Chapter Text
Night is the only time my garage feels… honest.
During the day it pretends to be a workspace. An organized and functional one. However, when the sun falls…
Cables spill like entrails from half-open panels, tools migrate on their own when I’m not looking, and I swear, that I don’t know how that ended up there.
I glance at the clock without really processing the numbers. 2:47 a.m.
…Ah. That explains… Tsukasa.
“You’ve been at it since this morning!” he crosses his arms leaning against the doorframe. His voice isn’t as loud as it should be when he complains. That’s how I know he’s serious. “Rui, you promised you’d stop at midnight.”
“Technically,” I say, adjusting the wiring on the device spread across my workbench, “I promised I’d consider stopping at midnight.”
“That is not what you said.”
I hum thoughtfully. “Memory is such a fascinatingly unreliable mechanism.”
“Rui.”
…Ouch. That was a cold tone.
I finally turn around. Tsukasa is still in his casual clothes, with his hair slightly undone in a way that tells me he was too tired to care anymore.
He looks magnificent even when exhausted. Especially when exhausted. There’s a particular fire in him that doesn’t go out… it just smolders angrily when he’s feeling neglected.
Which, admittedly, I… may be doing right now.
“You skipped dinner, again! Your mom brought two plates and I ate both of them!”
“I had a protein bar.”
“You had half a protein bar, I found the wrapper in the trash with the other half untouched.”
Ah… evidence. How troublesome.
I raise my hands in surrender, still clutching the screwdriver between my fingers. “Alright, alright. I concede that my nutritional decisions today were… suboptimal.”
“That’s not the problem!” He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks closer, locking his frustrated gaze on the device. “What even is this thing supposed to do?!”
“It’s for the new show~!” I turn back to the desk. “A wandering warrior who travels across different worlds to save the one he loves… so romantic.”
Tsukasa’s posture softens slightly. He knows that story. I’ve been muttering variations of it in my sleep for weeks.
“I wanted the transitions between worlds to feel… real,” I continue. “Not just lights and smoke. I want the audience to feel disoriented. Like reality itself is bending for him. Like he has to cross impossible boundaries because… love demands it.”
I hear him exhale in a very specific way. I know what that means.
“And you decided… that the best way to do that was to build something that looks like it could tear a hole in space-time.”
I glance at the device. Sleek metal frame, layered coils, and an unstable-looking core glowing faintly violet. Beautiful, really.
“Well… when you put it like that, it sounds irresponsible.”
He stares at me.
“…It is irresponsible,” I correct. “But magnificently so.”
“Rui.”
Again. My name, now exhausted instead of sharp.
He steps closer until I can feel his presence behind me, warm and very real. His hand finds my wrist, gently but firmly guiding the screwdriver out of my grip.
“You haven’t slept… nor eaten. And you’ve been talking to that thing more than you’ve talked to me today.”
I tilt my head, considering. “That’s not true… I talked to you when you brought me coffee.”
“You were soldering and didn’t answer.”
“…I talked near you?”
His grip tightens for half a second, then relaxes. I can almost hear the battle in his head: Tsukasa the Performer, who understands obsession, versus Tsukasa the Boyfriend… who is profoundly done with me.
“You don’t have to make it this real, Rui. The audience already believes in us. They trust the show.”
I finally turn fully to face him.
“But I don’t just want belief,” I reply. “I want inevitability. I want the kind of realism that makes people forget they ever doubted dreams in the first place.”
“…You’re going to hurt yourself one of these days.”
“Perhaps. But imagine if it works—”
…I feel the need to clarity, I have no intention to let the device go.
Tsukasa’s hand closes around the frame and he gives it a tentative tug. I respond tightening my fingers, pulling it closer to my chest.
“Rui,” he warns. “Give. it. to. me.”
“No.”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
“I said no,” I repeat, shifting my grip. “One more adjustment and it’s finished.”
“That’s what you said an hour ago!”
“Yes, and it was true then, too.”
“You’re holding it like a toddler!”
“I am holding it like a visionary,” I correct.
He pulls again, harder, but I pull back again.
For a brief, ridiculous second, our defiant gazes lock into each other. I plant my feet, and he raises an eyebrow.
“…You look exactly like a damn dog!!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his chin, “when they’re chewing on something they’re not supposed to, and they clamp their jaw shut and refuse to open it no matter what you do!”
“That comparison is deeply flawed,” I hum. “Dogs lack opposable thumbs.”
“And yet, the energy is identical.”
