Chapter Text
It begins on a night like every other. Makoto sits on his bed, curls his arms around his knees, and does not make an effort to sleep. He can’t remember whose house he is in. An uncle, or perhaps a distant cousin? It doesn’t matter. Makoto doesn’t care. They aren’t his parents, will never be his parents, can’t bring him to his parents, and so their identity does not matter.
It starts with the rattling of chains. A scary noise, probably. An omen of death.
To Makoto’s understanding, “death” is something that made his parents go somewhere else. Makoto’s death is just a ticket to go see them again.
“Hello,” says a young voice that is probably similar to his own. Makoto lifts his head slightly, to see a young boy standing in the middle of his room. His clothes are covered with black and white stripes, and his hair looks like Makoto’s except shorter and more curly. Most notable are his eyes, which are so vibrant they look like they glow in the dark.
Makoto does not bother responding. He hasn’t spoken in weeks, and a strange dream is hardly enough reason to change that. He is smart enough to know that something strange like this means he is dreaming. Makoto is not a child that believes in fairytales.
The strange boy tilts his head to the side, like a curious bird. “Do you know me?”
Makoto still does not respond. The light coming in through the window is strangely green, making the boy look sick and eerie. The stranger shuffles his feet on the ground a couple of times, frowning. “I don’t know much, but…it’s standard to respond when people ask you questions, right? Or is that wrong?”
He hugs his knees a little tighter. The adults keep telling him that, keep asking him if he can say something, give verbal confirmation that he is listening. Makoto doesn’t see the point.
The boy’s head doesn’t move, frozen at a 45 degree angle. “I think there’s something I should tell you. The end is coming. Not particularly soon, but it will come.”
That sounds nice. Makoto doesn’t bother voicing this thought - it’s still only a dream after all. A pleasant dream at that, especially compared to some of his other ones.
If the boy says anything else, Makoto doesn’t hear it, his consciousness slipping away.
—
The days pass by like falling leaves; barely tangible and indistinguishable. Tall people ask Makoto to speak, to respond with more than small head motions. They bring him to someone “specialized,” some sort of doctor meant to fix his mind. She tries to get him to draw, to play with toys, to write responses, or even gesture with his hands. Makoto just stares at her blankly and shrugs when appropriate.
They make him go back to school at some point. Maybe it’ll be good for him, they whisper behind his back. Maybe interacting with kids his age will help. When they ask Makoto what he thinks, he shrugs and says “I don’t care.”
And so he goes to school, and becomes surrounded by staring and whispering kids instead of staring and whispering adults. It doesn’t really matter.
“Wanna play with us?” One boy shyly asks him one day. Makoto isn’t sure what day he asks this, maybe it’s on the first day of school, maybe it’s on the 30th. Makoto stares at him blankly, uncomprehending.
“Play?”
“Mhm, on the swings over there!”
Makoto shrugs, and pays no attention to the boy after that. Most of the other children in his class don’t talk to him directly after that.
It doesn’t matter. The sound of rattling chains help to drown out all of the whispers and other noise.
The other children play in the sand, as Makoto sits on a bench and watches. They build castles and homes, knock them down and laugh, then do the whole thing over again. Makoto doesn’t understand what’s so funny about that.
—
“Hello.”
The boy is back. Makoto takes a moment to glance at the familiar sight of striped clothes and glowing blue eyes, then shuts his eyes again. The world is bathed in green again, Makoto can faintly hear screams in the distance, and he really just wants to sleep.
“You don’t play with the other children. Why is that?”
I don’t care, Makoto thinks. Other people hate it when he says that, so he tries to say it aloud less now. Not that it matters with this boy, since he isn’t real.
“Isn’t it normal for children to play with other children?”
Probably. That’s what his guardian says.
The boy falls silent for a moment, and Makoto silently hopes that he’s gone now. He just wants to sleep and not think about anything. Sleeping is nice for that, at least on the nights when he doesn’t have nightmares.
“You go to school though. Do you enjoy that?”
No.
“Hm.” Makoto can hear the boy shuffle his feet as he thinks. “I don’t really get it. I guess I’ll think about it some more. See you later.”
There is no audible cue that indicates the boy left, but Makoto can feel the absence of his presence. The sound of the clinking chains return to Makoto’s mind a second later, and he falls asleep to the comforting noise a minute later.
