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Akane wouldn’t consider himself slow, per se.
Sure, his mind goes point-blank whenever a certain purple-haired girl is involved, but other than that, he’s pretty quick on the uptake. Straight A’s, Student Council Vice President, even School Mystery No. 1—that’s more than enough to testify to his intelligence and competency in both worlds.
By textbook-definition he isn’t dumb, but he’s nowhere near talented enough to decipher president Minamoto’s fickle moods: relatively easy to please yet extraordinarily fast to anger. In Akane’s unfortunate case, it’s usually the latter.
And it’s not that explosive, passionate type of anger either. It’s the cold, gradual freezing over of a lake in mid-winter; one wrong step and Akane’s already plunging down into its depths, defenseless against the darkening of aquamarine eyes, the tightening of a smile reserved for only those he loathes the most—the creatures he hates with every fiber of his being.
And somehow, Akane is always on the other end of that unbridled murderous intent. Or that brutal fist. Or that very large, very ready-to-kill-you sword that Akane would just love to remove from his sight at all costs.
Whether it be the tip of its steel blade or the blunt edge of its hilt, mere inches from his vulnerable throat—just the memory is enough to make him break out in cold sweat. Enough to get him down on his knees and beg for his life, maybe.
Maybe, if he wasn’t so prideful, their relationship could’ve started out on smoother terms. If he had just yielded to those threats, accepted it for what it was, that vehement hatred aimed towards all supernaturals—but that’d never work.
Never, not with the way disgust coils within his gut for those same exact heartless, unfeeling monsters with the nerve to exist amongst civilization, who dare to even think they could share in the plentiful life bestowed upon humanity. To think that he’d hear someone associate himself with them one day—no matter how true it was—was unthinkable.
So, it had been totally unexpected when, all of a sudden, a strange light had appeared in the midst of rough tides. A newfound glimmer, the eyes of an explorer who had chanced upon a cavern of gold, a precious secret inaccessible to the hearts of others, save for his own.
It goes without saying that understanding enigmas doesn't come easy to ordinary people. And so, every time Teru’s face softens in that incomprehensibly gentle manner that’s wholly unbefitting of his true savagery, Akane will never know what changed.
***
He’d forgotten one crucial fact: being half-supernatural isn’t something his peers can relate to, if at all.
Yashiro-san is an exception due to her pact with No. 7. Ao-chan, on the other hand…
Well, she isn’t here right now. And who’s fault is that? His own, probably. Yashiro-san, more so. Him? Without a doubt.
The president had done nothing, save for that bracelet he’d dropped into her palm just before leaving. Enchanted with some sort of protection charm, it ensured her survival against those hungry beasts, starving for some young kannagi, scared, lost, and alone.
For what purpose? Why? For all Akane’s level-headedness, it all seems to unravel when provoked by the president, until he’s down to nothing but an agitated, panicked, frenzied mess.
He’s at his wits end, fighting to get answers, trying to weave a long line of reasoning for him and the others to follow and hopefully be convinced. But why else would he invite them to his house? Why else would he willingly gather these people, all so intertwined by one single, undetermined fate, if not to gather forces?
Teru merely looks off to the side, yet Akane doesn’t stop for a second. Hastily walking forward, stopping right until he’s towering over him, he fervently, stubbornly declares, “Am I wrong?”
The corners of Teru’s lips quirk up the slightest bit that if Akane were not standing so close, it’d be as if it weren’t there. Then, closing his eyes, he sighs lightly. “Mm, I guess you pass.”
“What do you mean, ‘you guess’? Stop saying such vague things!”
“Alright, alright.” It’s then, as Teru props up a hand, leaning his cheek against his knuckles, his face does that weird thing again, that uncanny tenderness accentuated by the faintest, most unreadable smile. “I’ll take you with me.”
But Akane doesn’t have time to make sense of it, so caught up in victory, the sheer joy of having successfully gotten the better of Minamoto Teru, his superior in every sense of the word—in age, in hierarchy; hell, even in something as insignificant as school rankings. He’s so thrilled that he manages to grin at Nene, a simple action he couldn’t do ever since his world disappeared from this one, his bleak reality that he so desperately wants to change, because without her—
Without her, without a single trace of her in every corner of his life, he’ll crash without the pillar of her presence, holding him up through long, stressful weeks filled with endless paperwork and an overbearing superior breathing down his neck. Except that superior—
“Truth is… I like Akane-san.”
