#darkyan

“I think he’s cute like this!” Wilford exclaims, squeezing Dark against him, cheek to cheek. “Look at this widdle face! And this way he can’t yell at us for shooting people and making a mess anymore.” Dark whines, annoyed, and tries to push Wilford’s face away.

“I think that’s just you,” Ed Edgar snorts.

“Does that mean Wilford and The Host are in charge?” asks The Host, raising an eyebrow above his bandage.

“Guess so!” Wilford says brightly. He finally loosens his hold on Dark and moves away from his face. Dark grumbles.

“How is this possible?” sighs Dr. Iplier, “It was one thing when Yandere got turned into a baby, but Dark’s not even human!”

“Beats me,” Wilford says, “Hey, can you hold him? Bim and I are gonna be late for our next filming.”

“Now is not the time, Wil!” Bim shouts.

“You can’t just-” Dr. Iplier starts, but Dark is thrust into his hands and Wilford and Bim are poofed away in the next instant. “...Well, I guess he did.”

Dark glowers from Dr. Iplier’s arms, and his aura starts pulling his hair.

“Ow, stop that!” Dr. Iplier cries, trying to brush away Dark’s aura with one hand.

“What a disaster,” Silver mumbles. “Now what?”

“I vote we sell ‘im,” Ed says.

“The Host doubts that’s a good idea,” Host says, “Though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to agree.”

“I already hate holding him,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “Do any of you know how bizarre it is to hold a moving, clearly alive child that’s cold and has no heartbeat??”

“We’ll need to let the other egos know,” Google says, “Meaning that someone is going to have to tell-”

The door to the conference room opens and Yandere enters. He sees Dark immediately and stops walking, eyes going huge.

“Uh oh,” Silver whispers.

“Yan, what are doing here?” Dr. Iplier asks, trying not to sound frazzled.

“Yami was going to meet me,” Yandere says, not looking away from Dark, “He was late, so I went looking for him, and he wasn’t in his office...”

“This is Wilford’s fault,” Ed is quick to point out.

“Again,” Google mutters.

Yandere continues to stare at Dark. And Dark ceases his struggle against Dr. Iplier’s hold and stares back.

After many moments, Dark reaches two tiny arms out to Yandere.

“Ahn,” he says, insistent.

Yandere gasps and covers his face, knees buckling like he’s going to collapse. When he uncovers his face, there’s practically hearts in his eyes.

“Kawaiiiiii!!!” Yandere squeals, before dashing to Dr. Iplier and scooping Dark out of his arms. He hugs him tight, fluffing up his hair and kissing his cheeks, cooing and laughing over how cute Dark is. Dark, amazingly, seems to enjoy the attention. He still doesn’t smile, but his expression is calm as his little arms hug Yandere’s neck. His aura curls around Yandere as well, gentle and playful.

“The Host supposes the egos know what to do with Dark, now,” Host muses.

“You mean we ain’t sellin’ him?” Ed asks, clearly disappointed.

Yandere’s head jerks up from Dark, and he glares at Ed with eyes that are suddenly bright red. Even Dark looks angry, as cute as his pouting face is.

“Go ahead and repeat that,” Yander snarls, “Give me a reason to break all your fucking bones.”

Ed nervously sinks into his seat. After a few moments of tense silence, Yandere relaxes and looks back to Dark again.

“Ah, I swore in front of the baby, that’s no good! No good!” Yandere kisses Dark’s nose, surprising him enough to make him giggle and finally start smiling. “Who’s the cutest thing in the whole world? That’s you! You are! I love you so much!!” He continues to cuddle Dark and kiss his cheeks as the others look on in shock.

The other egos never in their lives imagined they would ever see Dark giggle.

But then there are bad days.  Days where he wakes up in agony, his ears ringing from his aura and screams of despair inside his head.  Days where everything hurts and he's plagued with regret and pain and fury.

He wakes up one morning and knows immediately it won't be a good day.  He could only assume his aura had lashed out during the night, considering the state of his room. His desk was nearly flipped over, and there were personal items scattered everywhere. Dark sucked in a pained breath and forcefully pulled his aura back in.

