He feels faint.
He feels dizzy.
He feels weak, struggling to amble along the streets of Tokyo, the air chock-full of cigarette smoke and the smell of a perverted nightlife.
How long has it been now, since he ate, since he'd slept, since he had the fleeting thoughts of returning home?
He can't remember. Whether that was due to the time or the sickening fog that had clouded his memory, he can't remember either.
Either way, that shouldn't matter now. What should is that he can't feel his knees under his thighs, having lost them to the hurriedly climbing numbness creeping up his body, but he can't even muster the effort to care about that.
The world around him lags, as if time had been trapped in tar, and seconds turn into decades, even while the people along the street are moving so impossibly slow.
Hah… Is this how he's going to go? Limp on the street as a homeless good-for-nothing, lost in the night and racking up hypothermia points, alone with no one to even say goodbye to as he dies?
...He ponders that a moment. And as the nerves at the end of his fingers start to lose themselves as well, he admits to himself that he does.
And he gives himself a chance at a final farewell.
Goodbye. He says to himself, words echoing around in his empty mind.
And that sets the ball rolling.
Proper sendoffs suddenly flood his mind, flashes of all good things that he will never have again in the afterlife.
Goodbye, oden.
Goodbye ice cream, and goodbye soda.
Goodbye sweaters, and goodbye pajamas.
In an afterthought, he adds, Thank you.
Something in his throat catches, as more bubble up inside of him.
Goodbye, cats. Thank you.
Goodbye, cat ladies. Thank you.
Goodbye, cat cafe employees. Thank you.
His heart is being grasped in his chest, and he's suffocating.
Goodbye, Iyami. Thank you… for the humor.
Goodbye, Chibita. Thank you… for the support.
Goodbye, Totoko. Thank you… for the dreams.
Cold air strikes wetness trailing down his cheeks, and his cheeks freeze.
Goodbye, Dad. Thank you for raising me.
Goodbye, Mom. Thank you for caring for me.
He's panting in quiet sobs under his mask, feeling even more dizzy and wobbly, but trudges on with his biddings.
Goodbye, Osomatsu. Thank you for taking the lead.
Goodbye, Karamatsu. Thank you for believing in me.
Goodbye, Choromatsu. Thank you for finding the errors in my ways.
Goodbye, Jyushimatsu. Thank you for being the yin to my yang.
Goodbye, Todomatsu. Thank you for getting us out there.
He's choking, and he can barely feel anything anymore.
Goodbye, family. Thank you for your love. I know I wasn't the best to you, but you were the best to me.
Then, faint applause reaches his ears.
In the midst of his time-stopped world, a figure blurs into vision, immediately recognized as a fated Reaper, grim in only title, as its bony hands softly clap.
Appreciation for his confessions, Ichimatsu supposes. He accepts the soft applause with a nod of his head. It's best to accept what the being throws at him.
Even through his blurry vision, he can see Death is opening its arms to him, black cloak open and inviting, a welcome tour guide to the purgatory he was inevitably invited to.
He gives in and falls forward, letting the dark hands take him and rise the scythe to his neck.
His mouth twitches under his mask, but he can't tell if the contortion was a stress-free smile or a terror-stricken grimace. He hopes it's the former, but it is, without a doubt, the latter.
He whispers his last words as he feels a grip on his arms, tight and physical.
Goodbye, world. Thank you for letting me live.
And as his eyes flutter shut and he goes slack, his mind kindly whispers to him.
Goodbye, Ichimatsu. Thank you for letting me be.
It was fun while it lasted.
But, even I don't want to be alone anymore.
He agrees, and closes his eyes.
And finally feels nothing.
Nothing, but a warm light on his chest. The second he sees it, sitting well off in the lonely distance of this dimension between life and death, he recognizes the symbolism. To it, he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a mad dash on a pivoted heel, scrambling away from the source.
He'd never settle for Heaven.
After all, Hell's where his brothers will be, anyway.
