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« F3 »
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"You're going to die."
Fifteen years ago, before Ratio is known as Ratio, Ratio is known as the child whose only friend is death.
He'd had other friends, once upon a time. Those friends had left him, one by one, either ordered by their parents or from his own distancing. The confusion had been worse than the fear: with fear, Ratio could be the villain; with confusion, Ratio would need an explanation.
What magic is a magic that can be explained?
In hindsight, it's unsurprising that Ratio hadn't noticed the vehicle trying to turn into the street he'd been about to cross.
Ratio would have walked into its path had it not been for the hand that settled atop his shoulder, jerking him out of his thoughts and anchoring him to reality.
Ratio will forget his name. Ratio will forget the names of those he'd called his friends, the friends who used to play with him in the park, the friends who hadn't turned up that day.
But Ratio will never forget the shadow of silver chrome, the heartbeat gripping his throat and crushing air from his lungs, and Ratio will never forget how his fingers quivered weakly in seconds that felt like minutes that felt like eternity.
Ratio won't ever forget the worried expression of the man that had saved him, nor – how behind him – there'd been a woman with an aura of acrid sick and vile vomit and giant glistening cockroach goo. They'd been saying something, but Ratio'd never heard. There's nothing to hear in a reality spinning, spinning, nearly spinning out of grasp and well away.
"You're going to die soon, miss," the prophet of death had said, despite nearly dying himself.
Ratio will never forget how the man's eyes had sharpened with determination after only the briefest instant of fear.
The man's name is Gasquet and the woman's name Miwako.
Ratio's first response had been curiosity.
Curiosity for this man called Gasquet, who'd immediately made several phone calls – voice commanding, intense, passionate, all whilst absently making motions as powerful as the furrow between his brows. He's the first person to not only listen but act, rather than simply dismissing a child's words, even though Ratio has no way to procure evidence to prove his curses come true.
There's a few hours before he's expected home, and Ratio's still reeling atop the edge – trying to comprehend the feebleness of his own mortality. Gasquet had saved him. Perhaps in other circumstances, his curiosity and desire to thank the man would not have won out over common sense and self-security.
In other circumstances, Ratio wouldn't have decided to follow them, and Ratio wouldn't have learnt the love and devotion a real friend should call their own.
Miwako'd smiled, acquiesced indulgently in the face of Gasquet's insistences (Miwako, it's just a check-up, I can't help but worry), fielding his agitation with love and without condescending. Later, Ratio will learn that Miwako had been a teacher at a local preschool. Ratio watches the exchange between her and Gasquet, how they communicate thoughts with glances and small gestures. It echoes silent volumes about how long they've known one another, or the number of years she's spent dealing with little children.
Ratio's been following them for so long that he'd managed to convince himself that neither notice his presence there.
—At least, not until Miwako turns around to look at him, crouches so she is at eye-level, and says; "Haven't you learnt it's unwise to follow strangers, young man?"
(Gasquet, at least, jerks in surprise.)
"You two are dangerous people?" asks Ratio.
"What would you do if we said yes?"
"Be sad," says Ratio, looking down. "Mr. Gasquet saved me."
The reply must have satisfied Miwako, somehow, because Ratio's next memory is that of waiting next to Gasquet. Perhaps they'd exchanged words. Ratio will never know.
What Ratio does remember is Gasquet being called away, and the haunting gaze accompanying his return.
When Gasquet looks at him speechlessly, his eyes so wide the whites almost form two crescent moons, Ratio thinks: I'm right again. Soon, she will die.
Cancer. Leukemia. Other explanations his youth rendered him unable to follow or remember, simply listened and nodded whenever necessary. The words washed past; procedures and statistics don't matter to a boy whose only statistic is absolute certainty.
Ratio isn't sure at what point he'd hoped that Miwako would be the first to break the spell.
Time becomes at once lightning fast and snail's-pace slow.
Ratio still sits at the park, on days that feel like months, even though those he'd called his friends have long disappeared. Ratio amuses himself by watching the wind play with streamers and hair, eyeing sun-cast shadows shift over time, and following the trails of ants on their search for food and then back to their nest soon after.
