Woe is me (october-november catch up- not completed)

[takutomaruki]

Two weeks since Maruki’s arrival.

The sterile hum of Maruki’s lab filled his ears as he sifted through research notes, his thoughts clouded by the presence of Azathoth, always lingering just beyond his consciousness. The soft knock at his office door startled him from his reverie.

“Dr. Maruki?” The receptionist poked her head in, her voice carrying a faint unease. “It’s time for your monthly meeting with Haven’s Reach. There’s... uh, a new chief organizer this time.”

Maruki blinked, setting his pen down. “A new organizer ” He had read reports of a certain organization going by that name who were working closely with this lab long before he first came here to this strange place.

Supposedly, he collaborated with them on multiple grounds by raising awareness with free therapy sessions and likewise. He doesn’t even know that organization- perhaps it's linked to the gap in his memory? Who knows? “Did they give a name?”

“No, sir. Just that it was urgent, considering how closely they’ve worked with your lab.” She stops, her glassy eyes doing a once over on his notes. “And also you are late.”

His brow furrowed. While the collaboration with the charity had always been beneficial, this sudden appearance of them when most cognitions were docile in this world felt oddly out of place. With a resigned sigh, he stood, straightened his lab coat, and headed for the meeting room.

The charity’s workspace that occupied this part of the building was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold sterility of his lab. Maruki walked in, his mind preoccupied with the nature of the meeting—only to freeze just a few meters away from the entrance.

Rumi.

Her red hair fell loosely over her shoulders as she stood at the head of the table, organizing papers with a calm, practiced efficiency. She looked up at him, her dark red eyes meeting him with a flicker of familiarity, though no recognition of the depth behind it.

“Ah, Dr. Maruki,” she greeted him warmly, offering a small bow. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. I’ve read so much about your work.”

Maruki felt the air leave his lungs, his hands trembling at his sides. His world narrowed to her—her voice, her presence, her kindness radiating like it always had. Her age, resembling his; gave him the proper impression that- this was Rumi. For sure. The Rumi he had left in the hospital with an ache residing in his heart.

She isn’t the Rumi who had lost everything. Maruki reminds himself. She is someone else entirely now, and she doesn’t remember me.

Did their paths converge in his world?
“I—” His voice caught in his throat, and he forced himself to breathe. “It’s... good to meet you as well. You must be the new organizer?”

She smiled softly, her expression gentle. “Yes, I’ve recently taken over. I’ve been compiling a list of candidates for therapy—individuals who might benefit from your cognitive-behavioral treatment program. I thought it’d be best to bring them to you directly.”

Maruki swallowed hard, nodding mechanically. “Of course. It’s... what we’re here for, after all.”

Rumi tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. “You know, now that I think about it... Have we met before?”

The question hit him like a thunderbolt. His mind raced. Did she remember something? Some sliver of their past? He struggled to compose himself, forcing a smile that felt hollow even to him.

Right, they had a small conversation at the hospital. He doesn’t wish to bring that up again.

“I doubt it,” he said carefully. “I’ve... only ever worked in research and therapy. But perhaps... I reminded you of someone?”

She frowned in thought, her lips pursed, then shook her head. “Maybe. It’s strange... But I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Her smile returned, softer this time. “You were quite late, looking a little uneasy too right now- busy at the lab?”

Maruki stiffened, the words tearing at his composure. He tried to muster a neutral response, but the raw ache surged to the surface. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been focused on my work. Bringing cognitive pscience to the world comes with sleepless nights and days where there’s no planning involved. Frankly speaking, I had no idea I even had a meeting.”

Rumi’s gaze softened, her empathy as palpable as it had always been. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must be. But the work you’re doing here is incredible. It’s giving so many people hope.”

Her words cut him deeper than she could have known. She was praising the very work that had taken her memories of him, her love for him, and the life they had shared. Maruki’s heart felt like it was splitting in two.

“You’re... kind to say that,” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. “And your work here—it’s remarkable. You’re remarkable.”

For a moment, her expression wavered, as if she sensed something more in his words. But then she smiled, her warmth chasing away the tension.

“Well, I’ll leave you to look over the files,” she said, motioning to the stack of papers she’d prepared. “I hope we can work together to help as many people as possible.”

As she turned to leave, Maruki’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out, to say something, anything that might bring her closer to the truth. But he stopped himself. She was happy. She had a life. And he had no right to disrupt it.

“Thank you,” he said instead, his voice quiet but sincere. “For everything.”

She paused, glancing back at him with that faint flicker of recognition again, before nodding and walking out the door.

