Weariness clings to him, a persistent child grasping at his weary frame.
It refuses departure, melding with him until it merges into his very essence; seeping into his veins, penetrating the marrow of his bones. Enfolding him in its embrace until limbs protest and yawns echo loudly, even mustering a smile becomes a Herculean feat.
It looms, evident in his disinterest in continuing conversations, in the indifference towards Suneo's incessant boasting of lavish gifts. Unmoved by Gian's threats, lacking the vigor to ask Shizuka to spend time together. All endeavors seem futile, yielding the same outcome. He studies, albeit sluggishly, moments lost to gazing at distant walls, while words dance before weary eyes. Seeking solace in tasks that don't weigh upon his limbs or strain his eyes—mostly successful, and he ignores the ones that aren't.
Suneo starts casting him puzzled glances, bewildered by his lack of reaction, mouth gaping every time he simply walks away. Gian's confusion mounts as tears fail to surface. Shizuka's concern deepens. His parents raise eyebrows at his consistently growing grades, and he brushes it aside. He ignores the effort it now takes to conjure smiles and laughter, how he has to physically muster up emotions. Ignores the way it seems to drain a bit of the life out of him.
Ignoring stuff has long been his forte.
It unfolds on a Wednesday, as calamities often do, catching unsuspecting souls in the midst of midweek turmoil.
Despite a night's rest that stretched beyond eight hours, exhaustion drapes over him like a heavy shroud. He ignores it, yesterday had been an adventure, albeit a terrifying one, but he's used to it. So, Nobita does what he always does, shrug it away, and ignore the fact that the action makes him feel even more tired.
The exhaustion, he realizes, doesn't limit itself to physical exhaustion. His mind feels muddled, thoughts weighed down like saturated cotton. Thinking becomes laborious. Emotions too, feel draining, and he makes no effort to feign otherwise. No one questions him; his reputation for laziness precedes him. They wouldn't inquire, not like they would for Dekisugi, besieged by praise for yet another flawless performance—it's something Nobita can't summon the energy to envy. In truth, he wonders why he ever bothered; it's all so exhausting, after all.
His lack of snappy retorts to Dekisugi's glowing score goes unnoticed, as does his lack of disdain towards the boy when Shizuka offers her homemade cakes to him. No one bothers to glance his way, and Nobita finds relief in their indifference; he's uncertain how he'd react if they did. He opts out of baseball, quietly munches on his lunch, and remains silent during free periods, tuning out the cacophony of chatter around him. He yearns for sleep, yet despite the overwhelming fatigue, slumber eludes him.
When he puts his head up as the day draws to a close, Nobita finds Dekisugi's concerned gaze fixed upon him. They're seated side by side, a placement that once served a purpose, though the details now elude him, lost in the fog of exhaustion. Annoyance bubbles within him as he struggles to recall the significance of their proximity and the plan it entailed. Dekisugi's intense stare, brows furrowed in worry, only adds to his irritation.
He merely lifts an eyebrow, not having the energy to open his mouth, Dekisugi's attempts at speech resemble a floundering goldfish, and the irritation spikes even higher. After enduring three minutes of awkward silence, he gathers his belongings, nods at Dekisugi, and strides out of the building, ignoring the gaze burning into his back.
He arrives home and mechanically plows through his homework, a task completed on autopilot despite the muddled haze shrouding the day. Even the thought of doodling in the margins feels like an extravagant waste of energy. The calls to play baseball outside go unanswered, the threats ignored. Doraemon asks him if he's okay and he gives a simple nod in response.
How would he articulate this sense of detachment—to his body, his emotions, to everything? It's akin to puppeteering tangled strings, a complexity too convoluted for a world that demands a single-word answer: 'fine.'
So he diligently completes his assignments, pores over the prescribed readings, studies for upcoming tests, mechanically consumes dinner, and finally retreats to his bed. There, he stares at the ceiling until sleep mercifully claims him, feeling the furthest thing from fine.
He aces the test.