If he could, he would strangle him right now. If he could, he would take his baseball bat and—
“Just kidding,” Teru says, his back turned away, but the damage had already been done: Akane is shaken to the core, cold sweat forming on his brow as he forces out an unsteady laugh. This isn’t the first time he’s pulled this, but whenever he does, it feels akin to his spinal cord being ripped in half with how difficult it is to keep balance.
“Y-you’re funny, President.”
Nene swoons dreamily, almost floating off the ground. “Ah, romance…!”
Akane feels his eye twitch. “So that’s why you’re so cooperative, huh?”
All they get in response is a dry chuckle, and he’s gone into the kitchen. The minute he comes back, Akane doesn’t waste a second to delve into all the questions he’d prepared for this very moment, which results in them forming a very well-thought out plan to rescue Ao-chan and, by default, School Mystery No. 7.
When Nene leaves to go talk to Kou, Akane meets Teru’s gaze. One knowing look is enough.
At least when it comes to supernaturals, they’ve always been on the same page.
***
The four of them had splitten up, two and two. As for Akane, he’s stuck dutifully by his president’s side.
That’s how they ended up at the Nagisa Shrine, which Teru helpfully explained was merged with the former Misaki Shrine. There, he would talk to the head priest and finesse his way into getting a hold of the Misaki Shrine’s possessions, some of which may serve as an opening to the boundary.
Which is how it should’ve gone.
But all thanks to one cryptic phone call from Kou—that Akane had answered on behalf of the president—the head priest had gotten angry and lashed out on them. To his defense, it wasn’t Kou, it was some cursed spirit that resided in the Red House, notorious for the deaths of the unlucky souls who stepped foot inside. And of course, it appears Kou and Nene have stirred up trouble by doing exactly that.
Now they’re the ones reaping the consequences, trapped in a room with no way out. The one thing he didn’t expect, however, was Teru to be so outwardly peeved by it. Complaining about that “old geezer,” complaining about his life, complaining about this, complaining about that, complaining, complaining…
It’s so unlike him to roll around on the floor and sulk like he’d never grown past the age of five. But occasions like this don’t come often, so Akane smirks behind his teacup and observes the older boy with unusual interest.
“Wow,” he scoffs, impressed. “Who knew the oh-so-perfect Student Council President could throw a tantrum?”
Teru rolls over onto his side, facing away from him. “I’m not that perfect.”
Akane lowers his cup. He wasn’t expecting that from someone who never failed to keep up appearances. Yet, Teru continues on, “I’m not even that nice or trustworthy, either. It’s selfish, but all I want is…”
The red-head frowns. “Is?”
“...to fulfill this dream of mine,” he sighs eventually.
“Dream?” Akane purses his lips. He has a vague inkling that it must be about… “About?”
Teru rolls back over, looking up at him cheekily. “Now, Aoi, it wouldn’t be fun to spoil the surprise.”
He can’t resist the immense urge to throttle him. Grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, Akane begins to pull back a fist, but then hesitates as Teru falls limp in his grasp, making no effort to fight back. Akane suddenly lets go; if he’s not mistaken, if it isn’t just a trick of the light, there’s—
“Aoi, you’re cruel,” he mutters, and behind the arm that covers his eyes, there’s a slight flush to his cheeks, peachy under the golden sunlight filtering through the window. “Forcing a guy to confess his true feelings…”
Akane’s face falls. That kind of implication… no, it can’t be. “Don’t tell me– you actually have a crush on Ao-chan?”
He doesn’t react, just moves his arm out of his face. It’s such a strange response, those big, gemstone-like eyes, adorned by feather-light lashes, curled so delicately like a doll’s, staring right at him. It’s unfair, those good-looks wasted on such a ruthless person. If he wasn’t so desired, so sought after, Teru wouldn’t be as annoying when threatening him with such a serene smile on his face. If he wasn’t like that, Akane would have an easier time competing with someone on par with him, someone on his level.
But he isn’t. He’s far, far out of his league. Neck to neck with Ao-chan in terms of popularity, it’s inevitable that they’d end up together—a harsh truth Akane’s obstinately unwilling to face. Dancing around the suggestion, pretending that it doesn’t scare him as much as it does, that Teru’s jokes don’t make his stomach surge nauseatingly. Just the thought of them happily living a married life, kissing each other, having ki—
“Without her, I can’t achieve my dream.”
