.
a/n1: hello o/
a/n2: post-good end, about clear after aoba died aging. i hope this came out good and give you a good amount of feels.
a/n3: enjoy!
.
Forever
DRAMAtical Murder © Nitro+CHiRAL
This is a work of fanfiction, written for the purpose of enjoyment and entertainment. I gain no financial profit from writing this.
He was happy.
But at the same time, he was also crushed.
He was singing―humming that beautiful tranquil melody about jellyfish. Aoba had always said he loved Clear's voice, that's why Clear would always find himself singing if not talking.
He was singing ... and when the song reached the end, Aoba had fallen asleep into deep slumber. He'd never wake up again; he had let out his last breath.
Clear smiled. He was happy. Even though it was still painful knowing he wouldn't be able to accompany Aoba up in heaven, at least he made sure to accompany Aoba's every second in earth. Because he's not one of the mortal human, he was able to stay by Aoba's side until his very end without fail.
He was happy ... because Aoba died smiling.
"Aoba-san..." he whispered with hoarse voice.
He closed the gap between them, planting an honest peck on the lips.
"Good night."
He hugged Aoba, pulling him in a warm embrace. He breathed in Aoba's scent. Everything hadn't changed yet; his scent, his body heat, skin complexion. It was as if Aoba's only sleeping and when he opened his eyes, he'd whisper 'good morning' in that same loving tone he had.
Clear rested his head against Aoba's chest, searching for that constant beat he had always loved. Probably it was because he did not have them―the proof of living. He didn't know when it started, but he developed a habit of leaning against Aoba's chest while Aoba himself enjoyed his song. It was his favourite moment.
"Can I ... stay like this for a bit longer, Aoba-san?"
He breathed in ... breathed out, staying in that same position for several minutes ... tens of minutes ... then for about an hour.
Then, after feeling satisfied, Clear brought Aoba's body to the yard of their house. Both of them had moved in to Clear and his grandpa's old house ever since Tae died. The look in neighbour's prying eyes on how Clear never aged displeased both of them. Aoba was so annoyed and decided they should move. But they would still go back to Midorijima district every morning for work, sometimes just to hang out or meet up with Koujaku and Mizuki, or sometimes Virus and Trip, and even Noiz. They never saw Mink there, though.
Clear dug a hole under a tree, big enough to fit a body in. This way Aoba wouldn't feel too hot under the sun heat.
'I want to be buried where I can look at Clear all the time,' was what Aoba said. Aoba didn't want Clear to feel lonely, he wanted to stay close to Clear even after his death.
"I wonder if it'll be lonely down there, Aoba-san."
He hummed―that calming melody again. He felt like Aoba would be able to listen to his song. He knew Aoba's still close to him as long as Aoba's still in his memory. He could almost feel Aoba's presence, his voice ... repeating his name over and over just like when they reunited after Clear's death, and even his warmth.
Death was not the end for everything, after all.
He lifted Aoba's stiff body, hugged him tight for one last time. It was a long hug, Aoba's body was not as warm as before anymore.
'It's cold.'
He gently put Aoba's body down the hole he just dug. He also placed some jellyfish plushies beside Aoba. 'To make sure Aoba-san won't get lonely,' he muttered. Then, he covered Aoba's body along with the plushies with the soil. He filled the hole and craved something on the tree above it.
He placed his hand on the ground and slowly brushed over them.
That day, Clear wept all day like a child.
He was cleaning the room when he heard raindrops falling down. He panicked and left the dust cloth neglected. He rushed outside and rummaged through his big pocket, "umbrella, umbrella," he mumbled.
"Ah, there it is!"
After finding the object he's looking for, he quickly opened the umbrella and placed it on the yard, under a big tree. He squat down, putting his arms around his knees, ignoring the raindrops that fell on him. He tilted his head and curved the tip of his lips upward.
"Umbrella is used when it is raining, right, Aoba-san?"
Aoba was the one who taught him. He was the one who taught him about the way human acts, they way human feels. If Aoba didn't, then he still wouldn't know.
He closed his eyes, and sang.
He felt Aoba's presence, and whenever he did, he would sing. Because he was so sure Aoba would miss his voice.
As long as Aoba stayed forever in his memory, Aoba would live on.
Aoba would always be there.
Always.
"Ah, it's already this late! Not good, not good..." He kept running with full speed, several plastic bags hanging from his hands. He raised his right hand and glanced at his watch, it showed '6:47'. "Ahh, I'm really late!"