I glare at him over the top of the device. “I assure you, I am perfectly capable of—”
Tsukasa steps closer, one arm braced, the other still firmly gripping the device. I see his expression has shifted into the look he gets before lifting heavy stage equipment.
The look that reminds me that muscles were not distributed equally in this relationship.
I am, regrettably, 12000% aware of this.
“Kamishiro. Last chance.”
I frown. “One. more. minute.”
However, he doesn’t seem very interested in negotiating at this point.
There’s a sudden, decisive pull in which my grip slips. The device leaves my hands with a soft metallic clink, and I am left clutching empty air and wounded pride.
He holds it up triumphantly for half a second before quickly moving it out of reach, placing it on the highest shelf in the garage.
“There,” he says. “Safe from you!”
I follow the arc of the movement with my eyes. That one is, indeed, a high shelf.
…But he stood on tiptoes to reach it. I’m 9 cm taller. I could simply extend my arm, reclaim what is rightfully mine, and—
I look at Tsukasa.
He is standing directly in front of me now, arms crossed, with those sunset eyes radiating with concern.
“…Fine,” I give up.
His eyebrows shoot up. “T-That easy?!”
“For now. Consider it a strategic retreat…”
He steps closer again, invading my space in a way that feels familiar and grounding. His hands find my shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly, like he’s checking that I’m still real.
“You’re impossible, I’m seconds away from dumping you.”
“And yet,” I reply, closing my eyes, “you persist dealing with me.”
“Sit,” he orders, nudging me toward a chair. “Right now.”
Tsukasa’s backpack hits the floor with a soft thud.
I watch him unzip it and rummage for a moment before pulling something out of a plastic bag. A folded damp towel.
“Is that…?”
“Don’t move.” He steps into my space again, lifting my chin with two fingers before I can protest, and the towel presses against my cheek.
“...Oh.”
“You’re filthy,” Tsukasa mutters, wiping gently along my jaw. “Do you have any idea how much grease you have on your face?”
“Functionally?” I reply. “Yes.”
“Great, and emotionally?”
“…No.”
He exhales through his nose and moves on to my other cheek. Then my forehead, and finally, with a pointed look, my arms.
I glance down.
I hadn’t noticed any of the dark smudges that streak my skin. But I can identify oil, metal dust, and… yes, whatever else my hands encountered today in their quest for transcendence.
He’s not scolding me like an angry wife, and that’s actually not a good signal.
A strange, unpleasant awareness settles in my chest.
“…I overdid it, didn’t I?”
The towel pauses. His eyes soften, but the tension doesn’t fully leave his shoulders.
“Yes. You did.”
I swallow. “I didn’t mean to ignore you…” I add, because that’s the real problem and we both know it.
He resumes wiping, slower than before. “I know.”
“You shouldn’t,” I say. “I was… awful today.”
“You were you,” he replies. “Which… maybe is worse.”
That earns a reluctant huff of laughter from me.
He finishes my arms and tosses the towel aside, then immediately replaces it with himself. His hands slide up to my shoulders, squeezing gently, grounding me in a way no equation ever has.
“You don’t have to be a genius all the time, Rui… you don’t have to disappear to make something amazing.”
“I don’t disappear on purpose…”
“I know.” His thumbs press into the knots near my neck. “But you go so far ahead that you forget to check if I’m still with you.”
I reach up and curl my fingers into his cardigan, anchoring myself. “I’m… sorry.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead against mine. Then his arms wrap around me, and he pulls me into his chest.
“You don’t get to self-destruct quietly,” he says into my ear, in the softest voice I’ve ever heard. “If you’re going to push yourself that hard, you at least let me hold you together.”
I close my eyes.
“...Yes, sir,” I mumble, smirking a bit.
“Don’t get cheeky on me!” He squeezes me harder, then stubbornly kisses the top of my head.
Tsukasa promised me to stay up until I fell asleep… but obviously, he falls asleep first.
This is not surprising. He keeps the schedule of a man three times his age. The moment his head hits the couch, his eyes refuse to open again.
One minute he’s muttering something about tomorrow’s practice. The next, he’s completely gone, seconds away from snoring.
I stand quietly and consider my options.
Tha first one is to give in and lie down with him.
This is very tempting. Tsukasa is warm, comfortable, and smells like flowers when he wears that specific perfume. Normally, I would take this option without hesitation.
However… he has a terrifying reflex.
When he sleeps and I am within reach, he grabs me. He wraps around me like I am a valuable object that might escape if not properly restrained.