“Ugh, really, you—!” Akane groans, standing up to kick Teru in the side. To his satisfaction, the other yelps out in pain. “Get up already! I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but we need to get out of here right now!”
He’s speed-walking to the door when Teru finally sits up, watching him in bewilderment. “You’re going alone?”
“Uh, yeah,” Akane scoffs, as if Teru were insane for thinking otherwise. “Even if you don’t help, I’m going to save Ao-chan no matter what. And when I do, I’ll tell her—”
He turns around then, grinning smugly at the boy on the floor, “—how much of a useless, whining baby you were being this entire time.”
Teru’s eyes widen, mouth parting in surprise for a split second before letting out a quiet huff. Then his face does that thing again, that soft crinkle of his eyes into crescents, that uncharacteristically bashful expression, smiling as if he’d been caught, blushing like he’s embarrassed, like a teenager in love—
“That… would be a problem.”
Akane stares, because how else is he supposed to react? Every snappy retort, smart comment, clever response—gone. He doesn’t have anything prepared for this, this unfathomable phenomenon that he can’t grasp no matter how hard he tries. That guy’s in love with Ao-chan, him, the president, in love with Ao-chan.
So why look at him?
“Yeah,” Teru says again, “that’s a problem. A very inconvenient one.”
With that, he pushes off the ground and lands gracefully next to Akane. “Well?” He flashes the younger boy a smirk. “Shall we get going, Aoi?”
“Going? Where—”
He’s unceremoniously interrupted by a loud, booming explosion as Teru slices the wooden doors to pieces, his sword crackling dangerously with electricity. Akane gapes at the chaos that had just been created, at the static that raises all the hairs on his body, at the wild outburst of energy, rendering him speechless.
The rest goes by in a blur: Teru infiltrates the shrine’s safekeeping, steals the family heirloom, and now they’re on their way to the Red House, a feasible entryway according to Teru. Now that they’re out, he nearly sparkles with how cheerfully he’s grinning, holding the heirloom to the sky and giggling away as if he hadn’t just scared the living hell out of all the shrine residents.
In the blink of an eye, the fleeting moment is over, so quickly that Akane doesn’t even get the chance to catch his breath before he’s falling face-first into a well, down, down, down into an ocean of uncertainty, tainted the hue of spilt blood.
***
He doesn’t miss the way the sparkler in Ao-chan’s right hand slips from her grasp.
Akane immediately fusses over her fragile fingers; they don’t move as naturally as they could before—a permanent effect due to coming too close to the far-shore. It’s a chillingly uncomfortable thought, that any closer, any later, and her entire existence would’ve faded altogether.
“Keep it a secret, okay?” She smiles, so delightfully that Akane has no other choice than to obey. “Between the three of us.”
He dislikes the idea of the president being aware of a secret that could’ve been theirs, but there’s nothing he can do; he’s the one who made it possible to save Ao-chan in the first place. Since the guy’s already taken so much credit, Akane vows to one day find a cure himself, no matter what.
As he’s squeezing Aoi’s dainty hand, his eyes drift upwards, only to find a cloaked figure in one of the upstairs windows of the house. He flinches, his grip on Aoi tightening involuntarily, and she winces. Akane releases her, knee-jerk, as if her skin were on fire.
“S-sorry, Ao-chan…!”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, Akane-kun. Are you okay?”
Akane swallows. He can’t just tell her that the president was spying on them. Wait, why would he— “Yeah, fine. You should… go back to Yashiro-san. Look, she’s calling you.”
Aoi glances at him, then reluctantly joins the other girl who’s beckoning her over excitedly. When she’s gone, Akane allows himself to peek at the window again. There’s no one there.
But he could’ve sworn that guy, the president, he was…
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. So that’s why he couldn’t shake off the weird sensation of being watched. Huh.
***
It’s as if the past few weeks never happened, caught in the flow of normalcy. Soon enough, the long-awaited school festival is just around the corner.
