Chapter Text
It was a normal September day, as far as Shintaro cared to think about it. In front of him, the notes followed his command and arranged themselves into the sad, haunting melody he's been working on for a few days.
He wouldn't say that he was slow, but lately, almost nothing felt right, and he struggled to wrangle the music into a configuration that would've been merely acceptable — and "merely acceptable" couldn't cut it.
He heard the lock click — and someone quietly step into the apartment. The person's steps grew louder, then louder; at last, they stopped right behind him.
"Shintaro," Ayano said quietly. He could sense no fury in her voice — just resentment and hurt. "I need to tell something to you. Enough is enough."
He nodded, giving her a curt acknowledgement.
"What day is it today?" Ayano asked.
Clearly not her birthday, he thought.
"Our anniversary?"
"Correct. You remembered that, especially given how there's a copy of me in your brain that remembers this for you," she exhaled. The composition in her voice shifted — a little less resentment, a little more hurt. "You stood up everyone. Your sister, Takane, Haruka. We booked in advance and you didn't even bother to come."
"Mhmm."
Ayano took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can manage this, but— No, I must. I must be strong. For myself. For everyone. I must do what is right, ev—ev"—
Shintaro reached into the drawers beneath his table and yanked out a bottle of clean, pure water. With a flick of his wrist, he opened it, and brought it to Ayano's chin.
"Thank you," she said, taking the bottle into her own hands and taking a few gulps. "As I said, even if it is exactly what I do not want to happen. I will do what I have to. Shintaro."
"Yeah?" Shintaro asked, not taking his eyes off the vocaloid software.
"You're sleeping on the couch tonight."
"The couch," Shintaro repeated. "Ayano, this is my apartment."
"Nevertheless, I am exiling you to the couch." Ayano repeated. Shintaro could sense a note of steel in her voice, one he could almost be proud of if it wasn't aimed at his comfort. "Have a nice night."
"You can't do that," he said. "If you're so disappointed, why sleep here? Your parents have room for you, you could have come there."
"Well, I am here now." She closed the door behind herself, and Shintaro continued his work.
"So if I'm not here, your plans will fail?"
You can feel yourself in the air, the yoke of gravity dragging you to the earth that never comes. The scarf around your neck twists and shreds itself, its fabric bleeding into the blue sky and tainting it red.
The thing wearing your father's face grabs you by the neck. Its fingers dig into your flesh, pain rippling through your body. You wish you remembered how to scream.
Did I escape?
You think you can hear something. Crackling fire, shattering glass, rushing water. Myriad particles singe and shred your arms as you keep falling, the skin sloughing off the thing that used to be your father in black scaled layers until there's nothing but a thin and fragile skeleton.
You raise what feels like your arm to your neck and pry the fingerbones off; without cartilage, they scatter in the air. You blink; the remnant gaze that floats away is your own, winking a sly goodbye.
You look to your right; all you see is a mangled red mountain covered in weird thin pale and black stripes. But when you twist your head further, there's nothing but a colourless void.
Suddenly, you stop, and there is nothing more.
Ayano woke up from her nightmare to a sluggish awareness of the room she was in: four walls, a comfy, spacious bed, a tv. From the framed picture of Tono, she could conclude that she was asleep in Shintaro's bed, and judging by his absence from the bed, he was most likely elsewhere.
Ayano slid out from under the blanket and approached the door of the bedroom. In the living room, she saw Shintaro, seemingly asleep, lounging on the couch, and carefully approached him.
"Shintaro," she whispered. No response.
"Shintaro," she repeated, kneeling down to his face. The slightest movement of his eyelids told her all she needed to know. "I just had a nightmare."
"You're an adult woman," Shintaro muttered.
"I dreamt we're still stuck in the loop and just think it's over," Ayano breathed out. "I'm afraid he's going to kill us again."
Shintaro's hand twitched and reached for his phone; he typed in a few numbers and turned on the speaker.
"What the hell, it's three in the morning!" The girl on the other end — Hiyori, was it? Her aunt, even? — was clearly not a fan of such calls.
"Are you still alive?"
"Of course I'm still alive, do you think I'd be talking to you if I was dead??"
"Is Saeru still contained?"
"Oh." Hiyori's tone changed almost instantly, from boisterous to a solemn one — like the gravity of the situation clearly manifested itself, yanking her back to the present. "Yes, of course."
"Thank you," Shintaro said, ending the call. "Your father is still himself," he turned to Ayano. "You can sleep well."
"Can you come back? Please?" Ayano stretched her face into a pleading frown of someone in pain. "I can't sleep well."
Shintaro looked at his girlfriend, contemplating her plea. At last, he rolled his eyes.
"Sure," he murmured. "I'll come back and that's it."
"Okay," Ayano said, relieved.
"No repeat of what happened the previous time. I just want to get some sleep, please."
"Nothing like that, I swear," she said.
In a few minutes, Ayano dropped down onto her pillow again and felt the sleep rapidly claim her again, her consciousness eroding like the last traces of rime in the morning. Her arms clutched onto Shintaro's hand, squeezing it like a comforter.
She heard him gently shoosh her, and released her grip and concerns as she slipped into true serene sleep.