Upon looking back, there was a certain grief that flowed within his memories of Death.
Only a season ago had the smallest of Death's incarnations been visiting him at night, with warnings of trials to come. Of course, at that time, neither of them had come to recognize the identity of Death, and instead he took upon the name of his own creation and the appearance of a haunting, frail youth.
The tiny boy had a pattern to his visits, a pattern that Minato had come so acquainted with, that soon his visits became repetitive; his knowledge, predictable; and it all, ultimately obsolete. Days could be counted down, phases of the moon could be looked up, and predictions become reliable. There was no need for reminders.
And this was when Death's visits become a novelty, as predictable as the battles that followed his warnings. Somewhere along the months, Minato's annoyance became blatantly evident as he grumbled when awoken and became quicker and quicker to insist he understood what Death had to say. Their meetings became short and to the point. The conversation quickly became more one-sided than ever before.
Nonetheless, the corners of Death's lips would tug upwards with a slight brush of confidence, and he would assure time in and time out that he would return. Perhaps his lack of total humanity had prevented him from believing he could become ever-so-pointless. Yet it was with what shards of that concept of being human that he carried along with him that allowed him to present the simplest of emotions.
Minato could assume that joy was his favorite, as there was never a visit without a grin. Again and again, would he watch as Death's face brightened for reasons as simple as a nod or a short vocal response. Deep down, he could not deny that as the boy's visage lifted, Minato felt a tug at a smile of his own.
Even during the most bittersweet of visits did the boy continue to smile. While Minato was left behind, plunged in absolute confusion, Death, now aware of his identity, was beaming brighter than even before, as he assured the value of their conversations. Minato's stomach sank into a fog of loneliness and emptiness as he stated his goodbyes, and assured that it was indeed the end of their interactions.
Though that, just as his next identity, was a lie.
Somewhere along the course five days, Death had yet again forgotten his name and took up a new one.
Minato would never know why. Whether it was so he could surround himself in that emotion he adored so much through ignorance, or so that he may be slain for the sake of his friend, Minato could not take confidence in either answer.
But just as a time not too long before, neither of them knew of Death's identity. And for some time there was joy, even if SEES was left pondering if there was some solution to their ordeal. Even if that answer evaded their attention for a solid month while hidden in plain sight.
For a single month, Minato found bliss in the familiarity of his new classmate's grins. With every chuckle, laugh, grin or smirk, Minato was stopped by his fluttering heart and was pulled away from that sense of loneliness that had come from parting with Death before. It was ironic, even if he would never put the pieces together.
While he'd rarely see the facade of Ryoji Mochizuki outside of the classroom, he came to treasure each moment they spent near each other, even if it was so much as sitting but a few desks away from each other while a teacher rambled through another lecture. Sometimes he would catch himself watching how Ryoji's pencil dawdle across the paper in short spurts. He often forgot about his own notes until he would try to study, only to realize they were almost barren, save for the occasional sentence he jotted down or shoddy doodle of the newest transfer student.
November was full of tranquility and calmness; the closest panic the Fool and Death faced together was at the hotsprings, where they narrowly escaped a dreaded execution from the student class president. Though Minato had nearly outed the whole group as he struggled to contain his laughter once he had discovered not only Junpei, but Ryoji too, had passed out somewhere along the way as they hid.
It was December where the feeling of grief began to sink in, and Minato began to feel sick from burden. His chest stiffened and his stomach twist with disgust, frustration, betrayal and anger. Not because he had finally come to the realization of Death's identity, but rather because he could not stand looking upon Ryoji's face as he smiled and grinned while talking about the possibility of killing him.
And yet, he watched as Ryoji's face turned from apologetic to hopeful with the mention of his death. Minato's heatbeat snagged the moment his mouth tilted upwards. This was not when he wanted to see him smiling. When asking Minato to kill a classmate. A friend. A beloved.
And just like that, Ryoji Mochizuki walked out of his life for a month. With nothing more than a "kill me" and an interim farewell. It was at that point where Minato's heart began to chip away.
When he finally returned, Minato became more disgusted than before. As if insisting he would die either way, as if insisting he would be happy if his death brought bliss, as if any of that meant anything to Minato if Ryoji wouldn't be experiencing that joy alongside him.
Before he knew it, he was standing in his room, trying to convey his answer. With his first, stern utterance, Ryoji discarded it as he tried to show that he was no human. Minato stood before Death, unmoving, unspeaking. He merely shook his head and looked down to his feet.
And when he looked up again, he was met with a disappointed look upon Ryoji's face; the very last emotion he expect someone to portray after being spared.
Ryoji turned for the door and began to walk towards it, stating they ought to tell the team the outcome, but was stopped as Minato suddenly grabbed his wrist.
Minato's lips parted, but no words came out. He paused, certain he would squeak something out. After all, while he may not have looked the part, he considered himself a master of charm. And yet, he came to a total stand still, only gripping Ryoji's wrist tighter and tighter. He choked out a few brief mumbles, that amounted to ultimately nothing. His teeth were clenched, and he began to curse himself as his nails dug into Ryoji's skin. At the point, the disappointment in Death's face melted to concern.
Minato nearly panicked when Ryoji broke out of his grip, but instead broke out of his stiffness as Ryoji weaved his fingers between Minato's. The both of them struggled to break the silence, though neither found it to be a burden. Minato revelled in it, in fact, as he watched Ryoji begin to crack into a beaming grin, and euphoria distracted him from the moment.
That moment though, was short-lived, and quickly faded once Death stepped out, for what he assured to be, the final time.
But now, as Minato reflects upon it all, he finds an infinity of regret in it all.
Suddenly, he finds himself wishing for another night alongside Pharos. His head becomes clouded with guilt for ever dismissing him. More than ever, he is wishing he could go back; back to when it was all but a warning for a Shadow, a Shadow not Death, that was coming. As he thinks back to his dismissive actions, his stomach turns in knots all over again. He wonders, that if maybe he had not been so foolish to vanquish the first twelve, they never would have had to parted. That maybe, the two of them would still be smiling together.
Minato finds himself wishing for more time with Ryoji than anything. Though foolish, he wishes Ryoji had stayed longer. Though he understands that his very existence was what brought the world to its end, he could not deny that he would go to any length to meet Ryoji over again. To know him better. Maybe, he thinks, just maybe if he had reached out to him after class, maybe if they had more time, he would have managed to say something on New Year's Eve. Maybe he would have managed to say something at the start of December, and stop Ryoji from disappearing for so long.
But ultimately, Minato stands upon the top of Tartarus, and his heart stops. He would have sunken to his knees had they not locked up as the rest of him froze, a chill running down his spin.
His heart his shaken with confusion and betrayal as he faces his final opponent. It shatters as he questions why Ryoji never told him. All their talk of killing Nyx, in front of the boy who they insisted they refused to kill.
At the top of Tartarus, he discovers the second time he finds disgust in Death's grin.
For this time, Nyx Avatar is smiling arrogantly.