Meaning, Akane has twice the workload and triple the responsibilities: chasing down club representatives, ordering the necessary equipment and materials, submitting important documents to the head-office…
…God, his head is pounding already. And as always, it’s him doing all the physical labor, never the actual goddamn Student Council President. Just because he’s a little pretty, everyone just flocks towards him like stupid moths to a spectacular, blazing flame…
Speaking of fire, that’s precisely the reason why the two of them are currently in the infirmary. Teru had sensed something off, and turns out an inconspicuous little paper crane was planted on him. To spy, no doubt, which doesn’t make him feel any better. Even worse, the paper had disintegrated to dust, burning the president’s hand in the process.
“You didn’t have to do this, Aoi.”
Akane lifts his head; he’s bent over Teru’s injury, carefully wrapping his burnt skin in bandages. In the older boy’s eyes, he sees his own reflection amongst the millions of crystalline shards, glittering like the calm ripples of a lake under the midday sun.
He forces his gaze back down, busying himself with cutting off the excess. “Yeah, but who else will?”
The decisive snip of fabric fills the silent room. With his back to the window, Akane can feel the afternoon sunlight penetrate through the layers of his school uniform. He sighs, wiping a light sheen of sweat off his brow with his sleeve, and begins packing all the supplies back into the first-aid kit. “Seriously,” he mutters, more to himself, “did no one ever teach you to just sit back and accept the good graces of others?”
“It’s not that,” Teru says, flexing the bandaged hand in his lap. “I just always had to do it myself.”
“You never asked Minamoto-kouhai?”
Deciding that the younger’s work is sufficient, Teru leans back on his palms and sighs with a wistful smile. “I don’t think I could bear it if he saw me so… unsightly.”
“That’s stupid,” Akane mutters. “He’s your brother.”
The other tuts disapprovingly. “See, Aoi, you’d never understand an older sibling’s troubles as an only child.”
Akane pauses to glance up at him. “Huh, you remembered.”
“Is that so strange?” Teru tilts his head, blinking. “You’re my dear assistant, after all. I do listen sometimes, believe it or not.”
“Whatever,” the red-head grumbles, turning away to tuck the first-aid kit back in its rightful drawer. “I still don’t think that means you should go making things harder for yourself.”
When he swivels back around, he’s surprised to see Teru already staring at him. Golden streaks of light only illuminate his lashes further, casting long, streaking shadows across his cheekbones. And for some unfathomable reason, Akane hesitates to speak. Like he’ll break the moment, or some dumb excuse like that. But really, it’s because he’s doing that thing again, that terrible, terrible thing—
“Aoi,” the older boy begins, and Akane, for all his reluctance, finds himself listening intently. “You always want to be strong in front of Akane-san, right?”
At the mention of Aoi, he narrows his eyes. “So?”
“It’s similar. I never want Kou to see me as anything other than his reliable Teru-nii.”
“And that’s supposed to justify you tending to your own wounds?”
His voice comes out harsher than he’d intended, but the thought of Teru struggling to treat an ugly bruise at a difficult angle, cleaning a deep wound that cuts dangerously close to the bone after tirelessly fighting off supernaturals the entire night…
Akane releases a slow breath of air. “Sorry, I get it, I just—”
“No,” Teru interrupts, much too hurriedly. “It’s– thank you, Aoi. I appreciate your concern.”
He could laugh at how awkward it feels right now, in this stuffy room with all the blinds raised, just the two of them fumbling through a conversation clearly neither of them were ready for. His ears are burning, his shirt is uncomfortably stuck to his skin, the sun won’t ease off his back—in short, he’s a mess. And Teru won’t stop staring at him, which is making everything much, much worse.
“You know,” the president says suddenly, and Akane is already dreading his next words, “it’s kind of refreshing having someone like you worry about me.”
He doesn’t acknowledge the ‘someone like you’ part; he doesn’t want to think about what that could possibly mean. “The only thing I’m worried about is how your stubbornness is going to leave you bleeding out on the street.”
“Hm? Sounds like worrying to me.”
Irritated, Akane waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t blame me if something happens to you.”
The blond’s grin only seems to widen as Akane slides off the stool and stalks off to the door. “Nothing too bad has happened,” he chirps, following right behind him. “Yet.”
Over his shoulder, the younger boy raises an eyebrow. “I doubt that.”
“Then you’ll treat my wounds next time?”
“There shouldn’t be a next time.”
“Aw,” Teru pouts, “so I can’t drop by your place whenever I want?”
