Stress is an enemy of the mind, conquer of the heart.
The dirt wasn't anything special to think about, not the bugs, not the immense quiet of the nightlife going on a distance away in the Leaf Village. No, nothing was worth thinking about. I breathe, oxygen flows. I shudder, limbs shake with the muscles. White strands of hair tickle skin as I turn my head to the side to peer at the upward stars. Everything feels futile like the burning gases high above.
Nagito Komaeda merely exists, except he shouldn't, not in this world and not in the Boruto timeline.
There's so much wrong with being here, living here, that I wanted to curl up and think forever. Think, think, and think until there was nothing else around me but both ruin and myself. As if my thought process could destroy the world, and then everything would be okay.
Nothing can hurt if you terminate it all. Sometimes, nothing can be better than anything.
"What are you doing?" A familiar voice. The one with gold hues had come at the designated time.
Should I say something? I should, most definitely.
"Trying to die." The first statement floating in the mind slips out. It's purely coincidental this very thought slips, as such is something Nagito would likely say to a stranger under the moon.
"Really?" He sounded genuinely curious. I don't know whenever to laugh or hit him. The latter can likely have me killed, and so.
"No."
"Well, I don't care either way." He replies and takes the time to glance at the rock path down below. The Nameless stranger in a true-blue yukata seemed to either be listening for crickets or intruders.
"I never got your name," Might as well ask. He might be some important character, speaks part of my brain. Not that I know any of them except for Sarada and Boruto himself. I mean who watched Boruto? I stopped watching Naruto fairly early, and next-generation shows are horrendous in design."Call me," Real name? Code name? Nagito's codename in his worst years was…
Chained by the neck, mitten on a missing hand. He had allowed himself to be dragged around by his 'betters' and took to their very order. His classmates would treat him like dirt, and Nagito simply took it with a smile and grateful tears.
"Servant." The title feels like ash on the tongue. An intense betrayal to someone to at least the second degree. The urge to retract grows, gnaws, and bites from the inside. A raspy wheeze eases out from my mouth as fingers mindlessly twitch. Biting out each digit held its own appeal but I venomously held onto the desire to keep myself both sane and safe regardless of who's thinking.
Me? Nagito? Neither?
"Mitsuki." Now named, Mitsuki delivers his name as if this piece of information did not concern him. His non-human eyes peer downward as red-black swirls observe from the ground.
I am ninety-eight percent certain that was his real name. As I've observed before, Mitsuki didn't seem to have the desire to lie. What a waste of a good rivalry by mysterious titles and poorly hidden disguises. Which was stupid, because Boruto or not, you needed to be at least some type of secretive fool to survive. The idiocy with so great, any lingering feelings of self-hate died down to a fuzzy buzz.
"I guess you can call me Nagito Komaeda then," I mumble, curling into a tighter ball to hide the heat brushing over. He must be new to this. I don't have the heart to tell him, the poor fool. Are there deaths in Boruto? Is he one of the early ones? I've never heard of a Mituski, but then again I never gave the anime any time of day.
Not after the many bad reviews of Naruto fans, and definitely not after viewing scenes of Boruto hating on his Father.
Mitsuki doesn't blink. "Do I call you Servant or Komaeda?" He zones in on instead, and I wheeze a laugh.
"I suppose since I'm no longer a slave to both people and talent," The latter mention pangs the heart so perhaps such is a lie. "Komaeda works." As it has been for the past few weeks. The identity had stuck and so did pieces of personality.
"Is that where you came from?" Mitsuki questions and I dimly wonder if he came to get questions answered. He was genuinely interested in his questioning, I could hear it. The smooth lightness of his tone. Mitsuki wasn't obvious but even those odd golden eyes of his dictate pondering thought.
"Yes, and yes," A pause, memories buried in a place sometimes you cannot reach. "And a little bit of no. Mainly yes, I've escaped such times, and I'm never ever going back, so please don't rat out my location to random people," No no, I have to be polite. Too forceful might instigate a defensive reaction. "Thank you." Good enough.
"I see." Is all Mitsuki says. He doesn't say anything more, and I take it as both a red flag and a sign to give up a few more tablets of information.
