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“Congratulations Sigma-san, you’re now officially a member of Armed Detective Agency”
Words Sigma dreamed of – now that he’s finally hearing them ignited no spark. They were empty, ultimately meaningless. He felt hollow in ways he couldn’t elucidate, yet perfectly understood at heart. Dream came true only for him to realize it’s not something he wanted.
Either way, exhibiting dubiety is the quietest trip to unnecessary inquiry he’d rather eschew. Better put on a front. Channeling enormous energy into pretense Sigma forced a smile. “Thank you”, he abashedly lowered head and got tongue moving. Dozen pairs of eyes pierced though him, so intently like they might as well be onto source of disquietude. Weak blush crept up cheeks, nothing to do with shame. Sigma kept head low so no one figures the real reason for disappointment.
Tension dragged on and on. Maybe it was just inside himself, maybe he projected it onto others, Sigma genuinely couldn’t tell. Strangely heart didn’t drum, like it’d usually do when stress engulfs. Enervation prevailed; benumbed and detached from very self. Someone popped confetti at the other corner of the room. Claps and cheers followed. Tension shattered. It all happened too fast, yet he finally felt like he could breath – for a second before head throbbed again. Ache was all too familiar by now; always denoted upcoming inner turmoil. In spite of its nettlesome nature he found strange comfort in the storm.
Sigma tried to be present in the moment; had to in order to not raise any additional suspicion. Much to his dismay feat proved too arduous for diluted mind. Gaze roamed around the room but nothing whetted appetite; nothing held attention for more than a fleeting second. Upbeat music, feast tables full of food and sweets, drinks scattered all around – merry atmosphere couldn’t be negated. It’s not like Agency, or Yokohama as a whole, didn’t have multitude of reasons for celebrations. Nine months have passes since Dostoevsky was defeated, five since he woke up from the coma induced by memory reading ability. Five months have passed since he was last himself – since he knew how to feel like himself.
Line is blurred now. What is real and what fictitious, Sigma was afraid he lost the ability to judge. Everything felt like one big dream he couldn’t snap out of; not a nightmare per se, just tenuous sense that something fundamental is missing. Tactual longing for what he neither could demystify nor ever had hounded. Pressing loneliness wore down, day in, day out. Demon sapped him of life. Heedlessly he let him in. Nothing dwelt within anymore. Not a single wish, nothing to drive. Save for one ruinous desire Sigma, at first, tried his hardest to defy. As time went on he fathomed endeavor was futile – why fight what’s already in veins?
Rather than decompressing and enjoying himself Sigma spent most of the night sipping on a drink in the corner; nonalcoholic of course, couldn’t risk tongue untying in case wine gets to strung out head. To say he was on the edge would be greatly underplaying scope of unease building inside chest. Party was held in celebration to him becoming an official Agency member. Test ended up being a breeze. All he needed to do is risk his well-being to save a stranger; tough on paper, in reality easy when your own life carries no weight anymore. Perhaps Agency felt the need to be more lenient with him after everything he’s undergone; or perhaps his part during Meursault game has been enough to prove trustworthiness. Not that it mattered. Nothing did, except when the clock will announce midnight.
Out of habit eyes roamed around the room again. Not to dance around an issue, everyone but himself was having a great time. If he didn’t make that selfish mistake of asking for all of Fyodor’s secrets he would be in high spirits now as well; memories wouldn’t haunt, he wouldn’t carry unremitting sense of vacancy. It was selfish to mop, yes Sigma knew that painfully well; deprived of emotional richness feigning came much harder. But then again, why did it matter? When has he been anything but selfish at heart?
