Title: Zero Days Down
Author: Ri-Ryn
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Word Count: 1963
Rating: M (Content Suitable for Mature Teens) / +T
Disclaimer: World Trigger belongs to Ashihara Daisuke.
Summary: Osamu knew Kuga for three years and spent the next three years getting to know the slab of stone engraved with Yūma's name.
Warnings: Major Character Death, Depression. Slight Mental Instability. Self-harm. Language. Self-Hate. Guilt.
A/N: Dedicated to Guest Reviewer Trigger lamented in one of my story reviews that "most" of World Trigger fanfiction is BL. I'm sorry (that I like BL); let me fix that for you. I'm an author known for three types of stories: romance, humor, and fuckin' tragic angst. Enjoy.
A/N #2: Osamu is 18 when Yūma dies; he's 21 when the days run out. Yūma died on Osamu's birthday, right after they had engineered the reversal for his condition with Neighbor Technology.
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1:
"Hey, I brought you that burger we had when you first came to Earth." Osamu's suit is wrinkled lightly and damp. He had spent the night here, getting up in the morning only to retrieve the food.
He bought nothing for himself.
"I got you fries, too, and a drink." Osamu unwrapped the burger, layering the fry carton on top of the foil wrap and setting the drink catty corner to keep it from flipping up in the early breeze.
Tears started gathering. "Hey? You're not eating. You can't not eat." The same as you can't not grow and can't not die.
Osamu stays there the rest of the day and leaves the night of the next. His suit is wrinkled and dry as the bone's ash underneath the stone and dirt at his feet, that night.
126:
The bag rustles as he empties it of a lacquered container, discarding the lid and letting the evening sun glisten on the fresh sushi and sashimi. Osamu understands it'll go bad within the hour, sun setting on it and his own body.
He doesn't care.
"Remember, the sushi we had when I was wracking my brain for strategies in our first B rank war as a team?"
Osamu chuckles, leaning back and staring at the sky. "Karasuma-senpai doesn't work there anymore, but he told me the name of the place."
He fingers a packet of soy sauce, finally deciding to rip it open and poor it in. Osamu ripped packet after packet, until the rice in the box is pleasantly brown and the fish thoroughly discolored and there are no more.
Salty and fish tickle his nose.
He smiles stingingly. "I remember." And it hurt.
194:
"I know you like mochi!" Osamu probably looks like an idiot, waving a traditional Japanese sweet at the same slab of stone.
It's large, made special and by hand and took five hours there and back to retrieve it.
Osamu ripped it in half. He leaves one half near the front, consuming the other. They always shared these things, sometimes with Chika.
He chewed, plum pleasing to the tongue, rice treat stuck between his back teeth because he can feel it. Osamu swallowed, the sweet just as delicious as he remembered.
He flees the cemetery early, hands catching his own vomit so he doesn't dirty the area for the other visitors.
A sucker for those in need.
269:
It's hot outside, the stone cool on his back as he peels tiny oranges. Sweat coats his shirt, sticking it uncomfortably to his skin.
For an unfathomable reason, he would only eat baby oranges, not liking the citrus fruit's mature counterparts.
It's a mirthless laugh, next.
"What should I do with these peels, anyway?"
333:
The croquettes are nicely arranged on a dish his mother knew well she wouldn't get back. He loved them after the first taste, the ones Osamu's mother had made for her son and his best friend. He loved them so much Osamu learned how to make them; making people happy and helping them was something he enjoyed.
"I don't…I can't cook them anymore. Heaven knows why after it they took so long to perfect."
Liar.
"Hah, really? I just can't."
Stupid liar.
Osamu breaks. Why didn't I get us up to A-Rank sooner? He didn't have time, I knew that. Damn. Damn.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
Damn me to Hell.
He's lived to nineteen now and the cuts, scabbed on his thighs, start stinging again but they do not bleed.
401:
Osamu rolled the baseball around on the stone, standing and leaning upright. It's the same one they had played catch with at Tamakoma branch.
He'd been fascinated by the sport, same as his bike. Osamu had went out and bought one.
They'd played catch for days, months even.
And they sucked. It was a miracle how they somehow avoided overthrowing it into the river, since they would play on the walkway leading into the Border Branch Office.
Osamu and him did manage, however, to nail the upper right window with said ball, which then proceeded to ricochet off the wall and into Chief Rindo's work computer.
Osamu picked up the ball from the ground, rolling it in his fingertips. Huh. He flushed, a bitter smile his show of pain this time. Maybe that was one memory he could forget, just the last bit.
Needless to say, they would never play catch within fifty meters of Tamakoma branch after that.
587:
He eats with him this time, a heap of stir fry that contains more beef than anything else. Two ornate plates grace their dining, ornate in that they come from Tamakoma.
The nineteen year old swears he borrowed them.
"Reiji-san works at HQ, now. He's still considered Tamakoma, he just…" Osamu trailed off. "Works, there." He finished lamely.
Osamu takes a bite. The meat is tough, tougher than he remembered, and swallows it. It had been awhile since Reiji-san had made it. Reiji-san no longer lived at Tamakoma Branch, either. He probably already knew.
Osamu stuffs his mouth. "It's good."
Maybe not. It does not matter, the same as many things.
Nothing whispers liar to him this time. Is he letting go? Letting go of what exactly?
Guilt.
Osamu washes the meal down with tea in between bites. Ah, no, still there.
673:
The Shooter captain makes a judgment call to leave the can of silly string there, praying it isn't too hot or too cold and the damn thing will decide to explode.
