With each tick of the clock, the past faded ever further into obscurity.
Details of memories eroded into a mere shadow of the truth, never to be wholly factual again.
Certain retellings retained their certainty for an iota longer than most, if they proved valuable to heart and mind. Yet, they were all fated to follow suit, losing their form with every hour, of every day.
One's first kiss, the first, truly fulfilling passion and love, all were at the mercy of times ever cruel march forward. No matter how much one swore to keep the remembrances abreast, the truth was simply to harrowing to swallow.
Deftly, predatorily even, the current of time ripped and tore through the ghosts of the past.
Faces, voices, phrases, smiles, all became unknowable, a cheap, unsightly imitation of themselves.
Yet, from Naoto's personal experience, pain remained unmoved by the constant deterioration time threatened it with. Pain was a constant that, if anything, only grew stronger, as it managed to distort memories to further fuel its own goals.
The rare, uncomfortable times, that he willingly returned himself back to the moment that Nagatoro had severed their bond, it was impossible for him to say whether what he was experiencing was exactly as it had played out.
At most, he could claim to be more than convinced, a hundred percent certain, without a doubt in his mind.
But how could one ever prove that they had forgotten something they do not recall? How can one seek an answer to a question they were never aware they had been pondering?
What, in the end, defined reality, when our collective memories were all fated to distort and contract into an amalgamation of half truths and inaccuracies?
If, by the end of all our existences, we were simply on the run, from time itself, as it consumed all around us, body, soul and mind, then what was the point of struggling so ceaselessly?
Naoto believed there to be no clear answer, no universal truth, which would solve this frightening query for all around.
His hopes laid with the prospect that his music could, at least, ease the worries of those staring at the ocean, waiting for the world to end, just as he had been. When the void encroached upon their lives, gnawing at all that defined them, brushing against their straining hearts, perhaps, Naoto could soothe their souls and allow them to lay and rest.
It was not fame, nor fortune, that drove Naoto forward. It never had been and even though, promises could not be made, he hoped that it never would be.
All the artist wanted to do, was share his work with those that would be so kind as to listen, and repay that kindness with a message they could take to heart, hopefully allowing them to go through life with one less festering moment of doubt and insecurities.
For, what was more reassuring than to know the fears and self scrutinization one endured, were not simply their cross to bear alone? Did it not provide levity, to know that the impending panic and chaos, one had to fight back on a daily basis, was battled by everyone, to some extent?
Naoto believed in those words, yet also doubted their validity, as the ultimate proof of his life as an eternal hypocrite.
Was there any shelter to take in the knowledge that there were others, like him, who had been hurt the way he had been by Nagatoro?
No.
It only made the world appear colder. Crueler.
Yet, there was a pride, Naoto felt, at the mere thought of others, scarred, battered and broken, the same as him, rising above it all and unshackling themselves from the torment.
Just knowing that these individuals were out there, right now, living life to the best of their ability and providing the world with invaluable source of inspiration, made him want to push on the same as them.
If he could only capture the essence of their bravery and fuel his own path with what they had accomplished, to blaze a trail for those that would come after.
For there would always be evil, there would always be darkness in this world, of that Naoto had no doubt.
And where there was unjust intent, there were those falling victims in its wake.
Naoto knew he could not undo the pain others had suffered, nor avert that which would meet them in the future.
But he could, if anything, offer them a time to rest, a place to ease their minds.
Such was the purpose he had decided for himself.
As such, there was one last thing for him to do, before he could wholly devote himself to such a cause.
One last lingering morsel of rot, driven deep within his heart.
The following month rushed by, allowing the band not a moment of respite between their shows. Feeling absolutely exhausted at times, Naoto had just enough mind to inquire about Hisao's state, because, as he saw it, if he was feeling winded and at the end of his rope, so must have his physically restrained friend.
Yet, to this surprise, Hisao was more than eager to continue pushing on, feeling better than he had in a long time. Apparently, he had been counselled prior, on the fact that a healthy workout routine, alongside an abundance of pills, would support his desire for a prolonged life. So, Hisao had been taking that advise rather seriously after a lengthy period of, as he referred to it, moping about his condition.
Tadano was, as always, rather mellow at each junction of their journey. On the surface, at least.
Naoto had a more difficult time discerning what was bubbling just beneath the surface, as this was essentially his dream come true. To simply do something fun, inspiring and memorable with friends he held dear.
