WARNINGS: Disturbing, sick, wth did I just write, slightly confusing and very stalkerish. M15+.
Note: "Numbers"/"Number" monsters are known as Nanbazu in any fics I write, simply for stylistic purposes.
【 Amalgamate 】
by Kiyuzanova
.
He has watched her. Always. For he is a watcher, and that is the only pardon he is given; the only pardon he is allowed.
And so he watches.
She has a smile as sweet as caramelised toffee, and her hair is as lovely as the finest cloth, he muses. And then he frowns as he remarks, to himself, that he needs to work on his similies as language has never been his best subject.
But none of this is relevant, and he knows this. So long as she existed in his bubble, in his personal world, there is nothing else that can affect him, and nothing else that truly matters.
He has wished for more. Certainly, he has always wished for more. To be able to touch her soft cheeks, to be allowed to tie and untie the ribbon in her hair - perhaps braid the side that always overlooks her nose? She will look good in braids, he can see it.
It is with forlorn as he realises he cannot touch her; he would not touch her. To touch her would mean breaking free of the bubble he has made - the bubble that is the only shield between him and the outside world. It would mean changing the nature of the relationships he has conditioned to his will; would show others he is capable of love; and allow them to destroy the perfection he has spent years building.
No - he cannot touch her.
Yet, one day, there seems to be a god. A god that realises his truth is fact, and a god who decides he is worthy. That god delivers him a gift he will cherish forever, until the end of time.
He has never considered it, but now he can break free of his bubble without destroying his shield.
He smiles as he prepares the tape, and cannot help the chuckle that threatens to leave his throat. It is only time until his plans are made, until everything is set. His partner has agreed to his terms, and has been able to supply everything he needs.
With one last check, he hears a meow and glances down. Everything is set, and she is brought in.
She is even more beautiful in person, he thinks, as he lays her onto the bed. It is not a school day, so her slim, blue cardigan falls gently over her shoulders, draping over the ruffled dress she wears.
White, he cannot help but think. Innocence.
The pink heart-shaped necklace is slipping off her chest, so he picks it up, careful not to disturb her rest, and places it back where it belongs. This action rouses her and he watches as she opens her eyes, mouth open in a silent, perfect 'o' as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Then there is no longer the silence when she feels the bindings on her ankles and wrists, and notices the video cameras around her. But he is prepared for this, he is warned of this by the god's whisper in his ear, and alerts her to his presence.
At first, she thinks he is her saviour. The idea is laughable, he muses, even as explains to her the truth, and knows the wall is gone but the shield is there when he sits and runs his hands through her hair. The sensation is far better than he expected, but the whisper tells him it always is, and perhaps he should try some more.
So he does.
The ribbon in her hair goes next, just as he has wanted, and her hair spills out, free as if a halo. That is when the whisper draws his attention to her screaming, and the two as one cannot contain their discontent. She does not enjoy it as much as he does—he will make her enjoy it as much as he does.
Yet he is shocked when he finds his hand slapping her cheek, and his voice changing into an inhuman growl. Even as the he-that-is-not-him has her be quiet and searches the area for a gag, the whisper tells him it is the right thing to do; it is the only thing to do if he wishes her to be his.
But before he finds himself falling into agreement, the door slams open, behind it his partner and his partner's prey. He and the whisper both are filled with fury, and he-they-him snarl at his partner's betrayal, but his partner only glances away.
The next moment, he is unsure. In the first moment his partner's prey shouts something about some Nanbazu, the next he finds his partner unchaining her and himself (he? they?) in a duel. Some words he does not know fall from his throat and he sees himself summoning his key card - but yet, the Xyz never registers in his mind for he is not the one in control.
He is not the one in control.
He falls to his feet at that instant, just as the duel ends with his loss and the whisper leaves his mind. He cannot believe any of what he has done - he cannot believe he has broken the wall to his bubble, because he can feel the whisper had spoken a lie.
His shield has broken, and he feels his perfectly crafted world falling to its knees.
But then his partner—the whisper's partner—smiles sadly, and brings him into a hug. They both understand what the other has gone through, with their determination to break their two targets apart for their own selfish needs.
Then the prey - Yuuma Tsukumo - just grins and holds out a hand, and he cannot believe the other can forgive him for his deeds. For what he did to Kotori Mizuki, the beacon in his heart, and for Kathy's actions as well. It has constantly been always watch, never touch, and he has betrayed himself.
...Yet now he knows that himself is only him, so he feels himself smiling back and being welcomed by them all.
A/N: A, um, present(?) to ZeroSaber over on Janime. Request was to have some OC classmate obsessed with Kotori get a Numbers and, well, yeah.
This turned out to be a modification to episode nine, and the OC seems to have Schizoid personality disorder - probably a side effect of my research the other day. Present tense is for two reasons - one, I wanted to replicate the sick feeling I felt from a fic I read "the other day" (which if you know me means anything from two months to two years) and two, I was a'postin' in a thread about my old fail!present tense fic, and thought "hey, why not give it another go?".