But the strings of fate tie knots around his ankles, so when he takes off, the first step hitting the ground with a loud clack in the silence of limbo, the floor underneath his feet breaks away, shattering like mirror glass under his weight, and he is yanked down, plummeting into darkness with a gasp of breath he shouldn't need anymore.
Suddenly, he becomes very aware of his shoes dragging on dusty sidewalk, as well as two pairs of boots at his grips on his arms unexpectedly tighten and hold him up, and the pressure on his chest only increases.
Muffled murmuring echoes in his ears, sounding panicked and worrisome with indecipherable words, but as he heaves out what just might be his final breath, he catches a scrap of a sentence.
In something akin to recognition, the voice, soft and lilting, says on the tail of a gasp,
"...Santa?"
Unexpectedly, Ichimatsu wakes.
Even more unexpectedly, he wakes in an alleyway, propped up on the metal of a dumpster with a heavy jacket on his chest and a wooly hat covering his ears. His mask had been removed, only for it to be replaced by a knitted scarf tucked up over his nose. Still drowsy and weak, he makes a poor attempt to raise his head from where it had slumped on his shoulder. His sleeve drags across his chin, wiping away the worst of his drool and the sour taste in his mouth.
He works himself into sitting a bit more upright, fighting off the vertigo invading his balance, and breathes. The night air is chilled in his lungs, filling his chest with a cool numbness, and when it leaves, it takes some of his malaise with it.
Unfortunately, it's not enough, and a hacking cough jerks his shoulders, forcing out the frozen numbness and leaving fire in his chest in its wake. The jacket slips from his shoulders, and he is assaulted with even more cold.
Then, he hears a sound from the other end of the alleyway. A frightened gasp, only to be followed by the scuffling of heavy shoes on old concrete, as an elongated shadow invades his space behind the dumpster.
A sudden fear strikes him as it comes closer, and, without thinking, he hurriedly closes his eyes and feigns unconsciousness.
In his darkness, he hears the steps stop just in front of him, and not soon after, a shuddered sigh. The presence comes a bit closer, now in his personal space, and reaches out to him.
Ichimatsu involuntarily goes frigid, tensing up as he feels something touch his shirt, and holds his breath as his terror increases.
The hand is resting on his shoulder. It feels warm and large, and it moves slightly to jostle him, testing to see if he was awake.
Ichimatsu refuses to move.
Then, the hand withdraws, going lower down his body, poking him in the stomach and feeling his fingers, before removing itself to pull the jacket-blanket over his shoulders once more.
It retreats, assuming to be standing itself, but its lingering gaze still rests on Ichimatsu.
It begins to turn away, and Ichimatsu begins to relax, only to be interrupted by a shout from the other end of the alley, now high and light, with little running footsteps bringing it closer.
Ichimatsu tenses harder.
The new arrival speaks to the other, just in front of him. "...How is he?"
The original replies. "I...-I don't know. I don't think he's woken up yet. Should we call an ambulance?"
"Uhm…" The higher voice responds, now sounding nervous. "Sh-Should we? I've never had to deal with a fainted person before…" It wavers a second, thinking, then pipes up again. "Oh! I brought drinks. I thought they might help." The person glances over to the body behind them. "I hope he likes hot tea…"
"Mm! Good thinking, Miyuki!" The other voice exclaims, the nerves in its voice waning ever so slightly. "Maybe he'll wake up if we get something warm in him…"
Miyuki pauses a moment, then shuffles. "Hold these." She says. A minor scuffle of sleeves occurs above him, and the girl comes up next to his mouth. She takes a finger to his lips and opens them slightly. Something plastic presses softly to his mouth. "It can't hurt to try."
The second liquid hits his tongue, his eyes snap open. It's hot, almost too hot, but the burn sends warmth through his frozen limbs, the sweetness shocking him awake. He wants more, but it leaves his mouth with a squeal from the one holding it.
"Oh my goodness!" She squeaks. "Yasahiro! Yasahiro, he's awake!"
