn’t start a second.

“Yeah, we all are,” Yasuhiro said. He shuffled next to Makoto. “Except Kirigiri. She’s too good for us.”

Kyoko looked up from her quiet conversation with Byakuya and opted to say nothing. The latter was still out of sight from Toko. He’d drained half his can, cheeks red. It seemed Yasuhiro hadn’t been that far off with his prediction.

“Y-you’re all hanging out without me.” Toko's head popped back into frame. “While I’m here, working to become an official m-member of Future Foundation.”

Komaru grabbed onto her arm like a sordid puppy and asked about her own importance in Toko’s life. A few seconds in, Toko conceded, muttering about how “persistent” she was. Makoto left them to talk with Yasuhiro. He looked around the room and noticed both Byakuya and Aoi were missing. Kyoko had joined Yasuhiro by the phone, leaving him to figure out the disappearances on his own. There weren’t many places to search. Staring into the bathroom, he heard muted clippings of words from outside the room, on the other side of the door.  Aoi and Byakuya. It would be rude to listen in on them.

He put his ear to the wood.

“And I know it’s totally stupid for me to be upset when I suggested we call-“

“It’s not.”

Aoi sounded near tears. “I hate feeling jealous, watching them laugh with each other. It’s so horrible. But I miss him. I miss Yuta.”

They hadn’t checked the other files of the Demon Hunting game participants besides Yasuhiro’s because they contained one of two things: the living loved ones of their dead friends, or the dead loved ones of their living friends. Unfortunately, Aoi’s file belonged to the second. The news was broken by Kyoko in her office; they’d known it would be a hard conversation, but no one had expected Aoi to storm out of the office to her room, packing a bag for Towa City. She needed to see him, she said, the truth not kicking her yet: there was nothing she could see.

Makoto did not meet Yuta Asahina. He would never mourn him the way Aoi did. Komaru was alive; he could see her breathing in front of him on a screen and eventually in real life. That wasn’t possible for the girl on the other side of the door, who always put others first.

“The nastier emotions are the ones we try to repress,” Byakuya said softly. Makoto hadn’t known his voice could do that. “It’s unwise. They just become stronger. Infectious.”

The chatter in the room made it hard to hear everything; not being able to see their faces also muddled things.

“Cry if you need to,” Byakuya continued. “Don't do it in front of me. I’ll give you time.”

Aoi sniffled. “You’re a lot less of an asshole when you’re drunk. Thanks, Togami.”

“Whatever.”

Makoto realized that Byakuya was coming back inside about four seconds before he put his hand on the doorknob. Unsure of a game plan, he skedaddled into the bathroom. Byakuya entered to find Makoto standing quite foolishly in the doorway.

“You’re a horrible eavesdropper,” he said.

Makoto wilted. “I thought I was being quiet.”

“No, you were,” said Byakuya. “Surprisingly. If you were trying to stage a scene where you were exiting the restroom after using it, you should’ve at least flushed the toilet, perhaps wet your hands. That way it would be convincing.”

There was no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“What you did for Hina was sweet,” he blurted.

“I beg your pardon?”

Makoto took a breath. “You comforted her. She’s been keeping a lot of stuff about her brother pent up. I think you helped.”

No longer could he hear Hina behind the door; she might’ve walked down the hall for privacy. He kept his volume low, just in case.

“I merely gave advice. “ Byakuya said. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” Makoto offered. A compromise.

Byakuya stared at him, observing, cynical. His eyes drooped in response to the beer and he blinked rapidly. The impenetrable facade he wore without fail slipped. For a young man with arguably one of the most privileged upbringings in the world, he was only human, at the end of the day.

Silently, he held out his hand. A sparkling four-leaf clover pin sat inside.

“I found it in the box,” he said. “You should know you’re extremely lucky to receive this from me. Consider it a Christmas present.”

Makoto took the pin. The green would match well with his outfit. He wondered how it had gotten in the cardboard box in the first place. Yasuhiro hadn’t mentioned where the box had come from.

“Aren’t you going to put it on?” Byakuya asked. He squinted in affronted expectancy.