Yet, after his initial loss of sanity, from the sheer joy of being told Hisao was going to stay with them, he had slowed severely and had now seemingly resigned himself to simply look after the other members of their entourage, between all the planning he was also taking upon himself.
Komi, having been able to work on her studies from home anyway, was still diligently working at all times on her laptop, when not assisting the band in some shape or form.
Rin, on the other hand, had to leave their side after the initial concert, to return to her academic responsibilities, which Naoto had never even been aware of. But it was nice to know, regardless, that Rin had something consistent, stable, in her life, that she could focus on.
Tony, as always, was acting as if he was living his best life, fully slipping into the persona of a rock star, despite the fact that they still had a long way to go. Naoto almost envied the man, how he was able to just lose himself in his dreams and fantasies, unburdened by the reality around them.
Then again, that might have been a gross misunderstanding on the man behind the facade. Naoto could honestly not say, just how well he understood what was going on within Tony's mind.
The most the blond foreigner had ever truly divulged to them, of his past, had been while drunk out of his mind, recalling a lost flame, connected to some rather dark and gruesome fate. When asked about it the next morning, Tony, rather uncharacteristically, had quietly requested for the topic to be dropped and never be discussed again.
In the end, it did not truly matter, what had brought all of them to the point they were at now.
Time, as it always had and always will, would tear them asunder eventually anyway, without any regards for what had transpired before that moment.
Naoto was lost in consideration of that reality, as they stepped through the doors to their latest venue, smaller, more intimate than the one prior. It was perfectly cruel, for what he had planned for himself.
Watching the crew work tirelessly to assist in preparing the stage for their performance, there was a tinge of guilt in his mind. Part of him considering what he was doing no better than simply abusing them for their labor, all so he could get on stage and face his inner demons, one last time.
Of course, the paycheck they would receive after all was said and done, would smooth it over in the end.
Naoto leaned forward in his chair, staring at himself in the reflection of the mirror. His shaggy hair stuck to him, matted with sweat. His pupils were strangely dilated, the lenses he had placed before them making his vision just slightly dimmer. His pulse was elevated, almost racing away from him.
This was it.
A deep inhale.
The moment that his message should be carried through, all the way to the heavens, that he would free himself from the shackles of his torment.
The exhaled followed.
Naoto forcefully pushed off the table, lifting himself from his seat. A twitch in his left eye indicated the energy currently threatening to explode from within him.
He was ready.
The waiting was driving him wild. He wanted to prove to himself, once and for all, that his future was his own.
Looking once more, at the reflection of himself, Naoto found a distortion, an afront to who he had become.
There he was; scrawny, timid, meek. Plain glasses, to help him avoid standing out, yet provide the vision he required. A wrinkled up, hardly ever acknowledged button up covering his pathetic frame. Shorter, yet somehow shaggier and messier hair, atop his head.
The hazel eyes, shrunk in panic, to almost nothing, like tiny pins in the dark, conveyed the unimaginable fear the world instilled in him.
Staring back at him was everything he had hated about himself. Everything that those seeking to do him harm had used against him. A timid mess of frightened bones, anticipating the next time anxiety would pounce on him, without ever considering any means of fighting back.
There had been the odd instance, here and there, when Naoto, even back then, had received some sort of clarity, and considered pushing back against those that would trample all over him. But that insight never lasted. The courage always left him, before he had the chance to fight back.
Sickened by this vision of the man who had fallen so far, to let another hurt him to such a corroding extent, Naoto wanted to do nothing more than cut him out of his mind. Just to let him know, he would never again accept the man he used to be.
His jaw clenched, his hands balled into tight fists, Naoto stared at himself, whimpering, cowering in fear and shame.
It had always been this. Always fear, always panic, always pain.
And right there, just barely peeking out above his shoulder, was a pair of cat like eyes, staring at him predatorily.
Naoto bared his teeth, infuriated by the sight of his past self unwilling to even move an inch in defiance, as a pair of slender, tanned arms, wrapped themselves around him, beginning to drag him into the void.
A cheshire grin, glinting in the dark, blanketing the mirror, caused the trigger to be pulled in Naoto's mind.
Like a rocket, his closed fist slammed forward, at a frightening speed, shattering the mirror on impact.
The fragmented reflections, each of them separated by the cracks forming on the surface, revealed to him all that he could have been, all that he could have done. There had been hope, there had been beauty ahead of him, always just at the edge of his reality. Yet, it was never meant to be, as he had been robbed of his dreams, his ambitions, by an act of cruelty and lack of inhibition.