Someone passed by. In turn Sigma flinched; of course, unnecessary, it was just Yosano. Mind knew better, but he supposed heart was duped. This vigilance during a party, loneliness amid the crowd… it reeked of deja-vu. He foggily recalled that one time he was tasked a mission of tracking down an affluent merchandiser and extract information about tomorrow's gathering near the cathedral, by fair means or foul. If memory serves him right night was just as rainy as this one; perhaps a bit chillier. Although room has been far dimmer, music far slower and… ah no, that has never happened. Or more specifically it did, but memory wasn't his. It was Fyodor’s. He mixed up again.
With a self-depreciating smile Sigma leaned against the wall, crossed arms and heaved a sigh. Confusion happened far too frequently to bode for anything good. Worst of all is that mental check work always corrects. Heart never does. It’s still befuddled, still incapable of drawing a firm line. Sense of identity has never been stable to being with. He’s taken in memories of numerous before, but that’s been days at the best. He’s never take in centuries worth of information. As the result Fyodor’s memories eclipsed all his. They entwined, never to be separate again. In a blink of an eye Fyodor’s presence was vital. He ended up as a sole lifeline, only presence that gave someone sense of identity, even if flimsy and notional.
Whenever Sigma though of him he was overcame by blues. Not to mince words, it psychically ached being apart. Void of reason heart wanted what it couldn’t have – that ardently and mindlessly he couldn’t help but pity very self. Was this part of your plan, Sigma wished to ask but could not – at least not yet.
From the corner of the eye Sigma noticed shadow approaching. Life stripped him of viridity, Fyodor’s memories hones into a weapon, he rightfully tensed and raised guard. However there was no reason for alarm. It was just Atsushi. “Is everything alright? You seem… skittish”
No, nothing is. Of course Sigma couldn’t say that. Atsushi would offer a concerned look and prob further. He means well, Sigma knew that. But he couldn’t risk questions brought about funny behavior. “Yes, everything is fine”, offering a courteous smile, casino style, Sigma tried to reassure – more himself than Atsushi. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed”, he added balmier and rubbed arms as self-soothing, gaze anything but meeting Atsushi’s.
“I always dreamed of this…”, chest squeezed and made Sigma pause; heart caught on a lie. “Now that it came true…”, voice trailed off again. He didn’t dare finish the thought out of fear melancholy might surface and give all secrets away. Usually practiced pretense came with ease, but ever since his world was turned upside down Sigma had issues deceiving others; accordingly he struggled deceiving himself as well.
Now that it came true I realized it’s not what I have wanted at all – plain and honest, but too costly. It may not be so obvious on the first glance, but by doing so he’d end up severing the one and only tie to that person. For those reasons he had to live a lie.
Approaching footsteps cut the mussing short. “Sigma-kun has been through quite a lot”, Dazai ribbed through his most charming smile; mostly to reassure visibly troubled Atsushi. Then he turned towards him and proceeded bit chirpier. “It’s been nearly half a year since you’ve came to it but I’m guessing you still have a lot on your plate”
He does, just not in a way Dazai thought. Or maybe he was actually onto something; in that case he ought to be heedful. Unfortunately Dazai knew his past self, thence spotted the uncanny deviation; fortunately disorientation caused by coma served as a perfect excuse for the one hundred eighty degree shift in personality. Upon waking up Sigma could hardly recall own name. Fyodor’s memories swallowed completely. He couldn’t separate self from him. Taking note of his disarray Agency agreed to give him a week to ground himself. It took him two day to regain some sense of identity; somewhat return to himself.