The glaring 98 on the paper accuses him, demanding jubilation. He should be elated; literature tests are his forte, and this marks his highest achievement. But, he had felt so detached when he wrote it, he can't even muster the pride that he would normally feel at such an accomplishment. Shizuka's radiant congratulations fail to stir his usual warmth. Gian's jabs and Suneo's accusations of gadgetry draw only weary sighs.
Slipping the test into his file, he maintains a blank expression through the teacher's 'knew you could do it, Nobita' speech. He simply nods at the appropriate moments and musters up forced smiles, each one draining him further. The tiredness persists from the day before, but it's worse somehow, intensifying his desire for solitude. He just wants some peace and quiet, just wants to lock himself in an empty room and do nothing. Because the world is so taxing and Nobita is so tired.
He mechanically consumes his meal. Hunger and thirst are foreign sensations, absent from his consciousness. Each bite of rice is a laborious task, devoid of the usual satisfaction or discomfort. Eating has become a mechanical routine, stripped of joy or desire. He chews slowly, not out of enjoyment, but out of necessity—a perfunctory act to sustain his body, rather than the indulgence it used to be.
Dekisugi's persistent concern is a hovering presence, akin to an irksome fly, unrelenting despite Nobita's futile attempts to shake him off. Eventually, Nobita surrenders, his exhaustion making even the act of escape too draining. He offers no protest as Dekisugi accompanies him on the journey home, the silence between them heavy with some unknown emotion.
The other boy doesn't say anything, doesn't break the suffocating silence or ask him inane questions. He simply walks calmy, as if walking home with Nobita is a common occurrence. When they finally part ways, Dekisugi looks at him with those damn eyes and breaks the silence. "You've been working really hard," he remarks, and for a moment, Nobita questions the clarity of his own ears. It sounds genuine, and it catches him off guard. "But you have to prioritize your well-being, okay?"
And then the bastard smiles at him, genuine and warm, with teeth and bloody dimples, and walks off like he didn't just make Nobita feel something other than the usual apathy that has consumed him for what feels like an eternity.
He remains rooted to the spot, watching Dekisugi's figure recede into the distance. He wonders why the situation shocked him, questions why it doesn't leave him drained like other interactions. Why did Dekisugi, of all people, notice something amiss? But then reality intrudes, Gian's voice pulling him back to the present, and he hastens his steps homeward, hearing the other boy rounding up kids to play baseball.
It becomes another shock, when despite his mother's praise and hugs, and his father's hair-ruffles, which he had longed for, Nobita remains enveloped in a blanket of exhaustion, unable to summon any semblance of emotion except for a faint undercurrent of frustration. It's a jarring realization, one that amplifies his weariness and ignites a flicker of annoyance.
He pushes aside the notion that Dekisugi's words had stirred something within him. It's already irksome enough that Dekisugi had managed to elicit any emotion from him at all.
Routine is something Nobita is good at. Routines are safe, they are repetitive, even if the routine veers into detrimental territory.
Doraemon's concern is palpable. He urges Nobita to break free from whatever this is, to confront whatever malaise afflicts him. Gadgets are deployed in a desperate bid for answers, and Nobita, well, he just doesn't understand the worry. Yes, exhaustion dogs his every step. Yes, his thoughts resemble a tangled web, and hunger and thirst seem distant memories. Yes, emotions flit in and out of reach, save for the occasional flare of irritation sparked by Dekisugi's cryptic comments.
Nobita remains perplexed by Doraemon's insistence on disrupting what he perceives as an improvement in his life. From his viewpoint, things are on an upswing. He's steering clear of pointless conflicts, achieving academic heights, and utilizing his time more productively. And if anyone were to inquire about his state, what would he say? That he's simply tired for no apparent reason? It feels like a whiny, useless complaint, especially when his fatigue isn't causing harm to anyone else.
His parents swell with pride at his academic accomplishments, his teacher's criticisms have waned, and even Gian and Suneo have ceased their harassment. He's avoiding pointless conflicts, excelling academically, and abstaining from frivolous gadgetry. He's moving on from Shizuka, after all these years, he doesn't feel anything for her anymore. He doesn't feel anything at all.