Once more, the hazel eyes of his teenage self blinked at him from beneath the veil. This time, however, there was no fear, nor anxiety, reflected within him.
There was peace.
It was time for Naoto to find his own.
When Naoto stepped on stage, a little later than his band members had anticipated, none dared to speak, their eyes all falling on the bandaged hand, blood still soaking through the fabric. Before Tadano had found it within himself to address the situation, Naoto simply raised his uninjured hand, to stop him in his track.
Then, he kept the hand aloft, directed toward his friends, the palm pointed toward the ground.
A concerned, albeit it hopeful smile, played on Tadano's lips.
The three joined him, placing their hands above his own.
Naoto smirked, brimming with confidence the likes his friends could not help but be inspired by.
A cheer, like the roar of a lion, rung out, as the curtain lifted to a promise of freedom.
Naoto stepped up to his microphone, guitar slung around his neck.
He began tapping on the floor board below him.
The rhythm ignited the fire within.
Where have I gone?
How long was I alone?
I cannot recall
Been falling too long
The time you've lived inside my walls
It's tearing at me
I told you my rules, the things I would plead
I bend and I bleed
After all
That is what you need
Naoto glanced over his shoulder behind himself, admiring the group that they had managed to become in such a short time.
Or was it truly such an insignificant amount they had spent together? How long had they been doing this together?
Who could tell?
Time tears us apart
It never dares stop
We run out the clock
One moment on flame
The next I'm insane
I'm never the same
And when you leer and can't see my face
Can't recognize my maze
Times' never slowing, you can't catch up
I'll let you go
Time tears at us every day
It devours and brings us pain
Joy and fear, they both know my name
They find me, wherever I stay
No battle to fight, no darkness and light
Time has no sides, it's taking no stance
Erasing us all
We die in the end
Naoto shut his eyes, as always filled with uncertainty, worried that his words were a jumbled mess, falling unheard to the floor. But there was beauty in the mere act of singing for oneself. Even if that was not necessarily the point of this performance, was any expression of art truly poignant if it wasn't, to some extent, self indulgent?
His eyes opened and swept across the venue, the faces he witnessed speaking to him of their lives, their experiences, their pain and sorrows, one never the same as the next. He wanted to help them, he wanted them to know that they weren't alone.
No matter how cold and hopeless the world seemed, they were never alone.
Never once will I return
I've been around, I was dessert
And when they had their fill
They tossed me in the bin
Now here I swim
Living life always feels so wrong
No one tells you how it is done
Always falling, climbing to run
I come undone
When the clock is striking twelve
I'll drop the lights, I'll shut my eyes
And even as I dream
I can't believe
What I could have been
I can't explain the way you damaged me
The scars on me
Still fresh and raw, bleeding through the facade I see
In the mirror when I cry to be
Free of all this torment that you sowed on me
Life feels so wrong
It feels so wrong
It's all so wrong
Living life always feels so wrong
No one told me how it is done
I fell, I climbed, I started to run
Yet I came undone
But now I'm starting to catch on
On how it is done
Living life still feels so wrong
But now I can run
I'm starting to run
Starting to run
Yeah
I can just run
Naoto felt the heat rise within his chest as he considered what he could still manage to achieve in his life, given the opportunity. In the past, he would often dream of it, dream of having the chance for greatness tossed into his lap. Now he knew, while luck and timing played a massive role in any and all endeavors, opportunities were something he had to forge for himself. The luck of the draw had failed him far too many times.
Naoto looked across the venue once more, trying to understand whether the thoughts he was trying to convey were finding their mark.
Art, he found, was always a discussion, a two way street. He wanted those listening to think, to truly absorb and analyze what they consumed, so that they could draw their own conclusions. The beauty with art, to him, had always been its malleability, to speak to each observer in a different way.
It may have seemed pretentious of him, to consider the music they created to be akin to such thought provoking, meaningful art such as that, but he was still hoping to evoke the same feelings in others.
As he searched the crowd for signs of a flash of understanding, a certain individual stood out to him, causing him to freeze up, for but a moment.
The sleek, black hair, kept out of the owner's face via a couple of hairclips, atop the tanned skin, was so remarkably recognizable to him at this point, that there was no mistaking who it belonged to.
Those eyes were glued to him, watching his every movement, hanging on his every word. It felt strangely visceral and exhilarating, yet Naoto knew that those feelings had to be pushed aside.
