Chapter Text
When their eyes locked, Yuuki Makoto felt something within him stir for the first time in a decade. The vibrant blue gaze that met his own brought forth a sea of emotions that he couldn’t immediately decipher. It gripped at his heart, squeezed his lungs, churned his stomach and twisted it into knots. For years, he had felt so empty that now the sudden fullness in his chest left him fit to burst. Or perhaps the alien sentiment he felt was overwhelming enough to drown him. He had never once laid eyes on this person, yet his face was one so familiar. Short, choppy hair framed a pale face he had seen in his dreams a thousand times-- or at least he thought he had. Trying to recall them now was like trying to dredge up the remnants of a memory long distorted by time. Blue eyes stood out stark against pale, unblemished skin. A singular beauty mark branded his cheek, just below his left eye. Makoto could practically see that face burned into the backs of his eyelids, but despite this, he didn’t want to even blink, frightened that if his eyes strayed, the other boy would disappear into thin air. He wasn’t sure why that thought made his chest tighten with anxiety.
Makoto had unceremoniously accomplished quite a bit in the past twenty days. From learning the truth about the Dark Hour and the monsters that prowled in its presence, to exploring the first few floors of a tower so tall, it seemed to pierce the sky, Makoto’s high school life was shaping up to be anything but normal. He’d spent an entire week in the hospital, after fighting a monster made up of many writhing arms and many hands wielding sharp-edged blades. After that, he was given a full explanation about the power that was nested within him, and the threat that shadows posed to the lives of those around him. He had blindly agreed to join the organization known as S.E.E.S., not because he felt particularly attached to the cause, but because he was asked to. He joined them, but he felt nothing. He fought, but he felt nothing. He slayed monsters, and he felt nothing. April had proven to be an eventful month, and still he felt nothing.
But that wasn’t true for him at the current moment.
The S.E.E.S team had assembled in the lounge on the first floor. The chairman had requested the meeting one night prior, insisting he had exciting news to share with them all. In typical fashion, they all found their perches around the low coffee table. Junpei and Yukari occupied opposite ends of the couch furthest from the door. Mitsuru sat with her legs crossed in her favorite chair. Akihiko stood not too far from her, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Makoto sat alone on the other couch across from Yukari, and hadn’t bothered to turn around to look when the chairman first arrived. Now, however, Ikutsuki stood before them all, his smile broad and his eyes warm behind the lenses of his glasses. Beside him stood one lanky young man, his fingers nervously pinching and pulling at the fabric of the yellow scarf that adorned his neck. He had attempted to go and sit himself down, but Ikutsuki had stopped him before he could stray too far. The young man stood stiffly at his side, so still he almost seemed not to be breathing, his wide eyed stare not once straying from Makoto’s own.
“It’s a month for newcomers,” Ikutsuki mused, bringing a heavy hand down on the young man’s upper back in a way that was meant to be comforting. Instead, the young man lurched forward with a flinch, his eyes fluttering with surprise as he caught his balance. Timidly, he hid his lower face behind yellow cloth, his gaze settling on the floor. The chairmen quickly uttered an apology, reaching out to steady the young man with a much gentler hand on his shoulder. A sheepish smile was offered to the rest of the team, who all sat in stunned silence.
“I know it has been an eventful past few weeks. Already, there are two more faces here than there were before,” the man muttered. “What’s one more?”
“One more?” It was Mitsuru who spoke up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you implying that he has the potential?”
“Indeed, I am,” Ikutsuki confirmed, his smile brightening. “I found him wandering during the Dark Hour. The poor lad still has yet to recover completely, but I believe he could be a valuable asset to the team.”
The chairman turned to look at their new guest, his expression growing gentle at the edges.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
The young man hesitated, his eyes flickering up to Makoto briefly before his gaze swept across the room. He seemed to shrink a bit where he stood, hiding a little further behind his scarf, brows pinching together over the bridge of his nose.
“M-Mochizuki Ryoji,” he managed to sputter, his voice so quiet that everyone had to lean in a little closer to better hear him. “... That’s my name.”
Yukari interjected before they could carry on, her hands balling into fists in her lap as her own brow scrunched in frustration.
“Don’t just put him on the spot like that,” she scolded, looking at Ikutsuki accusingly. “Look at him! He’s so nervous he can barely speak!”