—
Time continues to pass, cruelly slowly. School is long, and it’s not exactly unpleasant, but Makoto doesn’t enjoy it at all. Makoto thinks he prefers sitting on his bed all day, but he isn’t entirely sure. At least school distracts him from other topics sometimes.
His guardian changes at some point. Makoto listens to the conversation from behind a closed wooden door that doesn’t block noise nearly as well as the adults think it does. He tunes out for most of it, but he catches snippets sometimes. “Just stares at me with dead eyes when I try to talk to him…been months and he still won’t talk…I just can’t do this anymore. It’s like he’s some broken robot.”
Broken robot. That’s probably fitting enough. By this point, Makoto has learned that he doesn’t have the emotions most people seem to have. His therapist had said something about it being a trauma response, but that was probably just a nice fancy word for broken.
It’s sad that Makoto had been the one to survive. His sister, or even his parents would have probably managed to stay intact.
A hand waves in front of his face, but Makoto barely sees it.
And then he’s in another house, with another guardian, attending another school.
“This place is different,” the imaginary boy notes one night, looking around Makoto’s small room with the curiosity of a newborn baby. “Why did your location change?”
Makoto shrugs from his position lying down in his futon. For once he sits up to stare at the other boy, figuring he’ll be unable to go to sleep now. Well, assuming that he isn’t already dreaming. The boy seemed to perk up from the attention, and stood up a little straighter while clasping his hands behind his back.
“Do you like it better here? Is that why you moved?”
The boy’s tone sounds weird, Makoto realizes suddenly. It isn’t at all like the kids at school, or even like adults. It sounds more like the robots that he used to see on the TV, with stiff syllables and awkward sentences.
He probably sounds a lot like how Makoto would sound, if he ever talked. A stiff, broken robot trying to imitate a human being.
“I don’t care,” Makoto whispers, voice scratchy from disuse. It even hurts his throat a little too speak, like he has a mild cold.
The boy grins, and Makoto swears his eyes started to glow a bit brighter. “Oh, you talked! That’s the first time you’ve said something to me. I’m so happy.”
Happy. Maybe they weren’t as similar as Makoto thought then.
“Hmm…” The boy frowns suddenly, and throws an accusing glance towards the window. “It appears my hour is up. Don’t worry though, I’ll come talk to you soon!” With one final smile towards Makoto, the boy vanishes into smoke. Makoto watches as the black particles fold in on themselves, overlapping as they dissipate, leaving nothing behind in a few seconds.
The green glow leaves the room along with the boy, and Makoto is left alone once again.
—
“You’re Makoto Yuki, right?” The boy asks him one day, shuffling through his school bag curiously. “I think I’ve heard other people call you that. Oh, and that name is on your stuff too!”
Makoto briefly considers responding verbally, dismisses the idea, and simply nods. The other boy is crouching on the floor with his back to Makoto, so it’s impossible for him to see the motion. Makoto gets the feeling that the boy can see it anyway. Since he’s just a piece of Makoto’s mind, it makes sense.
The boy pulls out a school book and lays it on the floor. As he speaks, he absentmindedly flips through the pages. “Everyone has to have a name, right? That’s just how it works. In this story, and in the real world, names are needed to separate and identify people.”
Makoto just shrugs again. They’re useful in some ways, he supposes. But all the most important names just hurt to think about, and Makoto doesn’t want to think about them and their names, so he stays silent.
The boy turns the last page of the book with a little hum, finger dragging along the paper. Makoto blinks, and suddenly the boy is sitting next to him on his futon, smiling at him with too-wide eyes and a too-wide smile. “So…I should have a name too, right? Hey, what do you think of Pharos?”
“Sure,” Makoto whispers back, unable and unwilling to produce any louder sounds. Talking isn’t particularly enjoyable, but with…Pharos, it feels easier.
Pharos holds out a hand, his unnervingly wide smile still plastered on his face. He really does look like a partially failed imitation of a human child, though he’s probably better at pretending than Makoto. “Now that I have a name, will you be my friend, Makoto? I’ve never had a friend before.”
“I don’t really care.”
The grin on Pharos’ face widens and Makoto grabs his hand. It’s ice cold to the touch, and the point of contact starts to drain all of the heat from Makoto’s body. He doesn’t really mind it though.