"Holy shit…" The one still standing blurts, shocked at the sudden movement. He immediately drops to his knees and crawls over to the other two. "Keep talking to him, Miyuki. Hey! Hey, can you hear me?" He asks hurriedly, eyes bright behind thinly framed glasses, and brings a hand to Ichimatsu's cheek, patting it to keep his attention.
"Are you alright?" Miyuki asks off to the side, "Do you need to go to the hospital? Please don't fall asleep again." Her words are panicked, and she moves her earmuffs down to her neck to hear him better.
"Can you talk? What's your name?" The questions seem to be endless.
"C'mon, c'mon, say something!"
Ichimatsu slowly blinks. These two, they're familiar. He knows them from somewhere, their hair, their clothes, their faces, but he just can't come up with the knot that ties them together.
They're both looking at him desperately now, belting out questions and statements, trying for a response.
"Please! Stay awake!"
"Do you need something? Can we call somebody?"
"What do we do, Santa?!"
...Oh. The Christmas Couple. That's who they were.
And then everything blurs, as he topples over and the couple gasp in terror.
The last words to escape his mouth are, "Ah, Merry Christmas."
A good hour later, after a slap to his face had fully woken him up (man, that girl had muscles) and all the questions had been answered, the three find themselves in a diner not too far away, warm and secluded and finally washing off most of their anxiety.
Introductions had already been properly said, handshakes reciprocated and such, and now the three waited patiently for food to be served.
("B-But I don't have any money-"
"Don't worry about it. Please eat something.")
The couple, Miyuki and Yasahiro as they had introduced themselves as, sat together on the other side of the booth, staring at him with a cold and angry expression, but with their eyes betraying them, shining worried and afraid.
Ichimatsu fidgets. "Uhm..-"
"You're blue." Yasahiro mutters to him. "You were out there in the freezing cold, in just a shirt and trackpants, and now your skin is blue." The words are spitting acid at him, but staying level throughout. "I wouldn't be surprised if you got frostbite."
Miyuki starts just after him, same tone, but coming from her, it's even more ominous and frightening. "You're obviously a wreck, sad, sick, and starving." She folds her hands together in front of her mouth, and raises an eyebrow. "Care to tell us why?"
"I…" He stops. Should he admit to it? If he does, they might hate him even more. If he doesn't, they may find his truths and discard him like the trash he is.
There was no good outcome.
He was trapped.
The drumming of Yasahiro's fingers on the table in front of him snaps his attention to the other two, and their expressions have not lessened in the slightest.
"We're waiting."
His eyes fly from them to the corners of the table, to the ugly carpeting of the diner, to the waitress serving a child a glass of apple juice, to them again. "I-" He's huffing his breaths, scared and trembling.
He doesn't want to admit to it. He doesn't want to admit that he had left home for no good reason, he had become homeless, and that he wishes that everything could go back as it did before.
He feels sick again, throat constricting, and wetness appearing in his eyes.
The couple are still glaring at him, though now with creasing eyebrows and held back comforting words.
"I…" He tries.
"I…" He can't do it.
"I…" Tears are bolting down his cheeks.
The sounds of the diner quiet just to him, and he's now in his own personal dimension without sound, and the only words that echo around the empty space are-
"I want my family again.
"I want to go home.
"But I don't think I can anymore."
He glances up to search for anger, disapproval, hatred, but only finds a mouth dropping open in a gasp and the other biting its lips.
And his solitude shatters, as four hands fly to his own two and hold them gently.
"Oh, Ichimatsu…" Miyuki says softly. "You've been living out there all on your own?"
Yasahiro continues. "Were you kicked out? God, you must have been struggling out there…"
The former statement irks him. Was he kicked out? No, not physically, but that atmosphere, the solitude, the worrying glances of his parents, the silence of his previously loud and obnoxious brother, forced him out. He can't tell if he left willingly, or the universe took him away from that household.
More tears roll down his cheeks, and Miyuki leaves her spot next to her lover to sit by him and rub his back in a soothing gesture.
It feels nice, but only causes him to cry more.
A cycle continues for what feels like hours to Ichimatsu: cry, stop crying, look up to these two kind souls caring for him when he feels no one should, and start crying again.