One day, he finds one of the benches occupied by Gasquet. Ratio remembers the slump stretching from the man's feet, curving upwards to sturdy shoulders and dark hair. Gasquet's head is so low his ponytail points straight up into the air like an antenna. I'm not tired, not tired, says his body language; it's exhausting.
"Mr. Gasquet?" asks Ratio.
Gasquet's head snaps up so quickly it's a wonder it doesn't fly away. "Oh. Ratio, was it?"
(He'd used Ratio's old name, but Ratio can't remember.)
Ratio nods. Now that Gasquet's head is no longer in the way, Ratio can see two slips of paper in Gasquet's hands.
"What's that?" he asks.
"This?" Briefly, Gasquet glances toward them. "They're... tickets. To an opera, Kurofune – 'The Black Ships'. It's about the story of—" he pauses, "never mind. It probably wouldn't interest you anyway."
Gasquet's words are hitched and staggered, and Ratio doesn't know how to help him.
"I'm... interested," says Ratio.
A small, sad smile. Gasquet reaches out to ruffle Ratio's hair. It's an unfamiliar sensation, though not an unpleasant one.
"You're a good kid," he says.
"Mr. Gasquet—"
"Ah, don't call me that. Makes me feel old. 'Gasquet' is fine."
Gasquet will later tell Ratio that he'd looked like he'd just been told the sky was orange and everybody had been deceiving him. Ratio only remembers his throat had choked. Dropping the honorific...?
Why did it become so difficult to find words?
Ratio hesitates. He takes the easy way out of the problem. "How is...?"
"Miwako? She... her treatment might be making her worse. It's a struggle for her to get any meals down, and she can barely move. She keeps saying she'll make it, but..." Gasquet looks down at the tickets again. "To think we'd planned for a trip to Osaka..."
Ratio doesn't know how to answer. It's a long time before Gasquet blinks, then lifts an arm to check his watch.
"It's about time visiting hours open," he says. "Say, Ratio, want to come along?"
"Huh?"
"Miwako asks about you sometimes. We owe you a lot. It'll be a nice surprise."
"O-okay," says Ratio, surprised to learn that they'd owed the prophet of death and his curse at all. "But, um, Mr—uh, G-Gasquet?"
"Yeah?"
"W... What's an opera?"
Gasquet's smile is a crooked one, the smile of someone who's forgotten how.
Despite rules stating that children below the age of twelve are not permitted to visit, Ratio is somehow allowed. Once Ratio attains his certificate, he'll wonder about the exception. Perhaps he barely looked old enough to pass. He'll never know.
When Ratio first lay eyes on Miwako, she'd had a swallow's laugh, bright eyes full of life, a dancer's build and a lively flush to her skin.
Ratio will forget what he sees when he enters, beyond a sea of white. White sheets, white skin. He'll forget all the details to his visit except the weight of a camera in his hands and an invitation to drop by again.
That's the last time he sees Miwako alive.
Ratio never manages to visit her again.
Ratio doesn't remember when, or where, or how, but he remembers Gasquet telling him she'd passed away.
The only reason he remembers is because that's the moment eight year old Ratio, whose best friend is death, realised he'd been abandoned so many times that he'd forgotten how to cry.
"Thank you for everything."
It's Gasquet's voice, in a vacuum of space and time and fragments of memory. A void of nothingness, no place, no context, stretching in every direction toward infinity.
"Does it matter what they say about you, Ratio?"
Still Gasquet, but not the name 'Ratio'; a name snatched away.
"You gave us extra time.
"Death is inevitable. It's terrifying because nobody knows about it, because it's a trip where nobody's come back.
"Challenges are made to be faced head-on.
"Things shouldn't be hidden because of fear. I wasn't going to turn away when we could confirm if Miwako had any condition. Knowledge is power, right?"
Disembodied laughter.
"Or I could cut the crap and admit why I really believed you back then.
"Being worried and overly annoying is just the way I show my love for someone."
"With that eye of yours, have you considered becoming a doctor?"
A month after the news about Miwako, Ratio meets Birthday. It's with the scraps of Birthday's own memories that Ratio's able to recall their first encounter.
Ratio had approached him, told him he needed a check-up, otherwise he was going to die.
Birthday'd replied with a cackle so ridiculous it shouldn't have existed outside cartoons for children.
Then Birthday punched him.
"Shut up," Birthday says, moments before being given detention despite it being his first day back to school. "I don't need you people telling me what to do."