It was agonizing getting out of bed, as his body protested every movement he made.  Still, he pushed forward, knowing he couldn't afford to be bedridden today.  He had too many obligations, too many responsibilities as the leader.  He could only be grateful that everything he had to do today could be done in the solace of his office.  

He didn't bother dressing up in his full suit, instead throwing on a plain dress shirt and slacks.  The walk to his office was painful, but he refused to lean against the walls in fear of one of the others seeing him being so vulnerable.  Damien’s cane was hidden far enough in his closest for days like this; he couldn’t let anyone, especially Wilford, see it.  

He won’t admit it, but over the years he's grown uncomfortably fond of the others. However, even to this day he hates the idea of them seeing him in a moment of weakness. The voices in his head said as much, reminding him that he was the leader and demanding he acted like one.

Speaking of people he's become overly fond of...

He's close to his office when Yandere turns the corner in front of him, heading in his direction. The younger ego's eyes light up, and Dark feels guilty that he can't return the smile Yan sends him.

"Morning, Dark! Did you sleep well?" Yan asks sweetly. Dark is ready lie when a wave of pain rushes through him, taking him off guard.  He has to grit his teeth to repress a groan, which doesn't go unnoticed by the yandere.

"Dark, are you alright? You don't look so well." Yan looks worried, but it only makes Dark feel worse. It almost feels like fire is burning through his veins, and the ringing from his aura increases which only worsens his splitting headache.  Having a younger ego like Yandere, no matter how fond he is of him, is only ruining his mood even more.  

"I'm fine," Dark spits out, walking quickly past Yan without looking him in the eye. He can’t let Yan see the pain he is in; it’ll only hurt them both, and that’s something Dark wants to avoid.  "I just have a lot of work to do."

Yan eyes him suspiciously and reaches out a hand to stop the older ego from leaving.

"Are you su-"

"I said I'm fine!" Dark snaps without turning around. He doesn't see the way Yan flinches away from him, pulling his hand back to himself anxiously.  Before Yan can respond, Dark continues his walk to his office, fighting against the urge to limp from the pain continuously coursing through his body.  Fighting against the urge to punch himself for snapping at Yan so cruelly.

He wants to collapse on his bed.  He wants to cry.  He wants to apologize to Yandere.  But his body keeps moving forward.  

When he eventually makes it to his office he slams the door behind him, locking it for extra measure. He limps and collapses heavily into his chair, sighing. There's a moment of relief now that he isn't supporting his own body weight, but it passes too soon.  Once again he's overcome by the pain from his bones grinding against each other, by the pain of Damien and Celine’s tattered souls arguing back and forth insistently in his mind.

He has to reel his aura back in when he notices it begin to become more hostile, threatening to knock over his desk. He takes a deep breath to ground himself, grabs a pen, and begins to review his documents for the day.

//////

Nearly thirty minutes pass before he collapses on top of his desk, shaking violently as he tries to silently copes with the pain.

He can’t even think coherently at this point as his mind only fixates on the constant agony that surrounds him.  His head is pounding, and all he can hear over the screams of the voices in his head is the roar of his aura.  Dark realizes he hadn’t been keeping track of his aura and he looked up warily.  He winces when he sees it had lashed out at some point and knocked over his bookshelf.  He hadn’t even noticed…

Dark is ready to curl in on himself and accept his misery when the door to his office is slammed open.   Strange, he could’ve sworn he locked it.

Wilford storms into his office, effortlessly pushing against Dark’s overbearing aura with his own.  For some reason that lifts some of the burden off of Dark’s shoulders, and he gets back enough strength to sit up as Wilford approaches angrily.

“Yan is crying in my studio because of you!  What the hell did you do?  You know I-”  Wilford’s anger turned into confusion when he saw Dark’s overturned bookshelf.  “What the hell…so you’re knocking furniture over now too, huh?!”

Dark groans, both in pain and annoyed with Wilford’s presence.  The journalist is yelling at him, and Wilford is already loud when he speaks normally.  Just having his closest friend snapping at him when he’s still practically writhing in pain is enough to overwhelm Dark, and he covers his face in his hands.  His body trembles and he has to grit his teeth again to stop from crying out.

Wilford blinks, and his shoulders sag when he understands.