If I lie down with him now, I will not be getting back up until morning. Possibly not until next week, actually.
I glance back at the shelf where my device waits, the second choice.
I sigh.
“Forgive me…” I whisper, grab the device and take it to my desk.
I don’t turn on the main lights, just the small lamp over the bench. Gotta make sure he doesn’t wake up.
Just one more adjustment… that’s what I told him that earlier. I wasn’t lying.
Once it’s done, I place my hand on the activation panel.
“Alright… let’s see what you can do.”
So, I trigger it.
At first, nothing happens. Until… two seconds later.
The hum spikes into a dissonant whine. Numbers on the display scramble, cascading faster than they should. That’s… odd.
I reach forward to shut it down, but the device does not respond.
“No,” I whisper to myself. “No, no, no—”
The floor shudders in a violent, bone-deep jolt that rattles the shelves and sends tools clattering to the ground.
And behind me…
“Rui?!”
Of course he’d wake up.
I spin around just as another shockwave tears through the space, so strong that I have to widen my stance to stay upright.
“I’m sorry!” I blurt out, already moving towards him. “Stay back—!”
“What the hell did you do?!” he shouts over the rising noise.
“I’m handling it!” I lie.
The core flares, light spilling outward in jagged patterns that crawl along the walls.
I grab Tsukasa and pull him against me, turning my body so my back is protecting his body. The vitals, at least.
“Don’t move!” Fear finally claws its way into my voice. “No matter what happens!”
I feel Tsukasa digging his fingers into my jacket, unsure of what to do.
“Rui, stop it!” he yells. “Fuck, turn it off!”
“I’m trying, I swear!”
I twist, reaching back blindly for the control panel. Something is pulling… and it’s not just energy.
Another violent surge rips through the garage, and even the couch skids across the floor. The world feels like it’s folding inward, reality creasing under pressure it was never meant to endure.
Something tugs at my hand. When I look down, I find my fingers still gripping the device. Somehow, at some point, I grabbed it without realizing, clutching it with the same desperate strength as before. Like a child refusing to let go of a toy, like Tsukasa said.
“...Oh.”
Tsukasa shouts my name, but I barely register it.
The device reaches a pitch beyond sound, light flaring so bright it burns white. The unbearable pressure spikes, tearing at… at me.
Only… at me.
I wake up choking on light.
Real, honest-to-god sunlight, pouring in through a window I don’t recognize. My garage is never this light.
I gasp and sit up too fast. This, effectively, is not my house. There’s a bed beneath me, neatly made except for the spot I ruined it just now.
“No… No, no, no—Tsukasa?”
My voice echoes faintly, swallowed by unfamiliar walls.
I stumble out of the room, feeling polished floors under my bare feet.
“Tsukasa!” I call again. But nothing.
The kitchen opens up ahead of me, bright and tidy. Like no one has been here yet today.
“Mom?” I try, uncertainty creeping in. “Dad?”
The sound of my own voice suddenly hits me wrong. It’s… off. A fraction deeper, rougher at the edges.
I turn toward the hallway bathroom, where the mirror waits.
The face looking back at me is mine.
…Mostly.
I’m taller. Not by much, but enough that my shoulders sit differently, my posture subtly altered.
My hair is longer, falling past where it should, untamed in a way that suggests months (or even years) of neglect rather than a single bad night.
And my eyes… the dark circles beneath them are brutal.
“I’m…” My voice wavers. “…older.”
I can see it in the lines I don’t remember earning. In the set of my jaw. In the way my eyes look back at me. Not bright with reckless curiosity, but dulled, sharpened by something heavier.
…Where even am I?
The room makes sense, tyhat’s the worst part.
It’s undeniably mine: the layout, the preferences, the quiet chaos arranged with a logic only I would tolerate.
The desk is where I’d put it, angled to catch natural light. The shelves are overloaded but not messy. Everything is exactly the kind of organized disaster I specialize in.
And yet…
I take a slow turn in place, cataloging details.
Mechanical parts sit half-disassembled across the desk, components I recognize immediately, designs I understand at a glance… and yet I know, with absolute certainty, that I’ve never worked on these. Not yet, at least. Some of them are better than my current skill set.
There are also trophies on the shelf, of robotics competitions. I never won these. I never… even participated in any kind of competition.
I reach for my phone next, muscle memory guiding my hand. If there’s one constant across all realities, it’s this: when something goes wrong, I call someone I know.