It's the start of the best friendship Ratio's ever had.
When they're twelve years of age, Ratio steels himself, gathers every fibre of courage in his body, then turns to Birthday and says: "You're going to die."
It's not the same as when they'd met; this time, it's not the prophet of death but Ratio, the boy who is Birthday's bestest friend.
Birthday turns to look at him from the hospital bed.
"I know."
The aftermath of the last attack has left him too tired to sustain his usual delusions of grandeur, but the fire in his eyes isn't completely gone. Don't think I'm going to give up. You're stuck with me.
In another story, another time, Ratio may have clutched him possessively and declared that he would make sure it didn't happen, because Birthday is his bestest friend and he never, ever wants his curse to come true. But in this time, Ratio reaches out. Birthday tenses, anticipating a punch. He ends up squawking in surprise when Ratio hugs him instead.
Birthday's warm, smelling of lemon-scented detergent and hospital-grade antiseptic. It's a scent Ratio's slowly growing accustomed to.
"I'll be with you," Ratio says. "If you want anything, I'll give it to you."
"Well, then," mumbles Birthday, "I'd like you to get off before the nurses think you're messing up my IV. I'd also like a soda. And maybe a cure."
Ratio releases him, smuggles in some grape soda from the vending machines and decides to become a doctor.
Birthday will never tell Ratio that he'd hoped Ratio would give up his quest for a cure within the first year, but Ratio can read it in his eyes.
When they're sixteen and awkwardly settling into high school, Ratio buys Birthday grape soda again. Birthday doesn't say anything about the search for a cure.
What Birthday does tell him is that he prefers vanilla.
Facultas has no problems with a student that has an incurable illness, so long as they pass the standards set for everyone who enrols: All entrants need to show Minimum potential, and all its students must pass all subjects in order to graduate. Only the smallest of second chances are allowed, due to scheduling concerns: no more than two courses may be repeated at one time.
It's rather telling when the reason Birthday's expelled is because he'd been in a coma when he'd been set to take his final exams.
Of course, Ratio follows him.
The only reason either of them can enter high school, despite no longer having any records, is because the Minimum Agency is interested in Ratio.
The first time they remember meeting Chiyuu is when she approaches them in high school. Chiyuu's steps had been shy, but her gaze determined, and it'd been with firm resolution that she'd planted herself in front of their desks at lunchtime.
Chiyuu's anxiety doesn't cripple her ability to communicate until she breaks into the art scene, a combination of repetitive coercion and exotic synaesthesia leaving her unable to speak in anything other than colour. But she is still nervous enough in her high school years that, when she says something, it's too soft for Ratio and Birthday to hear.
They lean closer. Chiyuu steels herself with a deep breath, then repeats it: "What happened to your names?"
Ratio and Birthday exchange a glance.
"Our names?" prompts Ratio.
" 'Ratio', 'Birthday'... they aren't the same."
"Of course not," says Birthday. "We aren't the same person. He's Birthday and I'm Ratio. Or not, a-hee~"
"No..." says Chiyuu. "They're not the same names you had from elementary school. No one notices they're different, just that they've forgotten. They think it's the same."
Birthday's grin falters.
"...You know our old names?" he asks, humour gone.
Chiyuu shakes her head. "I also forgot. Then, something did happen."
"It did," says Ratio. Only those who've entered Facultas know that children become blank slates the moment they're included into its system. Better to be molded, more capable of unlimited growth.
"Don't you want them back?"
Ratio and Birthday look at each other again. Of course, goes unspoken, as well as its reply: It'd be nice to know. Birthday sighs and breaks the gaze, turns back to Chiyuu whilst stretching lazily.
"Eh," he grumbles, "it doesn't matter. Like you said, nobody else can tell."
When Ratio meets Gasquet again, he's twenty-one and so distracted that he'd forgotten to double-check if his blind spot was empty before turning out of the store. He'd walked into Gasquet, stared dumbly at the face at once unfamiliar and someone he knew, rifled unsuccessfully through his directory of names and faces, unable to dredge up the correct memory.
Gasquet recognises him first.
"Wait, you're—" Pause. His breath hitches, and his eyes flicker in confusion. It's the expression of someone who's reaching for Ratio's old name but finding nothing where there should be something. "...That boy that helped Miwako."
