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It was December, but Makoto had long since lost track of what particular day it was. Every moment smeared against his consciousness, too slow and too fast to experience properly. He didn’t dare put in the effort to look at a calendar. Knowing the date would only sear a countdown into his head: “__ many days until the world ends.”
Time was something he was having difficulty grasping. Makoto knew he was piloting his body between the dorm and the school, but every time he moved, he felt no intention behind it. What point was there in looking forward to anything? How could he look anyone he’d met in the eye and pretend he didn’t know that they were all going to die horribly at the hands of Nyx? On some evening, though he wasn’t sure which one, Fuuka had quietly suggested that they go to Tartarus, but unsurprisingly, no one seemed up to it.
They’d had a fight the previous night. It had been about the decision they’d been offered. They all suddenly felt less like powerful soldiers fighting shadows in the cover of the Dark Hour, and more like the helpless, scared teenagers that they were. Makoto had hardly been able to say a word, even when Junpei had lashed out at him. Junpei had said that everything that was happening was Makoto’s fault.
He hadn’t meant it, and Makoto knew that. He’d apologized immediately, and Makoto had forgiven him. But he hadn’t forgotten, because the words rang true. He wanted to take responsibility, to do something to fix the mess he’d unknowingly unleashed upon the world, but…there was nothing he could do, no way to make it all right again.
Makoto was walking somewhere. He didn’t know his destination, but he was sure he’d stop when he’d reached it.
“You’re supposed to be special, right? Then do something about it!”
The words echoed hollowly through Makoto’s head. His headphones, his usual antidote to unwanted thoughts, hung limply around his neck. And eventually, he was somewhere familiar, the road ahead of him lit with passing headlights. He began the walk across the Moonlight Bridge, not sparing a glance at the cars crossing parallel to him. Snow had begun to fall halfway into his walk, settling on his bangs and making him look like a dusty automaton, hobbling along in an environment it couldn’t withstand for very long.
Finally, when he was at the bridge’s peak, he stopped, his hands curling around a metal rail separating him from a deadly drop. He looked down.
The water beneath was icy, but his body would no doubt break right through the fragile top layer and sink down towards the bottom, carried gently away by the current. The water would numb him, inside and out, and he’d be free of his grief, his anger, and the decision hanging over his head. Right there, near the place where he’d once been separated from his family…he could reunite with them.
Makoto didn’t quite move his feet, but leaned forward a little to get a better look. Then, he felt a hand pressing firmly on his shoulder, even though he’d heard no footsteps approaching. He tensed under the touch, feeling goosebumps spreading across his skin from that point of contact. He stood at attention, waiting for the person behind him to say something, but there was only silence. He couldn’t even hear the stranger breathing.
“What are you doing here?”
The voice was familiar. He should have realized sooner who it had to be. In the silence that followed, Makoto still heard no breaths other than his own. Though he knew someone had appeared behind him, he couldn’t sense the warmth of another body.
“Is this what it takes to make you show your face again?” Makoto asked, the words coming out harsher than he’d intended them.
There was no response. Makoto finally let himself turn around, unsurprised to see Ryoji standing there. His face was unnaturally blank as they stared at each other. A gust of strong, frigid wind whipped across the bridge, ruffling Makoto’s bangs and obscuring his view briefly. Ryoji’s own hair and scarf stayed still, undisturbed by the touch of weather.
After a moment, Ryoji broke their gaze and let it fall on his own hand, which still rested firmly on Makoto’s shoulder. He flinched as if in pain, then retracted it.
“I wasn’t going to…”
Makoto didn’t finish the thought out loud. It wasn’t a lie. He’d only come to the bridge on a whim, just to think. He had too many people counting on him to actually follow through with a stray intrusive thought.
“Makoto,” Ryoji finally said. “Please allow me to accompany you until you arrive home safely.”
The words sounded wrong, coming from Ryoji’s mouth. Too formal, too distant, too cold.
“Ma-ko-to!” a chipper voice had called, only a few weeks prior. “I wanna walk home together! Can we?”
It was possible that knowledge of the Fall was enough to dim Ryoji’s perpetually bright spirit all on its own. None of Makoto’s friends had been smiling very much as the month ran its course either, but with Ryoji…he couldn’t help but feel like it was more than Ryoji’s mood that had been affected. Everything but the physical appearance of the boy across from him was unrecognizable, like he’d been possessed or replaced by something unknowable.
“Ryoji,” Makoto said.
The boy across from him flinched, his frown growing tighter. Makoto kept a close watch on him, waiting for any sign that he was breathing.
“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” Ryoji finally said.
“What else would I call you?” Makoto asked.
Ryoji looked away, his face disappearing a bit behind his scarf.
“You shouldn’t be calling me anything,” Ryoji said eventually, his voice low and quiet, yet not at all timid. “All I am, and all I will ever be, is the Appraiser of Death.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Makoto said bluntly.
Ryoji didn’t respond, and only looked at Makoto sadly, like a wounded animal about to be put down. And…well, Makoto supposed his comparison wasn’t so much a metaphor as it was a very accurate read of what their relationship had so suddenly become.
“Ryoji Mochizuki is my classmate,” Makoto said. “He’s loud, has too much energy, and he flirts too much, but we’re close friends and…I want to spend more time with him.”
“None of that matters,” Ryoji said. “It would be best if you just forgot about it. You’ll…be happier that way, I’m certain of it.”
“You can’t be certain of that,” Makoto said. “You have no idea what would make me happy.”
Ryoji looked away, sighing softly.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I do know that it’s dangerous for you to be here. Let me walk you home. Your friends will worry about you.”
Makoto stepped closer to Ryoji, but the other boy only inched back in time with his movement, maintaining the distance between them. Makoto, for the first time in several days, felt emotion piercing through the shell of numbness which had been keeping his heart safe from despair. He felt a sobering rush of anger.
“So, they’re allowed to worry about me if I decide to leave and vanish without a trace?” Makoto snapped. “But when you do the same thing to me, I’m just supposed to forget about you? Pretend that I never even knew you?”