It's the life he had envisioned—a life devoid of effort, shielded from the turmoil of arguments, the sting of heartbreaks. The isolation feels comfortable, serene even. No more clashes, no more emotional entanglements. It's a welcome respite from the chaos of the past—just peace.
It's a paradise. A beacon of contentment. A apparent perfection. Everything seems to be going so well. But why is he so tired.
Dekisugi's increased presence unsettles Nobita. He infiltrates every aspect of his life, from lunchtime companionship to walking home together. He picks Nobita on his team every sports period and chooses him for every collaborative project. He even comes over to Nobita's house—uninvited, mind you—to study and sometimes even staying overnight. And Nobita finds himself at a loss for how to react to this intrusion.
It's not the familiar emptiness that he's grown accustomed to—the numbness that envelops him, rendering him apathetic to the world. The one that drives him to the extreme, all in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything at all. He turns the shower water scalding hot, pushes himself to walk even as his legs ache and are on the verge of collapsing, studies even as his eyes goes bloodshot with the lack of sleep. There's a strange stirring within him, something unfamiliar yet potent. It drives him to endure physical discomforts, that make him grip the pen so hard it hurts, write with cramped hands and bitten lips.
It's not healthy, he knows that, but it's the only method he knows that makes him able to feel something, anything at all.
But Dekisugi makes the days feel less draining. Makes him actually curious to know about the latest drama in class. Makes making conversation feel a little less daunting. He makes it refreshing, a little more easier every moment he hangs out. And it's nice — it feels nice to hear Dekisugi's warm voice read stories in dramatic voices, it's nice to hear Dekisugi break down math problems, somehow always knowing when Nobita was stuck, it is nice to sip the steaming tea that the other boy makes when Nobita comes over to study, finding no reason to decline the invitations.
It's nice, but he's not sure why he feels this way. Not sure why Dekisugi, of all people, makes him feel this way.
Shizuka and Suneo corner him.
He can't feign surprise, he was expecting this. It seems everyone in his orbit, from close friends to casual acquaintances, has noticed his altered demeanor. Even the local grocer, peddling vegetables, has ventured concern. They all ask the same question: "Are you okay?" And he's grown accustomed to it, and offers the same response each time: 'I'm fine, just tired.'
Only Dekisugi has refrained from probing into Nobita's well-being. Instead, he engages in discussions about anything and everything, deliberately sidestepping Nobita's evident change in personality. And for that, Nobita is grateful, even if he'll never say it out loud.
Suneo sobs, loud and echoing, clutching at Nobita's shirt with an intensity that would impress even Gian. He looks desperate, like an alcoholic in need of more liquor, urgently requiring something to tide him over. Nobita watches him impassively, his eyes reflecting only weariness and fatigue. Shizuka, usually composed, struggles to maintain her composure, her voice faltering with an emotion that eludes Nobita's grasp.
Their words blur into a chorus of concern, echoing the same refrain: he's pulling away, he's not himself, they barely recognize him anymore. And amidst their tearful pleas and desperate questions of "what's wrong with you?" Nobita experiences a flicker of something he hasn't felt in months — a sense of alarm.
For the first time since this ordeal began, Nobita senses that something is seriously amiss. Because, as he observes their tear-streaked faces, and listens to Suneo's threats and Shizuka's pleas, he remains enveloped in a fog of exhaustion, perhaps tinged with irritation. Apathy holds him captive, rendering him immune to the guilt of their tears or the faint glimmer of happiness that they care enough to inquire.
Instead, a throbbing headache begins to pulse at the base of his skull. The weight of the world seems to press down on his shoulders with renewed force, exacerbating the exhaustion that grips him. He feels disconnected from the situation, as though he's observing from a distance, detached from his own emotions. It's as if he's hearing the story of someone else's life, not his own, as the turmoil of his friends' emotions washes over him without stirring any response from within.
As Suneo's trembling lip and Shizuka's bloodshot eyes betray their concern, Nobita musters the last dregs of his strength to offer a small smile and express gratitude for their concern. He reassures them with promises of that he's working on it, even though the words feel hollow on his lips.