I open my contacts and scroll… ah, there he is.
Tenma Tsukasa.
…Blocked.
I stop breathing for a moment.
“…What?” I mutter.
I check again… he’s fully, deliberately blocked.
My fingers hover, then tap into the chat history. No messages, no voice notes, not even the remnants of any kind of argument. Any conversation has been wiped clean, like it never existed.
That’s worse than a fight.
My chest tightens as I unblock the contact and type: Tsukasa, are you there?
The message fails. I try again, but then the system helpfully informs me:
You cannot send messages to this contact.
He has… blocked me, too.
This is bad, this is so bad.
Somewhere in this world… something big happened between us, bad enough that this version of me decided that cutting him off entirely was the best solution.
And, somewhere in this world… Tsukasa agreed and did the same.
I spend the next several minutes doing what any reasonable scientist would do when stranded in an unfamiliar reality: Snoop.
It’s not a house, it’s an apartment. Mid-level floor, judging by the view when I pull the curtains aside. Other buildings stare back at me, identical balconies stacked like equations repeated too many times.
There’s a small entryway with neatly arranged shoes and a jacket hanging by the door, heavier than the one I own.
The kitchen answers another question I hadn’t asked out loud yet: yes, I live alone.
One mug, one plate drying on the rack, and food portioned efficiently in the fridge, labeled with dates in my handwriting.
I spot a stack of envelopes on the counter and immediately regret it.
Bills. A… LOT of them.
I flip through them as the pattern becomes clear. This Rui seems to be in a poor economic situation, or simply neglecting them to focus on more important stuff.
I check the calendar on the wall. The date hits me, and I do the math automatically.
“…Right,” I murmur. “So that’s how old I am. 25.”
I lean back against the counter, absorbing all of the information.
This world didn’t pause for me. It kept going. It demanded rent, groceries and future planning, and this version of me complied.
Eventually, I drift back toward the living area, my eyes drawn to the shelves lining one wall. I missed them earlier, distracted by panic. A lot of photos rest there.
There’s me, unmistakably, standing beside a robot I don’t remember building, smiling faintly.
Another photo shows a group shot of people in lab coats. Colleagues, maybe. Lab colleagues… not performers.
So this Rui chose science over spectacle… or perhaps, never knew spectacle was an option.
I have to know more.
I run to the room and choose clothes based on one simple criterion: don’t look like I crawled out of a failed experiment. Clean pants, a dark sweater, and shoes that don’t scream neglect.
The mirror confirms I pass as a functional adult, which is unsettling in its own right.
I grab my keys and step into the hallway, towards the elevator.
It’s narrow, slow, and deeply unmotivated. When the doors close, the light flickers, and for half a second I wonder if I’ve triggered another interdimensional event.
As the elevator descends with all the enthusiasm of a dying thought, I pull out my phone again. If I’m going to exist in this world, I need more data.
I open the gallery, but all I find is photos of robots and machines. There are progress shots, test runs, even diagrams captured mid-adjustment.
No selfies. Well… it’s not like I’m a selfie person anyway, but that’s still curious.
This version of me documented work, not social life. As if anything not built or optimized wasn’t worth preserving.
My throat tightens, just a little.
Suddenly, I stop. My eyes catch a glimpse of Mizuki among the machines.
Only two photos, but they stand out immediately. One is blurry and poorly framed, clearly taken in motion, of her laughing at something off-camera.
The other is calmer: the two of us sitting side by side on a bench, a selfie taken by her.
I exhale, relieved.
“Good… At least you’re still here.”
I scroll again, and get jumpscared by another familiar face. Nene.
Just one photo this time, but it’s unmistakably her. She’s mid-expression, unimpressed, probably annoyed at being photographed. I know that look perfectly.
So… some connections survived. Some threads stayed intact. That helps.
My breath catches when I find a fourth photo that’s not related to robotics.
The photo isn’t recent. The lighting suggests evening, maybe late afternoon. It’s framed oddly, not centered, like it was taken without much thought.
My hand is holding someone else’s.
I… know that hand. I would recognize it anywhere.
There’s no face nor context. Just a hand gripping mine protectively, unmistakably Tsukasa Tenma’s.
So… he wasn’t erased completely, huh.
At some point in this world we held hands, casually enough that it was worth capturing.
The elevator dings, and I step outside of the building.
The city unfolds around me in layers of concrete and glass, streets intersecting with practiced efficiency.
It’s urban, unmistakably so, but not my urban. I don’t recognize the shops, the buildings, nor the rhythm of the crowds. It’s all newer.