For remaining five he pondered what’s to be done. Should he go against heart and reveal everything? That would be the correct choice, but not the right one. Now that he’s seen all of Fyodor’s secrets nothing was left to speculation – that man is a snake. His power is not to be underestimated by any means. Nothing good comes out of staying loyal to a man that’d throw him under a bus for most piffling gain. If he were to stick by cold reason then he shouldn’t hold a thing back. Regretfully heart wretched like about to break at the mere thought of betraying Fyodor. It’d be like betraying very self. But withholding information… what good would that bring him? Agency can’t go toe to toe with that demon unless they’re acquainted with his weak spots. Sigma knew it’s in his best interest Fyodor is defeated, however…
In the end he figured he couldn’t worm his out of divulging something; too fishy, too revelatory. So he divulged what he suspected Agency already knew; if he changes mind regarding loyalties later on he can always say he remembered something new. Silver lining was that no one knew what he precisely asked from Fyodor, thence couldn’t know how much he omitted to disclose. Even if someone harbored suspicion his discomposure doused it. ‘What reason does he have to stab us in the back?’ - Sigma profited too much on that sentiment. No, he doesn’t really have a logic-abiding reason. It’s the stricken heart and delirious mind that led astray and right into lion’s den.
Dazai and Atsushi engaged in a conversation he was too drained to pay attention to so he mentally shut down and escaped to the fantasy land where line doesn’t divide; where he doesn’t have to flee from the own shadow, but rather feel free to embrace it. Sigma returned to himself when someone clasped shoulder. “You’ve always wanted a place to belong”, Dazai offered a sympathetic smile; needless to say it did nothing to placate. “Agency is your new home, you don’t need to wander anymore”
You’re wrong. This place is not a home. That’s what he believed for the longest time and tried to convince himself of. Ultimately all attempts at pulling wool over eyes fell flat. Hollowness is too nipping to be denied. He couldn’t lie to himself by claiming he’s not aware where emptiness sources from. Without trust and ties that bind this walls are merely a house. Home is where heart is and his, ruefully, isn’t here.
Time ticked too slowly for Sigma’s liking. Every now and then eyes skirted towards the clock, mentally pleading it to move faster. Eventually it was nearing midnight. He should get going. Sigma offered excuses he’s under the weather and, fortunately, was allowed to leave early. Rain poured over him but droplets were weightless. Overwhelmed by a longing Sigma hardly registered a thing. It’s a tactile want to reunite with very self that guided – if down the cliff so be it, leastwise he’d feel whole in the final moments.
He went to the dorm and stayed there for half an hour; checked himself for bugs and tracking devices, then went out. In order to shake the trail off Sigma headed towards the local shopping center. He wandered around for dozen minutes before exiting through the staff door. From there he took the subway and changed routes couple times. He couldn’t declare with absolute certainty that Agency is onto him or that anyone is shadowing, but he’d rather not chance it. Fyodor taught him there’s no such thing as being too cautions. Sigma lost count how many times over cautiousness saved Fyodor another defeat; tempting to say saved his life but that’d be wide of the mark. Death is off the limits for ones crafted in God’s resemblance. Quite apposite such superhuman is his master – his personal God.
Everything felt liminal, as well as never-ending. Foggily Sigma took each scenery in – in passing, without actually processing a thing. Detached from himself he couldn’t feel present in the moment. Nothing felt real. Separated from time and space he felt like walking for hours; in reality it was dozen minutes at most. Sigma held hope this wandering would eventually gain an aim. Like a fool he hoped someday he’ll make sense of the utmost confusion following in step. Day he’s free of Fyodor’s pernicious presence will never arrive, he knew that far too well. Question is if miracles do happen, if he can live in a world without Fyodor – what would be left of him? Should he aspire for the deliverance when same elicits nothing but disarray?
Eventually he reached the bridge. Rather than crossing over it Sigma went under. He halted and surveyed the surroundings. At first there was nothing, then he gradually noticed a shadow among the shadows – anticipation got heart jumping. You. Breath hitched in throat, hands began sweating and trembling. Abruptly numbness melted away, leaving him excruciatingly aware of every tingled nerve. Throat tightened, he couldn’t utter a single word; even if it didn’t mind went blank and ensured complete accedence.
“Congratulations Sigma-san, you’re now officially a member of Armed Detective Agency”
Pour doused way too familiar silken tone but Sigma managed to make out the words – exact same ones he heard hours ago. Back then he was dead to the world, now that alive it ached. Corner of eyes stung but tears never arrived. Soul traitorous as his isn’t allowed cleansing, not by everyone’s God, not by his personal. Don’t congratulate me. It feels like a rejection. In reality it was a mockery.