Turning away from their hopeful faces, he pushes aside the unsettling realization that he felt nothing when he spoke. And ignores the weight of exhaustion that seems to grow heavier with each step.
The boundary between strictly being schoolmates and something more blurs imperceptibly for Nobita, yet what surprises him even more is his lack of resistance.
In the past, Nobita might have been outraged, spewing curses and foam at the mouth at the mere suggestion of crossing that line. But now, in his current state of perpetual exhaustion, where every breath feels like a drain on his dwindling energy reserves, where the world seems to weigh heavily on his ribs and cloud his mind, the shift feels strangely comforting.
Invited over for movie nights, he chuckles at Dekisugi's witty commentary, a sound that feels foreign yet oddly comforting to his ears. Engaging in games of chess, Nobita finds clarity in the strategic maneuvers, his mind less muddled in Dekisugi's presence. They indulge in simple pleasures like watching cartoons, baking deserts, and creating comics. They sing softy together, and they lay on the grass watching glittering dragonflies and clouds go by, commenting on the different shapes they take.
It's nice. He still feels exhausted, but it doesn't feel as bad, it's like a newfound vitality — an elixir that breathes life into his tired bones with each passing moment he spends around Dekisugi. Being with Dekisugi feels like stepping off a cliff and plunging into free fall, an exhilarating sensation that strips away the heavy cloak of exhaustion that weighs him down. It's more than just feeling something; it's feeling better, feeling alive in a way that he hasn't in far too long.
It doesn't stay that way, of course. Because Dekisugi isn't a magical cure—despite how hard Nobita wishes he was—and because Nobita isn't that lucky. The exhaustion returns with a vengeance, tightening around his neck like a suffocating noose that refuses to loosen its grip. It lingers, a relentless presence that weighs him down with each passing moment, leaving him yearning for respite that never comes.
There are days when the overwhelming urge to cry threatens to consume him, yet he holds back, fearing that once he starts, he'll never be able to stop. The exhaustion feels like an unyielding wildfire, spreading uncontrollably with no hope of extinguishment.
He bottles them up, corking them tightly and shoving them into the dusty recesses of his mind. He throws himself into his work, pushing himself beyond his limits despite the exhaustion that threatens to engulf him. Tears are blinked back, anger is swallowed down, until it festers like a bitter taste in the back of his throat.
Through it all, he ignores the concerned looks Dekisugi gives him.
It calls comes to head on a rainy day, because if he's going to explode, at least the universe has the courtesy of giving him his melodramatic moment.
With his parents away and Doraemon's persistent nagging echoing in his ears, the walls of his home feel suffocating. Shizuka's calls for their traditional paper boat-making session only serve to intensify his mounting irritation, each attempt at confrontation or conversation pushing him further towards the edge. Fueled by a potent mix of frustration and restlessness, Nobita finds himself lacing up his shoes and stepping out before he even knows what he's doing.
Ignoring the ominous clouds overhead, he sets off to walk—a ritual that usually dulls his emotions to a manageable level. Yet, today, instead of finding relief, each step only seems to amplify his agitation, the rhythm of his footsteps matching the erratic beat of his racing heart.
With every step his frustration reaches a boiling point. Why can't they just leave him be, allowing him to navigate his own struggles in peace? It feels as though they only take notice of him when his actions impact them directly, their concern ringing hollow compared to their demands for him to conform to their expectations.
Gian says he wants him to be strong and yet, he craves for someone to unleash his aggression upon. Suneo wants him to lose his naivety and then gets mad at Nobita's lack of reaction to his taunts. Shizuka wants him to be something good and brave and then gets all worried when he does. Doraemon wants him to be mature and grow up and then kicks up a fuss when he does exactly that.
Even as the sky darkens and the drizzle turns into a downpour, Nobita continues to walk, oblivious to the elements raging around him. With each step, his clothes become saturated, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, and his shoes squelch with every stride. He's caught in the midst of the storm, unprotected by umbrella or raincoat, feeling the cold seep into his bones.