“That’s right,” Ryoji responded clinically. “But that’s really not a fair comparison at all, is it?”
Once again, Makoto took a step forward, in a desperate attempt to get closer to Ryoji. But, just as before, Ryoji moved in time with him, anticipating his action. Makoto wondered what it would take to feel Ryoji’s touch once again. It used to be offered to him so freely. Ryoji used to always rest his head on top of Makoto’s shoulder, grab his arm and tug him around the school between various clubrooms, and push his bangs to the side when they fell into his eyes.
Makoto wondered if running forward and trying to leap off the bridge might earn him a tight embrace from the boy. But he wasn’t quite that desperate.
“...you’ll walk with me until I’m safely back at the dorm,” Makoto said. “Right?”
Ryoji nodded, his eyes inhumanely bright and mouth frozen in a serious frown, which looked so wrong on his face.
“Do you promise?” Makoto asked. “That…you’ll stay until then?”
“I promise,” Ryoji said.
Makoto nodded, silently securing their contract. Then, he began to walk, in the opposite direction of the dormitory. For the briefest moment, Makoto saw Ryoji’s eyes grow wide and panicked as he realized that Makoto was going the wrong way, his pale cheeks dusted with pink as he stammered for a response.
“M-Makoto, that’s…” he said. “I mean, the dorm is…”
“I want to go this way,” Makoto said. “Come on, then, Ryoji.”
“...I…”
Ryoji wasn’t following him. Makoto wondered if he had miscalculated, and Ryoji wouldn’t uphold their deal after all. There really was no way to force Ryoji to spend time with him, only to make sure his feelings were understood. A small part of Makoto almost hoped Ryoji wouldn’t follow him after all, if only so it would be easier for Makoto to hate him.
Makoto moved one foot after the other, descending down the other side of the bridge as a light snow began to fall. He couldn’t hear anyone’s footsteps following behind him.
“Where are we going?”
Makoto turned his head to the side, just in time to see Ryoji next to him, matching his stride and staring straight ahead with a distant, unreadable expression.
“...I have a couple ideas,” Makoto said.
Ryoji didn’t respond, but didn’t run away either. It seemed he had resigned himself to staying by Makoto’s side for the evening, even if it was clear that he’d rather be…wherever it was that he had been for half of December. Had Ryoji been alone all that time? Had he been keeping warm? Was he safe? Makoto didn’t have answers to any of those questions, and knew somehow that asking them would only result in a dismissive non-answer from the stranger wearing his friend’s face.
“This won’t change anything,” Ryoji said eventually, as they walked together, never getting too close.
“I know,” Makoto said. “You made it very clear that nothing I do until the Fall comes matters at all.”
“Makoto-”
“And if it doesn’t matter,” Makoto continued. “Then…we can spend one evening together…can’t we?”
Ryoji stopped in his tracks, his stark blue eyes searching Makoto’s face.
“It…doesn’t matter,” Ryoji repeated, his voice dull. “I suppose…you’re right. The thought is comforting, in its own way.”
Makoto nodded. Apathy had been an easy, and, as Ryoji had noted, a comforting way of experiencing the world for most of Makoto’s life. Detaching himself from his peers, his foster families, and the changing world around him made it easier to be alone with his thoughts. If he didn’t bother with caring about anything, then he couldn’t get hurt. If he reminded himself daily that everyone was going to die, everyone was going to leave him, then it was easier to forget about the family he’d left burning on the bridge.
The thought that the Fall would come no matter what meant that no decision Makoto made as the Leader of SEES mattered one bit, because no decision he made could be the right one. That meant there was no reason to worry, no reason to cry. No reason to feel guilty.
“You had that…thing living inside of you, and you didn’t even know it. You raised it, damnit!”
It was a shame, really, that Makoto had entirely lost his ability to stay detached. Even he couldn’t believe that nothing he’d done that year mattered. Maybe that was why his gut twisted at the memory of Junpei calling Ryoji a “thing”. Maybe that was why, even in their strange circumstances, with a world between the two of them, Makoto found himself wanting to hold the other boy’s hand and wipe his tears away.
“Okay…” Ryoji finally said. “Just for tonight. I’m…sure you aren’t satisfied with how you left things with ‘Ryoji’ so…if this is what you say will make you happy, I’ll do it.”
Whether or not it would make him happy, Makoto did know that he wanted more time with Ryoji. Perhaps, if the night went well…he could convince his friend to make the most of the time they had left.
Makoto slowly began to walk again, comforted by the sound of footsteps next to his own. Ryoji’s stride was longer, due to his impressive height, but he never surpassed Makoto, always staying an arm’s length away and following his lead quietly, almost obediently. As they walked in near silence toward the strip mall, Makoto wondered, not for the first time, just what had become of his friend since he’d last seen him on the Moonlight bridge at the start of December.
The Ryoji he’d gotten to know during those weeks in November was…lighter, somehow. Simpler. He really was something like a storybook prince, or a love interest in a trope-ridden romance novel. Makoto had liked him well enough, back then. Ryoji’s confession that day in the music room…it was not unwelcome or unexpected, but Makoto had still been at a loss for how to respond at the time.
How do I know if I feel the same when I feel like I don’t even know you?
But the Appraiser of Death walked slower, with more intention. Years of knowledge and experiences shone behind his eyes. He never shouted –– even his normal speaking voice had the timbre of a whisper, like he was taking care to keep himself confined and quiet or was barely connected to their plane of existence.
Makoto knew from their encounter that evening that Ryoji didn’t need to breathe, or even obey the laws of physics like a normal human would. The only time they’d touched since Makoto had learned the truth was when Ryoji had placed a stern hand on his shoulder. Ryoji’s touch had been cold, then, but it had always been that way. Ryoji had even apologized to him for it once, citing poor circulation as an explanation for his frigid hands.