People pass me without a second glance, no one knows I don’t belong here. That’s oddly comforting.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, sudden and sharp, and my heart jumps before I can stop it. For an instant, I let myself believe.
But my delusion is quickly shattered the second I open the notification.
It’s a reminder of another deadline. Another quiet insistence that this world expects me to keep functioning.
“…Of course.”
I lock the screen and shove the phone back into my pocket. The sun is higher now, and the heat heavier, clinging in a way the apartment never did.
I tug at my collar, then roll up my sleeve, more out of instinct than thought.
That’s when my eyes meet the lines.
They run faintly across my forearm, pale against my skin, uneven and unmistakable.They look… frustrated.
I stare at my arm as if it belongs to someone else. I know exactly when and why they appeared.
Late nights in middle school, when frustration had nowhere to go and brilliance didn’t feel like enough. When control was something I could only simulate in small, painful ways.
But… I had stopped.
I remember stopping. Deciding that it wasn’t worth it, that there were better outlets. I left that version of myself behind and never looked back.
Apparently… this Rui didn’t.
I’m halfway past a random building before my brain catches up.
The sign says it’s a public music academy. Concrete exterior, large windows, the kind of place people walk into with sheet music tucked under their arm and realistic expectations about their future.
I register all of that distantly, like background noise. Because what stops me isn’t the building.
It’s the sound.
At first, it barely registers. Just a piano drifting out through an open window several floors up, thin and almost swallowed by the city. A children’s melody. Something so simple it barely qualifies as a thought.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
I suddenly stop walking.
My foot is still mid-step when it hits me… not the song, but the way it’s being played.
No one plays it like that. No one, except—
My heart slams my ribs hard enough that it actually hurts.
“…No way.”
I push through the front doors, barely registering the startled look from the receptionist as I rush past.
The inside smells like polished wood and old paper, a comforting blend of discipline and art. The music grows louder as I sprint down the hallway.
“Sorry—excuse me—sorry,” I mutter, darting around students and teachers alike.
Going up the stairs, two at a time, my lungs burn. The piano is closer now, clearer, the notes ringing sharp and confident, utterly unaware that they’re unraveling my composure.
Second floor. No, it’s the third one.
The melody ends, and I take the last flight of stairs so fast I nearly miss the landing. I follow the sound of clapping to an open classroom door at the end of the hall.
I stop instead at the window set into the door of the next room over, leaning in just enough to see without being seen.
And… God, there he is.
Tsukasa stands by the piano, posture straight but relaxed in a way I’ve never seen on a stage. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up just past the elbows.
He plays a short phrase, then stops, turning to the small group gathered around him.
Children. Seven of them, maybe eight. They watch him with complete, unfiltered admiration.
“Again,” Tsukasa declares, clapping once, sharp and encouraging. “From the top. And this time, listen to each other, okay?”
One of the kids hesitates at the keys, and misses a note. But Tsukasa doesn’t flinch.
“Good… that means you’re trying. Now, practice to fix it. Don’t worry, you’ve got this!”
He crouches slightly to meet them at eye level, pointing at the sheet music, explaining something with quick gestures and exaggerated seriousness that makes a couple of them giggle.
He’s… a teacher.
The realization lands gently, and then all at once.
So this is it. This is who he became in a world without spotlights. A music teacher… it suits him unbelievably well.
This Tsukasa didn’t give up on music, he just redirected it. The thought is both comforting and deeply unfair.
One of the children laughs too loudly, another shushes them with exaggerated seriousness, and Tsukasa throws his head back, laughing with them, completely unguarded.
Some minutes later the classroom empties slowly, and children start spilling into the hallway.
Tsukasa stands by the piano, organizing sheet music into neat piles, posture loosening now that the performance is over. The room smells faintly of dust, old wood, and something warm… genuine effort, maybe.
I step inside before my brain can warn me not to.
“Tsukasa—”
He turns, and his body stiffens immediately.
His eyes flick over me in a fast scan, before settling into something sharp and closed.
“…You.” he says flatly.
That hurts more than I expected.
I smile anyway, reflexive and fragile, and take a step forward, extending my hand like muscle memory alone might bridge the gap. “Hey. It’s me... Rui...”
His notebook slaps into my hand with surprising force, knocking my fingers aside before I can even process it.
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t touch me.”
He backs away a half-step, grip tightening on the notebook like it’s a shield.
“What are you doing here?” he demands. “How did you even find my class?”