For once, he's not just an observer, detached from the world around him. He feels the chill of the rain, the rawness of his emotions, and it overwhelms him. The exhaustion that usually blankets him is momentarily forgotten, eclipsed by a wave of despair that crashes over him. In the midst of the rain, with tears blending seamlessly with the downpour, Nobita allows himself to break. He sobs uncontrollably, his cries lost amidst the roar of the storm. Cries for the sense of emptiness that gnaws on his soul.
He mourns for a loss he can not explain.
He doesn't know how long he stays there, sitting and sobbing, until he hears a soft "Nobita?" His tear-stained ace turns towards the familiar voice, and through blurry eyes, he sees Dekisugi standing before him. Sniffling, his chest still heaving with sobs, he manages to croak out a question, "What are you doing here?"
"You're in front of my house," Dekisugi says, and he doesn't sound exasperated, merely fond. Despite the rain soaking through his clothes, he kneels beside Nobita, a small smile playing on his face. "How about we get you warm, hm?" Dekisugi suggests softly, without a trace of judgment or irritation. And Nobita finds himself nodding in agreement.
With a steadying hand, Dekisugi helps him to his feet, gently steering him towards the house. And Nobita's voice trembles slightly as he speaks, his words a feeble attempt to break the heavy silence between them. "You don't have an umbrella," he observes, his mind grasping for something, anything to say in the wake of his emotional turmoil. He hadn't even realized he'd ended up at Dekisugi's house, his actions driven purely by instinct and desperation.
(And isn't that something? Where long ago, where that would mean the park or Doraemon's gadgets, now, autopilot, instinct, subconscious all mean Dekisugi.)
Dekisugi's response is gentle, his hand still guiding Nobita along. "Hm, didn't even cross my mind to get one," he admits, his voice soft with an emotion Nobita can't quite identify. "Saw you sitting out there and I was worried. Was out the door before I even realized it."
And Nobita feels like there will never be a day where he isn't astounded by Dekisugi's effortless openness and vulnerability. While Nobita struggles to articulate his emotions, Dekisugi wears his heart on his sleeve, unafraid to express his feelings in the most genuine and tender of ways. From crafting delicate flower crowns for Nobita to allowing him to take charge of making hot chocolate, he has a way of whispering sweet truths that cut through the noise of the world, sharing secrets that not even the bravest could spill.
Dekisugi's ease with his emotions is like a lazy river, flowing gently and freely without constraint. He seems content in his vulnerability, never faltering in his willingness to share intimate moments and sentiments with Nobita like they're nothing worth hiding. Letting it flow, like water in a stream. Stones skipping off of him with ease.
"You're an idiot," Nobita mutters, the words laced with a mixture of frustration and affection. He hates how the sentiment comes out softer than intended, how Dekisugi grins like a loon at the insult, his eyes alight and pleased.
And despite the chill of his soaked shirt and the looming threat of a cold, he's never felt more warmer. There's a flicker of warmth in his chest, where amidst the ash, a tiny spark quivers to life.
The rain outside has subsided, when Nobita emerges from the bathroom, clad in Dekisugi's clothes. Its intensity reduced to a gentle patter against the windowpane. he house is enveloped in a serene quietness, broken only by the soothing sound of raindrops and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. It's a tranquil scene, a welcomed respite from the turmoil of his emotions.
Making his way to the window, Nobita gazes out at the world beyond. The window is expansive, allowing him to take in the entirety of the grey sky and the soft rainfall. Despite the darkness of the clouds, there's a sense of calmness in the air, a stillness that washes over him like a gentle wave.
Inside the room, the only source of illumination is the natural light filtering in through the window which he stands. Dekisugi prefers to keep the lights off, and Nobita finds himself grateful for the subdued ambiance. It matches the peacefulness of the moment, allowing him to simply stand there, lost in thought, as he watches the rain fall and listens to its rhythmic patter. For the first time in what feels like ages, Nobita feels a sense of peace wash over him.
