Chapter Text
It was supposed to be the day that Aoba would become his, forever. After so long, Aoba would become the thing that Clear had wanted him to be. Knowing nothing but Clear. In between human and not. Just like Clear.
Just like Clear...
So why did he begin crying.
Aoba had even seemed concerned for him moments ago, before his body became still.
"Hey... Aoba-san."
There was no reply. The room was entirely silent, except for Clear's shaky breaths and the patter of a single tear falling onto the cold floor below his feet.
"Hey," Clear said, desperation seeping into his voice, making it high and sharp. "Aoba-san."
There was nothing and Clear knew that Aoba was dead. He was dead.
Because of Clear.
Clear felt a sharp pain in his chest. But he shouldn't have. He wasn't human so this feeling of shards of glass, stabbing his insides over and over again and the feeling of having the place where a human's heart would be, squeezed, was something he was sure shouldn't be happening.
This was grief, in every way he was programmed to understand. It was painful and made all the worse by knowing that this was his fault.
He clutched at his chest and shook Aoba's shoulder in some pathetic attempt to wake him. Clear had done this when his grandfather had died. It didn't work then and it still didn't work now. He was helpless and this was all he knew to do. Even if he tried to pump Aoba's heart back to life it probably wouldn't have worked. Aoba had been torn apart. His vocal chords, his eyes, his limbs were gone. And he had starved himself, until he couldn't function anymore.
Clear couldn't even remember the last time Aoba had a drink of water.
"Hey, Aoba-san," Clear said, his voice strangled, barely audible. "Please wake up."
But he didn't.
And Clear finally let the tears flow freely, even though he wasn't human, this pain was too intense to not have some kind of outlet. Not when he remembered every moment spent with Aoba until he killed him.
He remembered how in love he was with Aoba. He remembered kissing him in the rain. He remembered the first time he had taken off his mask and Aoba told him he looked like just like him. A human. He remembered the swell in his chest when he was told such things. He remembered when he deliberately damaged himself in a desperate attempt to save Aoba. He remembered when he was being taken away by his siblings and the only thing he thought about was The Jellyfish Song and how he wanted to sing it one more time. And how he wanted to see Aoba one more time.
There were a lot of things he wanted to do. Every single one of those things had to with Aoba. But that chance was snatched away from him. By himself no less.
It was his fault that Aoba was dead. As much as he wanted to blame Toue and his siblings, it was mostly his fault. He had been weak, too weak for Aoba and as a result he was dead.
And Clear wasn't sure he could feel love anymore. He wasn't sure he could feel anything anymore other than this all consuming pain. It made it hard to imagine that there was much else.
Clear slid to his knees and cried at Aoba's side. His tears tracked down his cheeks, every single one of them reminding him of the intensity of his grief and every jab inside of his chest, reminding him the intensity of the emotions he felt when he was with Aoba. When he was under the delusion that he was human.
But no human would ever do this to someone they were in love with.
Clear cried, for a very long time, with his knees on the cold ground and his arms propping him up on the even colder table that Aoba was lying on.
Time slipped by him. Every time he looked up at Aoba his tears would come in even larger waves and his pain gripped him tighter. But he kept looking because he couldn't take his eyes off of Aoba. Even after all this time he still loved him too much to look away. And he deserved the pain that he was feeling, because Aoba had probably felt far worse.
In his grief and self-loathing Clear barely heard the knock on the door.
It became louder, and Clear could sense the impatience behind the knock so he gathered himself and stood. He knew that whoever was behind the door wouldn't react well to a robot showing so much emotion.
"What is it?" Clear croaked, adopting the tone of voice he had used for so long.
"You're taking too long," one of Clear's siblings answered. "It's been all day are you still working on him?"
Clear didn't answer. There was a scoff on the other side of the door before it was unlocked and opened.
Clear's sibling sneered at him and glanced at the table.
"Your pet die?" he asked casually.
Clear grit his teeth and turned away.
"What of it?" Clear retorted.
His sibling laughed. "Are you upset?"
Clear didn't answer. He merely stared at Aoba's body and tried not to cry again.
He cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. He knew he shouldn't let them know that he slipped into a state close to how he was when he first arrived at the Tower. They couldn't know that he had become like that again because his emotions got the best of him and reminded him of how he was before.
"It's an inconvenience," he said.
There was silence for a moment. "I don't remember you being so light about his life. But I suppose it's for the best."
He had to get out of here. There was no way he wanted to stay in such a place. He had almost been human before he arrived here. Almost. But now there really wasn't hope for that again was there? But Clear at least didn't want to stay. He didn't want to be reminded of what he had done here.