It was now Ikutsuki’s turn to sputter. The chairman’s eyes widened, and he turned his attention back to Mochizuki, his mouth running wild with apologies as he tried to reassure their new guest. Junpei rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably, forcing himself to look away. He glanced at Makoto, eyebrows raising with mild curiosity when he realized the de facto team leader was staring at the newcomer with rapt attention.
“He must be shy,” Junpei agreed with a sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions with a cheeky grin forming at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe you two will get along, Yuuki.”
Makoto didn’t even spare him a glance. The only indication that he had heard the jab was the slight tightening of the fingers that sat laced between his knees.
“Please have a seat, Mochizuki-kun,” Ikutsuki sighed, regret etched into every inch of his face. He moved to the side, gesturing to the empty armchair that usually served as his perch. “Takeba is right. It was very inconsiderate of me to put you on the spot like that, especially given your circumstances.”
Mochizuki’s eyes followed where Ikutsuki’s hand gestured, but he didn’t sit down immediately. Instead, he turned to look at Makoto yet again, and his eyes zeroed in on the empty spot beside him. It took only two strides for him to close the gap, and he lowered himself onto the couch, still nervously fidgeting with his scarf.
“What exactly are his circumstances?” Mitsuru asked, her sharp gaze probing the chairman for any information he might divulge. “If we’re to house him, it would be in our best interest to know.”
“Well…” The man frowned, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “To tell you the truth, his circumstances are quite mysterious. As I mentioned, I found him wandering during the Dark Hour, and he has yet to fully recover.”
“In what way does he have yet to recover?” Mitsuru’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, her frown deepening.
“He seems to have no recollection of his life before the night I found him,” the chairman explained. “I had hoped he would regain some of his memories once the Dark Hour ended, but he’s still not sure of his past. That or he’s keeping it a secret.”
Makoto watched as the boy’s brow twitched, still staring at him with unnervingly rapt attention. His gaze was intense enough that it could have burned two holes into the side of the young man’s head. After a few more seconds to study him, he forcefully peeled his eyes away to stare at the floor.
“Nonetheless,” Ikutsuki continued. “I’ve been searching for anyone who might claim him, but there are very few families nearby with the name Mochizuki, none of whom seem to be missing a child. Curiously, he’s enrolled as a second-year student at Gekkoukan, but there’s no address on file to indicate where he lives.”
“He’s in our grade?” Yukari frowned. “But I haven’t seen him around…”
“How strange,” Akihiko murmured, toeing at the carpet.
“Indeed, he’s something of an enigma,” Ikutsuki lamented with a shake of his head. “But in all technicality, he is one of our students, and he has nowhere else to go. On top of that, he has demonstrated that he has potential.”
“I take it you’d like us to provide him with lodgings.” Mitsuru shifted slightly where she sat, her lips pursing in thought. “But there is an issue with that. This is very short notice for us to prepare a new room. I don’t think we even have an extra bed to offer.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing a room with somebody else until you’re able to give him his own space,” Ikutsuki replied, waving away her concerns. All eyes turned to the boy again, but he didn’t seem to notice them. His vibrant gaze had trailed over to Makoto again, watching him from the corner of his eye. “Isn’t that right, Mochizuki-kun?”
He flinched, dragged back into the moment by force. His eyes fluttered, then returned to his lap, his cheeks darkening with embarrassment.
“R-Right.”
“Yuuki.” Mitsuru’s voice was gentle, but authoritative. He lifted his head to look at her, his expression impassive as she continued. “You’re new to Iwatodai, and to Gekkoukan. Perhaps it would be beneficial for the two of you to stick together. If it’s no bother to you, I think it would be best if he stays with you for the time being.”
Mochizuki’s eyes slowly slid to the side again, curiously peering at Makoto once more. His breath hitched slightly when he gave a curt nod, his stony expression unchanging as he spoke. Mochizuki could feel his own lips trembling where they hid behind his scarf.
“I don’t mind,” he stated, his tone even and easy. “Mochizuki can bunk with me.”
“Ryoji!” The other boy immediately blurted out, and once again everybody turned to watch him. His embarrassment quickly caught up with him, and he swallowed thickly. “Call me Ryoji… please.”
He felt every inch of his body tense when gray eyes turned to look at him again. Makoto’s face was placid, as though it was a perfect mask, unreadable and inscrutable. Slowly, his eyebrows raised, and those gray eyes of his traced over Mochizuki’s face for the thousandth time in the past twenty minutes.