Nobita remains rooted to his spot by the window, his gaze fixed on the bustling scene outside. He hears the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't turn around to acknowledge the presence of the other person in the room. Instead, he continues to watch as life unfolds before his eyes.
Outside, the world is a flurry of activity, despite the rain. Children, clad in bright raincoats of red, blue, green, and yellow, dart about like bejeweled butterflies, their laughter echoing through the streets. Meanwhile, adults scurry past, their pace quickened by the urgency of their tasks. Some clutch onto their briefcases and papers, seeking shelter from the downpour beneath jackets and umbrellas, while others seem unfazed by the rain, walking calmly as if they have all the time in the world, and perhaps they do.
The umbrellas, in their various shapes and sizes, create a colorful canopy above the heads of the pedestrians, resembling a field of blooming flowers in the midst of the storm. Nobita takes it all in, the sights and sounds of the rain-soaked city, feeling a strange sense of detachment from the world outside. It's a different kind of detachment. A good one, though he can't really explain why.
He watches the children outside clutching paper boats, a wave of nostalgia washes over him, pulling at his heartstrings with a bittersweet longing so strong it hurts. "We used to do that," he murmurs softly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "We used to tear off the papers from our notebooks and make paper boats. Suneo would always brag about his expensive store-bought one, and we'd all play near the pond, setting our boats in it, until they sank and we'd come home sneezing and coughing but happy."
"Yeah?" Dekisugi says, and at some point, he had come to stand next to Nobita. Saying nothing, simply staring out the window. Content with the silence. "That sounds nice."
"It was," Nobita confesses, like it's some sort of secret. And perhaps it is, a quiet admission of longing for days gone by. "We were so full of life back then."
That makes Dekisugi pause, he turns and Nobita can sense the weight of his gaze. But he doesn't turn his head to face him, instead keeping his own eyes fixed on the scene unfolding outside. "You're still full of life, you know."
Am I? Nobita wonders silently, wanting to voice them out loud. Am I really? But instead of voicing his doubts, he finds himself uttering a different response. "Sure doesn't feel like it," he admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
He immediately regrets speaking, because he's finally articulated the root of his inner turmoil, giving voice to the emptiness that has plagued him for so long. A label, so to speak, something identifiable. He feels dead, empty, hollow—words that hang heavy in the space between them, a stark reflection of the void his life has become.
"Nobita," Dekisugi's voice mirrors the soothing rhythm of the rain outside. "Are you okay?"
Finally, Nobita turns to face him, meeting his gaze with a sense of resignation mingled with budding curiosity. Dekisugi is looking at him with those earnest eyes and furrowed brow and there's something comforting about it, a familiarity that brings to mind their encounters from months ago, when it all began. Strangely enough, or perhaps not, he doesn't feel the usual surge of irritation at the question, nor does he feel the urge to brush it off with a dismissive reply.
'I'm fine, just tired,' the words hover at the edge of his tongue, rehearsed and ready to be spoken. But this time, something holds him back. Instead of uttering the familiar refrain, he pauses, allowing himself to actually listen to the question. To actually think of an answer.
"No, I'm not," he ends up blurting instead. The word hangs heavy in the air, each syllable laden with the burden of his unspoken struggles. "I'm tired. Exhausted, really," Nobita continues, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. "And I can't remember a day when I wasn't exhausted. Everything requires so much energy and I just want to be left alone. I don't feel anything, and when I do I feel tired. I feel guilty for not feeling anything. My limbs ache and my eyes ache and I want to cry but the tears don't come, and no matter how much I sleep it never goes away, and—and everyone is always asking what's wrong. And I'm doing better and I'm supposed to be happy, and, well, and, I want it to stop. I need—I need it to stop."
He isn't aware of the tears until gentle hands come to wipe them off, tracing small circles with his fingertips. Through blurred vision, he meets Dekisugi's gaze, and cries harder at the warmth that stares back. "What's wrong with me?" What indeed is wrong with him? It's a question that has plagued his thoughts for too long, a mystery he's struggled to unravel on his own.