By the time the cycle comes to a standstill, food is already on the table and cooling, and their waitress had left extra napkins by his plate.
He almost wants to cry again.
Yasahiro is still by his lonesome across from him, even after Miyuki had taken her hands off of him and began eating her sandwich.
Ichimatsu looks to the bowl of soup in front of him, still steaming with the warmth he desperately needs, and feels his hunger finally rise from his stomach.
He shakily reaches for a spoon, and under the watchful eyes of his companions, both with food dangling from their mouths, he dips it in, blows on it, and says.
"Thank you for the meal."
They sat there even after their meals had been finished, Miyuki now again at her spot with Yasahiro, and engaged in prying small-talk.
"So," Yasahiro asks him, "How long have you been out there? On the streets, I mean."
He glances to the side, refusing to meet their eyes. "I dunno. Not long." He huffs a chuckle. "I look worse than one would expect."
"That's not an understatement, Ichimatsu." Miyuki tells him. "You really don't look good."
"I never did."
Miyuki gives him a soft smile, "Oh, nonsense. You looked kinda cute in that Santa suit." She giggles and tucks some of her sandy hair behind her ear. "Maybe if you had worn a smile instead of setting yourself on fire, you could have been adorable."
Ichimatsu blushes. This girl was just too sweet.
"Wait, wait, Miyuki. I think I just realized something." Yasahiro interjects, calling the attention of both of the others.
Miyuki tilts her head. "Hmm?"
A smile creeps onto her boyfriend's cheeks. "Look down." She glances to her skirt and stockings. "I think we're wearing the exact same thing we did when we first met Ichimatsu."
A moment passes filled with glances between pieces of clothing, then is filled with laughter from all three parts.
"Would you look at that! We are!"
"A crazy coincidence, isn't it!"
"Heh, it really is true."
The words escape Ichimatsu's mouth before he can catch them. "They look good on you, though."
The laughter fades from the other side of the table, faces now surprised and mouths open.
"S-Shit," Ichimatsu stutters. Oh, him and his stupid mouth. Now they must think he's a creep or a pervert or a kidnapper. He tries to pull his words back. "I'm sorry! I-I-I didn't mean to say that-"
But his words stop at the sight of their blushing faces and little light and embarrassed giggles.
"Thank you." Miyuki smiled. "I guess we're even for the Santa comment now, huh?"
Yasahiro was still reveling in Ichimatsu's remark, cheeks still dark and a big grin on his face. "I haven't heard a compliment like that in a long time" he cheerily admitted.
His partner scoffed and lightly hit him in the arm. "Um, I told you you were dashing in that button up just yesterday!"
"Well, yeah, but you give me compliments all the time." Yasahiro grins back to her. "I guess I'm numb to yours."
She draws her hand to her chest in mock offense. "Unbelievable! No more compliments for you!"
"Aw, no sweetie-"
She playfully taps him on the nose."No "sweeties" for me, mister!" She glances to Ichimatsu, a sly look in her cute eyes, "I guess we'll just have to get all our admiration from our new buddy, huh?"
Ichimatsu starts. Wait, what just happened. He never agreed to this.
"Yes, we will." Yasahiro says before Ichimatsu can decline. "But he must be feeling left out from all the adulation."
The two meet gazes and smirk to each other. They turn towards him as he tenses.
Oh no. Ichimatsu knows what comes next, a blush already hitting his cheeks.
"You're a cutie pie." Miyuki teases.
"You look like someone who gives awesome hugs."
"Your voice is so soothing!"
"I've always liked a little pudge on the tummy."
Back and forth, back and forth, they bless him with kind words, each one heating up his cheeks a little bit more, until his face was in his hands and he was squealing harmless threats for them to stop.
The two laugh to each other after the twenty-somethingth compliment, and pat his head.
"Glad to see that you're finally opening up."
They leave the diner, stomachs satisfied and hearts full of cheer, and make their way through the city.
Just as they arrive at a set of steps, one of them stops.
"Hey," he says. "Y'know, I've always wanted to say something to you."