“Ryoji,” he echoed, voice soft. Mochizuki felt his heart stutter in his chest, a jolt of electricity crackling through his veins. He was enraptured by the way that name sounded when spoken in Yuuki’s voice, and he knew right away that he wanted to hear it again, and again, and again.
“Um,” Yukari interrupted, her brow furrowing slightly as she watched them. “Do you two know each other somehow?”
Makoto turned to face her with an easy shrug of his shoulders.
“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” he said honestly, pushing himself to stand.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Junpei grumbled, scratching at his chin as he eyed them both. “Staring at each other like that.”
“Are you going?” Mitsuru’s attention returned to Makoto, her expression a little more relaxed now that arrangements had been properly made. “There are spare futons in the storage closet on the fourth floor. Please help Mochizuki get settled in.”
Makoto offered another curt nod, then turned to head toward the stairs. Mochizuki rushed to his feet without a second thought, speeding to follow after him. He paused only momentarily to offer a hasty bow of his head, along with a flustered ‘thank you,’ then hurriedly followed Makoto up the stairs.
Not long after that, they were wrestling a mass of blankets and pillows into the room at the end of the second floor hallway. Makoto was silent through the entire ordeal, from the few minutes they’d spent rooting through the closet, to the moment they laid out the futon on the floor of his room. Mochizuki hovered close to him, watching his every move with undivided attention. He drank in everything about him, from the way he walked, to the way he brushed his bangs from his eyes when he was concentrating. When they finished preparing the futon, Makoto lifted his eyes to look at Mochizuki’s, and the taller boy visibly tensed again, wide eyes locked on a statuesque face.
“You have no belongings.”
Mochizuki thumbed at his scarf nervously, his eyes darting away.
“That’s right,” he murmured in affirmation.
Makoto remained rooted to the spot for a moment or two before he turned toward his closet. The door easily slid open, and he grabbed a pair of sweatpants along with a shirt a few sizes too big for him. When he turned back to Mochizuki, he extended the items to him.
“The bathroom is at the end of the hall,” he said coolly. “It’s the last door on the left.”
Mochizuki took the clothing on offer, his eyebrow’s raising slightly on his forehead. He swallowed thickly, then offered a quick, enthusiastic nod.
“Thank you,” he breathed, struggling to take even a single step away, but Makoto only stared at him expectantly. He willed himself to approach the door that led out to the hallway, casting a timid glance over his shoulder as he went. Makoto had turned away, his back to him as he pulled his shirt off over his head. Mochizuki’s hand rested on the door handle for a moment too long as he committed the image to memory– healthy skin, smooth and perfect. A narrow waist, with shoulders that were not quite broad.
“Um… What’s your name?” The question left his mouth before he could stop himself, and the other boy paused to look over his shoulder. Once again, their eyes met, and Mochizuki felt his heart stutter.
“Yuuki,” the boy responded casually. “Makoto.”
“Makoto,” Mochizuki echoed. He tore his eyes away, and pushed the door open, slipping out into the hallway.
Why did it feel so necessary for him to stare?
He found his way to the bathroom with ease. He swapped into the loungewear he’d been provided, only frowning when he realized the sweatpants were just an inch or two too short for him. He attempted to brush it from his mind, because it shouldn’t have been a big deal, but for some reason he couldn’t stop thinking about it. At least the shirt was a good fit…
The rest of the night was uneventful. When he returned to the room, the lights were already out, and Makoto was already laying on his side, his back facing the rest of the room. Mochizuki fought to make as little noise as possible as he slipped into his futon and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He stared at the vague outline of Makoto’s body, silhouetted by the faint light of the crescent moon streaming through the window. At some point he fell asleep– sometime after the sky outside turned a sickly green.
~~~
"Your world... It's nearly ended so many times, now."
He heard the voice echoing around him. Distant, foreign, but familiar. It spoke with all the authority of the cosmos, and yet with the gentleness of a whisper. He didn't know whose it was, but he knew they must have been ancient. Older even than himself. Older than the bones of the earth, older than the first glimmer of the star his planet spun around. Despite how old he was certain this person must have been, he also felt that he knew them. He just couldn't remember how.
Who....?
"Aren't you tired yet? How do we keep ending up back in this place?"
"Who are you?"
His own voice sounded unfamiliar to him when it reached his ears, echoing through the inky abyss that surrounded him on all sides. He was greeted with something akin to a progression of chords, played on a mystical set of strings he could not identify. It resonated around him, and he realized faintly that it was his own voice, whispering in chorus.
Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?
There was a chuckle in response, something light and sweet. A fondness colored the stranger's tone, and he found himself drawn in by it. Enthralled, he ached to be closer.
"Who am I?" The other voice sounded thoughtful, and he swore he could almost pinpoint who it belonged to. But just when he thought the name was on the tip of his tongue, it slipped away, and the voice continued. "Do you even know who you are?"
Who are you?
His own voice chorused again in hushed whispers.
He now saw before him a mask.
From the dark, many arms materialized, and one ethereal, dark hand held the mask steady. It hovered in front of him, slowly swaying back and forth but always facing him, as though drinking in his every detail with its hollow eyes. He remained still, lifting his fingers to reach out and touch, and the mask recoiled, the slender digits that pinched at its chin tightening reflexively in surprise.
"Is this you?" He asked, and this time his voice didn't echo. It sounded familiar-- the voice he used every day, unaccompanied by ghostly murmurs. But the voice that greeted him remained the same, another chuckle reverberating through the dark. This time, it sounded almost sad.
"Is it me?" They repeated his question, and the many armed creature lowered itself a little closer to the ground, once more allowing its porcelain face to hover closer. "It is the Magician. Don't you recognize it?"
"... From the dorm roof," he breathed, and there was a hum of approval.
"That's right," the voice whispered. "It's one facet of me. A sliver that I lost. Do you know what the Magician represents?"
He hesitated momentarily before he shook his head.
"I do not."
"My dearest, it is the manifestation of my desire. My energy. My potential." The voice was a sigh, so close he could almost feel it brushing the shell of his ear. "You've returned this to me: the ability to exert my will over the fragile realm within which you tread. Your domain has become my own."
His brow furrowed slightly, his lips worrying into a frown, and the voice cooed. The many-armed creature slowly crawled back into the dark, and it dissolved into the shadows, never again to be seen.
"... Does this frighten you?"
"I'm not sure what about it would frighten me," he said honestly. "I don't even know who you are."
Who are you?
His own voice rang out again in a chorus of strings, this time a little louder. A soft hum was uttered in turn, and he felt a brush of lips against the crook of his neck, the kiss cold as ice. He kept his head straight, even as chilled fingers settled over his own. Even as many arms enveloped him, cocooned him in a lover's embrace.
"My sweet," the voice uttered, sadness seeping in again. "I am your echo. Destined to chase but never catch you. Desperate to be with you, yet forced to be separate."
He remained still, his stomach twisting into a thousand tiny knots. Cold digits laced through his own. Cold fingers passed through his hair. Cold fingers caressed his cheeks, wiped at his eyes, brushed over his lips. Sorrow forced his lungs to shudder, and he felt his head turning, slowly.
"Keep your eyes forward," the voice instructed, and the hands on his cheeks held him in place. "I'm here."
"I want to see you."
"In time, my love. In time, you will. We're never apart for long. Did you forget again?"
Orpheus did not respond. The heavy weight in his chest was unbearable, the manifestation of his own desire too strong to resist. And so, he gently pried cold palms from his cheeks, and his body pivoted at the waist to gaze upon the face of his beloved.
But it was not the face that he remembered.
He saw before him a mask.
Makoto sat up with a start, sweat beading his forehead and his chest heaving. There was a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked up, he found himself gazing upon the all too familiar face of Mochizuki. His gray eyes shifted down to the hand on his shoulder, and the next breath he took was exhaled with a little more ease .
“Sorry to wake you,” the other boy said, his voice soft. “You were having a nightmare.”
“Oh,” Makoto replied lamely.
Mochizuki withdrew his hand and averted his gaze, shuffling where he stood. Makoto watched him, then slowly pushed himself to slide out of bed. He paused when he finally stood up straight, suddenly overcome with the strong urge to reach out and touch him. He kept his hands to himself, but the urge remained, as if he needed to confirm he was really there.
“Do you have a lot of nightmares?”
“They’re just dreams,” Makoto uttered, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Mochizuki watched him as he crossed the room to the closet once more, fishing his school uniform from one of the hangers.
“It’s still early,” Mochizuki said, hiding behind his scarf again. “You could sleep a little longer if you’re tired.”
Makoto didn’t answer him. He merely pulled on a pair of house slippers and went to the door, his clothes folded over one arm. The door opened, then it shut behind him, and Mochizuki was left alone to worry whether or not he had done something wrong.