Friends, huh? Makoto used to have those…probably. It’s all fuzzy. Makoto wants it to stay that way.
Something clicks into place in Makoto’s heart, like a piece of his soul returned to him. Pharos waves “bye-bye” as he vanishes into nothing as always, and Makoto is left alone once more.
…
When Makoto wakes up, the book that Pharos had grabbed lies open on the floor.
—
Time passes a little faster now. School still goes by slowly, but it’s tolerable. The other kids quickly learn that he isn’t interested in interacting with them, and leave him alone. He speaks up enough during class to get the other teachers to leave him alone. The material that they learn isn’t really hard, and Makoto doesn’t mind the tedium that comes with the homework.
His guardian doesn’t really bother talking to him when he goes home (not home not home it’s NOT), so Makoto figures it’s fine to not talk to him back. He’s learned that when other people don’t initiate conversation, they normally don’t get mad if you don’t either.
In his room, Makoto either works on his homework, or sits on the futon and stares at the wall until Pharos shows up. The boy appears almost every night, unless Makoto accidentally falls asleep too early. He always appears at midnight too, during that strange time when time freezes.
Makoto’s done some thinking about it - Pharos probably doesn’t appear during dreams. Things in Makoto’s room can be altered during their time together, so it can’t just be weird dreams. When asking other people about what this would be called, Makoto normally gets two answers: an imaginary friend or a hall-u-cin-a-tion.
Apparently, the first is something common, and the second means your mind is broken, so Makoto figures the latter is correct.
It doesn’t really matter though. It’s nice talking to Pharos, regardless of what he is.
“They’re making us do group projects,” Makoto informs Pharos one night. His voice stays relatively quiet and monotone, but for him it’s the equivalent of a whine. “It’s annoying. We can’t even choose our partners, or request to work alone.”
“That’s curious,” Pharos hums, the tip of his shoulder touching Makoto’s arm. “From what I’ve observed, most humans enjoy interacting with other humans. I always assumed it was something humans did for their enjoyment. But people keep forcing you to do it too, so is it about something else…?”
Makoto responds with a small sigh. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“Well, maybe you can become friends with the other members?” Even as Pharos says it, they both know it’s a pointless suggestion.
Makoto shakes his head even before Pharos finishes speaking. None of his classmates can understand him, and Makoto can’t understand any of them either. Pharos doesn’t entirely get it either, but he understands far more than anyone else can.
“I don’t want friends.”
That gets Pharos to tilt his head curiously, curly hair bouncing as he moves. “But we’re friends, aren’t we?”
For a moment, Makoto doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to say the truth out loud, even if he knows it. “You’re not real.”
“Real…” Pharos murmurs the word thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’m ‘real’ like you are, but I don’t think I’m not real in the way you think I am.” The boy blinked large electric eyes at Makoto, then smiled. “Hmm…this should work. Tomorrow, there’s going to be an unexplainable accident that the news will cover. Five people will be mysteriously found dead on the streets with no suspects or plausible causes of death.”
It’s the sort of sentence that should send a chill down Makoto’s back. Instead, he just nods silently. Logically, there’s no way that Pharos can predict the future. Somehow though, Makoto knows he’s right.
…
The next day, Makoto stands silently in one corner of the living room as the news plays on the TV. Five people found dead on a sidewalk - and experts have no idea why. Makoto’s guardian scoffs, waving a hand in the air as he speaks. “Yeah right, they’re just playing up that nonsense for a good story.”
Makoto doesn’t bother responding, and heads upstairs to wait in his room for Pharos.
When the sky outside turns green and blood fills the streets, for once Makoto is the first one to speak. “You’re real.”
Pharos stands in front of him, a few heads taller than Makoto when he sits cross legged on his futon. The boy, still wearing his same prison-like outfit, giggles softly. “I believe so, yes. I’m sorry, I really don’t remember much.”
Makoto blinks, and Pharos is sitting next to him now, the bed sagging under their combined weight. The other boy brushes their shoulders together, smiling.
“What are you then?”
The mysterious boy hums for a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
Makoto hesitates for a moment, then asks, “Are you some sort of demon that’s going to kill me?” He does his best to wipe the hope from his voice; people don’t like it when he talks like that. Pharos probably hears it anyway.