He stopped when he finally reached home. Panting, he put his shopping bag down on floor and approached the tree.
"Aoba-saaaan, I'm really sorry! Even though I promised to have reached home before six," he cried a little, still feeling guilty about it. Whenever Clear went out to buy groceries alone, Aoba would always ask him to come home before dinner so that the food wouldn't get cold. And Aoba would usually sulk if Clear's late. Then at other times, Aoba would greet him with gloomy expression. Clear would apologise over and over until Aoba calmed down. Clear knew his anxiety was due to that incident in Platinum Jail. Aoba still couldn't get rid of his anxiety after all.
Then after Aoba's calmed down, Clear would always whisper:
"I'm home, Aoba-san."
He leant over the bed and stared into the mirror right in front of him. His days felt empty lately. It was dull ... and lifeless. The days he spent together with Aoba were much, much brighter than this.
(Wait, who was Aoba again?)
Aoba...
Ah, yes... Aoba.
His master. The one he treasured. The one he loved. How could he forget?
'Why am I here?', 'what is my purpose?', 'why am I living?'
(It's lonely.)
Those thoughts kept spinning over and over in his mind that he nearly went insane sometimes. Living alone far from civilisation without having any acquaintance was hard. He had no one to ask whenever he's confused about things. He's a robot, so he could survive without even having to move his body or eat. He didn't have to do anything if nothing interested him, so he just spent his days doing nothing, staring at the sky changing colours.
Dull and boring.
What had he been doing to pass the days all this time? The days seemed to last longer and longer. He didn't have any spirit to do anything. What was he supposed to do?
Sometimes, he would take a long walk to Midorijima.
(A walk? Why not jumping through roofs? It's faster.)
(Because taking a detour, holding hands, is better.)
(But, who said that?)
In Midorijima, he would just walk without definite direction, sometimes he found himself resting in front of an abandoned junk shop. People rarely walk through that street, that's why the street was so quiet and he felt calm. That street also seemed familiar and nostalgic to him. It's like he had been using that spot to wait for someone long time ago.
Even after visiting the town, he still felt empty inside. He had no one to talk to. He had nothing he wanted to do. He had no reason to live.
He had thought of shutting off the power, turning off himself and just slept for eternity. Not just once but for numerous times, so―so many times that he had lost count. But in the end of it, he would always call off his thought. Was it because he was afraid of death?
(No, because he promised someone.)
... Who?
.
.
Who?
"Hm~ hm~"
He was humming while cleaning the narrow places in his room. It was nice to see the room sparkly clean after being neglected for quite a while. He took the glass bottles he collected one by one and wiped them with wet cloth. After making sure each one of them are all clean and transparent again, he put them aside and started to clean the tables. After he's finished with it, he placed them back and arranged them neatly on the table.
He leant back and took a clear view of the bottles lined up neatly before he grinned to himself.
He turned to the mirror in the corner of his room and stared at his own reflection for a while. He saw the weird skin complexion on the right side of his face, near his right eye. It was getting more visible and more visible as years passed by. He also couldn't see and hear well from his right eye and ear. It's like it was broken, but he couldn't recall what actually happened to them.
He shook his head, brushing off the random thought that seemed to have always bothered him every time he saw his own reflection. He took the dust cloth and cleaned the mirror. He saw a spot on the mirror and breathed on it, the mirror fogged up and he wiped it clean with the cloth. He breathed again on the other area of the mirror when he spotted a stain but then he stopped. He didn't clean the mirror with the cloth like he just did. His mind went blank and he slowly raised his finger. He wrote something on it.
He was puzzled, he didn't realise he had written something until the moment he finished the last stroke. The vapour had disappeared by that time and the word was not visible anymore. He raised his eyebrow, confused.
"Did I ... write something?"
He breathed on the mirror again, on the same spot. He could read the word clearly now. He showed a questioned look.
"Ao ... ba?"
(Aoba.)
.
.
Who?
End.
.
a/n4: so, in case you didn't quite get what happened; clear's memory are quite broken after living for so long. (you could say the last part takes place about 100 years after he was made, that means about 40 or 50 years after aoba's death.) if you think about it, a machine would of course break down after functioning that long. not to mention he didn't go for his maintenance as routine as aoba's still alive.
a/n5: in short, clear 'lost' his memory of aoba, but his body still remembers aoba (thus him writing aoba's name).
a/n6: i hope you enjoyed this fanfiction!
.