Miwako. Ratio'd remembered then.
"Ga – Mr. Gasquet?" Ratio asks.
"That's me," says Gasquet. "So it is you. But you are...?"
"I go by Ratio now."
"Ah... the Agency."
Ratio starts. "You know about them, Mr. Gasquet?" The Minimum?
"Unfortunately. But that's not important right now," says Gasquet. He takes a step back, his eyebrows go up, and he laughs. "Look at you! You've grown so much. If it weren't for your eyepatch and fashion sense I wouldn't have made the connection."
Ratio doesn't know how to reply, so he settles for a small smile. He compares the Gasquet before him to the one in his memories too. The years have stripped all colour from the top of Gasquet's head, and added wrinkles around lively eyes. Gasquet's words are no longer accompanied with as much boisterous gestures and flair, but Ratio can still sense the energy sleeping beneath the surface of his skin.
"Mr. Gasquet—" begins Ratio.
"You can still drop the 'Mr.', don't go being a stranger now."
"...Alright. How are you, Gasquet?"
"Me?" says Gasquet. "I'm alright. Joined the police some years ago. Spent the last year mentoring my partner Art. He's getting promoted soon, so I wanted to surprise him with some of his favourite cheesecake." Gasquet gestures toward a yellow sign nearby: Sweets&Treats Bakery. "He's also a Facultas graduate, like you."
"I... didn't graduate."
"You didn't? Then—" Gasquet glances at the box under Ratio's arm – a toaster, just purchased. "Sorry for jumping to conclusions."
Children enter Facultas as a blank slate. If they leave before graduating, they leave with no documents and no proper identification. Most are picked up by the Minimum Agency to work low-skill, low-paid roles: data collection, tracking unregistered Holders, physical labour. Birthday would have most likely joined the ranks of Facultas's guards if his illness did not make him worthless – or if Ratio hadn't been by his side.
The Minimum Agency wanted Ratio working for them immediately. Ratio's Minimum is so valuable that he'd been allowed to negotiate, insisting for Birthday to be placed into high school. With at least a high school diploma, Birthday wouldn't be forced into working for the Agency or for nobody at all.
(Of course, Birthday'd refused to go to school unless Ratio went with him.)
So Ratio knows Gasquet's thoughts: He can't have dropped out. He shows signs of a steady income.
Ratio forces himself to smile. "It's fine. Well, I... thank you for the suggestion."
"Suggestion?"
"To become a doctor."
Gasquet opens his mouth. Whatever he wants to say is never said, because his phone rings. Gasquet looks to Ratio apologetically as he searches for it, but his demeanour sharpens when he looks at the screen.
If Ratio still has any doubt that this man is the same as the one he met thirteen years before, it's gone. The instantaneous shift, the taking of charge, is identical to the one which sparked Ratio's curiosity before.
"I have to go," says Gasquet. "Come drop by the police department someday."
Gasquet runs before Ratio gets a chance to reply.
Ratio's left staring up at the yellow sign nearby, the one for the bakery. There's a strange mark, like a crack, in one corner; a curvy little thing with tiny vines.
It won't be until two years later when Ratio would meet Gasquet one more time.
"Hey, hold up," Birthday will say, as they'll be on their way to deliver photos to a woman called Momoka, then ask: "Aren't you going to tell me about the story behind this Miwako?"
Ratio's recollection would be hazy and fragmented, as always. Instances, not sequences; third and first person all jumbled together in disarray. Few people in Facultas remember anything from before they're detached from their former identity. To be able to consciously link components between his past self and his current, Ratio is lucky.
Ratio will do his best to tell his story, in as much clarity and structure as he can, because Birthday is his real friend and Birthday cares.
Birthday will be silent until Ratio is done, thinking about storms and static and unpleasant electricity.
When they finally arrive at Anemone, Birthday will spin a story about giving away the truth of the photos. Then, he'll sit alone against the sound of rain and think about the knowledge he'd never thought to ask his best friend for.
File attached: matchbox-memory.F3
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/TBC/
((I like to think Ratio was a very impressionable and sheltered little dork as a kid. Emphasis on the dork. c': He and Birthday being more violent with each other in this AU is definitely a result of their first meeting and not your imagination.))