“ Oh.” Makoto clumsily attached the pin to the collar of his shirt. His face felt warm. “Thank you.”

Byakuya tore his attention to the side, a silent dismissal. He wasn’t keen on talking anymore. Makoto walked back over to the phone- perplexed over the insanity of what had transpired-  just in time to hear Komaru saying goodbye.

“Leaving already?” Yasuhiro pouted.

“It’s almost midnight,” Toko deadpanned. She struck Makoto as someone five seconds away from dragging his sister off-screen.

“We’ll talk to you guys later, promise!” Komaru said. She perked up when Makoto came into frame. “Bye, big bro! Happy Christmas Eve.”

Makoto bid her farewell. The call shut off. Phone now at ten percent, Yasuhiro fretted with more distress than was needed for this situation. The weather delved into snowfall. Ice and snow began to stick to the windows, a flurry of white contrasting against the pitch-black blanket of night; Makoto yearned for hot chocolate, the kind his mom used to make.

The door opened. Aoi entered Yasuhiro's room and plopped down in her beanbag. She hadn’t tried to hide the fact she’d been crying, which Makoto thought was a good sign. She needn’t fear judgment from any of her friends.

“Did Komaru and Toko hang up?” she asked.

Togami followed suit, sitting in his beanbag. Aoi passed him on her way in. “Finally, yes.”

Midnight came and went without much fanfare. They played a card game Kyoko had learned when she was little; it proved to be complex, unsuitable for a bunch of young adults not in their right state of mind. Plenty of laughter emerged from struggling to figure out the rules of the game, bickering over whether or not a move was fair- they seemed to be going off of their personal beliefs rather than the limitations Kyoko gave- and who deserved to win.

“You can’t play that Queen, you idiot,” Byakuya told Yasuhiro. “And even if you could, it wouldn’t beat my King.”

Yasuhiro threw his hands in the air. “Are you saying a woman can’t do what a man can?"

“Listen here-“

The amount of beer each person had drunk, Makoto lost count. They showed various signs of intoxication, none of which were dangerous or overwhelming: clumsiness, giggling fits, heightened changes in emotions. He happily indulged himself in the jokes and actions of his friends. Another hour ticked by- the staff event had definitely ended by now.

Kyoko was painting Aoi’s nails after basically being begged to (“It’ll be really messy if I do it!”)

The polish must’ve emerged from somewhere within the room; none of them had left since Byakuya and Aoi exited for their conversation (Makoto wasn’t sure if she’d walked out and Byakuya had followed; if so, that active decision added a deeper level of revelation.) Even stranger, Aoi’s nails were pink. An image of Yasuhiro buying pink nail polish from the West Bases’ convenience store popped up in his head.

“The cold weather plays hell on my lips,” Aoi complained, taking the hand Kyoko had finished and brushing it against her mouth. Her words slightly slurred on different vowels. “They get so dried and cracked.”

Kyoko hummed in consideration. “Your lips are very plush. I think they’d be soft regardless of temperature. They’re beautiful, at any rate. ”

Kyoko wasn’t drunk in the slightest. She was awkward. Blunt.

It took less than three seconds for Aoi’s entire face to burn a dark fuchsia. “Uhm,” she squeaked, “Thanks.”

The night progressed in flashes of events. Yasuhiro tripped and almost fell into Makoto’s lap. Udon crawled into Byakuya’s beanbag, sending him jumping, screaming for them to “get it off this instant.” When they turned on the CD player for music, it blasted upon starting and they had to scramble to turn the volume down. Everyone forgot about the world outside. It ceased to exist. All that mattered was what transpired in this room.

Makoto saw his classmates, dead and alive.

Celestia sat in a corner drinking the tea she loved so much. She allowed polite titters to escape her mouth as Mondo lost an arm wrestling match to Sakura; Leon doubled over in laughter and earned a thump on the head from Mondo.

The scene was so bizarre he could only stare. Visions weren’t audible, hardly even physical- yet Makoto felt every second, like his classmates were right there. They flickered into the abyss, and a new one sprang to life: Sayaka, teaching what Makoto recognized as common idol exercises to Kiyotaka.