Akane shudders at the suggestion. Having the president use his shower, eat his leftovers, sleep in his bed—
“No! Y-you can’t.”
Teru stifles his laughter with a fist. “Ah, I get it now, Aoi. You’re hiding something under your bed, aren’t you—”
“I’m not!” Akane furiously whirls around, seething with anger at the taller boy. “Don’t start running your mouth with baseless assumptions—”
“Oh, Akane-san’s your neighbor, isn’t she? Do you ogle her from your window—”
“Shut. Up.”
“—or watch her as she sleeps? You’re quite the perv, aren’t you, Aoi?”
“President,” Akane says lowly, “can you shut the hell up?”
Teru’s smile only grows more sinister, a sadistic glint in his eye. “So you do?”
Akane finally snaps, fisting a hand in the collar of Teru’s school uniform, viciously tugging him down to eye-level—a song and dance typical for the two of them. “You know I don’t.”
They’re still halfway through the door; anyone could see them, or worse, overhear this horrible conversation being dominated by the president, mocking Akane however he pleases, riling him up for no other reason than for sick and twisted fun.
“What are you going to do, Aoi?” Teru whispers, dropping his gaze low, shining darkly with something.
Like an idiot, Akane stares. At the way his lashes flutter with the movement, at the curve of his perfectly shaped mouth, the plump bottom lip, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the light that casts a faint halo around his head, almost angelic-like—
“N– nothing,” is all his brain comes up with, and he hastily shoves Teru back, bolts down the hallway, and leaves him standing there all alone, dazed and confused.
And the next time they get to have a proper conversation, it’s somewhere in the lull of all the chaos, in the rare calm of an unknown future.
***
When Teru attacks him for the first time in a while, Akane comes to a sort of hazy understanding.
It all happened so fast: the entering of the boundary, the owl sent by Kako, the restraining of the president and his subsequent fury—if he didn’t, Akane surely would’ve died at the mercy of his sword.
He didn’t want to do it. Really, he didn’t want to resort to such drastic, unfair measures. But he couldn’t just ignore his duty to the Clock Keepers, no matter how much he detests them for how things turned out.
So, he took advantage of the president’s unguarded state. The president, without his defenses up, without detecting danger—a traitor so close by, at the spot right next to him.
At Akane, who he’d placed his wholehearted trust in—to protect his brother, to help him rescue Ao-chan, to even tend to his minor wound—despite being the one thing he hates most in the world.
Him, a half-supernatural, but in the president’s eyes he’s still that much of a monster—and yet he’d betrayed that fragile yet deep-seated trust, one initially planted on rocky, infertile soil that had somehow miraculously blossomed into a small sapling, braving through countless blizzards and even heavier snowfall of their strained relationship.
That icy stare pierces into his side, and it hurts. Like freezing cold water filling up his lungs, he can’t breathe; sinking further down into oblivion, all because he couldn’t stop the ice from giving out beneath him.
With the foundation gone, there’s nothing left to hold them up.
***
Once he hears the student council room unlock, Akane knows it’s over.
He doesn’t try to fight back; he lets himself be mercilessly flung into the table. A couple of bruises and a minor concussion is only a small price to pay for everything he’d broken back in the old world.
But what has this reality crumbling is that dull, emotionless expanse he witnesses on the other’s darkened face. A desolate void, not even a semblance of warmth hidden in those frozen depths. There’s nothing; Akane had destroyed it all.
A sharp tug at his uniform tie has him wincing out in pain. “P-president—”
“You think I’ll feel sorry for you?” The older boy couches down, leaning over him as his voice drops menacingly, “You think I’d pity a dirty supernatural like you?”
“N-no, I…”
“You really let me down, Aoi.”
Akane’s eyes widen in shock. He wants to deny it, wants to mobilize his sharp tongue against the onslaught of degrading statements he feels he doesn’t deserve, because he’s still human—but the words caught in his throat block his voice. He can’t cry for help, he can’t even lift a finger—the bitter truth, spoken by him of all people, cuts deeper than any gaping hole in his side, aching and bloody and indescribably more painful than anything he’s felt before.
Then the word “clock-keeper” slips from the boy’s mouth in the form of a disgusted snarl, spills out into the space between them and seeps into every crack in the floorboards beneath him, so unfortunately true, so hideously real, like the blood of a crime scene; and Akane lies there, defeated, neck hanging limply between his shoulders.