But Makoto was pretty sure he would have noticed if his classmate wasn’t constantly breathing. As he held open the door to Hagakure, Makoto watched Ryoji closely. His chest was rising and falling at the proper intervals, and he’d fixed a bright smile onto his face.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had ramen,” Ryoji said, his voice eerily bright, like a violin string that was wound too tightly and played sharp.
“I’m treating you,” Makoto said, sitting down promptly. He saw Ryoji open his mouth to protest, and rolled his eyes, cutting him off before he could get a word in. “Don’t complain. It’s not like I have anything to save up for.”
Ryoji’s mouth snapped closed abruptly, and he hesitated only for a second before following Makoto and settling into the seat next to him. Makoto ordered two specials, then fell silent, listening to the chatter around them of the other patrons, who were completely oblivious to the cruel fate they all shared. Adults, children, and the elderly alike populated the restaurant, and as they came and went, Makoto tried to memorize their faces.
There was so much life even inside one restaurant in one strip mall, on a single island of a single country. Soon, it would all be gone. Not just everyone in Hagakure — the whole human race, everything that moved and breathed on the Earth. Makoto remembered sneaking out of bed once as a child and seeing a scene from some movie that was left playing on the television, while his father snored on the couch, still in his work clothes.
There was only one image Makoto remembered, and it was the planet Earth being destroyed. The little blue sphere was shot with a beam of light, and it crumbled and disintegrated, in only about a second or two. The volume had been low, but Makoto was sure there hadn’t been a loud “BOOM”, chorus of screaming, or anything to give that moment gravity. And, for a few seconds after that, the image had lingered, of a beautiful sky full of stars, undisturbed by what was no longer there.
There one minute, gone the next. It had made him cry, back then, and he’d woken up his father, needing to be carried to bed and comforted, but the thought of it at that moment was as comforting as it was haunting. If the Fall was as quick as that, then none of the billions of people who would be there one minute, gone the next, would have any time to feel pain, cry over their regrets, or shake a fist at the gods. Makoto had two months to do all those things and couldn’t seem to find the energy for any of them.
It took a few minutes for Makoto to realize that Ryoji wasn’t saying a word. He was eerily still where he was perched upon his seat, and he stared only at the counter in front of him. Makoto hadn’t initiated any conversation only because he was so used to Ryoji filling that silence with his comfortable chatter. But it seemed the burden of leading the conversion was, for once, on him.
Makoto tried to think of a safe topic to breach. He could ask Ryoji how he’d been, but he could already take a guess and didn’t want to hear Ryoji lie through his teeth. He thought about talking about school, but didn’t dare to. Ryoji was supposed to still be at school, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t attended since that night on the bridge, when he’d learned…something that they were avoiding talking about. Makoto almost resorted to doing something he never, ever did, which was talking about himself. But, he couldn’t do that either. He was a little afraid to find out what Ryoji might already know about him, seeing as before November, he’d been…
Suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, Makoto moved a hand to the lanyard his mp3 player was attached to, and let his fingers brush up against his ribcage. Knowing the truth and conceptualizing it were two very different things, he was finding. Ryoji didn’t feel like some kind of parasite who had laid dormant inside of his chest. He felt like…a person. Or…he had, anyway. He wasn’t sure what to make of the hollowed-out shell of Ryoji that was propped up next to him.
“It’s uh…really snowing out there, isn’t it?” Ryoji suddenly said.
The words sounded awkward and discordant in his mouth. Makoto blinked back at him.
“If this keeps up, it might be a white Christmas,” Ryoji said, never turning to look at Makoto. His smile was becoming less convincing by the second.
“Ryoji,” Makoto said. “We don’t have to talk.”
The other boy turned to him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.
“S-Sorry,” he said. “It was…all I could think of.”
They were both saved from having to think of a new topic of discussion when their bowls of ramen were placed in front of them, steaming hot and piled with slices of pork. Makoto mumbled out his thanks for the food and pulled the bowl closer to him, relieved to feel the heat of the broth on his numb fingertips. At his side, Ryoji was doing the same, as if he’d been doing it all his life as well.
As Makoto began to eat, he found himself thinking about Shinjiro, as he often did in quiet moments, eating good food. He wondered what he would think about the coming end of the world, about what he would do if given the decision that rested on Makoto’s shoulders. If he thought that it would make everyone happy, would he take a life?
The noodles and broth settled uncomfortably in his stomach as he remembered the fear in Shinjiro’s eyes every time he summoned Castor. He tried to hide it behind a gruff exterior, but Makoto always noticed how he tensed when given the command to summon him. Perhaps if he’d bothered to ask Shinjiro why that was, get him to open up about what had happened to Ken’s mother, and somehow gotten him and Ken to just talk to each other, somewhere safe, then…
Then Shinjiro would be alive, and still fated to die with everyone else. It was hardly a happier ending for him.
Makoto looked over at Ryoji between bites, and was surprised to see him just staring down at his meal with no expression on his face. Slurping up the last of a noodle and feeling his brow crease, Makoto nudged Ryoji’s shoulder a bit as a silent question.
“Hm?” Ryoji asked. “Oh. I was just…thinking.”
“About what?”
“...about the pig.”
Confusion was the first thing that struck Makoto, before his thoughts quickly caught up and connected Ryoji’s words with where he was looking. Specifically, at the slices of chashu pork in his soup.
“It had no idea that it was born just to be killed,” Ryoji said. “Someone else decided when it was going to die, and it had no idea up until the moment it happened. It had no say in the matter. It couldn’t understand “why”. Its fate was determined by a being a pig could never hope to comprehend.”
Makoto swallowed and looked at his own half-eaten pork, not knowing if he should be feeling sick or if he should be disgusted with himself for not feeling affected by Ryoji’s words at all. Makoto, like most people, knew how animals were raised and slaughtered so that humans might enjoy their meat. It wasn’t that he felt no sympathy for the pig, but…it couldn’t really sway him either.