"I want another one," Clear said. A plan was forming in his mind. Even when he was the way that Toue wanted him to be he was still slightly different, slightly more sentimental than his siblings. He could use that.
His brother sighed loudly. "Really? On to the next already?"
"I like it," Clear said. "I found a lot about the human body this way. And I want another person to be loyal and pliable to me as Aoba-san was."
Clear felt the words were heavy on his tongue. He wanted no such thing. Not now. But he was sure he did, before he woke up. He was sure that he remembered liking when Aoba did what he was told. And when Aoba could speak he liked Aoba to say his name. And maybe before he could lie to himself and say that his name on Aoba's lips was beautiful and it reminded him of happier times. He could lie and say that Aoba saying his name filled him warmth and love and that was why he liked it. But he knew it was a power complex now. Simple as that.
Clear's sibling huffed. "Fine. I'll tell Toue."
"Tell him that I want to go out and find one myself," Clear said. "It won't do if he picks someone for me. They have to be just perfect."
"You're so goddamn picky," his sibling muttered. "Be glad you're Toue's trophy robot. He wouldn't allow you to do half the things you're allowed to do if you didn't miraculously recover from that malfunction that made your emotive processing too strong and human like."
Clear laughed. "That makes me special?"
"Well, you recovered from some weird robot disease and made yourself less human so I'm guessing, yes," his brother said and left before further discussion took place.
Clear waited for him to return. He was left with nothing except for the twisting pain in his chest, Aoba's dead body, and the cold.
His sibling finally came back after a time. He believes it was a day. He wasn't sure.
He took long enough to allow Clear to wander the Tower -in places that were close to Aoba- and remember some things from his time here.
Every corner he turned down these hallways reminded him of times when he would rush through, excited to carry out plans that would make Aoba into what he wanted him to be. He couldn't believe he actually thought of Aoba as less than perfect, like he wasn't the way he should have been. Of course, he thought Aoba was beautiful at times but why did he think that there was need for Aoba to be changed.
He didn't understand his intentions anymore. He assumed he was just a heart less monster. A robot who didn't understand that he was killing someone.
Clear does think that kind people can do unkind things, they're human, they make mistakes. And for the longest time he thought of himself as kind, or at least close to it. But now, he's sure he was lying to himself. He was not kind. He was a deluded type of kind, a fake kind. He was the kind that is only shown on the surface. When in reality he could cut off a person's limbs and remove their vision and their voice. He knew of no kind person who would do something like that. Especially if that person was dealing with someone they loved.
And at one point in the day Clear questioned whether or not he actually did love Aoba. Or if that closeness was mistaken for a yearning to be loved. He remembered when he first fell asleep after his grandpa died. He was mostly afraid of being lonely. Then Aoba's voice roused him from his dreams and he thought that maybe he wouldn't have to be lonely after all. He wondered if that was the reason he had been so taken with Aoba. Because he allowed Clear to forget that he was ever lonely.
And when he returned to the cold room that Aoba was lying in he thought that maybe he yearned for someone to love him and someone for him to love at the same time.
But now he was lonely again. Because he had killed Aoba, the one person who made him forget that he ever felt lonely. But of course, he deserved this loneliness, this pain. An unkind robot such as him didn't deserve love or happiness.
When his sibling came back Clear had begun wondering what he was going to do once he got out.
There was nowhere to go. Maybe he would bury Aoba next to his grandpa and fall asleep. For good this time.
"He said it was alright," his brother said and smirked. "He doesn't think that you're going to return to your useless state at this point."
Clear nodded. As if he understood. His useless state. If becoming human was thought of as "useless" here, he was very sure that he didn't want to stay.
"But just in case you have a week long time limit," Clear's sibling continued. "You have to come back, whether you found something or not. Here." he tossed a bag towards Clear and he held it out for examination. "It's a body bag. Get rid of your pet's body while you're gone. We'll notify you through your Coil when you only have one day remaining."
His sibling left him and Clear worked to get Aoba into the bag. It was a horrible job. Aoba was so light and Clear was forced to remember how little Aoba ate and his lack of limbs that took so much of his weight when they were gone.
When Aoba was secure in the bag Clear didn't seal it all the way. He left a little gap that showed off Aoba's hair. A faded blue, lacking the color that was there before Aoba and Clear had ever come to this place. Before Clear killed them both.
Clear left after that. He made his way out of the tower, disturbingly familiar with the building.
He reached the front door and left.
As he walked he kept looking down at Aoba's hair. As if it would tell him all the things that Aoba would tell him.