They’d thrown a party like this before. Sometime before the Tragedy, before the lockdown. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Guys,” he whispered. “Are you seeing this?”

Kyoko turned to him, concerned. “Naegi. You’re crying.”

The tears didn’t fall, welling up in folds. He wiped absentmindedly at his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Yasuhiro's hand on his shoulder.

Any previous conversation disappeared from the room. His friends were concerned- he’d made them worry. He stuttered out his next words. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s a…vision. Really vivid, too.”

A wave of understanding passed through them.

“I think we had a party like this,” Makoto said. The words were fuzzy in his mouth. “A class party. Do any of you remember it?”

He described the images he’d witnessed in base detail. Surely someone had to already have the memory returned to their consciousness. He watched everyone return to their beanbags if they’d been up. They sat in a circle together for the discussion to follow, a revamped morning meeting of sorts.

Aoi spoke first. “Yeah. It was the end of our second semester.”

The ghosts of Sayaka and Kiyotaka had departed. At least for Makoto, five people were left in the room.

“We had a great time,” Aoi said. “God, Makoto, I can’t imagine how horrible it is to get that right now.”

The similar circumstances indeed did not help. Yasuhiro leaned back in his beanbag so that his face looked directly up at the ceiling. “This whole restoration process sucks.” His lip quivered. “Dude. I miss our friends. That’s not weird, right?”

“No,” Kyoko said solemnly. “It’s not.”

They didn’t talk about their visions with each other. It was an unspoken rule, partially because of the instant sour taste it injected into the air. However, loosened by the drinks and in such a secluded place as this, with all of them there- bar Toko- Makoto reconsidered. “I never see any of you in the visions.”

Mutters of agreement.

“I have a hypothesis,” said Kyoko, undeterred. She dealt with grave moods better than anyone, though he could see this topic impacted her, too. “ There are memories in my head of you all from before they were stolen away. I think they are returning in the same way as the others, but since we can see and interact with each other, our brains don’t need to resort to creating visions in order to work through the fog.”

Makoto dug deep into his mind and searched specifically for the memories of the friends in front of him. They were happy to be called upon: Yasuhiro setting up a seance in his dorm one night and screaming so loud it woke everyone up- the rooms hadn’t originally functioned as fully soundproof - Aoi bringing in donuts for the class, Byakuya's surprise birthday party.

He refocused and caught the beginnings of tears in some of his friends' eyes.

“We don’t say their names.” Byakuya's voice cut through the tension, a piercing knife. No one had counted on him to speak, since his emotions weren’t tuned that way. His tone stayed respectful, even; Makoto swore he heard mourning as well. “Ever since we joined Future Foundation…I haven’t heard any of you say them.”

That was true. Makoto would whisper their names in his brain, usually when the visions occurred; he hadn’t said them aloud.

“Let’s do it. We can go around and say their names.”

His outburst brought on the stunned attention of all his friends. The calmness and certainty with which he’d declared his sentence was unexpected; it surprised him, too.  Determination burned in his heart. He couldn't explain it, this mysterious sense of needing. Of not closure, but the first steps. Healing, maybe?

Everyone steeled themselves for recitation. A silent agreement emerged, gut instinct; they would not follow the order of their deaths. They refused to number them off like a toll count.

Makoto began. “Yamada.”

They continued around their circle going clockwise. Yasuhiro was next.

“Fujisaki.”

Kyoko hesitated for a moment, teetering between options. “Ikusaba.”

A pause. Breaths’ caught, gazes became blank- they hadn’t ruled out Mukuro, of course; in Makoto’s opinion, she had the same right as her other classmates. This obligation could also coexist with the negative emotions regarding her actions.

Byakuya kept things moving along. “Celestia.” Contrary to the denial on his end, Celesita had been cut from neighboring cloth. His reciting her name could attest to a regard for that claim.

“Sakura.” Aoi’s voice caught at the end. Then, firmer: “Sakura.”

It came back to Makoto. “Maizano.”

“Ishimaru.”

“Kuwata.”

“Owada.”