“I’m sorry…” Ryoji said, his voice becoming almost too low to hear. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Makoto pushed away his bowl, watching as Ryoji kept reciting the apology to no-one, or perhaps to a long-since-died pig. Either way, he was starting to make a scene.
“Do you want to leave?” Makoto asked him. “It’s okay if you don’t…feel like eating meat tonight.” He worded the phrase as delicately as he could manage, not wanting to break the silent vow they’d made to each other to pretend they were just two normal high schoolers spending the evening together.
“No, I—” Ryoji stopped himself from speaking further. He blinked, then looked at the food in front of him once again, his eyes still full of deep regret. “It won’t change what happened if I eat it or if I don’t. B-But you paid for it, and the chef worked really hard on it, so…”
Ryoji seemed to be staring himself down in the reflection of the broth.
“Wow, this is delicious! The pork is so tender…” the tall transfer student had exclaimed the first time Makoto had taken him to Hagakure, about a month prior. Ryoji had gotten himself into trouble by flirting with some of the girls in their class who already had boyfriends, and had made the situation even worse by flirting with the angry boyfriends as well. Makoto had helped him escape the social situation without a fight breaking out, and Ryoji had promised to treat him to ramen to make up for it.
“Thinking about bringing a girl here?” Makoto had asked.
Ryoji had been eating his ramen so eagerly that he nearly choked on it while giving a response.
“Why would I be thinking about that?” Ryoji had said. “I’m just really happy to be here with you right now.”
Makoto started to eat in silence again, wondering if Ryoji was happy to be there with him like he had been the last time. He honestly doubted it. When Ryoji seemed to notice Makoto staring, he quickly began to eat his own meal, that utterly unconvincing smile back on his face between every bite.
“Well, now that we’ve eaten, I need to get you home,” Ryoji said as they exited the restaurant. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I kept you out too late.”
His words had the ring of a joke, but lacked the humor of one.
“Not yet,” Makoto said, starting to walk toward the next destination he had in mind. It was somewhere he’d be meaning to visit when he had the chance, and more importantly, it was a place he’d never been with Ryoji before. He didn’t need more memories of the bright-eyed, optimistic Ryoji Mochizuki clouding his mind. It was easier to pretend his friend hadn’t changed without anything to directly compare his behavior to.
“But, Makoto…”
“Let’s visit the shrine,” Makoto said. “Have you been there before?”
Ryoji didn’t answer, but fell in line behind Makoto, his steps silent.
When they reached the shrine, it was abandoned, though that wasn’t surprising, as the sun had already gone down and the area wasn’t very well lit. Still, Makoto had been there enough times to navigate the small shrine and adjoining park with ease, even in the dim, flickering lights. A familiar bench stood under one of those lights, dusted with snow. Makoto strayed from the path to brush it clean with his hand, but did not sit.
“...a friend of mine used to sit here,” Makoto said. “We talked sometimes on the weekends.”
It hadn’t been long at all since they’d last talked. The grief Makoto felt over losing his friend was as muted and grey as everything else he’d been trying to feel, but Makoto felt like Kimiki-san wouldn’t mind that too much. He had expressed his discomfort time and time again with being mourned, with being pitied. If anything, Makoto was just grateful that he’d met the other boy at all, that he’d encouraged him to finish his story.
“...he was sleeping.”
Makoto turned around sharply, surprised to hear the smooth, low voice of his companion, who had hardly said a word at the ramen shop. He was so stunned to hear Ryoji speak up without being prompted that the meaning of what he had said flew right over his head.
“What?” Makoto asked quietly.
“When he…” Ryoji trailed off, visibly swallowing. “It was peaceful. Quiet. Kamiki-san…doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”
A violent shiver ran down Makoto’s spine, and he didn’t dare look at Ryoji, not wanting his sudden shock and fear show on his face. He was sure he’d never mentioned Kamiki-san to Ryoji. He hadn’t even talked about him to any of the members of SEES. And even still…Ryoji knew his name, knew that he was dead.
Is that really so surprising? Makoto wondered to himself. Ryoji said…that he is Death. That isn’t…just a name or a title, is it?
Makoto's throat was closing up, cutting his breaths short, though he could no longer tell if the cause was his fear or his sudden grief. He found himself wondering if Ryoji knew every soul who had passed through that shrine, if he could recite each name that had left someone's lips in a prayer of remembrance.
Back in November, when Junpei had lost Chidori…Ryoji didn’t know what had happened, then. He had sensed something horrible had happened to Junpei, but could only express his concern and condolences from afar. But if he was Death…then he knew better, now. He probably knew about Aragaki-san. He knew about Mitsuru’s father. And…he knew about Makoto’s family, too. He’d been there, after all, for all of them.
“S-Sorry,” Ryoji said eventually. Makoto had no idea how long he’d gone silent for. “I…shouldn’t have said that.”
Makoto only nodded, acknowledging Ryoji’s words but not knowing whether to say that Ryoji’s words had been comforting or terrifying. It had been both of those things, and something told Makoto that vocalizing either one would just make Ryoji sad.
“I’m going down the slide,” Makoto said, turning away from the bench and grasping for any possible change of topic. True to his word, Makoto walked toward the playground and grabbed hold of the metal ladder leading up to a slide of middling-size that Maiko always favored when she was still around.
Maiko had moved out of the city, but that didn’t mean her fate had changed. That young girl was going to die in a little over a month. She’d already given Makoto a terrible scare once, when she went missing and was found in a dark corner of Tartarus, her mind under attack by the shadows. Makoto had saved her only to condemn her to her death anyway.
“Makoto?”
Ryoji was staring. Having been swept away by his thoughts, Makoto had been caught frozen at the bottom of the ladder, staring up at nothing.
“It’s higher up than I expected,” Makoto said blankly.
“Oh…is it?” Ryoji asked. He stepped a little closer to Makoto, almost close enough to touch, but never crossing that boundary. The Ryoji he’d used to know would never leave that distance between them. Makoto was missing Ryoji’s touch like a phantom limb.