Pharos looks a little sad when he responds. “I hope not. You’re my only friend, after all.” He doesn’t say anything else after that, so Makoto doesn’t either. The two stay frozen like statues until the world returns to normal, and with it Pharos vanishes.
—
“Most people fear death. You don’t fear death though, right?” It’s a statement, an accusation, and an innocent question all at once.
Makoto nods. They are sitting on the floor this time, so that Pharos can play with some of the wooden blocks his guardian had bought him. They’re toys meant for someone 4 years younger, but Makoto figured that was the sort of statement you aren’t meant to voice.
“Why?” It’s an honest question. This is exactly what Makoto appreciates about Pharos so much - he stays calm and doesn’t make a big deal of things like this. Other people just freak out and talk loudly to him, completely ignoring anything he has to say.
It’s an easy question to answer. “Death just means I’ll get to see my family again. There aren’t really any downsides, either.”
“Your family…”
“...died in a car crash.” Makoto keeps his tone flat and neutral. He’s gotten good at saying it like that, blunt and uncaring. At this point, he’s had a lot of practice.
Pharos stacks a wooden block on top of the precarious tower he’s been building. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the one who did it. Don’t apologize.”
Pharos stacks yet another block on top, and Makoto eyes the tower as it leans heavily to the left. Before Pharos can finish stacking the last one the whole thing collapses, sending wooden blocks scattering across the floor. Pharos turns to Makoto with wide eyes, and for the first time since they’ve met he sounds like the child he looks like when he speaks. “Are you sure?”
There’s something weird about the way Pharos responds, but Pharos is generally weird, so Makoto doesn’t think much about it. “Mhm,” Makoto answers, crawling forward a bit to grab the blocks that flew the furthest. “Wanna try again?”
Pharos’s expression brightens immediately, and he nods happily.
They only manage to stack 6 blocks before the entire thing falls down again.
—
On the anniversary of his family’s death, Makoto lies face down and screams silently into his pillow. Pharos sits next to him, and for the first time since they met, does not say a word for the entirety of their encounter.
—
Pharos tells Makoto all about the Dark Hour, the coffins, and the shadows that roam during that time. When Makoto asks how he knows, Pharos doesn’t know the answer.
When Makoto asks Pharos anything about himself, Pharos doesn’t know the answer. It doesn’t take long for Makoto to learn that Pharos doesn’t like big questions about himself, so he stops asking. It doesn’t really matter to him anyway. Pharos is Pharos, his only companion and friend. What he is doesn’t matter.
So instead Makoto asks Pharos about little things, and helps him find the answer when he doesn’t know it himself. Things like his favorite color (blue), his favorite food (they’re still trying to figure that one out), or his favorite song (they’re still trying to figure that one out too. It mostly involves Pharos trying to convince Makoto to sing various songs for him).
In return, Pharos asks Makoto all sorts of questions about himself and the world in general, which Makoto finds he doesn’t really mind. It’s nice.
Makoto doesn’t tell Pharos this, but sometimes he likes to pretend that they’re normal boys hanging out like normal friends would.
—
On Makoto’s 10th birthday, the two go for a walk. Pharos had insisted on doing something special, and that was apparently the best he could come up with.
Faint screams echo off the buildings every few minutes. Sometimes Makoto steps in a puddle of blood, only for the blood on his shoe to fade once he steps out of the puddle. Any and all other humans in the area, or perhaps the world, are all silent immobile coffins.
It’s horrifying, in theory. Makoto doesn’t think it’s pleasant exactly, but at the same time-
“It’s kind of peaceful, isn’t it?” Pharos murmurs dreamily. He pauses and looks up, and Makoto realizes they made it to a nearby park. Makoto follows Pharos’s gaze to see the bright moon in all its glory.
To some extent, Makoto agrees. There is a sort of serene nature to it. No cars running, no people talking, no animals chittering. Just silence, broken up by the occasional distant scream.
Something else sounds nearby, something that sounds like water if it could growl. Makoto and Pharos turn simultaneously, to see a jello-like blob with hands. A shadow probably, according to Pharos.
Chains clink together and-
-the shadow turns and leaves with a whimper.