This was not the moment for weakness.
This was when he would rise.
Naoto let himself drown in the music, allowed the colors around him to fuse and blend, becoming part of him. It seemed so wrong, so weightless, to be enraptured by the sheer joy of sharing the melody in his heart, even when observed by the cause of his downfall.
Naoto let his instrument articulate his emotions, far better than he could have ever hoped to.
Racing through the echoes of his past, chasing the footsteps of his own shadow, Naoto arrived once more at a time graver and colder than he could recall.
There he stood, looking in, from the outside, at his own body. Shattered and broken, devoured and stained by a demon, shuddering, giggling above him. It felt cold, disconnected. There was this sense that this catastrophe was happening to another person, one unrelated to him in any form.
Naoto peered into the eyes of the man, years younger, far more afraid, yet sharing the same mind. Trapped in a moment of confliction, this Naoto would never grow to be who he was again. For a moment, Naoto pondered if that remained a positive.
All he could do, was try to find the good in all the bad of life. Else, what was the point?
"Why did you do this?"
Naoto questioned the fragment of his past life, staring at the distorted, dark silhouette, hovering above his motionless body, taking greedily from him. The vibrating, horrifying scarlet eyes flicked toward him in response, wishing to burn him with their gaze alone.
"Because I was weak," a voice behind him replied.
The man turned around, wholly unsurprised, despite how shocking it was, to see Nagatoro stand behind him. She too, seemingly far before him, had found herself at this point, watching the proceedings of this moment in time. Her face was a cold, blank canvas, betraying none of the words trapped within her mind.
Naoto felt no pity, no need to assuage any potential fears she was experiencing at this point. They had been here before, they had danced this dance, and he had tried his best to shield her, despite everything that had happened.
"I never meant to hurt you," she spoke evenly. "I would never want to do you harm Naoto."
"And yet you did."
"I did."
Nagatoro never took her eyes off of the scene unfolding before them, as if she wanted to force herself to witness her crime. Naoto cautiously observed her, hoping to find the slightest change in her expression.
"Why?"
"I was weak." she repeated.
"That's not good enough!"
Naoto took a step forward, his expressionless face flaring up with barely veiled fury. "I loved you! I trusted you!"
"I know."
Nagatoro's eyes fell slightly, taking any light they had inside with them. "You can't get your answers from me."
"Why!?"
The woman finally looked at him, her dark eyes melting into tears never to be released from their prison.
"You know why."
Naoto returned to the present, the concert he found himself still participating in. His mind reeled from the experience, from the moments he had been absent, from the voice, that was not his own, responding within.
Another gaze, out into the crowd, confirmed to him that the woman he had spotted before had left.
What constituted as reality in this world of ours?
Naoto didn't have any answers, but he had enough questions.
Darkness descended upon the venue, as Naoto's heart could no longer find its voice in the sounds of the music. There was a tense cord ringing out and as suddenly as he had stopped, Tadano arrived at his side.
"What's wrong Naoto?" his friend asked in a whispered tone, ensuring to avoid any live microphones.
"I need a moment."
Naoto felt truly awful about having to abandon his friends so close to the finish line. Tadano and Tony were obviously able to sing the words he was meant to convey, but they were still down one guitar without him.
Despite this, he needed to figure this out. He needed to talk to the woman, just one last time.
There was a reason she had received the last concert ticket.
He had planned to make his decision, to come to this conclusion, let himself see all the women in his life at that time, just to once again witness them for who they had been, what they had done.
Yet, when he looked into the eyes of the tanned beauty, standing in the crowd, he saw none of the monster that his memory showed him.
Was his mind lying? Was his memory distorted?
No. It had been Nagatoro, who had eviscerated all he had been, all he could have been.
She had been the monster, hiding beneath his bed, for all those years he had endured after.
So why were her eyes not the same?
Naoto rushed through the halls of the venue, hoping to spot her anywhere, but each spot he sought out came up empty. It was as if she had vanished, leaving him without the chance for proper closure.
She had made her way all the way out here, so far away from where she lived, where she went to university, just to run and hide from him, the moment he had found it within him to separate himself from this pain deep inside.
It was as if she simply desired to get one more over him, before the curtain would close on this play.
Naoto rushed through a set of wooden, double doors, out into the streets, being hammered with rain.
She wasn't there.
She was nowhere.
She had vanished.