“It’s one of those days, is it?”

Dark doesn’t answer, he doesn’t know if he can even open his mouth without crying at this point.  The day has barely even started and he’s already past his limits somehow.  He feels like he’s suffocating from the pain and humiliation, and yet he doesn’t know whether he wants to ask Wilford for help or tell him to go away.  He’s thankful Wil chooses for him.    

“C’mon, you’re no help to anyone like this.  You gotta go back and get some rest.”  He knows that Wilford is right, but he can’t.  Even when his body feels like it’s failing on him, the voices in his head are still dissatisfied.  They still scream at him to keep moving when all he wants to do is rest.

“Wil, I can’t.  Th-They-“

“They can’t control you if you don’t allow them, Darky.” Wilford interrupts him.  The pink ego walks around until he’s behind Dark’s chair, and he helps the other up as gently as he can.  “If you need to stay in bed and recover, than you’re going to stay in bed and recover.  They can’t take that away from you, not when you’re in control.”

It’s silent, and Dark realizes a moment later that the voices had stopped.  Figures, Dark thinks bitterly to himself, they’ve always listened to Wilford instead of me.  Still, he’s grateful for the quiet, even while his body shakes from the pangs of agony.  He leans heavily on Wil, knowing the other will have his back.

“They’ve stopped…thank you, old friend.”

“Let’s get you back to your room, you look like hell.” Wil teases.  The two of them slowly make their way down the hall with Wilford supporting most of his weight.  The pink ego is about to joke about having to start dragging Dark when they run into Yan.  It’s a moment of deja vu for Dark, though the younger ego doesn’t look excited to see him this time.  The younger ego’s eyes are bloodshot, and he flinches when the two of them make eye contact.  Why does that hurt more than the torture he’s been through today?

“O-Oh, uh-I was just looking for you, Wil.  I was gonna-I mean, I’ll just go-“  Dark feels his heart clench at the sight of Yan stuttering and making excuses to get away from him.  It’s different from the pain he’s been dealing with, and yet somehow this is the worst he’s felt all day.  He’s responsible for why Yan is like this, and if it had been any other ego he wouldn’t have cared.  If it had been anyone but Yandere he wouldn’t feel as guilty and disappointed as he does now.

“I’m sorry, Yandere.  I shouldn’t have-“ Dark grimaces when it feels his bones are scraping against each other.  Yan worriedly looks up when he sees the pain Dark is in, and he looks to Wilford for an explanation.  

“Don’t worry, Yan.  He’s having a rough day, but he’ll be as good as new tomorrow!” The older ego reassures him.  Yan looks back to Dark nervously, wishing Wilford was telling the truth, or that there was something he could do to help.  

“Is he right?  Are you really going to be alright?” Despite the pain he’s in, Dark can’t help but smile.  From how he’d snapped at Yan earlier, he doesn’t think he deserves the younger one’s sympathy.  No, he knows he doesn’t deserve it.  And yet here Yan was, asking him again if he would be okay.  He doesn’t deserve him.  He doesn’t deserve anything, if he’s being honest with himself, but he has more important things to focus on now.  Like Yandereipleir.  

“Yes, I’ll be…I’ll be fine.  I just need to rest.” Dark reassures the younger ego.  Yandere sighs in relief, though he remains his composure in front of the two oldest egos.  

“Th-that’s good to hear!”  Yan was starting to get worried, but he feels immediate relief when Dark confirms that he’s feeling alright, even if he’s not at his best.  It’s enough for the him, and Yan starts to turn away when Dark stops him with a hand on his shoulder.  

“I’ll explain this more tomorrow after I’ve healed, Yan.  Wait for me until then, okay?”

Yan feels like his heart is going to burst from the unexpected attention and affection of Dark, but he forces himself to steel his reaction.  He doesn’t want to overreact and unintentionally drive Dark away (if only he’d known how much Dark was infatuated with him).

Before he can respond, Wilford is already dragging Dark across the hall to his room.  Yandere watches fondly after the two.

Wilford would understand, if he were lucid today. But he isn’t, he so rarely is these days. Dark knows they don’t age, but he can’t help but wonder if their bodies have remembered to stop getting older. If Wilford’s mind will ever stop fading and forgetting, if Dark’s body will stop creaking and rusting. Every hard night feels harder, every burst of pain hurts evermore.