“If you start to feel unsteady…it would be my pleasure to keep you secure in my arms.”
Makoto turned, feeling his eyes growing wide and his heart leap in his chest. That was the Ryoji he knew…the cheesy flirt with the warm grin. But when he turned to smile at Ryoji or even dared to accept his offer…reality sank in once again.
Ryoji really seemed to be trying his best. That last response had been the best attempt he’d made yet to act like nothing had changed between them. But…even if his smile had gotten closer to the one Makoto had seen so many times in November, his blue eyes were still as cold as mid-December. Makoto was reminded of cheap Halloween masks which, no matter how intricate their designs were, always had eye-holes which broke the illusion, providing a peephole into the wearer’s true identity.
His irises…they almost seemed brighter than they used to be, even though Makoto knew their hue was the same. They were deep and clouded with thought, and almost seemed to emit their own light.
“You’d better catch me if I slip off,” Makoto said. He didn’t really have a desire to go down the slide, but he supposed he was running out of chances to use it one last time. It was hard not to think of everything he did in terms of how many times he’d get to do it again, knowing that his expiration date was predetermined.
He usually went to the takoyaki stand on Fridays, so that meant that he could eat takoyaki six more times before it was his last. He wasn’t sure if Mutatsu would come by Escapade anytime soon, so he could have already talked to him for the last time and not known it. One last time to celebrate Christmas. Two more chances to celebrate friends’ birthdays.
One more night to spend with Ryoji. The real Ryoji. Not the empty husk that he was supposed to kill.
It was his last time going down a slide on the playground, so Makoto took it slow, savoring every bit of the mundane experience. The metal was cold against his palms, and the slide itself was coated in a layer of snow that would get all over his pants. Makoto ascended carefully, checking over his shoulder only once to make sure Ryoji was standing behind him, ready to catch him if needed. When he finally reached the top, Makoto sat down and slid to the ground unceremoniously, shivering as snow coated the bottom of his pants and chuckling a little at the absurdity of his actions.
“You too, Ryoji,” Makoto said as he stood up again and dusted his legs off.
“You want me to use the slide?” Ryoji asked. “Why?”
“Because it's fun,” Makoto said. “Elizabeth seemed to like it, anyway.”
Makoto saw Ryoji’s face appearing at the top of the slide as he climbed, and just barely caught the recognition in his gaze as he uttered the name.
“She’s a friend of mine,” Makoto explained, even though he was pretty sure he didn’t need to. “Reminds me of you, a little bit.”
“Really?” Ryoji asked, pausing in the middle of climbing the ladder and tilting his head to the side. “How so?”
“You both…really love trying new things,” Makoto said. “And you both come on way too strong.”
If anything, Ryoji just looked more confused, or even affronted.
“Don’t worry, I turned her down,” Makoto said, walking around to the back of the slide. “Are you going to slide? I’ll catch you if you fall off the ladder.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Ryoji said. “Even if I fall, I am incapable of…” Ryoji cleared his throat, shifted his shoulders, and corrected himself midsentence. “...I’m pretty, uh…durable.”
“Durable, huh?” Makoto said, even as Ryoji finally slid down. “Is that why you tried to leap off of Kiyomizu-dera?”
“People have survived that jump before,” Ryoji said, actually seeming to manage a light laugh from where he’d landed somewhat awkwardly at the bottom of the slide. “And I…had a feeling that I’d be able to, if I tried it. Isn’t that a worthy risk to have a wish granted?”
“What would you even wish for?” Makoto asked.
The easy rapport they’d managed for a few seconds quickly faded alongside Ryoji’s smile, replaced with the pensive frown that seemed to be his new default expression.
“I don’t know,” Ryoji said.
“So, you risked your life without even thinking of a wish?” Makoto asked.
“No, that’s not…” Ryoji trailed off, looking almost sick with regret. “Ryoji…did. I…did. But now, I…I don’t know what I would…”
Makoto sighed, and made the short trek over to the jungle gym. He climbed it carefully and then settled on the top, looking up at the starless sky. He’d seen many constellations from the quiet little paradise of the shrine before, but the thick grey clouds and the ever-falling snow was obscuring his view of the night sky. He knew it was all still there, and yet…he felt like he couldn’t really picture it properly, like the face of a loved one that had become a blurry mess in his memory.
Some old family friend had told Makoto as a child that he had his mother’s eyes. He didn’t remember how she looked, but thought of her every so often when staring at his own reflection.
Ryoji didn’t join him on top of the jungle gym, but got to his feet and stood at the base of the structure, like he was keeping a watch over it.
“What would you wish for, if you could wish for anything?” Ryoji asked quietly.
“I think that’s obvious,” Makoto said.
“Is it?” Ryoji’s voice was eerily monotone, almost completely detached from emotion.
Makoto nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “And it’s a wish I’d risk my life for.”
It looked like Ryoji was trying to smile, but he didn’t really succeed. Makoto found himself shivering once again, the cold only made worse by the metal underneath him.
“You need to get somewhere warm, Makoto,” Ryoji said. “You’ll get sick.”
Makoto sighed, but conceded the point. He slipped off of the jungle gym and turned back toward the street. Going inside did sound nice.
“Do I have a fever?” Makoto asked. He pushed back his bangs to make his forehead freely available. It was an open invitation for Ryoji to touch him.
“You have such beautiful eyes,” Ryoji had remarked once, while toying with Makoto’s bangs. What had started as Ryoji helping get a stray piece of thread out of Makoto’s hair had turned into him carding his hands gently through it. It would have been mortifying if they weren’t alone, but they were, sitting on top of desks in an empty classroom as they discussed where they wanted to spend their afternoon.
“No, you don’t have a fever,” Ryoji said, without even looking at Makoto. Then, he added, unconvincingly, “I don’t think so, anyway. It’s not like I just…know your body temperature…that wouldn’t be normal, if I knew something like that…”
“Ryoji?”
“Yes, Makoto?”
“Too much.”
