Chapter 5- Absent

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A/N: Why hello there. It's indeed me, back after a whole damn year and HOLY SHIT THIS STORY IS SMALL, THE SERIES ITSELF THO IS OVER 150 KB ON FILE

HOOOOOOOOLLLLYYYY SHIIIIIIIIIITTTT

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(Yes, I've been swearing more. Life gets shittier with me. Sorry.)

Anyways, I have something I want to ask for those of you that read the A/N EVERY TIME. It's important... What I want you guys to do is this: Go back to MCWAMB, and SLAM that story. Like, drill that thing with every little flaw or missing bit, non-understandable bit you can find. Go back and if you think something wasn't described well enough, or it was unclear what I meant, or any little- ANYTHING- Start yeling in the reviews. Like, 'WHY IS THIS LIKE THIS (insert thing you don't understand)

THERE'S AN ERROR THERE AND AAJDVSHLA (insert possible error)'

I would love that. Like, "THIS STORY SERIES IS A FUCKING WOOD BLOCK. I WANT YOUR HELP TO MAKE THIS FUCKING BLOCK OF WOOD INTO A NICE STATUE TO PUT ON MY WALL. NO FLAMES, THOUGH. I WANT IT TO LOOK NATURAL. HELP ME MAKE THIS PIECE OF SHIT INTO SOMETHING GOOD."

...yeah I swear. :/ Cannot control it NO CONTROL ERROR *sirens*

Enjoy.

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My eyes are dry when I walk back into his room. My head is clear. My feelings are nonexistant.

He is beside me, ephemeral hand slipping in and out of mine as I walk down the hall, and I can feel the emptiness fill the places where there was pain.

I try to make myself stop thinking about that so much and pull myself back to the present a little, shifting my wings underneath my jacket. How the hell did he put up with these for even a moment?

He chuckles beside me. I didn't, really, they hurt like hell whenever they're compressed or not used for too long. But hey, could have been a lot worse. Just be glad they aren't feathered. I hum in reply.

Shift them again. Was the hallway really this long last time?

We are silent the rest of the way there, and I relish it.

I'll be out of sight.

The door that holds nothing, nothing at all- other than wood. But it's making me stiffen.

Go ahead. Then I can't feel him anymore.

Taking a deep breath, I open it and walk inside.

Part of me reels. The other part of me cries. A third part of me classifies the person on the bed, down the room and a curtain that blocks me from seeing him from the doorway, as someone else entirely, not him.

I call this one Mem-Loss. Obvious, but I was still being stupid and sleepy when the title came to me. Not to mention in pain from attempting to sleep on wings after having worked and cleaned my house from the moment I returned.

For some reason Miku nor Rin had visited in that time, and from that point three days ago I would at least expect a pair of shoes. What's troubling, though, is that when I visited Miku's place yesterday, she wasn't there- and it was at six in the morning. A time when she's always at home.

I was still tired, so I resolved to investigate today.

But then this popped up- a nurse called yesterday, saying he was asking for me. Apparently his mother- Miriam- has disowned him, and I'm the second contact in his wallet to contact for emergencies.

He won't answer me when I ask him about it.

Keeping my face as sturdy as I can, I take deep, even breaths, trying to remind myself this shouldn't be permanent.

A conversation I had with him earlier comes to me again.

"Is there any way to, you know..."

"Not that I know of. Our connection was formed off of memories. The only theory I can come up with is, in order to re-enact the connection between what I'm technically calling my body, you have to create similar memories with him and possibly... I'm not sure how to put this, thread power..? I guess. Maybe."

"Well, that's just weird. Is there some sort of amnesia function I can use to make this less awkward?"

"I don't think so and even if there was I wouldn't let you use it."

"Damn it."

He laughs. "Stop acting all moody, you look childish."

"So what?" He tries to stop, but shoving his ghostly fist in his mouth just causes him to choke. Oddly enough, I start coughing at that time.

For a moment we are both trying to stop choking.

When I stand again, a thought occurs to me. "Wait- what happens if you're stuck- uhm, in me or whatever... forever?"

This gives him pause.

He bites his lip. I back up a little. Memory tells me getting closer will keep the information away from me. So I wait.

"...Bit by bit it's one of two things- either I'll just be a spirit that is capable of being transferred from person to person... or I'll fade until I'm no longer capable of simple thought, and just a general mass of energy and memory. Possibly at the most instinct or feeling, no actual words or independence- I'll just meld into you until you can't tell the difference."

