(>∆>)

There's multiple things going through Kunikuzushi's head when he sees your lifeless, dead body on the stage, blood coating his delicate white shoes and the plain tiles of the stage. 

The first thing, was that he should've expected this.

All the way back in Anakt, when even he was nothing more than the creation of a lab project, he knew you wouldn't survive in your future. He knew this, had this feeling engraved into his very skin the moment he saw you frolicking about in the fake grass and the fake sky, before he even grasped the certainty of his own future. Your candid smile as you accidentally tripped over some other kid's music notes, not bothering to check where your notes might be.

He had decided, from that moment, that he didn't like you very much.

Each and every time an alien tweaked his vocals, or he was forced to recite the same tune over and over again, you were always the headache that popped up in his head. Dear old you, with your messed up hair and somehow dirty face. He wondered, at those moments, what had made him so drawn to you, the one who seemed to not value their own life within how you just don't care.

Your nonchalance about your certain death, about not being able to beat round one, irritated him. And, as said by his owner, Ei, a more human-looking alien than the others, observing those below him would only deteriorate him from the inside. His artificial heart, no where near as warm as a real human, would tear itself apart from the inside, and leave him a jumbled mess.

So, he swore to himself that he wouldn't associate himself with you at any moment in his life, ever.

The second thing that goes through his head, was not a simple statement, but rather a question. Why couldn't he take his eyes off of you?

Even when he declared himself to never interact with you in any capacity, you still, somehow, with your annoying smile that was all wide and far too happy for your own good, attempted to get closer to him. He would be writing a new song, practicing his tone to match the perfect pitch, and you'd suddenly be right next to him, calling him boring for only paying attention to studies. 

Most times he ignored you, even as your annoying finger annoyingly poked at his cheek without any intention to stop. Sometimes he sneered, calling you names for not even touching your own. You never seemed too bothered, in fact, all you did was giggle like a maniac, wiping a year from the corner of your eye as he scrunched his brow, attempting to make sense of your insanity.

And then, you'd point at him, still teary eyed with uncontrollable laughter, "you look so ridiculous! Can't even handle someone in your presence without looking like an irritated cat?"

That's when he couldn't handle it anymore and ended up tackling you to the lush, fake grass below you, face even more scrunched up than before, though this time in pure agitation. People would gather, trying to catch more of the kid who never spoke to anyone suddenly attacking a poor person at the end of his presence.

Most times, his punches landed weak. He was created to be a "delicate star" on stage, strength wasn't really a primary thought when going through the process of DNA modification. He hated it, hated how his enclosed fist only wrought put more giggles from you when he pressed it against the sides of your stomach, and all you could say was "that tickles!" Over and over again like a mantra.

He took this time to observe you, really. Why you took over most of his mind 90% of the time when not even his notes stuck to his head like that. What made you even more of a glue to his thoughts than what he was quite literally created for? 

And yet, there was nothing super unordinary to you, aside from the fact that your genetics blessed you slightly in your various features. You were still annoying, with your face flushed with laughter and hair thrown about like you had no care for appearances. You were loud, abrasive, and the type of pet that no alien would like.

So why you?

The third thing he came to realize is that he didn't want to forget you.

Time after time, becoming even more of a nuisance the more you took the time to accompany him, he found himself unwillingly wanting to verge just a bit closer. When you ramble on whatever topic you deem interesting he pretends not to listen when all his "notes" were really just scribbles that he made to pay more attention to you. Sometimes you began poking his cheek again, and he had to yell at you out of frustration so that you wouldn't do it again.

He remembers each and every conversation that the two of you had, only because you kept reminding him of it. Each and everytime he either really didn't remember or feigned not to, you would make such a pitifully pouty expression that he had the urge to pinch your puffed up face. He didn't, however, he cared enough not to hurt you no matter how much you made him feel like hell, with the lump in his throat and warmth on his face. 

Sometimes he wrote some of them down to really please you, watch as your eyes light up in delight at making him finally acquiesce to jot down your endless squabble. He says it's only to please you, which is why he spends all night inspecting each and every sentence you spoke. Did you really speak like that? Was that your exact wording? He agonized it over multiple sleepless nights, and obtained multiple punishments thereafter due to his prominent dark circles. All because of your incessant nagging, he constantly reminded himself, you really were a pain.

But now there was nothing to remember, was it?

You were a lifeless corpse, played for the entertainment of the aliens. There would be no more of your annoying quips and that annoying smile that flashed a bit too prettily for his liking. No more of you holding his hands and twirling around in the cramped bedrooms, no more of you.

You.

You, who were bleeding out in front of him, as he stood there unable to do anything.

The points rounded up to a 65-80. You did good. Great, even, for someone who didn't pay attention to a single class or a single piece of note. But not good enough. You lost.

Your blood was still pooling and coagulating, your body beginning the process of livor mortis, rotting away like you should. The bullet was still engraved into your neck, hitting an artery too. The smile on your face that you gave him before the bullet shot you began to relax, the various glow sticks in the audience glowed erratically and they kept repeating his fucking name as if he could hear when the ringing in his ears was becoming louder and louder and all he could pay half a mind to was the fact that they were taking away your body-

And.

Your body.

They were taking it away.

Gloved hands wrapped around his midsection as he was beginning to be carried away by the alien staff, but all he could think about was your lifeless, no, lonely dead body. You hated being alone, he remembered. Sometimes you'd sneak out of your own room just to snuggle into him and he didn't say anything because your warmth was somehow appreciated in his cold bed. They were going to take you away, and you couldn't even do anything about it.

He tried to pull away, but his frustratingly weak body did him no favors. The grip was too strong, no matter how much he kicked and thrashed and screamed.

"Let go of me you piece of cra-!" A palm wrapped around his mouth, and he bit down harshly in retaliation. You were still dying, still rotting away lifelessly, he has to do something-

He realizes, that he can't do anything when they shock him with his collar. He's not shocked often, despite his brash and snarky personality. He knew when to and not to behave like a troublemaker, but you were the one who constantly obtained the ire of the aliens. You were the one who suffered shock scars around your neck, shivering pitifully on the grass as electricity still flowed through your veins. Sometimes he'd embrace you, using his arms to bring your still crying self closer for a semblance of comfort.

He can't do that anymore.

He's dragged off from the stage like a ragdoll, the tears and scrapes on his clothes and skin evident of that. Plopped down in nothing more than an uncomfortable bench, he brings his knees to his chest like you did when you were a child, when all you wanted to do was annoy him, disturb him and all. He recalls your words from a specific conversation, and bile rises up his throat when the ringing in his ears increases tenfold.

"When I die, remember me alright?"

You never even planned to live in the first place. He knew, he really knew. The way you smiled in gratification when the shocks from your collar were too much to bear, leading to unconsciousness. Or how you'd gobble down food too quickly and choke, only for no panic on your face to be seen whatsoever. You looked disappointed even, when your airways were cleared. 

He should've expected this. He shouldn't care.

But, no matter what, he'd keep that promise. He keeps too many promises from you anyway. He's just not sure how well he's looking forward to remembering your dead, rotten up face for the rest of his life. Just, don't blame him when all he can remember is you so lifeless, instead of all the times you attempted to cheer him up at childhood, alright?