Little by little figure approached. Gait gave away, but he didn’t dare move yet; paralyzed by own afflicted heart Sigma could only stare and hope mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Hoodie covered most of person’s face but Sigma recognized that small smile. From the head to toe nerves were electrified. It’s been a while since he felt anything this viscerally; or a month to be precise, since they’ve last met. In the meantime he was more of a corpse than a man. Only the promise of the next pumped blood through veins and got him going; without it he’d be as good as dead.
Fyodor existed only within mind; sometimes as guidance, sometimes a trial but always as a hamper. When on the brink of losing himself Sigma wondered if he’s even real. For those reasons he longed for tangibility. Single glance was enough for the dam to break. In a wink he was overtaken by a longing beyond withholding; nor he possessed strength for eschewing, let it all flow. Limbs moves on their own. Before he knew it Sigma crossed the distance and pulled Fyodor into a hug. Finally.
Sharp inhale and a twitch galvanized; signified demon’s humanity. Unfortunately startlement was short-lived. Fyodor quickly recollected himself. He felt neither warm nor welcoming, but he did feel painfully real and that’s all Sigma has wanted. So he let out a sigh of relief, closed eyes and pressed as tightly as paralyzed nerves allowed. If Fyodor read all secrets of his heart so be it, Sigma had nothing left to hide. Somewhere along the way he ceased resisting. He accepted Fyodor as the inseparable part of himself; malignant but life-sustaining.
“For a second I thought knife is coming”, Fyodor laughed wryly but returned the embrace. If he were any wiser he would have used Fyodor’s trust against him and done just that. Withal, mere reminder of when he shot Fyodor in the shoulder back in Meursault left Sigma cold. He couldn’t betray – own brainwashed mind and besotted heart ensured fidelity. Ultimately own body became the cage – and Fyodor knew that, thence the cause of said trust. It’s always been calculated.
One of last memories he read from Fyodor was of him writing a letter addressed to him. Goes without saying Sigma was bemused at first, but then it hit him – Fyodor predicted he’d use ability on him. Never before has he brought Fyodor’s brains into doubt but Sigma had to admit that level of ingenuity blew him away. Is there any limit to this human’s mind? Can he even be declared a human anymore, or ascended to godly heights? Would it be judicious to hope of ever vanquishing this demon? Upon finishing the letter Fyodor stared at it for couple minutes, like he knew Sigma would be reading it through his eyes. It was vague but still contained all he needed to know, including reassurance how it’s all going to be alright in the end. Honeyed lies, Sigma knew it all far too well. But heart? Damn was it callowly led on and on.
Fyodor stood up, strode towards the fireplace and burned it. No evidence was left behind, nothing but a tickled mind. That’s how Sigma knew where and when to find Fyodor. Truth to be told he racked brains whether to go. For the longest time he dreamed of a life free of wires, thence life without Fyodor’s influence sounded like a dream. But it turned into a nightmare the very second he realized there’s no life without him. He was like a drug coursing through veins; demon he couldn’t get out. Many things were up in the air but one was certain – if he lets the opportunity pass he’d regret it for a lifetime. For those reasons Sigma decided to put it all on a dice and meet with very man that changed his life upside down behind Agency’s back. He abandoned cozy home for cozier chains.
Cold fingers tangled through hair; accidentally brushed against nape and sent shivers down spine. Sigma would have preferred if embrace wasn’t this loose. He wanted Fyodor to claps him tighter, wander hands all over his body and never let go; in reality ended up hugging closer, fearing relenting. “You’re clinger than usual”, Fyodor laughed warmly. He pulled away slightly, cupped Sigma’s cheek and gazed right into his eyes. “Did something happen?”