He’s not even worthy of a name.
.
.
.
He can still feel it, the cold draft of air that seems to linger on his back as Nene shakes him back and forth, practically strangling him for information.
It’s in the detached manner of the president, sitting with arms crossed, chin lifted, watching as his junior gets dragged around like a ragdoll. And once Akane reveals the Clock Keepers’ scheme—not so much his, but Kako and Mirai’s—he’s starting to realize the hopelessness of the situation: there’s nothing he can do to stop their interfering with the past, all because he—just like the others—lacks the power, authority, and knowledge to attempt to do so.
And the one thing he’s feared, the one thing he prayed would never happen—Aoi barges in and latches onto the president’s arm, calling him “Teru-kun,” and reveals that they’ve been engaged since childhood.
So now the president despises him tenfold, Ao-chan is in love with said guy, and his entire life—all that he’s worked towards, all that he’s known—has been overwritten by some otherworldly creatures who can manipulate time, space, and the lives of every human without consideration.
Much to his relief, everyone leaves to scour the premises to discover what had changed, what had not. He’s the only one left, staring blankly at the key to the giant clock in the auditorium that was entrusted into his useless hands. It’s infuriating—not only is he powerless against the other two Clock Keepers’ whims, he couldn’t even stop that guy from going on a date with his Ao-chan.
It was all looking hopeless. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.
So, it had been a surprise when he’d spotted the president later that evening, skimming through a photo album by a shelf in the corner of an empty classroom. Alone. No Ao-chan in sight.
Teru, immediately sensing his presence, glances up at the doorway. Akane slides the door shut behind him, lest they were to get into a nasty argument—which is very likely, knowing them—and someone hears.
“President,” he calls out steadily, refusing to let his voice waver. “Can we talk?”
Teru calmly sets the album aside. “Now’s the time you choose to properly communicate with me?”
“...I’m sorry.”
At those words, Teru turns to face him fully. Akane averts his gaze down to his shoes, leaning against the door with hands folded behind his back. It’s terribly akin to a guilty child approaching their disappointed parent, but he can’t look him in the eye. Not now. Not when his heart thuds pathetically in his chest, waiting for a blow, another insult, a mocking reminder of how he can barely be considered human.
“I know I was wrong, and you’ll never forgive me for what I did,” he rambles, pulse quickening with every step forward the president takes, slow and assured in his stride, “but believe me, I don’t want this anymore than you do, so please, just—”
“Aoi.” He stiffens; in his line of sight is the collar of the older boy’s uniform. That tall figure casts a long shadow over him, and suddenly he’s too close—far too close.
Akane braces himself with a quick exhale. “Yes?”
Eyes wrenched shut, but nothing comes. Hands clenched at his sides, and still nothing. No sharp blade, no fist to his cheek—just the slow, gradual curling of fingers into the front of his crumpled uniform, and a demanding tug upwards, forcing him to lift his head.
“You’re aware of what you’ve lost, right?”
That bottomless gaze is trained intently on Akane’s face as he speaks in a voice so unbearably soft, so jarringly unlike the vice-grip he has on him. At his reticence, the grip on his collar tightens, and Akane shudders, that thin layer of cloth not enough to prevent the scorching heat that blooms where Teru’s knuckles dig relentlessly against the base of his throat.
“Yes,” he croaks out, and his mouth has gone terribly, terribly dry—
“So get it back.”
With that, he’s shoved back against the door. And like it were some random, peaceful Wednesday evening, the president walks back to the bookshelf and resumes flipping through the photo album without a care. There’s only the sound of rustling pages, but once the silence drags on for too long, he peers up from the book.
He smiles, ever so slightly that Akane almost misses it from across the room. “Maybe then I'll consider it.”
The younger boy, still clutching at his neck, stammers out, “C-consider what?”
“Sparing you from a slow, excruciating death—”
“Quit joking around! I said I’m sorry!”
A cruel quirk of his lips. “Who said I was joking?”
“Then—” Akane visibly deflates, spirits dampened, “...what should I do?”
It’s quiet for a few tense beats, until Teru huffs in amusement. “Oops, did I choke you too hard?”
“What?! No?! W-what– are you even saying—?!”