Just in case, he leaves it there, watching the canister of silly string shine in the cemetery lights. They had surprised Konami-senpai one year for her birthday, and the sheer delight Tamakoma branch saw on His face meant there would be silly string for every coming birthday after that.
Until Osamu turned eighteen.
He leaves, not feeling like watching the can anymore and remembering "happy times".
752:
It's raining the day Osamu pelts the can of grape soda at his stone, the can bursting on impact and splattering carbonated sugar fluid over the engraving, bleeding purple until the rain subdues it.
Why wasn't he better? Stronger, smarter, more intuitive? They could've saved him if they were just a day sooner, and that knowledge fuckin' burned.
"That damn soda isn't even sold in Mikado City anymore, I had to go to my old town for it," Osamu grinds out.
Sankyū, Osamu.
Osamu grinds his eyes shut, hissing, "You know? Time changes things, ends them."
At twenty, he chugs grape soda until he's sick and catches pneumonia the next day. The hospital must hate him. He's good at being subtle, sneaking around, lying to anyone except him because he hasn't missed a day yet and wouldn't be able to afford to.
836:
Osamu wasn't sure if letting him discover the internet was the best idea, but it was inevitable given how long he had been on Earth by then.
He set the box of condoms fondly down in front of the slab. Osamu was mortified that he had to explain what condoms were to the Neighbor, and why they were used. He then had to explain, to the best of his abilities, why people were using them as water balloons in the video.
He then proceeded to drag Osamu to the nearest drug store, purchasing boxes upon boxes of them, to his mortification. Even flavored so that the water balloons might 'taste better'. Somehow, he doubted the cashier believed that, and probably tried to report an assault in the making for a high schooler taking an 'eleven year old' to buy sex protection.
Her glare only lessened a little when he flashed his high school I.D. and clarified they would be used as water balloons.
He and Konami-senpai proceeded to pelt everyone returning to Tamakoma branch from the roof: Karasuma-senpai, Rindo-san, Yōtaro, Reiji-san, even Jin-san. (Mostly the elite was being nice, not wanting to ruin a good thing. Osamu actively ignored that the old Fujin user actively licked his lips after being soaked with a 'red' water balloon. He had a point to the flavored condoms.)
Osamu fled the scene in the early morning, at two in the morning, because no one was going to see this little offering.
980:
The bag of Bonchi crackers was on his bed at Tamakoma, Jin nowhere in sight. Osamu appreciated that, even if Jin's foresight spilled every dirty secret, from Osamu's fresh wounds to past scars to his private meetings at the slab in the cemetery.
Jin never told anyone, Jin never stopped him because he knew Osamu just needed three years.
Osamu shared the crackers today. "I haven't had these in years," he muttered in content nostalgia. Osamu didn't mention that the occurrence was mutual for the both of them.
Well, Osamu was fixing that now.
1095:
Osamu had punched the slab late into the night, stopping when skin broke.
Osamu was twenty one now, almost twenty one and a day with how long he had waited to visit.
"What now?" Osamu bit his lip. "What now, Yūma?" Osamu laughed. "Did you know, after you went and died, that Replica stayed with me? To chaperone me, like you asked." Because, having a trion body break apart in your arms to the decayed flesh of your best friend as he thanked you was only negligibly traumatizing.
Osamu was crying again, something he hadn't done in a while. "I hate you for that," he whispered. "Thank-you, Yūma."
The A-1 Captain held his arms open. "So now what, Yūma? We spent three years fighting together with Chika, we accomplished everything but saving you because you went and decided to expire a day too early. You're dead," Osamu accepted, "and I can't make more memories with the dead."
Osamu fell to his knees. "I'm sorry." His bit lip bled onto the stone in front of the grave and Osamu observed the red drops. "Look, blood, I can give that to you, right? As an offering?"
He pursed his lips, stinging and bleeding more. "I'm sorry."
It's okay, Osamu.
"I'll try again."
That's my captain.
Osamu walked away from the Mikumo family grave, where Yūma was buried since he had no family and no one knew what planet Yugo had died on.
He couldn't hear Yūma's voice again after that.
1:
"Hey, Yūma, I brought dumplings today. I can't believe you never got to try them. They're beef. I think you'll like them."
Osamu shrugged, digging in. "Well, I'll just have to ask when I get there. I'll bring Matcha Kit-Kats tomorrow." He smiled.
[Years Later:]
Osamu brought his daughter of seven or so months to meet Yūma. He never married or impregnated anyone.
Jin only knew she wasn't biologically related to him.
Replica knew, and so would Yūma. "There was a war that ravaged one of the planets in the Neighborhood: I found her and took her back with me from an away mission. No one knows how she's my daughter; it's raised some scandalous rumors at Border." Or Hell would have been raised for 'sheltering a neighbor again." The Tamakoma Branch Director shrugged. "Yōtaro says he's her favorite even if she burst into tears the second she's in his arms. I think she favors Sōya-san for some reason."
Osamu rocked her. "I named her Yūna. Of course only Jin said it wasn't a bad idea." The sheer amount of admonitions he received for naming her after Yūma would be baffling if he didn't get it.
He just didn't care. Yūma was family, the same way Chika had named her children after her discovered and deceased best friend and brother.
Yūna was family and Osamu huffed. "Honestly, it's the truth. I'll see you around."
He never brought Mikumo Yūna to meet Kuga Yūma again. But we would tell her all about her uncle.
[FIN]