“The hour is almost up, we should probably head back,” Pharos says thoughtfully, still staring at where the shadow had appeared. “Happy Birthday, Makoto. I hope you had fun.”
—
When Makoto is twelve, a girl shoves a letter into his hands after class, then immediately runs off. He doesn’t know her name, but he thinks they’ve talked a little during group projects before. Makoto opens it, and begins reading the letter as he walks.
Dear Yuki-kun,
So, I know this is kinda out of nowhere, but I really like you! You’re quiet but considerate, you’re always really humble, and your hair is really pretty! I know we’re still young, but will you go out with me? If your answer is yes, meet me at the playground tomorrow after school. If your answer is no, just pretend like I never gave you this letter, ok?
Yours,
Hana
Makoto stares at it blankly, then rereads it a couple times to be sure. A couple of hearts and flowers are doodled around his name. A…love letter? To him? Is it a prank?
The sound of chains smashing together echoes in his head, like an angry blacksmith trying to kill a sword. It’s so loud it hurts, but when Makoto stumbles the sound thankfully quiets a little.
He’ll show it to Pharos, Makoto decides. Pharos can figure out what to do about this.
…
Pharos stares at the letter for roughly five minutes before turning to look at Makoto with unblinking eyes. “Well?” Pharos asked lightly. “What are you going to do?”
Makoto shrugs and flops down on his futon. “I don’t know. I figured I’d ask you.”
There’s a pause. Makoto blinks, and suddenly Pharos is standing by the window, looking out at the moon. “From what I’ve learned, most boys generally say yes in this situation. People are always looking for bonds like this one, aren’t they?”
That sounds about right.
Makoto blinks, and Pharos is once again sitting on his futon. “Are you interest in having that type of relationship with Hana?”
“I don’t know.”
Pharos leans a bit closer to him, until Makoto can feel his cold breath on his skin. “Do you want that type of relationship with a girl?”
“...I don’t care.”
“Then you should probably choose ‘no’.”
Makoto nods. That sounds like it works.
…
The next day, Makoto notices the girl nervously glancing at him throughout their classes. In her letter, she told him to pretend like she never gave him the letter, so Makoto acts like he always does. He speaks only when absolutely necessary, and ignores everyone and everything else when he can.
When the last class of the day finishes, she makes eye contact with him for a second, then turns and heads for the playground. Her fingers are shaking a little, Makoto notices.
He ignores the playground and heads back to his room.
Hana’s eyes are a little red the next day. She doesn’t speak to him again.
Makoto feels a little bad, but figures it’s probably better that way.
—
When Makoto is 14, he is sent away to live with yet another guardian. This one quickly becomes his favorite. She’s his late uncle’s wife, and had met him when he was a toddler. After his uncle died, she withdrew from the family for a while, so they didn’t interact that much. Apparently, she had gone to his family’s funeral as well. Like everything else from that time, Makoto doesn’t remember her at all.
“In case you don’t remember, I’m Megumi Suzuki,” she introduces herself with a smile and a gentle wave. “You can address me with whatever is most comfortable for you.” She looks like the type of person you see in commercials that promote medicine, Makoto observes. Perfectly brushed straight black hair, some makeup but not too much, and a friendly and cheerful presence.
Makoto nods. He figures it’s fine to not introduce himself too, since she obviously knows who he is.
One of the other adults with them (they’re called a social worker or something?) whispers something to her. Something about him being a very difficult case, probably. Makoto itches to put his headphones around his ears, but resists. People don’t like it when he does that.
She doesn’t have a super large apartment, but in Makoto’s opinion it looks nice. It’s clean without being too empty. There’s bookcases, a TV, a couch, and a small dining table by the kitchen. Makoto even has his own room with a bed. There are a few photos of Makoto’s family displaced on the kitchen counter. Makoto is smiling in all of them.
He looks away from those quickly.
“It’s a small place, but I hope you’ll like it,” Suzuki-san says cheerfully after she finishes the brief tour. Makoto doesn’t understand how she can smile like that. Maybe it’s just fake.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” Makoto says quietly. His previous guardian had told him to tell her that.
“You don’t need to thank me, we’re family,” Suzuki-san says softly. Her smile dims a little as she sees Makoto’s reaction. Makoto isn’t sure what his reaction was, but it seemed to make her upset.