"You smell like rubbing alcohol." The truth comes first, this new nose never lies. "Did you come from a lab, too?"
He looks over to me, doesn't blink, not a single nod. Mitsuki only stares at the curled-up mess of a monster in the skin of a frail little boy. His golden eyes feel like intense lights in the dark, and it's easy to wonder if all it takes is a flick of his hand to dissect me.
"Did they hurt you, Mitsuki?" I wonder aloud because I had underestimated him. Perhaps the non-human being before me is secretive after all? "Did they cut you up," Little fingers dig into the grass and rip strands. "Shove needles wherever they wanted," Young, terribly young, the fellow before me was definitely younger than I, the black woman who underwent similar nightmares in the body of a frail child.
Mitsuki was younger than the person who Nagito grew to be. Both Nagito and I had reached the age of seventeen at least before the world decided to chug repeated horrors without pause. This product of experimentation? Mitsuki? What did he go through? It must be something. Something, because regardless of this timeline being Boruto, whoever wrote this had to stay loyal to the lines of Fucked Up Naruto used to be.
"And after they were done, leave you to lick your wounds?"
The experiments done at the lab provided a slither amount of anesthesia but most of the time; it wasn't enough. Not for ghouls, never for ghouls.
Those scientists realized this, when I broke out of restraints for the third time, and laced me with every drug they had to keep me under.
The only way to break out of such a haze of indescribable fuzz was to lose oneself to hunger.
Hunger, and a dash of rabbit-foot luck.
"No, I did not lick my wounds," Mitsuki disagrees, peering at his arm for a split-second as before straightening back to a neutral stance. "Does that work?" The question is sincere, genuine with an ounce of interest.
"It's an expression." Is the statement I go with, holding back the colorful bubbles bumping in the chest. A wheeze falls through chapped lips.
Mitsuki nods in understanding. There's a thoughtful twinkle to golden eyes as if he had just learned something new.
"Your previous location sounds troublesome." Mitsuki finally comments, and Nagito's little hands reach to the sky.
Fingers pinch to capture stars. Far too tiny and weak, not a single particle of gas is captured from light-years away. No matter how hard I wish it.
"It was. I feel better here, but I don't think those experiences will leave me." Possibly for the better. Living was a difficult sham. Experiences shape one's way of life and advice. The bitterness and resentment to survive fueled choice with a flame and a leaf. "Listening to someone like me rant," Another whistle of the lungs echoes. "Does that make either of us more human?"
Mitsuki peered back at the stars. He didn't answer but that was fine.
I didn't want an answer either. Numbly, hands drop back to the bed of grass.
For now, I wanted to watch the night sky. Let the worries bubble in the back and bask in the moonlight from above. Enjoy the second of allowed peace and freedom to stress while one could. There are many reasons to sit back and scream. To wither, to lose it, and go on an eating spree to live off of only instinct and desire to get stronger. Should the actual young Komaeda have been standing here, he might've done just that.
After all, Nagito Komaeda had already lost his family once. To lose his world would have shattered whatever was left of his ideals and desires. That would break him.
If...If Nagito is somehow still here, then I'll respect him enough not to commit overly violent actions out of a tantrum.
Just this once.
Just...This once.
"I do not know how to be human." Mitsuki's words cut through in a wave of acceptance. "However," There's a pause, a true second of pondering as he doesn't look away from the moon. "I would like to learn...If it means I could get closer to the Sun." Another pause. "And not get burned." Mitsuki adds as if the consequence was an afterthought. Mitsuki was either reckless or determined to get what he wanted.
Why did it sound as if he meant this 'Sun' was a person? No, such was impossible.
"That sounds," Oh, my throat feels parched. "Like you have your hands full. I won't slow you down." If we continue to meet up, that is.
Mitsuki doesn't blink. "I don't think you'd be able to."
Ah, what a flex.
"Absolutely not!" Nagito's personality shines through with an ounce of irritation of the second spirit. The agreement is both honest and silky. "I'm a mere creature who's been far too busy trying to keep up with my hunger. I wouldn't go out of my way to bother you, don't worry." Fingers traced shapes into the grass. Thoughts dig and wriggle, and the urge to curl up tighter returns with a brush of layered rage.