Instead of returning to bed, which he knows will not work, he goes to his piano room. His aura snaps and cracks the whole while, terrible and loud. He has no more energy left to suppress it like he’s been doing all day. As he opens the door to his piano room, he turns his head to look around the room and his neck cracks as loudly as his aura. Pain rockets up his jaw, but he merely grimaces and continues forward.

As he approaches the piano, he catches sight of himself in the full-length grand mirror hanging on the wall. The thing is vintage; older even than Dark is, and every time Dark sees it he wonders why he keeps it. He certainly doesn’t like the look of himself now, hair a mess, face drawn with exhaustion, pale and gaunt like the corpse that he is. His silk pajama shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the gnarled, scarred-over dent in his chest, because even the soft fabric feels too constricting tonight. The mirror he’s looking into isn’t from the manor, but maybe what happened at the manor is why he can’t bring himself to be rid of it. Either way, he keeps walking.

He reaches the bench of his grand piano, pulls up the fallboard to expose the keys. The piano is huge, sleek, deep black and shining like ink in the moonlight peeking through the window. He sits down at the bench, runs a hand over the keys, not pressing down, just feeling. The music desk is already open on a book of symphonies, and Dark flips through the pages to find something suitable. This is his ritual, this is what brings him peace on nights like this, where the pain and the past threaten to devour him. His aura rumbles and the voices inside him do not go quiet as Dark searches for the piece he’s looking for.

Finally, he reaches Franz Schubert’s “Erlkönig,” arranged by Franz Liszt. It’s just the piece for a night like this, something angry and violent and sad to ring louder than his aura, louder than the voices, louder than his own pain.

Dark breathes in, though he hasn’t needed to breathe in a long time. He rolls his neck, lets it snap and pop. His aura simmers in anticipation, rumbling low like thunder. The voices are as loud as ever, but Dark does not mind their volume now. His fingers on the keys will meet it.

He begins to play.

It is loud, it is quick. One hand hovers, pressing on the same keys repeatedly, fast and intense. The other hand plays a repetitive chord, ringing and gloomy but just as frenetic. The music is more excited and energetic than Dark ever was today, but as his fingers fly on the keys, as the melancholy and suspenseful melody takes shape, the music begins to feed some of that life to Dark. The ringing and bellowing of his aura quiets beneath the notes, the voices in his mind are drowned out. Dark’s whole body moves with it, head nodding, hands forceful as they play yet never lingering a moment too long. It’s exhilarating, angry and sad all at once, even the lighter parts of the melody add up to the violent crescendo –

Dark’s hand slips, the next chord goes sour.

That wrong note is somehow the loudest sound Dark has heard tonight. It pierces right through the music, cuts through all the pumping energy and screeches the song to a halt. Dark’s aura and the voices within him rear up to fill the volume, as though jeering at him for the missed note. Dark’s blood boils, he alights with fire.

He has no control when he roars like an animal, standing from the piano and slamming the keys in a burst of rage. His aura overturns the piano bench and the thud it makes echoes throughout the room. Dark whirls and finds himself facing the grand mirror. He hardly recognizes himself – not that he ever did, not since that night, not since the source of his agony. He storms to the mirror, screams at his own reflection, at the hole in his chest. His aura rings, so high-pitched it hurts his own ears, and the mirror cracks wide as though wounded.

Dark stands before the mirror, shaking as the rage leeches out of him, leaving him spent. Thank god there’s an armchair not far from the mirror, intended for days when Dark feels like playing for someone else. Dark collapses into the chair, face in his hands, trying to regain control. His image is unclear, either blurry or over-sharpened, split apart and fractured like the mirror as his aura screeches. The voices within him are screaming like Dark just did. Dark trembles as the exertion of playing and its crushing failure catch up to him. He might just pass out here before he falls asleep. His body thrums with pain. His bullet wound pulses with agony like a heartbeat.

