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It had been four months since the Great Global Mystery had been solved. Four months since Vivia threw his badge away and resigned from the WDO. Kanai Ward had learned the truth, and life proceeded as normal…well, with some hang ups here and there. It was as normal as normal could be, the folks of Kanai Ward settling with the knowledge of homunculi, and that none of them were truly human, but Vivia supposed it was okay this way. Yuma, and by extension Makoto, had worked very hard for this. Vivia frowned.
The Nocturnal Detective Agency was quiet. The other Master Detectives had long since left, Yuma was no where to be seen, and Kurumi had been dropping in for ramen supplies and leaving as quickly as she came, the hunt for Yuma never ending. Vivia understood her drive, her passion; he felt similar, had something tethering him to this hellscape called a city. But he was never interested in Kanai Ward itself, no - his interests lied in the Restricted Zone.
The unstable homunculus inhabited that area, and would until the end of time. Some were unable to escape their fate, and were resigned to wandering endlessly, unable to truly think or feel or live for themselves anymore. Just like him.
Chief Yakou.
The name made his chest ache. Made his heart hurt. He knew Yakou would not survive the Amaterasu secret lab mission, knew what his plans were, had seen him so many times reading that letter, that damn letter and yet Vivia could never bring himself to interfere. That wasn’t his battle, wasn’t his life…but he wishes he had. Oh, how he wishes he had said something, anything to try and keep Yakou from following through. From murdering Doctor Huesca. From paying the slaughter artist to take of him and attempt to cover up the crime.
It wasn’t even the real Doctor Huesca. Like a sardonic joke, Yakou was made a fool, played a part, and paid the price.
Vivia’s head hurts. He can’t even follow the book he’s been reading - trying to read - for hours. Whenever he sits and thinks, which is often, the memories come flooding back with startling clarity, and he’s left in the same mental hole he’s been in since Yakou died, chest tight and empty.
Aching, grieving, missing a whole part of him that he never truly had.
Vivia clenches his fists, the pages beneath his fingers crinkling and beginning to rip.
He has always wanted to die someday. Death was a welcome embrace, a benevolent release, an escape from a crushing reality that caused nothing but grief and anger and longing. Vivia was acutely aware he could die at any time. It would be weeks before anyone found him. Maybe he could sit in Yakou’s chair, cling desperately to the last place Yakou was before he left.
He could end his life there, surrounded by all that Yakou ever was. But he knew that was pointless. He wouldn’t come back, not like he did. Not as a homunculus, not as a ghost, nothing. He would simply cease to be. That meant, ultimately, giving up Yakou.
That was unacceptable.
So he had to live. He had to live for Yakou’s sake. It’s what Yakou would want. He knew this. He knew this.
Vivia growled in frustration, in grief, and let his mind wander the expanse of his memories, despondent and languid, clinging to anything he could muster the energy to wade through.
He recalled the day to day life when everyone was still here. Back when he was surrounded by people that, despite all odds, seem to care about him. But it always kicked into overdrive when Yakou’s memory would take center stage, obscuring the others, and Vivia always longed for the performance.
The way Yakou would buy him a book because he thought he’d like it, how he would have an emotional outburst in his normal, goofy way whenever a small inconvenience took place, the way he would scold Halara and Desuhiko for gambling again even when told it’s forbidden, the way he would laugh, openly and airily whenever Yuma made a naive remark, the way his eyes would light up looking at those meat buns, the fucking meat buns-
Now he’s here, laying in the same fireplace, in the same submarine, the same memories and the same books and same desk and it’s all so inexplicably Yakou.
Vivia’s already thin composure breaks. Lungs tight and breath strangled, sobs wracked his body, chest heaving in exertion. Face buried in the pages of his novel, he cries out in agony, tears flowing down his face, spreading to the pages of his book, and hitting the stone floor of the fireplace with an unsatisfying plop.
He loved Yakou. He loved Yakou so earnestly, so wantonly, and never said a word about it. Never told Chief Yakou how he felt, never pursued it, and now it was too late. Vivia would never get that chance, would never feel the warmth of love, and would be forever longing for someone he’d never have.