Would Aoba look at him in disgust? Would he run away? Would he cry and scream at him and hit him until Clear understood how much pain he had put Aoba through? Would he simply leave and never speak to him again?
All of those alternatives were far less painful than the reality in Clear's arms. With Aoba's limp form cradled against Clear's chest it was hard to pretend that he was asleep. Especially not when Clear had seen Aoba die himself.
Clear retraced the path that had brought Aoba and himself to the Tower what felt like millions of years ago.
He even passed Glitter but that proved to be a mistake because it left him wracked with sobs again. He could picture all the times he spoke with Aoba and made him food. He remembered the argument with Ren over calling Aoba "master."
Ren.
He was dead too. Clear had asked about him when he came to, after becoming just another Alpha. He only asked because he knew Aoba was fond of Ren. He quite liked Ren, but at the time he didn't care either way. So when they told him the truth, that they had disposed of Ren because of he was outdated and no longer useful, Clear felt nothing.
But now he grieved for him too. As much as a robot could grieve.
He hugged Aoba closer to his body and cried.
"I'm sorry."
There was no answer. No one heard him or saw him cry. No one offered words that would help him feel better.
Maybe they had all run away in fear. Maybe they had all shouted to each other, "Look at the monster coming! Hide!"
Clear wondered if Aoba told the truth when he said that Clear had looked human. He must have lied, to make Clear feel better. He must have.
Clear finally exited Platinum Jail without having seen a single soul. The fact reinforced the thought that he looked like a monster.
So when he got outside again he took back alleys so no one had to see him and made his way to the cliff where his grandpa was sleeping.
It was just as he had remembered it. Untouched with the same patch of grass that had a minuscule difference in color than the others, where his grandpa was sleeping.
Clear set Aoba down on the gently swaying grass, right next to his grandpa. And as loathe as he was to leave Aoba alone he went quickly down to the junkyard near the cliff and searched for a shovel.
He came back quickly. He wasn't about to leave Aoba until he was safe and deep under the rocky ground where he could be left alone. Where he could be untouched by anymore heartless monsters such as Clear. There were cruel people in this world, very cruel. Such as Clear and Toue there were people who were like stars about to burst. Heated and expanding, just waiting to eat up a planet that was orbiting around it, if it gets too close. And when they reach the breaking point there's chaos. Things are flung around, destroyed, even the star itself. It all becomes nothing, an empty void filled with the debris of the broken bodies of stars and planets and moons.
And Clear wants to protect what he can of Aoba from anymore of those stars and their heated fury. He had failed him in life but maybe in death the least he could do would be to protect his body from anymore harm. Even in death, Clear wanted nothing more than to protect him.
There was nothing else for Clear to do for Aoba other than to dig. So he let the monotonous work consume him. It turned out to become a great distraction from his thoughts. He would stick the shovel into the ground, lift, and throw the dirt over the side. He did this over and over again until he had a decent sized grave to put Aoba in.
The sight of it made him sad. For many reasons. It was small, like that of a childs, not something fitting for a man who was twenty-three years old. And it was the grave itself and all it meant. Graves were meant for dead people, obviously and Clear never thought that he would have to make one for Aoba. He never thought he would have to lower his limp form into the earth, never to be seen again.
Clear guessed that that was true death. Never being seen by the people you loved again. Or not being able to see them either.
Clear supposed that made him dead as well.
With that thought he mechanically covered Aoba's body with dirt and hoped that his grandfather would keep him company.
When the dirt was packed over Aoba, securing him in the earth's embrace Clear sat down on the grass, his back to the setting Sun and stared at where his grandfather slept and Aoba's grave.
"Grandpa," Clear started slowly. "I'm bringing Aoba-san for you to look after. He's the one I'm in love with. But I killed him, because I'm not human. So I want you to look after him and protect him from something like me."
After his talk with his grandfather Clear sat there for a while longer, ignoring the brilliant sunset taking place behind him. It hardly seemed worth looking at for the moment. Not when there was so much pain consuming him, ever present in the sudden stabs of glass coming at his chest. It seemed neverending and unendurable but Clear embraced the feeling with open arms. It was his punishment, one he deserved to experience forever.
This is what made him sure that he wasn't going to go to sleep. It would be too easy to escape his punishment. He would stay a sentient being, drifting from place to place like debris after a star's explosion. And he would remain that way, with no source of gravity to give him purpose again.
Clear rose from his place in the dirt. It was time for him to leave. He knew now that in his final days Aoba had been afraid of him. There was no reason to stay with Aoba if all he felt was fear around Clear.