Just like that, he’s back to his fiery self again. Except, his head feels… off. Like it's been disconnected from the main body, buzzing with static. His skin feels abnormally warm, too. Akane blows out a heavy breath, “You weren’t even choking me, crazy bastard…”
“You don’t seem like your usual self,” Teru remarks with frightening accuracy. “Are you sure it’s not from lack of oxygen?”
A shaky laugh escapes Akane’s lips, and he immediately tries to cover it up with a grin. “It’s not,” he insists, unconvincingly, with the way he’s trembling like a leaf. “You’re just unreasonably scary. I seriously don’t get what this world’s Ao-chan sees in you.”
“Our engagement was arranged by our families,” the blond supplies, like it’s no big deal, like it’s just a matter-of-fact; like it doesn’t make Akane’s mind go blank with… relief? Happiness? Serenity? “It wasn’t like she went out of her way to make me her fiance, or anything.”
“...I see.”
“That’s it?”
Usually, he’d be bouncing off the walls right now, celebrating that his precious, beloved Ao-chan was not betrothed to the devil’s incarnate out of free will, that she didn’t truly love him. But his brain is as good as an empty whiteboard; no, Teru definitely had something to do with it—he must’ve cursed him with some enchantment…
“Damn right she didn’t,” Akane chuckles, albeit unnaturally, a hollow sound. Then, as if a hole were punctured in a dam, something akin to anger builds up within him, causing him to raise his voice, “S-so! Don’t go getting any funny ideas, now! Just because she’s your fiance doesn’t mean you can take up all her time, okay?!”
Teru sighs, “I don’t plan on it.”
“Huh?” That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting from the guy who has insinuated being madly in love with Ao-chan many, many times. “Seriously?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Aoi.”
Akane scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, right. Next thing I know, you and Ao-chan are going on another date.”
“Hm.” The blond comes to a stop before him. It’s unnerving, the soft inhale of breath he takes before he speaks, his voice steady and gentle, a calm summer’s breeze. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, vice-prez.”
Then leaning down a fraction, right by Akane’s ear, he murmurs, “It’s not her that I want.”
And he’s gone like the wind, going right back to that damn photo album, observing every picture down to the very last detail, as if scanning the page for someone specific. Meanwhile Akane feels the moment blood floods his cheeks, a raging tsunami that drowns his entire face in flames. He stumbles back, getting as far as he possibly can from him, and grips the edge of a nearby desk to steady himself.
Fortunately, Teru doesn’t bother to look up this time. Thank God, since Akane’s steaming from the ears, as his unstable present begins shattering one by one—everything he’s told himself from the moment he was coerced into a supernatural pact, to the minute he became an unwilling accomplice in the Clock Keepers’ endeavors—like the bell struck at twelve, like the glass slipper perfectly slotted onto Cinderella’s foot, like the snap of the last puzzle piece in the missing spot—they all lend themselves to create one unmistakeable picture; one he, for the longest time, could not—would not—see in full view.
Akane raises his head one last time, and there he is, already gazing at him with the clearest set of eyes—the color of the sky, of the heavens, of brilliant gemstones glittering under the sun—
—and of himself, drowning in that endless cerulean sea, forever.
.
.
.
(“Did you hear that?”
“Mm? Hear what?”
“Bullshit, you have better senses than that.”
A light smile plays on Teru’s face, illuminated by the bright rays of moonlight. He’s gazing down at a certain picture that Akane can’t see very well, so he peeks over his shoulder and—
Another loud bang. This time, it’s accompanied by a cacophony of falling desks and chairs. Akane’s suddenly overcome with dread. “Hey, I… think we should check that out.”
“Yeah,” Teru agrees and abandons the album, swiftly passing by Akane. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword as he peers out the threshold. “This could be a potential lead.”
On the desk lies the album, opened to a random page. Or maybe not so arbitrary, as Akane spots a class photo from the middle school division. There, Kou’s widely grinning face is front and center, and right next to him—
Akane whips his head to the door. Teru isn’t there, but his footsteps echo in the corridor. They grow impatient, and soon enough his voice rings loud and clear, a warning to hurry up.
He does, not before shutting the book closed and cramming it into the bookshelf. The alarms in his brain blare in recognition, at that face, at all those rumors Kako told him about the replacement forged by the hands of that boy…
Once they arrive at the scene of the crime, a possessed Kou strangling another boy, it hits him again, the absurdness of this world.
So this is the kind of reality they live in.)