I can't even breathe anymore.

"And I think it's more likely going to be the second one because recently... it's been hard for me to remember words. I've been digging in your memory for them. Soon even that much could be beyond me." He grimaces. We both know that no sort of petty 'it'll be okay's will work. Even so, I know he at least wants to try because I'm shaking. And trying- note the key word is try- to stop.

I can't think.

It is multiple minutes of still silence.

Finally, I say quietly- "By estimate, how long do you have?"

"Five weeks at most. If I'm lucky."

I wipe my face free of the small bout of fear that tried to overcome me. Because he could very well be right. Recently he's been becoming more and more silent, preferring to just watch, occasionally asking me what something means because it slipped from him again.

Something lances through the bottom of my heart, icy and painful. I feel... lost.

I shove it all down and keep walking until I'm at the foot of his bed and past the curtain.

He's sleeping- good. I didn't want to come over and see him awake, staring at me with his eyes- which were, for some reason, currently different from their normal blue. Now they were a shining, cold silver, that pierced me from within every time I thought about them. It made me drain, lose all reasons to keep trying. I don't know why, but every time I see anything made of a certain type of metal- a pair of scissors, a kitchen knife, a utility blade, even just the handrails that are all over the handicapped bathrooms- it reminds me of these lifeless, calculating eyes. They hold no passion, no... drive. No humanity.

I stopped myself from running and simply cleared my throat before shifting.

Somehow he hears it, and he begins to stir. It takes all of my self-control to stay put as he blinks, then pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes.

Something aches. It's a familiar motion- one I saw him make hundreds of times from a bedroom doorway.

Pulling myself back, I look at the silver eyed stranger on the bed. He is now looking at me.

For a moment, he doesn't speak. But only for a moment. "Gumi, right?"

I wish the floor would swallow me right now. My knees threaten to give in, but I cross my legs and concentrate on keeping my breathing even. "Yeah."

"You... have wings?"

I feel the stinging. But something tells me that this- his hurting me- is completely unintentional.

I nod.

"Can I see them?" The simplicity in his voice is matched with equally void eyes. I decide to lock away my emotions. It might make this easier.

Completely steady, I shrug off the coat I made- something I discovered, and Piko says he had no idea that was possible- and open my wings a little.

I bite back a moan, because stretching these muscles feels natural, good. Something that turns me cold.

Because it reminds me of that conversation every time I think of them now.

He motions me a little closer, and hesitantly I do- but then I realize my feelings are back. Whoops.

I steady myself and go closer, keeping my face even blanker than his.

Slowly, he draws fingers over them, cold fingers that seem just as icy as his eyes. I stand patiently as he looks at them, feels the bone, and when he's done he just drops his hands back to his lap. I pull back, to the foot of the bed, which tames my unruly heart.

For the moment.

He says in that same blank voice, "You said you got them by... transferring... my pain from me? I don't know what you mean. You said worries, but I don't remember anything like that. I don't really know you either. All anyone can say to me is, 'You'll be okay'. Give me something other than the same line over and over, please."

I feel my emotions crumble and the ice from his eyes takes over my body.

He... doesn't care how he's acting.

I can't even really think of a reply. I search for anything the actual Piko would say, and nothing matches up.

And for some reason I can't find him.

Internally, every alarm bell is being rung at a deafening volume, but externally I'm the image of calm and content.

"It's not something you'd understand with a simple story said in ten minutes." The words roll from my tongue like glass, smooth on one side but sharp and cutting on another. I don't know where they're coming from, but I let them continue. Auto-pilot for humans now exists. At a nice cost of sanity and comfort, of course- affordable, but there is a cost for delivery if you're not a member.

"Try me."

"I don't want to."

He stares at me relentlessly. "Then how could you make me understand?"

"I don't know. Maybe by a picture." My emotions try to force their way into that one, and I have to fight back.

"A... picture?"

"Sure. I'll paint you a pretty picture and tell you my life story." ...And I'm losing. The words are sharp, tainted with something I don't recognize. For some reason I smile then.

"Well, if you can. I want to know something."

I almost laugh. But then I reply, "Oh, don't worry. You'll know everything about me since you want to."

He says shortly, "Good."

RIght then, my walls take in a little bit of info I hadn't seen before.

He doesn't percieve emotions anymore. Words are just words to him. Faces are just odd expressions that are occasionally tagged along. Sarcasm has no meaning to him.

He can't read emotions.

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