Nothing other than the official acceptance into Agency. In reality little changed, nonetheless he couldn’t shake off the emblematic yielding to a lie. Fyodor let the enemies have him and demonstrated he has no place in his court; correction, he had a place but it wasn’t one of Fyodor’s equal. Tad bit ludicrous to hope for such feat when there’s not a single remarkable thing about himself. From time to time Fyodor waxed poetic how admirable his iron resolve is, like it led anywhere but into pure madness. By all indications Fyodor found beauty in just that, thence Sigma took it as a compliment. Perhaps Fyodor saw in him something he didn’t, although such sentiment promised nothing than to amplify blind hope; when it all comes crashing down he’d have only himself to blame for not being strong enough to resist the sweet temptation of woolgathering.
“Nothing specific”, Sigma murmured under breath, heavy eyes conveying longing. He dabbed up Fyodor’s spine, frenziedly caressed in order to take in his presence as vividly as possible. “I just… missed you”, then proffered another nail in the coffin, uncaring for the consequences.
Under vehemence of those violet eyes Sigma found himself incapable of lying. He felt like raw; stripped to the very core. Not a thing could be hidden from those hawk eyes; not a piece of information, not a single pang of his heart. But he couldn’t look away. As if hypostatized he couldn’t bring himself to tear gaze away. Night after night he fantasized about those eyes seeing only him – why hide now that dream came true? Did you miss me too? Or would I be a fool to hold onto scintilla of hope your heart still knows affections?
“I know I shouldn’t…”, Sigma began timidity, abashed by fervency of own anything but sound yearning. “But I want to stay with you”, then he added with more assurance and tightened the hold. Let Fyodor fell intensity of his obsession; not like it’s ever been an enigma.
Fyodor sighed but didn’t attempt to pull away. “We’ve talked about this Sigma-san”, voice smooth without ounce of derision or disgruntlement. “Your spot in Agency is far more important. There’s no reason to give it up yet. You’re a perfect trump card”, Fyodor explained too woodenly for his hoping heart. Sigma frowned. I’d rather you rejected me. Directness would hurt less than all your games.
Honorific was a cherry on a top. It spoke of distance Sigma was desperate to bridge. In reality he knew he never will. There’s a reason why they always met at this side of the bridge. This is just business to Fyodor. Sure, he did open soul and did get somewhat emotionally involved – but it was a calculated gamble. When push comes to shove, wires extend one way. Fyodor can and would function normally without him. Without Fyodor he’d fall apart. Admission stung but Sigma couldn’t run from the truth anymore. He longed for more than a relationship of mutual benefit – he wanted way more than crumbs Fyodor was feeding when reckoning he’s on the brink of starvation.
“I’m of more use to you there, I know”, with heavy heart Sigma filled in what was left in between the lines. “My wishes never mattered. Nothing new”, he chuckled, voice bursting with dryness. For good measure he tangled fingers through Fyodor’s hair and pulled; dire attempt of sharing ache. Fyodor hissed but showed no reaction; instead caressed his cheeks with gentleness that enmeshed thoughts and brought tears to eyes. Oh how ardently he wished for all this to be real, not mere part of script.
For a while only drizzling could be heard. And that was fine with him. They could spend a whole eternity embraced like this without sharing a word and Sigma would be perfectly content. If his past self saw him embracing very thralldom he denounced this feverishly he’d be knocked for six, beyond a shadow of doubt. But that didn’t faze at all; he’s simply not that person anymore, own sinfully curiosity laid it to rest. Just like scope of current treachery didn’t ruffle Sigma in the slightest. On cognitive level he knew Dazai and the rest didn’t deserve such sharp knife in the back, but heart not once skipped a beat; collateral damage.
Fyodor broke both the silence and embrace. Heart sank even before he drank in hardness in fuzzy violet eyes; once again they bespoke everything Sigma dreaded. “I rented a motel room nearby”, per expected Fyodor was quick to change the topic.
