A Faceless Farewell (W/Consequence)

Kazuto would have never expected it.

Never. There was no reason to! Even HE didn't bring this day up inside his own head, and HE had lived every single bloody second of the scene that was playing out in front of him! The fact that Tokiyo Fujika-...no, whatever he was now, could invoke something like this was a thought that he considered unfathomable. Yet here it was, happening in front of him. Again. Because you have to remember, the world had been in front of him on that day as well. 

And it had ended about as well as Romeo and Juliette, except without the love story, the drama, or the emotion. It had just happened. And that was probably what was causing such a response from Kazuto right now: the fact that he had gone through each and every motion he was watching today, all while looking stoic as could be...was painful to him. It was painful in a way he didn't know how to describe: it was like watching somebody slice off your arm slowly and carefully, only you can't move while they do it. Not only this, but the scene was, as he had mentioned, totally emotionless: here there were no smiles, no frowns, and no expressions. There was just a stupid boy with a drive to end it all.  

"No...no, come on!"

He was on his knees at this point, whining at the world as it had been for him six years ago, almost as if he was begging. The character in front of him had just left his house after not even giving his own father a decent greeting. Kazuto knew what happened next. In fact, if you'd asked him, Kazuto would have been able to tell you every single spot that this boy would be going to during the day unfolding ahead of him.

First, the coffee shop: there, he gets a coffee that was slightly too hot but drinks it anyway. It would leave his tongue feeling dried and rough until the end of the day.

Then, he goes to the park. He sits down, looking at all the young families taking midday strolls. Mothers with children, fathers with mothers... his own father may be alive, but he hasn't had one for a single day of the fifteen years since he lost his mother. His mentor is long gone now as well: now it's just him, all alone. It's about now that Kazuto draws his sword and points it at... himself. 

You won't do it. You know you can, and you know that's what the person you want to be would do

It's that voice again. His head doesn't begin to boil with pain though: he's in a place right now that aligns far too much with this being in his head for it to be causing him pain. In fact, the voice almost causes something of an adrenaline rush, an incentive to do what he thinks he wants to do.

But he doesn't yet.

I can do this. I'm something different now: that boy is somebody I no longer know. I never knew him. He was weak, a subpar being, somebody who was too weak to do what was right.

And yet Kazuto still doesn't swing his sword, silent as it is. Usually, the better part of him would be there to help him out, to be his conscience, to be the person who told him what to do in the situations where he couldn't tell himself the same thing. As little sense as that makes, it's the only way he can describe what it's like to talk to Hana: she's part of him but is also something that he can no longer recognize as a moral compass. He's the moral compass now, for he can do no wrong. He's never made a mistake, and he's perfect... right?

Still no swing, and still no nice, pleasant, helpful voice. 

By now, the boy has gotten off of the bench in the park and begun to walk home. He slowly trods from street to street while having little to no interaction with his surroundings. A couple of times, one of the earphones he's wearing fall out, but that's about it save for one more event. It's funny though: despite the fact that Kazuto remembers everything about this day, every last dirty detail, he can't remember the song that was playing right then and there. No, he doesn't the remember the song that was playing in one ear during that one other moment I'm talking about. You'd think he would, considering how much of an affinity for music he has nowadays.

It's while he puts his earphone back in that a young girl with long dark hair walks past him, her coat brushing against his lightly layered arm. He wears a hoodie, so he knows that she doesn't see much of his face, but he can swear on his heart (as little as that was worth at this point) that she turned her head back, almost as if she recognized him.

God knows why, because he doesn't recognize her, then or now. After the earphone is back in, the noise that he can't put a pin on presumably starts playing in full again. 

He gets closer to the house.

And then a little closer.

Meanwhile, Kazuto's sword is poised to stab the boy's...no, his...no, whoever's back, but he still hasn't stabbed. He breaths harshly, whispering unrecognizable words to himself, sweat running down his forehead and caking his palms as they try to grip onto this sword that represents any bit of hope that he has for himself. He knows he won't do it. He wants to do it so badly, so very badly. He wants to be the person that he thinks he is but that he knows he isn't. He tries counting himself in, but each time he reaches zero, the boy is still getting closer to the house, and Kazuto still doesn't have a reason to believe that he's here because he's destined to be some sort of hero, or because divine forces have led him to be a righteous savior of the weak. 