“Hey, so…” Suzuki-san’s smile dimmed a little. “I know some of your previous guardians have…complained about your lack of communication, and I want you to know that I’m not going to pressure or push you, okay? I want to take things at your own pace, and make sure that this is a place you feel comfortable living in. With that said, I need you to communicate with me about important matters or emergencies. That can be a written note if you want, but some level of communication will be needed, okay?”
Makoto nods. Silently, he hopes she’s telling the truth.
At his response, Suzuki-san’s smile brightens a bit again. She reaches out a hand towards his head, then pauses. “Are you okay with me patting you on the head?”
Normally, Makoto would say no. His personal space is important to him. But… “Okay,” Makoto whispers. When her hand gently touches the top of his head, it’s an odd feeling. He hasn’t really had any physical contact with anyone except Pharos for a while now. But, it’s not unpleasant, Makoto decides.
—
New school. Same drill. Ignore everyone unless he absolutely can’t, say things that make the teachers give him concerned looks until they get used to it, then go home and wait for Pharos to appear.
Well, there is the addition of having dinner with Suzuki-san every night. True to her word, she doesn’t force him to talk if he doesn’t want to. She’ll even let him read books at the table if he really wants, or even listen to music while he eats. As time goes on, she starts asking him more and more questions, and Makoto finds himself answering with more words as time passes.
One day, Suzuki-san asks him if he wants to watch Featherman with her, and Makoto accepts. It’s an entertaining show, and it’s fun listening to Suzuki-san’s commentary.
One dinner, Suzuki-san cheerfully announces that she has a boyfriend now. She gushes about him for a while, occasionally pausing to ask if Makoto wants her to shut up about him. The answer is yes, but Makoto can’t bring himself to say it, so he just shakes his head and listens more. It’s a little annoying, but Makoto is glad she’s happy.
“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Pharos comments one night. Makoto nods. She is nice, in a way that his teachers and classmates aren’t. There’s an understanding that she has, that nobody else seems to have.
“You don’t look very happy about that,” Pharos comments, catching Makoto off guard.
Makoto can only stare back at Pharos, confused. Does he not? This is the best his life has been since it effectively ended. He wouldn't exactly describe himself as happy, but he doesn’t want to lose this either.
Oh.
“All good things come to an end,” Pharos murmurs quietly, sadly. Makoto’s new room doesn’t have any windows, so there is no green glow to flood the room. With the door closed, you can’t even hear the screams. “Everyone dies eventually. So why make bonds with others?”
“I don’t know,” Makoto answers. “But…you won’t die, right Pharos? You don’t age, and you’re not…” human goes unsaid. It feels like a rude thing to say, and Makoto doesn’t want to make Pharos sad. Pharos, Makoto’s only friend. The only thing that he doesn’t have to worry about losing.
“I don’t know,” Pharos answers apologetically. “I still can’t remember anything.”
—
“How’s school going?” Suzuki asks him casually. She asks him this a lot, almost every day.
Makoto answers with his usual shrug and says, “It’s fine.”
Suzuki hesitates for a moment, then asks, “Have you made any friends?”
“No,” Makoto answers simply. He can see the worry in her face, as well as her attempt to mask it. It has a part of him feeling guilty, so maybe…
Pharos never asked Makoto to keep him a secret. And Suzuki is a nice and understanding person, so…
“I do have a friend though,” Makoto informs her seriously. “He doesn’t go to my school, but we’ve stayed in touch for almost a decade now.”
Delight flashes in her eyes, and she claps her hands together joyfully. “Really? That’s wonderful! How have you two been contacting each other? If you’d like, we can invite them over and you two can hang out!”
Makoto feels blinded by her sheer enthusiasm. “Um.” He doesn’t really want to lie to her. But he also knows she’d never believe him about the Dark Hour and all of the…weirdness surrounding Pharos.
“He lives somewhere far away. I don’t think that’d be possible.”
—
The year passes by, and some things change. At Suzuki’s encouragement, Makoto starts to talk a little more with his classmates. He doesn’t exactly become “friends” with anyone, but there are a few people he becomes “friendly” with. He walks part of the way home with one of them one day, listening to them talk about their crush for most of it.
Makoto tells Suzuki about it when he gets home. She looks a little down when he first opens the door, but that expression quickly shifts into a huge smile when he tells her about his day.