In response, Dekisugi pulls him into a tight embrace, enfolding him in the safety of his arms. Dekisugi is taller than him, and Nobita's head fits snugly under his chin, the soft fabric of his sweater that Dekisugi had given him to wear feels nothing compared to this. It feels as though he's safe here, in these arms, which is ridiculous, but he wants the comfort. So he snuggles deeper.
"Nothing is wrong with you," Dekisugi says, voice as soft as the song of a songbird. If he's uncomfortable with his hoodie getting wet with tears, he doesn't mention it. Simply holds Nobita tighter. "You're experiencing burnout."
"I haven't done anything to warrant feeling burnout," Nobita's voice trembles with emotion, his words muffled by tears. But despite the garbled sound, seems to have understood him perfectly, because he pulls back slightly to meet Nobita's gaze.
"You pushed yourself way too hard," Dekisugi's voice carries a gentle but firm tone, his words cutting through Nobita's doubts with clarity. "With adventures and saving people and school and sports, you didn't give yourself a break. You need to give yourself a break."
Nobita doesn't say anything, finding no words to say to fill the silence and after a couple of seconds Dekisugi speaks again, and his words sink deep like stones dropped in a still pond. "My parents wanted me to build wings of gold. To be showered in ichor and build a throne and to go farther than anyone could. They wanted me to be as bright as the molten sun, to be something people looked up to. But what people don't realize, is that to shine like the sun, you need to burn like the sun."
Dekisugi's voice falters briefly, and Nobita feels the urge to reassure him, to offer some form of comfort. But before he can speak, gathers himself. His is stronger, stronger than Nobita could ever be, could ever hope to be. "And then you use every bit of fire inside you to burn like the sun. You burn until there is nothing to feed the fire, nothing to rekindle it. And then soon enough the fire is low and mere ash. And your bones are the bricks of a broken kingdom, and your heart is a terribly faint thing. And suddenly, the world around you loses it's color. Everything is drab and grey and terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough. Nothing is ever enough. And you end up being a hollow pot, decorative, but holding nothing."
He finally finds his voice, and he feels as though he is speaking for the first time. "Everything loses it's magic. The sky is dull, and the clouds are shapeless blobs. The world is cold and cruel and there seems to be no life. As though your soul has been snatched away. There's no point to anything, and everything that used to make you happy seems mindless now. And you can't help but agree to it."
"I knew," Dekisugi whispers. "From the moment I saw you in school that day, that something had happened. I didn't know what. But with every day, it felt like I was looking at myself, all ash and bone, and I want you to know that you are more than that. That you're amazing and beautiful and smart, and that you don't have to work yourself until the end of sanity to prove it. That there's nothing wrong with simply daydreaming or wishing on a flower, that there's nothing wrong with doodling in the margins and drawing mustaches on people in the yearbook."
"There's nothing wrong with taking it one step at a time," Dekisugi breathes, and his mouth is every so close. A mere breath away. "There's nothing wrong with living the small moments and watching the clouds go by. And I'd like to do that with you," and Dekisugi blushes the prettiest shade of pink and Nobita feels his own cheeks heat up. "If you let me."
The filtered light streaming through the window lends Dekisugi an ethereal glow, casting a halo around his figure. The rain has left his hair glistening with a dark luster, each strand resembling strands of midnight silk. His eyes, illuminated by some inner fire, flicker like tiny lanterns in the dimness.
A shy smile graces his lips, a rare sight that renders him utterly captivating in Nobita's eyes. It's a subtle shift from his usual demeanor, a delicate invitation that beckons Nobita closer. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, Nobita leans in, closing the distance between them.
Kissing Dekisugi is like coming home. Nobita finds himself transported to a realm of childhood enchantment and ethereal wonder. The soft press of their lips evokes memories of innocence and carefree joy, stirring emotions that elude verbal expression. His fingers entwine in Dekisugi's hair, luxuriating in the silky strands that yield beneath his touch. In response, Dekisugi's hands encircle Nobita's waist, drawing him closer in a dance of mutual desire and affection.