There was one name left. One more person lost to the killing game, the mastermind behind it all. Makoto tried to get the name out of his mouth. He found he couldn’t and hung his head.

“Not yet,” Byakuya said. The understanding on his face mimicked the remaining people in the circle.

“No,” Makoto agreed. “Not yet.”

They sat in silence for a while. The ghosts of their classmates floated around the room. Makoto felt lighter, oddly enough. His classmates deserved for their names to be spoken. Despite their quirks and peculiarity, they were among those he cherished most. He wished they were all here to know that, and that his fear of losing the ones that were didn’t stop him from letting them know as well.

“I thought we said we were gonna stay away from the depressing shit,” joked Yasuhiro half-heartedly.

Aoi wiped a few stray tears off her face. “Guess not.”

“Okay, well, it’s gonna stop,” Yasuhiro stated. “ We’re here for them, right? So let’s party for them, too. If they wanna join, they can. But, I don’t know, we should try to be happy. Because we remember. They’re not really dead that way.”

Byakuya looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “When the hell did you become so…so…articulate?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, man. ‘Off the dome.”

And for whatever reason, Makoto started laughing. It was the funniest thing in the world to him. The laughter resonated in his stomach and erupted in long-winded jeers. He smiled so much it hurt.

“It wasn’t that funny, Makoto.” Aoi giggled.

Yasuhiro wagged his finger, taken aback. “Damn right it was! Don’t be mean.”

“I hate that god awful event they made us go to,” Byakuya said out of nowhere.

This caught everyone off guard. Byakuya was usually a lot more eloquent with his criticisms. Nobody disagreed, either.

“A woman asked me about Sakura’s trial,” Aoi mumbled. “She meant well. It still hurts.”

Makoto explained his many run-ins with the guests at the party. It seemed everyone experienced similar challenges.

“I didn’t get anything that serious.” Yasuhiro fiddled with his shirt collar. “People wanted to know what it was like sleeping every night.”

Answers straight from the horse's mouth. Future Foundation higher-ups had assumed the survivors of class 78 would satisfy some of the lingering fears among their other members.

“They’re curious.” Kyoko confided. She’d gone back to wringing her hands together, a nervous tic in the making. “They need to know what we overcame so they can assure themselves we’ll be able to handle the current state of the world.”

Aoi pressed on. “ But why us? Why don’t they go to the actual leaders?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

The venom Byakuya spat wasn’t directed toward the others; rather, at an imaginary pit dug deep into the ground. “ Because we survived. We survived what nobody else has.”

It was the truth nobody wanted to come to terms with. That seemed to be the running theme of their lives. Nights when he woke up screaming. Moments when he couldn’t step into the shower to bathe. It was becoming increasingly evident that the scars he bore- mental and physical- would burn for years to come.

“At least we have each other!” Aoi tried for a smile. The effort in itself lifted the sorrow and strife from their shoulders ever so slightly. Fate had dealt them a cruel hand, but they would play those cards to the best of their ability.

“Seriously, no more bummer vibes,” Yasuhiro said. “Going into effect…now.”

The clock read two AM. Exhausted from mental confessions and the influence of beer, the friends stayed silent, halfway asleep. Makoto blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“What did my tarot card mean?”

Yasuhiro scratched his hair. “Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten about that. What was the one I gave you again?”

“Uhm.”

“The Hierophant, reversed.” Bless Kyoko and her impeccable recall ability. She gracefully lifted one shoulder when Makoto gave his overbearing thanks.

“It means breaking from tradition. Trying an idea people tell you won’t work,” recounted Yasuhiro. “The card calls toward people searching for personal truth.”

Light snoring trickled in from Makoto’s left. Aoi had fallen asleep, curling in on herself in a tight ball. Byakuya was in the process of dozing off. His head would fall and his eyes would close; he’d jerk back up, and the cycle started over again.

“It might be totally bogus,” Yasuhiro warned.

The confusing thing was that Makoto knew it made perfect sense, somewhere deep in his bones. He couldn’t access the key to unlock this awareness. Perhaps it wanted to wait for the right moment.