And Clear left, making sure to not look back, because it would be too painful. It would be painful to look back and see Aoba's grave, a point of such absolute sadness against the beautiful backdrop of the sky. He couldn't look back for fear of seeing his grandfather with a disappointed look on his face, shaking his head and saying. "This is why I told you to wear the gas mask."
Clear wandered for days. He popped into cities and junkyards, his head down. He never really noticed anything other than his two feet and the ground that moved underneath him as he walked. There were a few times when he lifted his head to find glassy-eyed people staring off into nowhere. He thought that very strange, but didn't meddle. He didn't ask if they were okay because he didn't have a new gas mask yet and might strike fear into their hearts as he did to Aoba.
So he left them be, standing in random places, or shuffling along with seemingly no direction. They looked like debris as well.
Clear finally could take ignoring them no longer and made his way to his grandfather's home. He wanted a gas mask so that he could walk around in public again, without the added weight of seeing a person's scared face when they saw him. No one had done that yet, but it was only a matter of time of course. And he missed the security of his lab coat, with the giant pockets that could hold his umbrella. There were more at his home, he knew.
He was yearning for some comfort. He was tired with grief. It was all an illusion, he was a robot after all but that knowledge didn't make the guilt any less heavy and the pain any more durable. He was hoping for the thoughts of Aoba's death swirling around his head to still at least for a little while here.
When Clear entered the creaky shack he was washed over with the sense of being home. Even though, he had said that he wanted to punish himself this comfort was addicting. It swirled around him and reassured him that he could feel numb instead of pained for a little while. He could recall the laughs that had been here, the happiness he felt when he collected another shiny thing to bring to his room. It was something he didn't even know he yearned for until he came here again.
So he slowed his pace as he ascended his dust-covered stairs and made his way to his room.
All the pieces of glass there were much less shiny, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was musty and smelled of moth balls.
Clear sifted through his wardrobe until he found another lab coat and gas mask. This was the last back-up of the gas masks that they had. He couldn't afford to lose or damage this one until he found a suitable replacement.
Clear slipped the mask over his face, the familiar weight reassuring on him. His vision was a lot more limited this way, but it hardly bothered him, he had years to get used to it and taking it up again didn't take long at all.
He shrugged his lab coat back on, the over-sized thing shrouding him in the familiar material.
He sighed, finally feeling some small sliver of content after so long. But it was short lived as he realized he should leave again.
So he slowly made his way back out of his home. He didn't think he was quite ready to leave. But he deserved to feel that uneasiness to be away from the one place that made him feel safe for so long. And he left, of course not looking back for the same reasons that he didn't when he left Aoba and his grandfather on the cliff.
Again, he continued his aimless march around Midorijima. He had made his way into the Northern district. This was someplace he hadn't gone to before. It was dirty, and unkempt. It was very obvious that this was the off limits place for every resident in their small island. Clear wandered, not particularly paying attention to anything other than his own two feet again.
Then he started hearing something. Voices. A thing that he hadn't heard in a very long time.
He rushed towards them. One of them was undeniably familiar. Clear hadn't heard his voice very often but it was unmistakable. It was deep, rough and commanding. It was Mink's.
Clear nearly ran towards him, forgetting about the punishment that he had assigned to himself because the comfort of being around something familiar had quickly become addicting. It was a comfort that he wouldn't pass up, so he flew towards the voices, his feet light on the ground, barely making a sound as he ran towards them.
He rounded a corner. Right to where the men were stationed. Mink was there, facing Clear and he was conversing with two other men whom he didn't recognize.
"Mink-san," he whispered, coming forward again. He couldn't help the relief that flooded through him at the sight of Mink. He was an embodiment of the life Clear had before he went to Platinum Jail. It was a comfort that he couldn't stop from allowing himself to get.
"Mink-san!" Clear shouted. Mink looked towards Clear, surprise flicking across his face as Clear ran to him.
Clear wanted to be shrouded with the familiarity like he was with his gas mask and coat so he slammed into Mink, hugging him tightly and burying his covered face into Mink's shoulder. He smelled of cinnamon, just as Clear remembered.
The two who were talking with Mink earlier were murmuring to each other but Clear didn't pay any attention to the words they spoke to each other.
Clear moved so that he was more securely against Mink, the sturdiness of the man making him comfortable again. Was he really so desperate for comfort as to find it in the embrace of someone he barely knew? He supposed he was because he began crying, quietly, but couldn't help the small jerks of his body as he held back sobs that threatened to escape his lips.
Mink sighed and patted Clear's back once before pushing Clear away from him gently.
"Looks like you're alive after all," Mink observed. Although, Clear wasn't sure he agreed with him.