Triple Digits

It’s all the same.

There are certain quirks, a byproduct of individuality, that show through his repeated encounters—that’s to be expected. But the underlying goal is all the same.

He’ll feel it within his grasp, tasting his bountiful yield when it coats his lips: a passion so strong it makes him blush. And down below, there’ll be just enough friction to ignite that spark within him, a hot rush of endorphins that make him feel so intense with each strike. For just a moment, each cell inside his body will cry out for oxygen, an involuntary contraction of muscles will ripple throughout him, and an innate satisfaction of fulfilling his reason for being will settle within his core.

“What an angel.”

Even when faced with less familiar tongues, the term of endearment feels the same on their lips. They make him shiver and moan at the heat that accompanies those whispers, those pants.

It’s nothing short of a miracle that he hasn’t yet caught disease from these reaped souls, what with the growing body count of his. But there’s also the fact that his haunting grounds consist of nothing more than frustrated students—many of which are greenhorns compared to him. It’s not very likely he would.

But sometimes he thinks he should take the plunge, to venture out onto greener and lusher pastures and experience greater thrills. It tempts him, the allure of a mature crowd. And yet, the piece of his heart that remains beating aches.

He tries not to think of them. Of their smiles, of the boisterous laugh that irritates one of them, the soothing hum against the trickle of water, the glare that amuses him, nor the bright eyes that look up to him.

He tries not to.

He knows this is entirely selfish. There’s only so much he can do to assist Yumenosaki and her sister schools. Listening helps, providing counsel helps. But policy proposals, correcting budget expenditures, trying to provide motivation, and identifying necessary remodeling efforts—those all take time. He never stays long enough to fully bear witness to his labor of love. He doesn’t get that satisfaction, and the students expecting immediate changes don’t either.

So he takes it upon himself to serve as a conduit for their impatience, feasting upon the emotions they pour into him and converting them into fuel for himself; it doesn’t matter that it’s fleeting, because for a moment, he’ll feel alive again. He’ll feel a human connection, an appreciation, a warmth akin to love…

And he tries not to compare. 

He wonders idly at times: when did this symbiosis… this mutualistic, or perhaps parasitic relationship, of helping humanity begin? But every time, he arrives at the conclusion that it’s no surprise that it has come to this.

It has always felt good to be relied upon, to help those in need. Not for ego, no, but for his altruism. Even as a child, people would line up in front of the grave he perched upon, with his reading material stacked next to him like pillars of an altar. 

Though it might’ve started with that girl he lent his first kiss to, who used him for practice, before running off and confessing to her true crush. Or maybe it was that night where an older man requested his second opinion. The one who had him validate his virility with a helping hand.

Maybe it snowballed then—the pleasure of giving and taking, and the festering numbness.

His uniform feels strange to him when he puts it back on, like another layer of skin that wears him more than he wears it. It’s yet another thing that feels the same across borders, save for the minor differences in trim, colors, or emblems. But ironically enough, when he comes home and he puts on Yumenosaki’s blazer, the one that should be a more accurate fit, it feels the most foreign to him.

“Nii-san,” his adorable little Eccentric greets, catching him in the hallway. “You’re Back? Are You…” There’s a glint of hope that he tempers within his eyes. “Are you staying for longer this Time?”

“Haha.” The laugh feels hollow, but it’s all Rei can do to stave off some of the guilt of disappointing him. “ ‘Fraid not. I’m headed off again by t’morrow morning.”

“…Ah, I See.” And it’s the way the boy smiles that tells him all that can’t be told—all of the news he’s barely keeping up with here, dying on his lips before they can even be uttered.

It's a pitiful sight, so he leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead.

Peck.  

Then, leaning back, Rei watches those cheeks of his gradually match his hair.

“Y’know… Why don’t we all run off together? Maybe I’ll look at a few properties for rent ‘n’ sale overseas. It’d be a hideout to escape all the bullshit, juuust for us.”

If he wasn’t already endearing enough, the boy’s eyes light up with enough gratitude and love that nearly resuscitates his tired heart… Nearly. 

“You’d use your precious free time for That?”

He blinks, then melts into a lopsided smile. It was a joke, kiddo… But maybe now he will make the time for it, even if half-heartedly.

After ruffling the boy’s hair, he turns to head toward the meeting place he’s expected at. “Anything for all o’ ya~”

A few more steps though, and the lil’ one pipes up again. “Then, before you Go.” His voice loses some strength. “On your Flight…”

Rei peeks over his shoulder.

Clutching that new notebook of his closer to his chest, Natsume tries to make his eyes match his smile.

“Be safe.”

Rei faces forward again only for his gaze to drift towards the ground. He sadly smiles too, lifting a hand in a backward wave. “Thanks.”

The suffocating feeling doesn’t go away, even when he loosens his uniform’s tie in one of the old buildings on campus. Nor does it go away after consuming some of the sustenance that should nourish him. 

Their flames, their expirations that should warm him, feel dim in comparison to that boy’s sincere plea; meanwhile the disdain burning in the eyes of his fellow students here feels all the more intense. He withers underneath them all, gasping, telling himself this might calm the brewing storm, when he knows it’s nothing but putting a bandaid on a broken leg—a convenient story for his selfish gains.

The floorboards of the building creak when they all start to shuffle out, buckling their belts, fixing their shirts, blazers, and whatnot. 

The air is cold, decaying. He rolls his head against the wood, calculating when he thinks this hell on earth will come to an end. And unlike the easy conclusion he comes to for the origin of all of this, the conclusion he reaches here is indeterminate. 

But until the end is in sight… like all of the other times, he'll continue lying, watching, and counting as they leave him one by one. Until all that’s left is zero.