They peer down the steps at the man at the bottom, his scarf fluttering in the night city breeze.
Miyuki nudges Ichimatsu with her elbow and whispers, "It's for you."
He glances between the couple, now separated by a couple of steps, and nervously hops down to meet Yasahiro at the bottom. "...What is it?"
What happens next is a blur, as one pair of arms wrap around his front, only to be followed by a second on his back just moments after.
Ichimatsu struggles in their grasp, "W-What are you doing?"
Yasahiro peers over Ichimatsu's head to smile at his lover, and, both smiling brightly, they cheer in perfect unison, "Thank you, Santa Claus!"
Ichimatsu tries to belt out something in confusion, but is interrupted by the happy yells of the others.
"Thank you for speaking to us that night!"
"Thank you for your kind words!"
"Thank you for letting her stay the night!"
"Thank you for letting us realize how perfect we were for each other!"
"Thank you for convincing us to live together!"
"Thank you for bringing us together one more time!"
And lastly, together they break apart from him and say, "Now please, let us show our gratitude!"
They grasp his hands in their own, Miyuki on the left, and Yasahiro on the right, and bow to him pleadingly. "Please let us take care of you!"
Time stops for the second time that night. Ichimatsu freezes yet again, but this time, it's all emotional.
He can't. He can't take them up on this offer. He's not good enough for them, he's not worthy of them, what… what if his brothers try to look for him and can't find him? His mind is racing, outcomes and possibilities flooding his sense of reason, and before he can stop himself, he says one word.
"No."
Silence still befalls them, but time resumes. Miyuki unfolds herself, now revealing a face of pure distress. "...What?"
"N-No, I can't."
"But, you have no home! You almost died tonight! You should be happy that we're giving you a place to live! Hell, you're still sick I bet-"
"I-I can't!" Ichimatsu yells, tripping over words in his anxious panic. Unsure of what to do next, his worries spill from his mouth. "I'll be a bother! I'll be a nuisance! I'm just a piece of crap that no one needs to care about!" Scared tears are forming on his cheeks once again. "Why are you doing this?" He screams, eyes wide and hands pulling his hair. "Why are you caring for me? Why are you helping me? Why are you making me feel like I'm loved when I know I'm not? Why won't you just leave me on the streets and let me di-"
An impact on his cheek.
And he falls to the sidewalk below him.
"Yasahiro! What the fuck?!"
An imprint of a hand etches itself onto his cheek, and he looks up to see the scowling face of the man he met in the park on Christmas, face soaked with tears and snot leaking down his nose, shoulders shaking as his gloved hand falls limply to his side.
"Never…" he chokes. "Never do I want to hear you say those words about yourself again."
Miyuki scrambles to the lying man's side and offers him a hand.
Her face is wet and glossy in the moonlight, and as he is lifted, he hears her sniffle.
"Please come with us." She sputters. "We're not too far away from here. Even if it's just for tonight." A stuttered gasp in between sobs. "Please. I don't want to see you like we did tonight ever again."
Yasahiro coughs, still slightly fuming, and points back the way in which they came. "Go get your stuff." He says. "I don't know where it is, but you're bound to have some."
Ichimatsu stiffly nods.
"Train station. Ten-thirty. Be there, or we'll come looking for you."
He nods again, and folds into a thankful bow.
Yasahiro sighs, the last of his anger leaving on his breath. "I'm glad you understand." He pivots on his heel and treads in the opposite direction, stopping just a few feet away from where he started.
"Sorry for slapping you." He says. "We'll go pick up some movies and a spare toothbrush to make up for it." And with a, "let's go, Miyuki," he starts his walking once more.
Miyuki trots after him, stealing a look over her shoulder and calls to Ichimatsu. "See you later, Ichi! Goodbye for now!"
In the distance, her steps fall in sync to his, and their hands twine together, as they walk farther and farther away.
Goodbye odd couple. Ichimatsu thinks, as he watches their backs disappear further into a throng of strangers. He bows again to their fading shadows. Thank you for everything.