A yawn escaped his throat. “I think we should sleep.”

Yasuhiro grabbed a blanket for himself and threw one to Byakuya. The latter didn’t reply and simply spread it over his body. Taking a blanket, Makoto snuggled deeper into his beanbag.

Warm, he thought.

The last thing he saw before sleep overtook his body was Kyoko lightly draping a blanket over Aoi, who’d dozed off without one. Kyoko conducted a quick once-over of everyone in the room and slumped into her beanbag, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

Safe.

He woke up with a roaring headache. Naturally.

“Guys! It’s snowing!” Yasuhiro hollered. He pointed out the window and, lo and behold, a steady snowfall rained down, building up higher and higher. Kyoko stood next to him; likely, she’d woken up before everyone else.

A grumbled voice came out from the pile of blankets and beanbag currently known as Byakuya Togami. “It was snowing yesterday, you Neanderthal.”

“Okay, but it’s Christmas.” He turned to the former ultimate affluent prodigy. “Whoa. You do not look good.”

Byakuya pulled his pillow over his head. “Shut up.”

“You do have low tolerance! I knew it!”

“Stop talking.”

Aoi blinked away her sleep and sat up with a start. “It’s Christmas.”

She joined Yasuhiro and Kyoko by the window. Makoto rubbed the skin between his temples, trying to rekindle his mind into thinking about anything comprehensive.

“Work?” he asked.

“Nah,” Yasuhiro said. “They said they’d give us Christmas Day off, remember?”

Makoto did not remember. He pretended like he did.

The next few minutes consisted of trying to rip Byakuya out of his beanbag, jumping up and down over the snow, and brainstorming ideas on how they were going to spend the day together- this decision didn't need to be said aloud, endorsed. They automatically assumed it was the plan everyone wanted. Indeed, it was.

“We need premium sticks for the snowman,” Aoi told Kyoko; she wrote the requirements for the perfect snowman on a notepad. “We might be able to snag a carrot from the kitchen.”

Byakuya, rising from his impromptu bed, polished the spectacles he’d forgotten to take off last night. He stated he’d join the festivities so long as he had a cup of coffee (he denied this was an attempt to levitate his hangover) This reminded everyone that breakfast existed. They begrudgingly agreed to brave the snow after braving the dining hall.

“Get dressed, and we can meet by our table,” Aoi said. She pumped a fist in the air. “Then fun!”

They left Yasuhiro’s room at different tempos. Byakuya stalked off, Aoi ran- he and Kyoko walked to their rooms in unison.

“They're gonna notice we left,” he said. One or two could’ve exited undetected. Five? Future Foundation must have known they coordinated something.

Kyoko shrugged. “So be it. I can deal with whatever they throw at us.”

Each step Makoto took, his body jolted. The clothes he’d fallen asleep in weren’t suitable for outside activities and did little to protect him, far away from the warm temperatures of Yasuhiro’s room.

“Your woes regarding Future Foundation were not unwarranted,” Kyoko assured. This conversation was bound to come up eventually.

He struggled for the right words. “I worry they need me to be someone I don’t know how to be.”

“What about yourself? That’s worked for you so far.”

They arrived at his room. Hand on the doorknob, he stared at Kyoko stupidly, taken aback, slowly understanding. He swallowed and opened the door. “Thanks, Kirigiri.”

The Branch 14 director left to dress appropriately for the day in front of her. Makoto walked into his room. He recounted the timeline of events of last night as he changed, hopping from one crazy moment to another. Soon, he had his coat and gloves on. The scene outside did look awfully tempting. Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could convince Byakuya to create angels in the show with him.

A faint glimmer caught his eye. It was the Hierophant card given to him by Yasuhiro, sitting innocently on the nightstand.  Rejection of traditional values. Rebellion. Desire for freedom. Strangely, the Remnants of Despair reared their faces once more. He wondered what memories they had made in the snow together, as classmates. Who were they under the impenetrable fog of the beliefs and forgetfulness forced into them? What had they meant to each other…before?

Stuffing the tarot card in his pocket, Makoto ran out to join his friends in their joy, determined to make this a good day.