I lower my hand slowly, palm still tingling where the notebook struck it. “That’s… complicated. I just wanted to talk.”
“No. You don’t get to just show up and talk!”
He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that’s familiar and alien at the same time. Too mature.
“I blocked you for a reason… so why are you here?”
“I-I didn’t mean to,” My throat goes dry. “Coming here, I mean. T-This world. I… I messed up.”
“That’s not an answer.” He sets the notebook down on the piano with deliberate care. “And frankly, I’m not interested in one.”
He turns away, finishes packing up the rest of his things, and steps into the hallway.
I follow him without thinking. “Tsukasa, wait—!”
He spins around so fast it almost feels rehearsed.
“Get out of my sight!” he shouts.
The sound cracks through the hallway, sharp enough that a few doors down the corridor slam shut. Teachers peek out for half a second, decide they want absolutely nothing to do with this, and retreat.
Tsukasa doesn’t wait for my response. He turns and walks away, vanishing down the stairs like he’s been practicing how to leave me behind for years.
“…Okay.” I murmur to myself. “Let’s… not panic yet.”
Context. I need context.
Back when reality bends, when things don’t align the way they should, there’s usually someone that knows more than they let on.
In my world, that’s the SEKAI. Miku, Kaito, the silent witnesses to impossible emotions. They’d… understand and tell me what’s going on, right?
I pull out my phone with fingers that tremble just a little, scrolling through my music library.
…There it is. Untitled.
I tap it, closing my eyes with hopeful strength.
I expect… color, resonance, and chaos.
I brace for it, but instead, there’s fabric under my cheek. My eyes snap open.
Ceiling I know. Light fixture I installed myself, crooked because Tsukasa insisted symmetry was “emotionally important” and I insisted chaos was more honest.
The garage door is half-open, letting in early morning light, pale and unforgiving. My body is draped awkwardly over the couch I pretend is a bed.
And there, sitting beside me… my Tsukasa.
He’s awake, sitting rigidly on a folding chair pulled too close to the couch. His hair is a mess, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, jaw clenched so tight I can almost hear his teeth protesting.
Relief floods me so fast it makes me dizzy.
“…You’re awake,” he suddenly says, in a very cold tone.
I swallow, throat dry. “H-Hey… You’re— wow. You… heh, look really mad.”
“I told you to rest.” Tsukasa replies immediately. “You promised. You looked me in the eyes and promised!”
I sit up slowly, curling my curl into the blanket. “I know, but—”
“No,” he cuts in. “No ‘but’. You always do this! You always say ‘just one more adjustment,’ ‘just a small test,’ ‘I swear this time,’ and then I find you unconscious next to something that could’ve killed you!”
“I was careful…” I say weakly.
Tsukasa lets out a breath that’s halfway to a laugh and halfway to a sob. He then inhales slowly, like he’s about to say something important, but he doesn’t.
He straightens up, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he stands. When he looks at me again, the anger has cooled into something worse.
Resignation, maybe.
“You’re awake now,” he says again, but this time it means something different. “Good.”
My stomach sinks. “I—”
“Then take care of yourself. You’re very good at that, aren’t you?” He turns away, grabbing his jacket from where it’s been hanging on a hook for hours. Hours he spent watching over me, apparently.
He doesn’t look back when he walks toward the door.
“Tsukasa—!”
The door shuts. And the silence that follows is deafening in a way only absence can manage.
When I try to stand, I immediately trip over something solid.
“Ah—!”
I stumble, catch myself badly, and my hand closes around cold metal. The device, of course.
I stare down at its dull and harmless-looking surface, as if it hasn’t just torn holes through my understanding of reality.
My body collapses into the couch again as I clutch the device to my chest like a lifeline… or a weapon. Maybe both.
Think, Rui.
The pieces start sliding into place with horrifying elegance.
In that other universe, Untitled existed. But it didn’t open a SEKAI, it pulled me back home.
Which means—
“This thing…” I whisper, lifting the device slightly, watching the light catch on its seams. “…is the bridge.”
A laugh bubbles up, thin and unsteady. Of course I’d do this. Of course I’d be the kind of person who builds his own escape hatch and then forgets to label it.
My mind betrays me with images I didn’t ask for. The other Tsukasa, and his eyes full of hurt sharpened into hostility. Then… my Tsukasa, walking away without shouting, because shouting would mean he still expects me to listen.
Different stages of giving up… on me.
...
“Alright. Just… one more travel.”