“Are you okay with me hugging you?” She asks him seriously, still beaming.
Makoto nods, and suddenly her arms are around him and he can’t help but think I never want to lose this. “I’m so proud of you,” Suzuki tells him seriously, and Makoto feels something unknown welling up inside his chest.
Huh. Maybe he isn’t quite as broken as he thought.
“I’m happy for you,” Pharos tells Makoto that night as they sit together on Makoto’s bed. It has a big blue blanket lying on it that Suzuki bought the second she learned Makoto’s favorite color is blue. That was probably the day Suzuki-san became Suzuki to Makoto, though he isn’t entirely sure now.
Pharos doesn’t smile as he speaks. Instead he appears to be antsy, constantly teleporting around the room, wringing his hands together and shuffling his feet.
“Are you jealous?” Makoto asks curiously. There was a plot line about that in one of the Featherman seasons he watched with Suzuki. “You’ll always be my best friend, you know.”
Pharos smiles a little at that, though the expression quickly fades. “No, that’s not it, I think. It feels like…something bad is happening, and I’m worried about you. Be careful, okay?”
—
One day, Suzuki comes back home a little later than normal. She stumbles a little as she takes off her shoes, and when she asks “How was school, Makoto?” her words are a little slurred.
She seems to struggle a bit as she makes it to the dining table, where she practically collapses into her chair. Without even waiting to hear a response, or perhaps she thinks he already responded, she asks, “Made any new friends?”
It’s time for dinner, so Makoto sits down at the table too. She smells bad. Makoto thinks he knows what this is.
“Are you drunk?”
She giggles a little at that, then sighs as she circles the rim of a glass of water with one finger. “You’re a smart kid, so there’s no point in denying it, is there?”
“Why?” Makoto questions, genuinely curious. From his limited understanding of alcohol and its effects, she doesn’t seem like the type to drink it.
The hand playing with the glass rests itself on the table, and her head soon follows. Dark hair spills around her face, obscuring her eyes. “You know about my dead husband, right? I really loved him, y’know. Still do, probably. You get it, I’m sure.”
Makoto thinks he does, though it’s probably a little different for him.
Suzuki laughs weakly, then reaches out a hand to pat Makoto’s head. “Sorry kiddo. I’m just being a little stupid right now. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
…
Pharos and Makoto spend a long time silently staring at Suzuki’s coffin that night, slumped over the table where she fell asleep.
Makoto doesn’t like this. There’s something uncomfortable curled in his chest, some emotion that he wants to run away from and never feel again. “Pharos?” Makoto asked, or perhaps begged. “Is there anything either of us can do for her?”
With both of them standing upright like this, the height difference was more than noticeable. Pharos’s head barely passed Makoto’s stomach, now. Looking at him like this, Pharos looked more like a young child than Makoto was used to.
“I…” Pharos shifts his weight from side to side, then shakes his head sadly. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never met her boyfriend,” Makoto says quietly, pieces starting to click together in his head. “She talks about him less now, but she’s never said they broke up either. And…it’s been many months, and she’s never introduced him to me.”
“Humans are so fragile, it’s so easy to hurt them,” Pharos said distantly. “I think that makes it really sad when someone hurts others intentionally. Why would someone do that, I wonder…”
—
After that night, Suzuki’s behavior changed. Her smiles became less and less real. She often wouldn’t listen to Makoto’s answer when asking him about his day. She got back home later and later each day, until suddenly missing dinner was a common occurrence.
Even then, she always made sure Makoto had three meals a day. She always helped him with his homework when he asked, which he started doing more and more in the hopes of…something. She’d still pat him on the head gently when he told her of his accomplishments, and would still smile brightly whenever he told her about something good in his day.
Pharos helped Makoto brainstorm potential ideas for what was going on and what he could do to help. The other boy seemed genuinely invested in her well-being too, which Makoto appreciated. Still, while they knew something bad was happening, Makoto and Pharos couldn’t figure out what to do.
—
One night, Suzuki comes back at 11:30pm with a bruise on her wrist. She frowns at Makoto when he confronts her, and lightly chides him by saying, “It’s a bit past your bedtime young man.”