“Ah…sorry.”
Makoto had been intending to go back to the dorm, at first, only choosing to take a long way to extend his time left with Ryoji. But, when they took a different route than he normally did near the station and he saw a tiny piano bar, he found himself diverting their path without even thinking about it.
“Makoto…” Ryoji said, almost sounding disappointed in him.
“It looks fun,” Makoto said. “We don’t need to stay long.”
Ryoji didn’t fight him any further after that, and only followed him inside the building, hanging his head like a kicked puppy. They were let inside with a caveat from the owner that he would only serve them mocktails, and Makoto found them a tiny table to sit at, close to an unoccupied piano on a stage.
“Are you thirsty?” Makoto asked.
Ryoji shook his head.
“No, but…I’m not opposed to getting a drink,” Ryoji said. “Order whatever you want. I’ll pay for both of us.”
“How do you have money?” Makoto asked, abandoning their shoddy ruse of normalcy briefly in an attempt to satiate his genuine curiosity.
“How do I have a phone? A government ID? Clothes?” Ryoji asked. Makoto couldn’t help but smile a little at the uncharacteristic response. He’d never imagined he’d get to hear Ryoji being so blunt, almost bitterly sarcastic. While it was still a bit unnerving, Makoto did his best to just…accept it as a new aspect of Ryoji. Wasn’t that how friendships usually went, anyway? Whenever he spent enough time with someone, they’d inevitably show him new sides of themselves. That didn’t mean that his first impressions of them were fake, per se…just not the whole picture.
Ryoji’s case was certainly different, but…wasn’t it sort of the same, anyway? Had he been so resistant to accepting the “new” Ryoji because deep down, he really believed that the classmate and friend he treasured so dearly could be a complete fake?
“Good point,” Makoto said.
Ryoji waved over a waiter and ordered their drinks, naming the mocktail that Makoto had been eyeing even though they’d never talked about it. Makoto watched the interaction with curiosity, even as the specific words he and the waiter uttered rolled over him. Ryoji was just as personable as ever. The fairly stoic man who had come to take their order was smiling after only half a minute, and Ryoji’s smile looked bigger than it had all night.
Ryoji really “got” people. He’d had some growing pains, certainly, picking up on social cues and needing to put a handle on his constant flattery that came off to many as insincere flirting, but the earnest kindness at his core couldn’t be denied in that moment. When Ryoji looked at someone, he strove to understand them and made it clear he treasured every second he got to interact with them. No matter what he said, Makoto knew that he always meant every word.
What had begun as a drink order quickly turned into a discussion about how long the employee had been working at the bar, what his career aspirations were, and the names of his kids. Unlike Makoto, who wasn’t really paying attention to the content of the conversation as much as the shape of it, Ryoji was hanging onto every word.
Eventually, Ryoji got around to inquiring about the piano, and the employee smiled sadly and said that the performer they had scheduled wouldn’t be able to show up after all, as they’d just gotten a call that she’d been taken to the hospital.
“Apathy Syndrome,” the employee said, and Makoto's heart sank as he watched all the enthusiasm seep out of Ryoji in an instant. “It seems like no one’s safe from it these days. Hopefully, she’ll bounce back and be here next week.”
Ryoji didn’t respond verbally, all his momentum having left him. He only managed a solemn nod.
“So, no one’s going to play tonight?” Makoto asked.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” the employee said. “I’m very sorry, you two. I hope you’ll enjoy your evening and your drinks regardless.”
“...I…”
The employee, who had been turning to leave and retrieve their drinks, stopped in his tracks, waiting for Ryoji to finish his thought.
“...I can…play,” Ryoji said. The words were hesitant, like they were being forced out of him. Or, perhaps, they were coming out against his will. “If…if you need someone to.”
The employee chuckled good-naturedly.
“That’s quite alright,” he said. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”
As he left, Ryoji sighed, slumping a little in his chair.
“I’m not surprised he turned you down,” Makoto said. “He probably assumed you were just going to play ‘chopsticks’ or something.”
“I wouldn’t play ‘chopsticks’,” Ryoji said.
Makoto hummed, letting a small smile creep onto his face.
“That’s basically what you played for me the first day we met,” Makoto said. “When you sat down at the piano, I assumed you knew how to play already.”
“The first day we…” Ryoji repeated, looking a little confused. Then, after a moment, Makoto saw his thoughts catch up. “Right…Right. Yes. I remember.”
If Makoto had to guess, Ryoji had been thinking about the actual first day they’d met. There was a burning car, the smell of charred flesh and newly spilled blood, a tall dark figure that distorted reality around it, and a metal machine leaning down over him, blocking out the full moon.
Or…perhaps that wasn’t the day Ryoji had been thinking of. That didn’t really count as a “meeting”. Maybe his mind had gone to the start of the school year, when Makoto had walked into the lobby of the dorm during the Dark Hour, and been offered a contract.
Makoto’s thoughts were briefly interrupted by the arrival of their drinks. He’d gotten a drink that tasted like lemon and mint, while Ryoji had opted for something with pomegranate. When Makoto sampled his drink, he found it catered to his tastes perfectly. He supposed if he was going to allow anyone to order for him, it would have to be a person who truly knew him inside and out, who had spent a very long time experiencing the world through Makoto’s senses.
“Did you ever…try to talk to me?” Makoto asked.
“We’re talking right now,” Ryoji said, not seeming to understand the question.
“Back then,” Makoto clarified. He stopped for a second to stir his drink, listening to the ice clink against the side of the glass. He was stalling for time, giving himself a moment or two to think better of irreparably breaking the illusion that was their casual evening together once again. “Before this year.”
“What do you mean?” Ryoji said. He mimicked Makoto’s actions by messing with the ice in his own drink. His smile had become plastic once again. “I only moved to Tatsumi Port Island this year.”
“Ryoji,” Makoto said.
“Makoto,” Ryoji answered.
“Pharos.”