Vivia didn’t even mean to fall for someone, not here, not like this. But his time spent with Yakou was so precious, and the more time they spent together, the more his love grew. Yakou had become a beacon of light, a guiding force when things seemed too difficult, too unpleasant. Had become the air in his lungs, the soft breeze of an autumn day, the umbrella that shielded him from the never ending rain. Vivia begged and pleaded with a God he never believed in for a chance he’d never have.
But fate was cruel, and once again, Vivia was alone.
Vivia was no stranger to loss, as it were. He had lost many people in his life before - his parents, his siblings, former master detectives (who were much more acquaintances than friend), his most recent group of master detectives…but none of them hurt as much as this.
He would often find himself sleeping the days away, forgetting, perhaps on purpose, to get up and eat or shower or generally take care of himself. But he always made sure he did. He knew Yakou would want him to be in good health. Still, he’d much rather sleep, and use his spectral projection to visit Yakou. Well, the shell of him, anyway.
Vivia tossed the book down, burying his face in his arms, and sobbed unabashedly, until his chest felt like it would collapse in on itself, until his lungs ached and begged for a breath, wanting to feel something - anything - other than the crippling despair.
He’d gone in person to see Yakou, just once. He wanted to feel Yakou again, even if he was cold, even if he couldn’t recognize Vivia in front of him. But he knew it was dangerous, too dangerous to venture out as often as he’d like. So he sobbed himself to sleep, wasting little time separating himself from his body, and making his way to the restricted area.
Trees, buildings, people - they all passed like a blur. It was always a running joke in the Nocturnal Detective Agency that Vivia was difficult to get moving, even more so to motivate into action…but for Yakou, he’d do anything. Even if it exhausted him, even if he pushed himself to the limit. He was always motivated for Yakou.
As the edge of the restricted zone grew closer, Vivia’s heart raced, a thrumming in his chest following the same aggressive beat, reminding him that he is very much alive.
He knew where Yakou would be. He was always in the same general area, far in the back, away from the other homunculus, away from the eyes of the world. A secluded area just for Vivia to see him. He’d been here many times. He’d often spend hours here just floating alongside Yakou, observing how he’d spend his time meandering around, occasionally sitting, but most often just standing. Staring vapid, empty stares.
He stopped in front of Yakou, floating just an inch off the ground.
His face was still the same, if a little pallid. Same scruffy start to a beard, same cigarette in his mouth, same glasses pushed slightly down his nose and nearly falling off his face. His awkward, stumbling gait nothing like the confident stride he used to prowl the streets of Kanai Ward with. Nothing like the way he would pad across the floor to the fireplace, groaning when Vivia was asleep, and lamenting how he didn’t understand why Vivia would chose such a place when he went through all the trouble to source the couches. Vivia longed to return to those days.
Vivia felt a wash of sadness come over him. He knew that everything Yakou had done, he did it all for his wife. Not for him. Never for him. He knew he didn’t deserve any form of affection from Yakou, not when he was alive, not now that he was gone, but oh, how Vivia craved it.
Through silent tears, he breathed Yakou’s name, no more than a whisper, eyes hazy. He reached for the face he couldn’t touch, fingers passing through, leaving him miming holding his cheeks. Yakou continued to stare forward, his gaze fixated somewhere else.
He knew Yakou couldn’t hear him, couldn’t feel him, but he couldn’t help himself. He was so desperate for anything and everything he could get of Yakou that he always tried, even if he knew it would never succeed.
Vivia stayed there for what felt like an eternity, trying desperately to grasp Yakou’s face, his hands, his shoulders, run his fingers through that mane of blue hair that he knew was soft and could never touch - Vivia sobbed, etherial as he was, silent and forlorn.
Yakou was staring forward through Vivia, gaze distant and empty, as if he was always looking at something no one else could see. Walking towards something only he could grasp. Vivia wanted it so desperately to be him.
Yakou only softly grunted, then trudged onward, unaware of Vivia, unaware of his surroundings, his uneven steps following one after the other, trudging forward in an endless march. Vivia watched him go, watched until his silhouette blurred into the distance, until there was no sign of Yakou in front of him.
Vivia resigned himself to this. It was enough. Seeing Yakou was enough. If he could only ever spend time with him like this, as fleeting as it was, he would cherish every bittersweet moment, hold them dear to his heart, and stay with Yakou until the end of time.