Through the splintering of his aura, he hears the door to the piano room creak open. He looks up, through his fingers, and sees Yandereplier there, looking on in a rumpled oversized t-shirt, sleep shorts, and messy hair. He shrinks back, not afraid of Dark, but afraid that he’s been caught. Dark looks away, hunches over again, face in his hands again. It does not matter to him if Yandere sees; he’s too exhausted to protest. And maybe a part of him doesn’t actually mind Yandere’s presence. Yandere doesn’t know everything going through Dark’s mind, but not even Wilford has ever cared for Dark so deeply. It’s not an indictment of Wilford to say so, rather, it’s a mark of Yandere’s powerful love for Dark.

Dark hears Yandere step into the room. He wonders how much Yandere’s seen of his night. Yandere doesn’t speak, not even when he approaches Dark, not even when he cups Dark’s head in his hands, holds it against his chest. Dark moves his own hands from his face to wrap around Yandere’s waist, and Yandere begins to stroke Dark’s hair. The buzzing screech of Dark’s aura doesn’t bother Yandere, nor does the splitting and cracking of his image. It’s though Dark is not a monster at all, but something human, something that can be loved, something that can receive that love.

After a while, Dark lets his tight grip on Yandere loosen. Yandere can leave if he wants; Dark will not keep him here all night. Yandere steps away, but he doesn’t leave. Dark watches him walk to the overturned piano bench, and with a huff of effort, push it back upright. He looks back at Dark, as though he expects Dark to stop him. Dark does not care to send Yandere away; he’s the one who began teaching Yandere how to play in the first place. When Dark does nothing, Yandere sits at the bench. He sets the book on the music desk aside; likely so it doesn’t distract him from the song he has in mind. Yandere takes a small breath, something he truly needs, unlike Dark.

Then he begins to play.

The song Yandere chooses isn’t one Dark recognizes; Yandere must have learned it on his own. It’s bright, cheerful, but slow and gentle. Yandere plays lightly, without Dark’s intensity and quick motion. Dark is a little surprised when Yandere starts to sing.

“Every day, I imagine a future where I can be with you,” he sings, and one hand flits over the keys, creating a twinkling melody. “In my hand, is a pen that will write a poem of me and you…”

This song isn’t nearly as technically or emotionally complex as “Erlkönig,” but it’s charming, somehow. The bright tones and high-pitched, happy keys should be irritating to Dark right now, should be driving him mad in the state he’s in. But it isn’t. The simplicity is soothing, sweet. His own playing fought against his eternal pain with louder, deeper chaos, but Yandere’s choice of song is like raindrops pelting a fire. Dark’s pain is not any less, but it feels further away. The melody changes, a little more serious but no less bright.

“The ink flows down into a dark puddle,” Yandere sings, “Just move your hand – write the way into his heart!”

Dark finds himself leaving the armchair to walk to the piano bench and sit alongside Yandere. His aura is quiet, focused on Yandere’s music. The voices haven’t silenced, but they’re easier to ignore. Dark is still in pain, but he feels soothed. Yandere definitely notices him walk up and sit beside him, but he continues to play.

“But in this world of infinite choices, what will it take just to find that special day?”

Yandere takes a moment to give Dark a shy but happy smile. To Dark’s own surprise, he manages a soft smile back.

“What will it take just to find…” Yandere stops his fingers, uses the pause in the music to scoot a little closer to Dark. “…That special day?”  

Yandere continues to play the song, Dark begins to realize that it isn’t wholly happy after all. The tune is cheerful, but the lyrics Yandere sings suggest a quiet sadness. The song becomes bittersweet. Dark realizes he was wrong before; “Erlkönig” is not the right song for a night like this, when Dark’s pain gets the better of him. This one is. This soft, bright, bittersweet little song is. Dark would never have thought to play something so simplistic, but he’s glad Yandere chose it.

Dark thinks he’ll be able to return to bed when the song is over and actually sleep. He’ll ask Yandere to join him, and Yandere will likely accept, given how much he enjoys sleeping alongside Dark. It’s already too late for a full night’s sleep, but even a few hours is better than what Dark usually gets on nights like these.

The song plays out, and Dark smiles again, leaning against Yandere ever-so-slightly, just to feel his warmth.

Not that he needs to: His nails are more like claws already, sharp and black, extending from green-tinged hands on green-tinged arms. His hair is darker green and messy, but not as messy as the eternal bloody slice across his neck. It squelches quietly as Anti turns in his seat.