Ryoji coughed in the middle of drinking, looking like he was entirely unprepared for Makoto to take a direct sledgehammer to the facade they’d been poorly maintaining all evening.
“I-I’m not! I mean…that’s not…” Ryoji said, his eyes wide and face flushed. “D-Don’t talk about that!”
“Why not?” Makoto asked, his voice quiet. Why couldn’t they just really talk to each other, if they both so clearly wanted to? If nothing mattered, why not try to actually come to an understanding? Really, what had they been doing all night, lying to each other for no reason?
Makoto wanted Ryoji back. But Ryoji was still right in front of him. He was just…different. More than he’d been before.
“Because…” Ryoji said, his face flushing. He started to toy with the end of a chunk of his hair, avoiding looking directly at Makoto. “It’s just…kind of…embarrassing,” Ryoji said, as if he was talking about a story he’d written in elementary school or a picture of himself as an acne-ridden pre-teen. “A-And…you don’t still think of me that way, do you?”
“I don’t know how to think of you.”
Ryoji’s gaze finally snapped to Makoto’s, and his flustered expression gradually faded into something neutral once again. It was the most honest thing that Makoto had said the entire evening, and as soon as the words left his lips, Makoto knew there would be no coming back from it.
It should have been easy to hate Ryoji. He’d invaded Makoto’s life without Makoto’s permission, torn him away from his family, goaded him into reuniting his missing pieces, and was going to cause the end of the world in less than two months time. Makoto knew he should despise him.
“There was…one time,” Ryoji finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “We’d only been together for…a little over a year. I tried to make contact with you one night during the Dark Hour. I made…that form…because I thought it might make you trust me, if I looked like just another human, who was your age.”
“So…you did want to talk to me,” Makoto said.
“No,” Ryoji said, his voice level. “I wanted to destroy you.”
Makoto continued to sip his drink. It tasted sour on his tongue.
“That’s why that form… “Pharos”...existed,” Ryoji continued, his voice never changing its pitch. “I made it, hoping to trick you into setting me free. And…I got what I wanted, in the end. It’s…funny, isn’t it?”
Ryoji picked up his drink and pushed the straw to the side, downing the rest of it in one gulp as if it were actually alcoholic and could offer him any respite. When he set down the glass, his cold expression shattered, his eyes filled with a self-loathing so deep it looked like he might start crying. Makoto set down his own drink and inched his hand toward Ryoji’s, moving slow enough that Ryoji could pull away if he wanted.
Makoto had just nearly grazed Ryoji’s pale hand with his fingers when Ryoji abruptly got to his feet, moving both hands up to his neck to toy with his scarf obsessively.
“W-Well, this was nice,” Ryoji said. “But I don’t want to overstay our welcome here, now that I’m done with my drink.”
As much as Makoto wanted to protest, to insist that they stay a little longer, it was clear that his words had upset Ryoji, and he didn’t want to make things any worse between them. As much as he tried, he couldn’t resent the other boy, even if he was telling the truth. Ryoji…had only wanted to break free of his prison. He wanted to feel complete. But it was also very clear to Makoto that Ryoji didn’t want him, or anyone else, for that matter, to suffer.
“Alright,” Makoto said quietly, finishing his own drink promptly and getting up from his seat slowly. Even though he’d been the one pushing them out the door, Ryoji still let Makoto lead the way, watching him with a careful eye.
When they stepped outside of the piano bar, the moon had risen higher in the sky. It was just a crescent, barely even visible at all, but waxing. Every new evening meant Makoto’s decision was growing closer. Makoto ducked into the alley next to the bar, wanting to stay out of the way of any foot traffic as he stared up at the moon. The clouds were beginning to thin, and he could make out a few stars around it.
“It would have been nice to hear you play piano again,” Makoto said, instead of a lot of other things he wanted to say. “You’re really good.”
“...it’s late,” Ryoji said. “You need to go home, Makoto. We can’t stay out here forever.”
Makoto shook his head stubbornly.
“If I go home, you’ll leave,” Makoto said. “Even though you still have the rest of December to live.”
“I’m not alive,” Ryoji said, his voice cold and matter of fact. “And I won’t die either, even if you ‘kill’ me. You’ll only be destroying this form. It’s not like I can’t make a new one. I’ve done it before.”
Makoto swallowed, trying to ignore the way his stomach dropped at the realization that Ryoji seemed unwilling to humor him any longer. Maybe he really had pushed him too far, finally.
“You were Pharos,” Makoto said.
“Yes.”
“And…you were the shadow on the bridge, ten years ago,” Makoto said.
“Yes, I was.”
“But…you’re still Ryoji,” Makoto said, feeling the lack of strength in his own argument.
“That’s enough of that, Makoto,” Ryoji said. “I…I can’t be Ryoji anymore, even if I really tried. I couldn’t even do it for one night.”
“But you were Ryoji tonight,” Makoto argued. “You…still are. You’re just…different then I thought you were.”
“Please, just stop,” Ryoji pleaded. “Stop…holding onto Ryoji like this. No matter how long we stretch this night on…it won’t change anything. The only thing that matters is that you kill me on New Year’s Eve. Thinking of me as a person…it’ll only make what you have to do harder.”
“Maybe it will,” Makoto said. He stepped closer to Ryoji, fully expecting it not to change anything. Every other time that night, Ryoji had simply backed up, maintaining the space between them. But Ryoji was standing next to the brick wall lining the alley, and had nowhere to retreat to. So, in an instant, Makoto and Ryoji were face to face, close enough to hear the singular heartbeat between them.
“Makoto,” Ryoji said, his voice heavy. Makoto didn’t speak, but held their gaze. The only thing that hadn’t changed about Ryoji since the moment they’d first met in November…hell, since the moment they’d met when he walked into the dormitory at the start of the year, was his gaze. Those bright blue eyes had always stared into his core with such intensity, such curiosity.
“It doesn’t matter,” Makoto mumbled. “Right?”
His fingers shook, even as he brought a hand up and traced the shape of his companion’s jaw. The tips of his fingers grew numb from the cold.