"Hunger," Mitsuki repeats, the word light and puzzling. "Do you eat every day?" He questions as if these meetings meant free answers regardless of the content.
"No." There's no point in saying otherwise. "You?"
"I don't need to eat," Mitsuki informs, far too honest to be anything but fact.
The world pauses as white strands of hair whip in his direction. "You don't?"
Mitsuki doesn't have to respond. I believe him, but I am also astounded. Regardless of grass stains, I sit up straighter and crawl forward with a star-struck expression. There's no stopping until I am right in front of him, kneeling on the grass and dirt. The position doesn't bother me for multiple reasons. Too many reasons, mainly on Nagito's part.
Little fingers dig back into the strands of grass as teeth clatter.
Golden eyes are piercing but I am braver than the pools of lethal melted gold.
"Teach me," I sharply breathe. Fingers scratched into the grass as if it were sandpaper. "The ways of holding back my hunger." The request came out to be an unstable plea.
Mitsuki tilts his head, just a little. "You believe I can?" He reasons in a semi-cheerful voice. "I don't see a reason to." Mitsuki ponders for a moment longer. "Your problem sounds bothersome. What do I get out of this?" The non-human wearing the two-blued yukata was somewhat polite at the very least.
Still, I had to throw something in. Appeasement, some type of reward this wise soul would want.
What is it?
Brushing fallen grass stains off the knees, the formerly distraught me finally stands.
"Then, allow me, Servant, to serve you." Memories stretch and twist, the waist bends at an angle as a bow is performed. Hand on the chest and eyes forward, these eyes switch back to swirling red and black.
"No, thank you." Mitsuki swiftly rebukes with stiff shoulders, but I do not waver.
"I may be a monster, but I am still a master of blending in." The words are smooth, easy to carry in conversation as a persuasive wave. "Do you have friends, Mitsuki? And if you do, do they find you strange?" Press, press, and pinch, Nagito Komaeda had no qualms in sinking his claws into soft points of other people's lives. Whenever done knowingly or unknowingly, he had hurt many with simple mind games.
Mitsuki doesn't answer, damning himself to an answer either way.
"You want to cross that bridge of acceptance." This was merely a guess. Mitsuki had mentioned the 'Sun', could he mean an object or someone? A group of people, perhaps. "To be noticed and seen in a positive light." No movement, not a bad sign. "Considering the fact you don't need to eat human flesh to survive, you can certainly reach that step." I allowed a thin smile to form.
"I am not having trouble." Mitsuki says, and to these ears, it sounds almost like a white fib.
"Of course." I readily agree. "I'm just saying there's more to be done."
Gambling with words is a very dangerous game. This can go either way, in multiple ways. Death from running the mouth too much, death by saying something inconsiderate, and the slim chance of surviving by twisted reasoning. This acquaintance wasn't to be messed with. Not mentally, not physically, my fighting skills were far too weak for that. And yet? I can't stop, the feeling digs and burrows under the skin, rushing in waves.
This must be the courage of an absent luckster with a knack for picking at the mind.
"Wouldn't you agree?" Leaning closer, this ghoul heart of mine should be racing as eyes meet and neither creature looks away. The heart sluggishly beats and there's a bitter taste on the tongue. A bitter, recurring taste that repeatedly tried to fill into the mouth. Swallowing down the salvia, my thin smile remained. "Mitsuki?"
He's not sweating, there's not even a tremble. The non-human in the yukata wasn't negatively fazed at all.
Instead, I smell the faint citrus of curiosity.
This was it, then.
Fingers outstretched in an invitation, a much more genuine smile falls on this young face.
Mitsuki looks carefully impassive by the gesture, and I tilt my head to non-verbally tell him what to do.
"Let this deal help build both of hopes, Mitsuki!" Not quite what I wanted to say, but the words had spilled out in a rush regardless. The millisecond of puzzlement swarming the mind vanishes at the addition of paler fingers.
…Under the shining stars, the shadows of the night, and this new bond, I'm glad to know we're in agreement.
A/N: I had gotten inspired lately. I hoped you enjoyed this longer chapter!