Makoto stares back up at her with his feet fixed on the ground and his hands curled into fists. “You should break up with him,” Makoto states flatly. Something burns in his chest, something that he hasn’t ever felt before and doesn’t know how to handle.
Suzuki sets her purse down with a sigh. “Makoto…”
“You should break up with him,” Makoto repeats, more intensely this time. In the back of his mind chains rustle quietly, attentively. (Somewhere even more distant, he can hear bells ringing).
“Honey,” Suzuki says apologetically, and suddenly Makoto knows. She will not listen to him. She will not listen to what he is telling her. She is not listening to what he is telling her.
“Why?” Makoto asks helplessly.
She pulls him into a hug, and rests her chin on his head. “I told you before, didn’t I? I’m just being a little stupid right now. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I won’t be going anywhere, alright?”
Makoto does his best to cling to her even as he feels her slipping away.
…
“Makoto,” Pharos calls to him that night.
Makoto does not answer, and continues to lie on his back while staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“Makoto,” Pharos says again, urgently. “She needs to stop seeing him, now.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The words are flat, dull.
“You should try again-”
“I don’t care.”
Makoto lets his eyes follow along a few of the cracks in the ceiling, tracing the webs and spirals that they form. It’s a nice, mindless exercise.
“Something bad will-”
“I don’t care.”
—
Two weeks later, and one week before Makoto’s birthday, Suzuki does not come back home.
The police arrive at his apartment the next morning, and inform Makoto of what happened.
Death by strangulation. Bad case of domestic violence. The murder was accidental. The murderer claims he never meant to kill her. He called the ambulance right after he realized she wasn’t breathing.
She wasn’t alive when the ambulance got there. She died on a wooden floor, alone with her murderer.
“Kid’s going into shock, probably,” Makoto hears someone say.
“No, I’m not,” Makoto corrects them. It’s fine. This is fine. He saw it coming, to some extent.
…Where are his headphones again?
—
That night, Makoto spends the Dark Hour screaming until his throat breaks. Pharos does not appear. Makoto is a little glad.
That night, he doesn’t hear those familiar chains at all.
…
The next day, it is announced that the murderer died suddenly and inexplicably during the night. Death by heartbreak, Makoto hears someone joke.
“Are you glad he died?” Pharos asks him that night.
Makoto doesn’t respond, instead keeping his head tucked between his knees as he has for the past 7ish hours. Makoto doesn’t even bother with nodding. He thinks the answer is probably yes, but he isn’t sure.
Pharos nods sadly beside him, then vanishes.
—
On Makoto’s 16th birthday, he isn’t entirely sure where he is. At this point, he’s run out of relatives who are willing to take him in. All the ones that want him are dead now, after all. Everything’s been a blur, just like how it was when his family died, and Makoto is grateful for that.
“Hey,” Pharos greets him sadly. Makoto thinks Pharos has stayed by his side whenever he can for the past week, but it’s hard to remember.
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” Pharos continues. He seems to understand that Makoto won’t be speaking to him for a while. “I wish I could do something to help you with that pain, but…”
There’s silence for a while. Neither of them make eye contact with each other.
“I never really understood how bonds, death, and grief work. I still don’t entirely get it, but I think I understand a bit better now. Bonds bring you joy, and then you lose them, and then it hurts. That’s just how life works. And when you lose someone, you don’t want to think about the happy times, so instead you think ‘I wish I’d never met this person.’”
“You’re 16 now.” Pharos says it like it is a death sentence. “It makes me sad, but maybe this will help you. Do you remember the End that I talked about a long time ago? Well, it’s almost here. Soon, in less than a year, everything will end.”
The words bring about a strange sense of comfort. Makoto lifts his head, and finally meets Pharos’s gaze.
The boy offers him a smile filled to the brim with grief. “Happy Birthday, Makoto.”
—
Iwatodai Dorm. Apparently, that’s the place where he will be living for the next year. Makoto is glad that he won’t really have a guardian personally watching over him this time. He’s going to a new school too of course, Gekkoukan High. He hadn’t bothered to say bye to anyone at his old school. He won’t bother with making friends with anyone at the new school this time.
Makoto steps off the train right as the clock hand strikes twelve, and the world is bathed in a sickly green.
Pharos appears with it, smiling at Makoto a few feet in front of him.
“C’mon. Let’s go.”