---

Mid October

Maruki adjusted his collar as he stood outside the charity center, his breath misting in the cool air. Traffic buzzed around him while cognitions walked past with no care for the man who stood before its welcoming gates and its flowers- dressed in a meagre black shirt and jeans. The building was modest but inviting, with warm lights spilling through large windows onto the quiet street.

The cheerful chatter of volunteers drifted out as he hesitated at the door.

It had been a week since he first encountered Rumi at the monthly meeting, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Against his better judgment, he had decided to come here—not as the detached scientist she thought he was, but as someone desperate to understand why she was here, and why he couldn’t let her go.

Steeling himself, he stepped inside.

---

Rumi was crouched by a stack of boxes when she spotted him loitering in the main foyer as he looked around. Almost too lost. Her face lit up with surprise.

“Dr. Maruki?” she called, brushing her hair back as she watches the man flinch and jump- something poking behind him before he stalls. His lips stretch into a small smile when he meets her gaze.

She stood and glances down at his casual outfit. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”
He offered a small smile, trying not to show how much her presence still disarmed him. “I thought I’d see the work you’re doing first hand. It seemed... important.”

She smiled warmly, a mix of gratitude and pride. “That’s wonderful. I didn’t think you’d make the time. Things must be busy at the lab.”

“They are,” he admitted, glancing around the bustling center. “But this is worth it.”

Rumi led him through the various rooms, explaining the different programs the charity offered. There was a therapy wing, where patients spoke with counselors that Maruki’s program apparently provided, and an activity area filled with laughter as volunteers guided people through art and music sessions.

“Many of them come from rough backgrounds,” Rumi explained. “Some have experienced things no one should ever go through. But we’re making progress, bit by bit. Thanks to your treatments, even the hardest cases are finding happiness.”

Maruki’s gaze lingered on a young man painting at a table. The smile on his face was serene, almost too perfect. Maruki’s chest tightened as he recognized him: a former patient from his lab the first time he came here. He was a meagre cognition when Maruki was still getting a grasp of his powers so he had been…experimenting. He had used Actualization on this man like he did with Yoshizawa-san, erasing years of trauma in a single moment.

“They seem... happy,” Maruki said softly, his voice tinged with unease.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Rumi replied, her eyes bright. “They deserve this. Everyone does.”
He nodded mechanically, but his thoughts were churning. They did deserve happiness—he’d built his life around that belief. Yet, as he watched them laugh and smile, he couldn’t shake the hollowness that accompanied their joy- echoing within his own brain.

Was it truly theirs, or was it his?

---

Later, as the evening quieted, Maruki and Rumi sat in the small break room, sipping tea. The noise of the center had dimmed to a gentle hum in the background.

“You really didn’t have to come all the way here,” Rumi said, her tone light. “But I’m glad you did. I think the others will feel more connected, knowing you’re invested.”

Maruki stared into his tea, the steam curling up to meet his face. “It’s... nice to see the impact. Sometimes, in the lab, it’s easy to forget what the work really means.”
Rumi nodded, studying him for a moment. “You seem... thoughtful. Is something bothering you?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening around the cup. He couldn’t tell her the truth, not without unraveling everything she thought she knew. “It’s nothing. Just... seeing so much happiness, it reminds me of why I started this work in the first place.”

She smiled softly, tilting her head. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his gaze distant. “But happiness... It’s fragile. And sometimes, I wonder if the way we achieve it matters as much as the result.”

Her brow furrowed, but before she could respond, a volunteer entered the room, asking for her help.

Rumi stood, glancing back at him. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll be back.”

As she left, Maruki remained seated, his head heavy with conflicted thoughts. His eyes drifted to a bulletin board filled with photos of the patients, their smiles shining in every picture. It was everything he had worked for—everything he had sacrificed for.

But the dark truth of it all loomed over him. These weren’t memories he could suppress or rewrite. The joy he had given these people came at the cost of their agency, their pain erased by his hand.

They’re happy, he reminded himself, gripping the edge of the table. That’s all that matters.

Yet the guilt persisted, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. The presence of Azathoth stirred faintly in the back of his mind, a reminder of the power he wielded—and the burden it carried.

When Rumi returned, her presence was like a balm to his frayed nerves, though it did nothing to dispel the storm within him.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

She blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For reminding me why I started all of this,” he said, forcing a smile. “Even if it’s hard to face sometimes.”

Rumi regarded him thoughtfully, as though sensing something deeper in his words, but she simply smiled in return. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

As the evening wound down, Maruki left the center with a hollow ache in his chest. Rumi’s warmth lingered in his thoughts, a beacon of hope and pain all at once.

He had given so much to make the world a better place. But at what cost?