“What the hell!?” he yells, then calms as his eyes, one blue and one green, settle on Dark and Wilford. “Oh, it’s you two.” He grins. “You should’ve told me you were coming, I might’ve cleaned the place up a little.”

Not that it would’ve helped much: Anti’s hideout is inside a condemned warehouse, filled with some old furniture, a wall of collected knives, dozens of computer towers and monitors leeching wifi from the surrounding area, and several purposefully-built prison cells for Anti to store any puppets he might have in his possession. It’s a metallic kind of cold here, and the air is always filled with static and a scent like burning wires.

Today, Dark and Wilford have no patience for Anti’s banter, and in the next instant, they’re standing right in front of him, looking down on him with rage.

“No funny business, glitch,” Wilford growls, “Where is he?”

“Who?” Anti asks, unimpressed. He continues filing his nails, blowing away the shavings.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Dark snaps, aura rumbling around him. “Yandereplier just went missing during a power outage at Ego Inc.”

“Huh.” Anti pauses his filing and purses his lips, thinking for a moment. “Alright, I guess I can see why you suspect me. But I didn’t take him.” He laughs. “What would I possibly want with Yandere, anyway?”

“You tell us,” Wilford snarls, taking a threatening step closer.

“Hey! Look,” Anti yells, “I didn’t kidnap Yandere. I’m not an idiot. The only thing that would accomplish is making you two angry. He’s not here.”

“Then certainly you wouldn’t mind us taking a look around, would you?” Dark asks with an angry grin.

Anti looks between Dark with his cracking, flashing aura, and Wilford with his blazing pink eyes and hands twitching for a gun at his sides. He seems to realize he doesn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” he sighs, “Knock yourself out. Try not to make too much of a mess.”

Dark and Wilford don’t listen to Anti’s request. They tear the building apart looking for Yandere. Wilford pries open every prison cell and looks in every corner, Dark’s aura tosses aside every computer tower to look for hidden passages or compartments. They search under every table, in every closet, every dead-end corner and cranny, every passage they manage to uncover. They search for Yandere, search for a scrap of his clothing, a lock of his hair, anything at all that might signal that he’s here or that he used to be here. Anti moves from the desk to lean against the wall with his arms crossed, an annoyed expression on his face. It only seems to make Dark and Wilford angrier; Wilford splinters wood with his grip on tables and chairs, Dark smashes more than one monitor as he tosses them around. They look everywhere, then they look everywhere again, and again.

But it’s no use. There’s no sign of Yandere anywhere in the building, not so much as a single strand of hair. They look at Anti, still glowering, and Anti stares evenly back.

“You done trashing the place now?” Anti asks, deadpan. “Can you go away so I can clean this up?”

“No!” Wilford roars, “There’s no way Yan isn’t here!!” He lunges at Anti and grabs him by the shirt color. “Where the hell are you hiding him!?” Anti’s expression twists into rage, and a knife appears in his hand as he starts to glitch in place.

“Calm down,” Dark orders, “We’ll get nowhere by antagonizing Anti. Besides…” Dark cracks his neck as his aura waves around him. “…There’s still one more thing I can try.”

Anti rolls his eyes, and Wilford lets him go with a huff. He seems to understand what Dark means, and jabs a finger at Anti.

“Don’t try anything, glitch,” he growls.

“Who, me?” Anti replies with a cheeky grin, glitching the knife away. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dark sighs, then straightens his posture and closes his eyes.

His aura begins to reach out, flowing out and away from him. It goes farther than normal, a curtain of ink spreading out past Wilford and Anti and throughout the warehouse. Tendrils of aura poke in every corner, sweep through every room. Dark, eyes closed in the center of the cloud, sees only what his aura sees. The only bright things are Wilford and Anti, as the aura can pick out figments with ease. That’s how Dark plans to find Yandere, by using his aura to seek him out, perhaps even lead him back.

Come out, my love, come out.

Anti watches the aura swim through the room, as does Wilford. They both notice the aura creeping through the cracks in the wall, out of Anti’s warehouse and into the street beyond. It ever-so-slightly begins to thin out, lightening from pitch black to deep gray as it flows. The ringing emanating from it picks up, just enough to be noticed.