With each tender caress, kissing Dekisugi feels akin to savoring the delicate dewdrops that adorn early morning leaves, or indulging in the warm, comforting embrace of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven. It's a feeling that is utterly cliché but still envelops him n a cocoon of warmth and sweetness, leaving him utterly spellbound.
He body seems to sing, a melody as vibrant and melodious as the lark's song in the branches. Though the weight of exhaustion still lingers, it pales in comparison to the blossoming happiness that now fills his soul, a garden of blooming sunflowers. When they finally separate, something in Nobita seems to come together, something that seems to say, I've seen both parts of the world, and I know which one I'd like to live in. It's a realization that settles upon him like the gentle touch of a feather, a contrast to apathy's cruel edge.
He wants to stay in this newfound bliss forever, to bask in the glow of morning sunlight as they sip hot chocolate by a crackling fireplace. To cast wishes upon dandelion seeds carried away by the breeze and watch the clouds drift along lazily in the sky. And more than anything, he wants to do all of it with Dekisugi.
"I'll let you," he whispers, a gentle smile gracing his lips, its warmth akin to the first light of dawn. "If you let me do the same for you."
In response, Dekisugi's smile blossoms like the most delicate of flowers, its petals unfurling to reveal a beauty unmatched, and he can practically taste the sweetness of it on his tongue.
The next day, school is unexpectedly closed due to heavy rain. Rumors suggest that someone left the windows open, causing a flood that rendered the building unusable. Despite the inconvenience, the ongoing downpour leaves no chance for reopening. Dekisugi's cheeky grin when he recounts the rumor to Nobita hints at his potential involvement in the incident, but Nobita pays it no mind when his lips are met with a kiss so fervent, it seems to melt away any trail of thought he had, leaving him in a blissful haze.
They're in Nobita's bedroom, Dekisugi flips through a comic while Nobita gazes at the rain cascading outside. A sudden inspiration surges within him, akin to blossoming flowers in the wake of spring. Hastily, he retrieves a notebook from his desk, and Dekisugi looks up at him, seemingly attuned to every moment he makes. His brows furrow slightly. "Which notebook is that?"
"Math," Nobita responds with a growing smile, suppressing the urge to kiss away the furrow on Dekisugi's forehead.
"I thought you promised you'd take a break," Dekisugi chides gently, a hint of disappointment lacing his words. Nobita can't help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room as he struggles to keep himself upright.
"Technically, I am," Nobita manages between giggles, grinning at the puzzled expression on Dekisugi's face. "I need something to make the boat with."
"The boat?" Dekisugi says, but there's a gleam of dawning realization in his eyes. Of course, there is, his brilliant idiot.
"Exactly," Nobita confirms with a slightly insane grin. "We're going to make paper boats to float on the pond. Come on, slowpoke, we have a life to live." With that, he dashes down the stairs, feeling giddy at the fond sigh that follows. Grabbing a raincoat, he tosses another to Dekisugi before they both race out the door, hand in hand.
"Are you okay?" Shizuka asks him after Suneo and Gian have squeezed the breath from his lungs. They'd been astonished to see him. Understandably, since he'd been a phantom, these past couple of months. An elusive ghost haunting the periphery of their lives for far too long, and now, he stood before them, a living embodiment of surprise.
He looks up from the paper boat that he's making to her face which is brimming with hope. "No," he confesses with a raw honesty that cuts through the veil of pretense, his words hanging in the air like fragile petals waiting to be carried away by the breeze. He watches her blink in confusion and suppresses a tender smile. He chances a glance at Dekisugi, who is setting his boat adrift on the water with childish glee. "But, I'm getting better," he adds softly, the words a whispered promise to himself as much as to her.
Shizuka follows his gaze and her face lights up with a brilliance that rivals the morning sun. One that Nobita can't help but return. "I'm glad," she says, squeezing his hand.
"Yeah," Nobita says, his smile turning wistful as he watches Dekisugi who is beaming with pride after having won the boat race. "Me too."
Trust the magic of new beginnings — Unknown.