тнe ғιrѕт тιмe ιn ғorever.//Closed
That voice. He knew that voice anywhere.
Clear was so engrossed with looking around, searching for the perfect souvenir to get. Part of him told him that this was probably not the best place to get a gift; after all, who got their close ones a gift from a small junk shop? However, there was a special sentiment he felt about getting Aoba something here. The blue haired man had done so much for him, and though he wouldn’t had a first clue about gifts or what was suitable, Clear went on instinct.
"C-Clear…?"
Ears perked up at the sound of his name. A name that was given to him, not by birth, or creation in his case, but by adoption. He didn’t expect anyone to know his name here. He wondered if he’d been followed after he’d been repaired, and that he would be brought back to be reprogrammed. He at first stiffened, as if afraid of just the endless possibilities that could happen. The repeat of his name, however, shattered all those fears that he had growing in his heart, and when he turned around, everything seemed as if time had frozen.
Aoba.
This had to be a dream. A result of him glitching, or hallucinating. One of those two sounded more plausible than what the third one sounded, and that was that Aoba was indeed here. The man that he’d grown to care about all this time. His eyes widened ever so slightly with surprise, but it was really him. Aoba was really here, and he was alive and well. Allowing the shock to wear off, his lips tugged up to the happiest smile he was sure he ever had.
"Aoba-san.. it really is you."
Impossible.
Lips quivered, eyes glistening with tears that threatened to fall and make his out of control emotions apparent to the bright-eyed android before him—a sight he never thought he would see again. He hadn’t given up hope, no, but after over a year of trial and error, then handing the lifeless (cringe) body of Clear to his Granny with the hope she could be more useful at fixing this than he was, and then just nothing for so long, he… He just felt like sobbing tears of relief and exhilaration for Clear’s apparent perfect condition.
How many times had he fantasized about a moment near exact to this? One where, out of the blue, he would see him again and all sickening guilt for not being able to restore the life to him would disappear because he’d be here and—and alive.
All that dreaming would have only proved to crush him more though, he knew, if he’d allowed it to continue because at a point in time, that dream really did feel just impossible. Like heaven and earth meeting—it seemed so inconceivable for a period of time that this was a scenario that would never happen because he—Clear had been so far beyond repair that nothing could have reversed the amount of damage done. It was something nauseating to admit, but there’d been a scant point in time where he’d felt that helplessness and despair that he wouldn’t ever see the crystal eyes of the boy he’d somehow fallen in love with during that time in Platinum Jail.
It was uncertain just how long he stood there immobilized and staring, shaking and trying to withhold tears that were impossible to stop for very long. Aoba wasn’t sure when his legs moved, or when he’d managed to walk out from behind the counter and cross the way until he was standing in front of Clear and within arm’s reach. His hands shook, raising slightly and then hesitating to go further for fear that once he tried to touch the pale face mere inches from his hand would disappear.
"Aoba-san.. it really is you."
And then, he understood. This… It wasn’t fake, not a dream, not a cruel nightmare, but real. The angelic figure before him really was Clear. It was with this confirmation that he found his will again, the hands hesitating now finding confidence to make the final stretch until fingers were touching the soft skin of a porcelain cheek.
“…Clear.”