Dark looks through everything his aura sees as it whispers along the sidewalk, brushing past trees and fire hydrants and the occasional human trudging down the street. The aura fans out in a circle around the warehouse, pulsing into nearby dumpsters and cars and even other buildings, searching them as thoroughly as it did Anti’s hideout.

Yandere, where are you?

What little Wilford and Anti can see of Dark’s aura gets thinner, lighter. It goes from charcoal to stone, lighter and lighter, little by little. Wilford frowns. Anti begins to take interest. The ringing gets higher, louder.

The aura continues outward, past street signs and into stores, past traffic lights and crossing crowds, deeper into Brighton. It passes every person by; they are nothing but more distractions to filter through, nothing but clutter to Dark’s vision. There is still no sign of a figment, no sign of Yandere. He can feel his aura stretching thin, but he continues to push it outward.

Please, darling, I cannot do this much longer! Where have you gone??

The aura still listing through the warehouse is pale, only as dark as the smoke cloud from a cigarette. The ringing is deafening, overpowering the room's static. Anti’s eyes are wide, his lips are split in a sick grin as he watches the aura waver and shiver. Wilford’s furrowed brows shoot up with alarm as the space around Dark begins to crack, splinter, fall apart without the aura there to hold it in place. Figures scream and contort in the shadow, Dark can only barely be seen.

“Dark,” Wilford gasps.

Dark doesn’t hear him, or if he does, he makes no indication. His aura pours out from him like a running faucet, trying to blanket the city around him, desperately searching for Yandere. Even through the din, the ringing and the howling shadows, Wilford and Anti can see Dark changing. His skin pales from gray to white, the bags under his eyes spread their purple to his eyelids. His hair hangs limp, his fingers shake, his suit seems looser. His cheeks sink into themselves, becoming gaunt, his fingers shrink against the bone. Anti looks fit to burst into laughter. What pale remnants of shadows that remain begin to peel away, sliding from Dark as they scream. The ringing reaches a fever pitch. Just before the moment of no return, Wilford lurches out of his stupor.

“DARK!!”

This time, Dark hears him.

All at once, the aura retracts, contracting away from its radius, flowing like a river rapid back the way it came, past the people and street signs, out of the buildings and cars, back through the cracks in the walls of the hideout, rushing back into Dark with an almighty whoosh like the birth of a tornado in reverse. The aura crashes, washing over Dark like an ocean wave as the ringing cracks. A force like wind pushes Wilford and Anti back against the wall.

When the smoke clears, Dark stands as he did before, though slouched. His suit is wrinkled, his eyes are hollow and fluttering. Wilford appears by his side with a pop to put an arm around his shoulders and keep him standing. Dark leans against him with a sigh, exhausted to his bones.

“Dark, you idiot,” Wilford whispers, in too much shock to raise his voice.

“I couldn’t find him,” Dark gasps, voice like a breath in the air. “He’s nowhere. He’s gone.”

Silence reigns over the room for several long moments. Wilford’s expression breaks.

“How far did you look?” he asks, wavering.

“Over a mile out,” Dark answers, slow and weak, “There was no sign of him.”

“I told you he wasn’t here,” Anti pipes up, bored now that the action is over. “Can you leave me alone now?”

“I don’t believe this!” Wilford shouts, suddenly enraged, snapping his head up to glare at Anti. “Yandere went missing during a blackout! There was static in his room!! The camera stopped working right before he disappeared and you expect us to believe it wasn’t you!?”

“Enough, Wilford,” Dark says.

“But–”

“He’s nowhere in a mile radius.” Dark closes his eyes. “Wherever Yandere is, it’s not here. We need to go home and figure out our next steps.”

“Dark…”

Wilford looks from Dark’s tired frown to Anti’s smug grin. He still doesn’t trust this, he still doesn’t trust Anti, but…if Dark’s aura couldn’t find Yandere here, then what could?

“Take us home, Wil,” Dark sighs, not annoyed, but exhausted.

“Buh-bye!” Anti chirps with a mocking wave.

“This isn’t over, glitch,” Wilford mutters.