“...I’m not human, Makoto,” Ryoji said. Despite the desperation in his voice, he wasn’t pulling away. “You…shouldn’t let me do this.”
Makoto hummed wordlessly. He tried to ignore how even in the bitter cold, his face felt so warm.
“Just once,” Makoto said. His words were drowned out by passing cars and noise trickling out from inside the piano bar. “Before I have to kill you. Please.”
Ryoji sighed, the exhale of breath gentle and quick.
He offered no response, but Makoto knew what he was thinking regardless. He knew that Makoto was not going to kill him. Whether Ryoji hid away in December or continued attending Gekkokaun, whether he attempted to scare SEES and make them hate him or apologized with soft sincerity that he didn’t want to hurt humanity…whether Ryoji kissed him or disappeared and left him to walk home alone, Makoto was never going to kill him.
None of it mattered.
“O-Okay,” Ryoji said, his blush unfettered and his convictions failing, “…just…once. Before you kill me.”
Makoto was sure he was going to have to take the lead, but as soon as their lips brushed, Ryoji seemed to silently resolve to make the most of that kiss, pressing against Makoto’s body with some insistence and tilting his head to the perfect angle to ease his tongue into Makoto’s mouth. The sensation made Makoto feel dizzy, drinking up the feeling of Ryoji’s soft, sweet lips. Without really meaning to, he ended up rising to his tiptoes to chase the feeling, floundering to kiss Ryoj back just as deeply and not finding a single moment of leeway where he could match his partner’s energy and make their kiss into a proper push and pull. The gap in their experience was massive. Makoto couldn’t help the childish way his gut turned with jealousy, imagining all of the girls who had played a part in making Ryoji so bold.
His lungs were burning. He needed air, and unless he pulled away and demanded it, it seemed he wouldn’t be getting any. And, as macabrely funny as it was to picture Ryoji committing murder with a kiss when he’d only appeared in the first place to ensure Makoto would live through the night…Makoto didn’t want to ruin the moment. So, he pulled away, gasping a little for air when their connection broke.
“S-Sorry!” Ryoji said, his eyes wide. “Are you alright, Makoto?”
Makoto nodded.
“Is that how kisses are supposed to go?” he mumbled. It had been…amazing. Invigorating. Almost too much for him to handle, judging by the heat in his cheeks and knot in his stomach.
“It was my first one,” Ryoji confessed. “But I’ve…wanted to. For a while, I…” Ryoji’s mouth snapped shut, like he had aborted that thought before it was completed. “Well…you already know, don’t you? I confessed to you.”
His eyes narrowed at nothing in particular and one of his fists tightened.
“...I know that we’re…pretending…today,” Ryoji said, his words measured. “But please…can you just…forget about that? Even after we’re done here?”
Makoto blinked, searching Ryoji’s face for any hint of why he’d request such a thing after an intoxicating first kiss that had conveyed without a single word everything they’d been holding back from each other, the explosive symphony they created with their hearts in resonance.
“Why would you ask me to do that?” Makoto asked.
“B-Because I…I didn’t understand what I was saying,” Ryoji said, his words coming out quickly, but far too clearly, as if they were rehearsed over and over. “I wasn’t myself, and it was my first time really, um…feeling anything and having words for it. But …um…that person I thought I was… ‘Ryoji’... was never real, and neither was anything he thought he felt.”
“What did ‘Ryoji’ think he felt?” Makoto asked.
“That doesn’t…”
“...matter, so I’m not telling you?” Makoto finished for him. “If it really didn’t matter, you’d have no reason to keep it from me.”
Ryoji bit his lip, but didn’t quite pull away from Makoto.
“I’ll tell you,” Ryoji said, his words slow and still so hesitant. “But only…only if you accept that ‘Ryoji Mochizuki’ isn’t real.”
Makoto nodded.
“‘Ryoji’...thought that he loved you.”
It wasn’t a surprise. Yet still, Makoto’s heart stuttered, and blood rushed to his face.
“Do you love me?” Makoto asked.
“What?” Ryoji asked, even as he blinked away the mist in his eyes. “I…I just told you…‘Ryoji’ isn’t––”
“Then, I’m not asking ‘Ryoji’,” Makoto said. “I’m…asking Death.”
Ryoji’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of Makoto’s jacket. He stared directly down at their feet, his lip trembling.
“Death…doesn’t fall in love,” Ryoji said.
Makoto ran a hand up Ryoji’s chest, finding some amusement in the way Ryoji shivered under the touch. When he reached Ryoji’s scarf, he started to toy with it, evening it out and smoothing down a stubborn wrinkle to the best of his ability.
“Oh,” Makoto said. “That’s too bad.”
Ryoji nodded mutely. Makoto moved his hands from Ryoji’s scarf up to his neck, wrapping his arms slowly around him and pulling them closer. Then, all of the sudden, there was movement, and Makoto was being spun. His first thought was that Ryoji had pushed him off violently, but when his mind caught up with his body, he found that Ryoji had switched their positions.
Makoto felt his back press against the cold brick behind him, his breath hitching as he felt Ryoji gripping his waist in a secure, but infinitely gentle hold. Being a good bit taller, Ryoji easily eclipsed the world outside of them as he descended on Makoto, meeting his lips again with fervor. It was like being devoured whole. Makoto shivered, not from the cold, but from the sudden heat.
He only broke away long enough to say one more thing before he lost himself.
“It all mattered to me,” he said to Ryoji. “Every single moment.”
When Ryoji pulled away from their kiss, only for a moment, the tears that had been threatening to break free from his kind eyes were finally trickling down his cheeks. He took only a second to wipe them, all the while never taking his eyes off of Makoto, like he was memorizing every inch of him.
One last time that they could hold each other close. One last time to go on a proper date. One last opportunity to confess their feelings.
“Thank you, Makoto,” Ryoji said, new tears falling as he uttered his name. “Thank you…so much. For everything.”