The grip on the sword loosens briefly as the hardest breath yet strikes him. It's a moment of weakness, a moment in which he falters: one which will come to embody his identity for a long time to come.

I'm not weak. I'm not a monster. I'm not weak. I'm not a monster.

He repeats words to him over a backing track of laughter and subtle head-shakes issued vocally through the darkness in the back... no, the front of his mind. It's insane to think that the lie he knows he's living has lasted as long as it has with factors like this pushing him around. Yet, he still holds onto the sword, that hope that he can still prove to himself that he's somebody that he can love, somebody that others can love: that he's living out the path designed for his feet.

Another faux stab at air, and another.

Another step towards the door, and another.

The stabs stop, and so do the steps. The boy's father is passed out in the chair, the deadbeat. It's that image that sets him off... or at least what he tries to blame it on. Kazuto looks for any reason to say that it's not his fault, that it isn't him who's been hurting himself, but he knows he's wrong. The iPod gets turned off, and the earphones come out. Next, the shoes get left in the basin by the door. He looks into the living room one last time.

Goodbye. He thinks in perfect time with the person he wants to believe he's destroyed, an imperfection that walks in front of him. Yet, he realizes that he isn't really thinking about ending him. About fixing the problem. He is really saying goodbye to his father. He is the boy in front him, the scared, imperfect boy.

He doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't believe it, or at least he thinks he doesn't. Another stab, and another. Neither attack reaches anything but air. There are tears on both versions of himself's faces now. The only difference is that the boy had the decency to own up to his tears. He recognizes them, and after a wipe, Kazuto knows that he can't stop what's about to happen.

The knife descends upon the wrist, and he can't help but think, once again in perfect harmony, exactly what his last thoughts were. Hell, even the voice chimes in, and in this subtle moment of perfect insanity, of perfect monstrosity, all the iterations of the boy who can't stand to be himself are in perfect sync with each other.

I'm not sorry.

And then it was over.

Of course, the voice couldn't just leave him alone. He couldn't let Kazuto watch himself... no, this boy who definitely, certainly wasn't him, die in peace.

So now you know. Took you long enough to get it through your thick skull.

Kazuto's on his knees again, this time because of pain once more. He wants it to go away, but can't: he's no longer in that perfect state of harmony because once again, he's lying to himself. His head is, at least.

Stay away from me! Where's Hana! Why are YOU the only voice I hear anymore! Why can't you just leave!

The response is quick and simple.

You can't run away from yourself, kid.

And it shatters him. Once again, the pain stops, and in that very moment, where all else is quiet and even the events that have just transpired seem to have exited Kazuto's mind for all of a brief second, a single word comes to his mind, breaking that silence.

Usotsuki.

The liar, the cheater, the thief, the one who's always on the run from himself. That's who he should be, the person who he's always been destined to be... but he's not. He can't be, and he won't be. The voice is gone for now, so it's just him yelling at himself at this point, but Kazuto refuses to believe it. He's pretending that he can't imagine a world in which he's the villain.

But he is. And he knows it.

Yet the truth remains unaccepted, and the potential for greatness remains locked away. He doesn't know who he is, after all, so what's to say he is anything other than what he is now?

Nobody but the liar.

It's then that he turns to see the man, still behind him, watching, waiting. 

Silence rings out into the void as it has done so much today. 

"You knew. You know... what, or who I am. You're just waiting for me to catch up, aren't you? You're just watching me run around in circles over my own life, my own identity, and waiting for me to stumble and faceplant into who I am."

He pauses and looks away.

"The next time we meet will be the day that the person you see in front of you dies, make no mistake."

The tone is about as serious, as factual, as it can be. There's nothing else to say beyond that, of course, so he does what any normal man would do.

Say one more thing. He says farewell.

"Goodbye... Tokiyo. Hopefully, next time we meet, you can tell me what exactly you are. Don't worry, I know the way to where I was going... or rather, you certainly do."

He then walks off into the void, and within a blink, finds himself in a grass field in Karakura Town, exactly where Kirito wanted himself to be.

As for Kazuto, he hadn't the faintest clue where he belonged.


Words: 1960

-Thread Exit/End, depending on Toki's decisions.