To an outsider Fyodor’s proposition would carry irrefutable amorous undertone, but Sigma knew better than to hold his breath. It’s how they exchanged information. They’d lay on the bed and he’d use the ability on Fyodor – that’s how he knew everything Agency is up to. What he did with all that information, Sigma could only speculate; nor was it his place to meddle. For exchange of unwavering loyalty he was free to ask whatever he wants from Fyodor, times and times again. Words can deceive but memories leave no place for doubt. Fyodor’s words don’t mean a thing, that’s why he needed something tactile to believe. At the end of the day those memories amounted to hardly a thing, but at very least he felt a bit closer to Fyodor.
By the time he’d regain consciousness Fyodor would be long gone. Was foul play involved or he’s simply more susceptible to own ability than the others, Sigma genuinely couldn’t tell. All he knew is that if there’s a morning he wakes up first he wouldn’t let Fyodor leave, no matter what. What ensues from defiance, that’s none of Sigma’s concerns. He’s too crucial asset for Fyodor to ditch aside due to piffling squabbles and he’d be a fool to not weaponize that to the point of insanity. Sigma had an inkling Fyodor wouldn’t find his impudence repugnant, quite the opposite; after all, he’s not notorious for brandishing title of normality either.
Either way, gain was simultaneously nonexistent and enormous. It’s the illusion of trust that enthralled. Perhaps it’s scarce honesty from epitome of deception that drew like a moth to the flame. Perhaps it’s that crumb of chimerical power that he held over Fyodor that was too sweet to resist. Au fond Sigma knew it’s a mirage. Karma won’t spare him. His own stab in the back is incoming, only question is when he’ll stop being of use. Fyodor left nothing to the imagination; every corner of his life was shed light on. Sigma knew of his ruthless nature, thence harbored no misconception he’s different from the rest. Sooner or later course will run out, he wouldn’t be spared fate of a discarded broken doll. Fyodor is possessed by his goal. He, even if miraculously managed to move stone heart, would still come second. Unless he snaps out of ruinous passivity, smartens up, accepts the risk and tries tracking the Book himself. For the first time Sigma could grasp the beginning thread of what he was born for. May the world burn, he’d pave the path for himself. I’d burn it all, not to ensure your victory but my place by your side. If in hell, so be it.
But still… he would like it far better if he weren’t just of use to Fyodor. He didn't want to be a mere puppet, but someone who can stand by Fyodor’s side as an equal. No other puppet has received this much attention, let alone of this intimate kind. Fyodor’s memories demonstrated that – and bred misguided hope that he could be an exception.
Gathering courage he didn’t know he possessed Sigma paced closer; clasped Fyodor’s hands and brought their foreheads together. “Can that wait until the morning?”, Sigma whispered into his lips, not daring to close the distance quite yet. “I just want…”
Sentence trailed off. Not because he withheld a thing but because he couldn’t articulate the want. He can go all day with the specifies but would be missing forest for the trees. He simply wanted Fyodor – not just to belong to him but to own him in turn. Just like Fyodor possessed him Sigma itched to possess a part of him back. Quite intrepid desire, that he had to admit, but it couldn’t be helped. When meddling with his mind Fyodor awakened nothing pleasant. Blank canvas ended up blemished; tainted with darkest colors. Therefore it’s only apt those same ugly human sides surfaced when around his ultimate maker.
For a while Fyodor impassively held his gaze; got heart leaping. Like on tenterhooks Sigma searched for a hint of mockery or manipulation in his eyes but found only amusement. “Very well”, Fyodor susurrated at last; weight fell off Sigma’s shoulders, for the first time in a while he actually smiled.
With a humble smile of his own Fyodor returned the hold and led him into the night. They’ve meandered for hours but Sigma felt more at home than confined within four walls. It was never about comfort but whom heart dances for, even if to the twisted tune.