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No book that Eito had mindlessly scanned the words for could prepare him for whatever emotion he had at the moment. Being surrounded by a group of defenseless children asking why he was away from his friends, vulnerable and open to death, seemed like a great way to change his perspective.
To be fair, it was all of his own will. Nobody told him to leave. Nobody told him to die. Nobody told him that he wasn’t needed. Nobody told him that he was unforgivable. Nobody told him any of that, so the only choice Eito had was himself, as the victim and as the perpetrator. The one who laid out the crime without really knowing it, and the one who followed through every perfectly laid out trap without knowing.
Sometimes he regretted. Like those children said they regretted. He felt the same way. In a way, he also broke a promise. A promise that was never said, never asked for, never given to another. He broke a promise that wasn’t really a promise, just a hope everyone had. He ruined their perspective on him and everything else, and like Sirei said, maybe he really was a defect. Maybe that was all there was to him. A defect, mistake, something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
Overthinking led to hoping he didn’t have to feel anymore so he couldn’t think anymore. One day he had tried to starve himself to die peacefully and leave the children more food, but the little girl who seemed to take a liking to him unfortunately put a can of food next to him every few hours whenever it seemed she got hungry. She also thought he was asleep half of the time and tried to wake him up so he wouldn’t starve, forcing him to have to eat when he didn’t have the motivation to.
One time he tried getting away from the kids with the bomb on his back, but the girl again had figured out he was trying to leave and asked him so many questions it felt like a crime to leave her to her thoughts alone. So he stayed. One day she brought him a book so he wouldn’t get bored before remembering he was blind and apologizing. Eito didn’t have the heart to ignore her when he tried reading it out loud sloppily to him. Just after a few minutes, he felt overwhelming guilt and made up the excuse that he was tired and wanted to rest.
Sometimes the girl insisted he shouldn’t have left his friends, and Eito didn’t have the heart to coldly turn her away and say he did have to, that he was a horrible person, and so many other things. So he just listened to her and agreed to keep her innocence intact. Sometimes it was the other way around, Eito lightly scolding the kids and saying they should’ve stayed at home. Of course, the smaller kids in the bunch started crying and he felt bad every time and had to quickly apologize.
And other times, his mind wandered to how everyone else was. He sort of wished he had a way of communication with them, but then again, who would want to hear him talk? Surely they were busy. Too busy to worry about his thoughts. And other times he felt like crying for seemingly no reason. The children always whispered and the girl went up to him and put a hand on his arm comfortingly. It only made Eito feel worse, having to burden a child with his tears, so he forced himself to stop crying for their sake.
The first day they were together, Eito was tasked with bandaging a hurt child. He did horribly at it because he was blind and had to instruct one of the older children on how to do it. And when the hurt child asked for help to stand up, Eito nearly fell with him, and the children all giggled a little. It only made him miss everyone more, but he wouldn’t tell the kids that. Another thing he wouldn’t tell them is how attached he was to them already. He could see himself dying for these innocent kids.
One night, one of the kids found their way to Eito’s jacket which he took off during the night to sleep. Eito woke up, patting the child’s head rather harshly on accident while looking for his jacket. The child didn’t seem to mind, though, and Eito had deducted it must’ve been one of the younger ones who didn’t seem to care much about getting hurt yet. He had allowed the kid to sleep there for a night, but like birds, they all flocked to the comfort of Eito’s jacket. And sometimes Eito woke up with weight on his legs, probably the heads of the kids. He didn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would.
He didn’t like to admit it, but these kids were sneaking their way into his heart in a sickeningly sweet way and burrowing in there. The worst part? He knew that their life laid in a decision that could either kill them or spare them. And he couldn’t help but pray that the kids would have a happy ending, whether it be with or without him.
At some point, the lines between ‘the kids’ and ‘my kids’ blurred together, and Eito felt like a parent. He never imagined himself to be one. He never wanted to be one altogether, but whatever it took to keep these kids safe.
He also wasn’t sure if his cognitive disorder didn’t work on Futurans, or if it just died out completely. He felt strangely at peace with these kids. Their voices didn’t stab at his ears. Their scent wasn’t overwhelmingly disgusting. They felt almost normal to Eito. And he caught himself wishing he felt of everyone like he felt of these kids.
But of course, kids who had nothing to do with him weren’t a good replacement for human interaction and love. So he caught himself remembering things, like how horribly disgusting yet familiar everyone smelled. How absolutely disconcerting everyone looked, despite the fact that their smiles somehow made a more tolerable image in his mind.
Sometimes specific people entered his mind. Shouma and how bad his self-esteem was, how badly he wanted to lash out and agree with him. Kako and Ima and how disgustingly close they were with each other, but somehow Eito wished he had one person who was like that with him. Hiruko and her strictness, Takemaru and his soft spots, Darumi and her eccentric personality, Gaku and his overreactive remarks, Nozomi and her gentle understanding, Yugamu and the way he somehow unsettled even Eito, Kurara and her insecurities, Moko and her teasing.
And then Takumi. The one he wished would try harder to understand. The one Eito wanted so desperately to see for who he really was, the one Eito wished his disorder subsided with him so he didn’t feel disgusted around him, the one he tried the hardest to love. Some part of him thinks, hopes he succeeded. But none of the romance books he read had prepared or told him what exactly it felt like. He just hoped it felt like overwhelming interest amid unyielding hatred.
The day he forced the children to run out so he could protect them gave him a sense of purpose. Something other to live for than his hatred for humanity. Instead, this time it was love. Love for the children who tried to help him, love for the Last Defense Academy that tried yet failed to understand him. He couldn’t find it in himself to love his defective self, though.
Once he had fallen against the enemy, Eito tried his best to remember. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could remember a timeline where Takumi understood him. Maybe in one, he wasn’t disgusted by Takumi. Maybe they loved each other in one timeline. In one, maybe he did all the things he sort of longed for in his books. Hand-holding, hugging, whatever else friends did.
With his finger finally finding the button, the courage to end it, not for his sake, but for the children’s sake, the only emotion he could register was love. He loved everyone.
No, now isn’t the time for crying, Eito tried to think. All his regrets rushed at him. Before he could remember them all, he pressed the button of the bomb he had planned on using to kill himself only a few days ago, for his own selfish reasons.
Instead of wishing and regretting for himself, he wished for the rest.
He wished, maybe, they’d be happy.
Maybe they’ll smile at the memory of him.
And death? It wasn’t too bad once the pain was gone.
In fact, the peace was overwhelming, simply beautiful. It was loving, gentle. Just like a clear, empty field, lit by the pale blue moon.