drabbles; what he saw in the snow

[beech]

→ cerealia event drabble
→ naoki

The snow was tolerable—it was the sounds that were getting annoying. Naoki could realise when he was being toyed with, when this was just something of CERES’s. Cold wind slapped his face, but his body was warm enough to accommodate. He did tug his scarf up higher to his face all the same, nestling down into it for a long moment.

And then he kept walking, extending his senses, seeking out anything out there…

Before… laughter.

Naoki froze. He had never heard Futomimi laugh, but the voice was unmistakable and he spun so fast he nearly lost balance. There he was, looking just as he did when he was alive, no longer a corpse, stained and bloody, drained of life by Chiaki.

“…”

“Naoki,” Futomimi greeted him, “what are you searching for?”

“……”

Silence. Naoki couldn’t quite… process this. He was aware that people who had died could somehow come here, but he hadn’t reconciled it in his mind. No, why was he here? Hadn’t everyone else arrived several days ago? Hadn’t…

“Futomimi?” he tried, voice a croak of disbelief.

“Naoki,” Futomimi repeated again, greeting this time. So it sounded. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Had he asked something? No—he had. “I was… the sounds… or anyone…”

The Manikin leader blinked, looking around them both as the snow continues to whip past, fall, everything muffled. “I don’t hear anything,” Futomimi said at last, turning his calm face back to him. “Are you certain there was a sound?”

“Of… course.”

Somewhere, something felt off. He was talking to a ghost. He’d talked to ghosts before, but it wasn’t like this. Futomimi was a life he carried, a life he couldn’t save… He was right here. It was a strange, abnormal sense. Naoki had to blink a couple of times, as though to make sure that his eyes weren’t fooling him.

They weren’t.

But again, the sound came, annoying, and Naoki twitched toward it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Futomimi’s head turn slowly as well, a frown on his lips that hadn’t been there before. “See?” He managed to smile. No, the smile came easier. It was… it had been so long… “Come on, Futomimi. Let’s go look. After all this is over, we can catch up.”

He could say so many things. Apologise, maybe. He wanted to say something, he owed him much, for always treating him as a person, helping him—

He thought Futomimi’s eyes softened. “Very well.”

With that, they set off into the snow.

It was strange, though. Normally, his senses were more reliable than this. However, trying to find the sound or extending them to try and feel for people met with resistance. Like there was a thin layer of static he couldn’t breach, some barrier, and it built a knot of impatience in his stomach. He didn’t even realise how much time had passed before Futomimi was speaking up.

“Naoki. It may be wise to retire now and rest,” he said, firm.

Naoki glanced back at him with a blink of surprise. “It hasn’t been that long, has it? Are you tired?” he asked, but Futomimi was shaking his head.

“No. I simply see… that little may come from this.”

“I still want to look longer, if it’s all right. Not just for that sound, but if there are people out here…” Naoki turned his face forward but then there was a hand on his shoulder, arresting his motion and he froze. But it was Futomimi, he wouldn’t be a threat, he wouldn’t—

“…Have you not gotten tired of running aimlessly after things? You cannot find any of the things that you are truly searching for.”

Cold. A cold feeling, like being submerged in ice, and Naoki’s heart leapt up into his throat.

“You know as well. Your efforts… have always been worthless.”

In his mind’s eye, he saw the Manikins, dead, their bodies, massacred, and Chiaki, and he’d fought but he hadn’t been able to—he hadn’t been able to—

“Futo—ngh—”

Wind gusted and Naoki gasped in surprise, resisting its pressure, and he thought he heard a laugh, just as chilling as what he had said. When he turned, it was empty, and there was a surge of panic as he stared at the footprints in the snow. He had to go after him. What if he died? What if something happened to him again?

…

…

…no… would Futomimi have said that to him? Wouldn’t he had seen that Naoki had tried? He’d tried to save him. He’d tried so much, all of his efforts couldn’t have…

He breathed deep, swiping the back of his arm across his eyes violently, and twisted away from where the footprints lead.

Not alone. He wasn’t. He could think about this (whatever it was) later. He set forward again, trying to force the memory of words and bodies and death and guilt from his mind.