takutomaruki | HOME/LAB [maruki family thread tracker]

Entry tags:

╰┈➤ ❝ When we get to the pearly gates. You'll get the green light, I'll get the old door in the face ❞

date

type

link

desc

status

02/01

Toplevel

link

Welcome, dreamer, to the new dream

closed

15/01

Thread

link

Rank 1: Glass, nightmares and Hopes.

closed

27/01

Thread

link

Quick adjustments.

closed

03/02

Post

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Rank 2: Before my goodwill crumbles away in these sterile lands.

closed

01/05

Top level

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Rank 3: A gift

active

...YOU ARE A ~~SAINT~~

Threaded | Flat

The room is an endless hospital hallway filled with shattered glass window-combs and sirens glistening over the intercom.

"Room number -̵̨̠̩͎̗̺̘̼̟͍̼̻͖͖̎͒̄͜-̶̡̢̘̭̝̣̮̥̖͖̩̻̰̮͑̀̒̋͆̿̈̓-̸̼̩̦̌͐̃̍́͠-̷̧̱̖̪͔̲͔͇͚͖̉̒̆̑̉̉̓͛͒̾̚," says the nurse. Akira turns and looks up. The nurse at the station doesn't have a face, just another hand, long and snakelike and made from charred bones. She looks like the skeleton of a dead tree. "Fourth on the right."

He looks down the infinite hallway. He sees his reflection in the glass combs. He's young, small. He has two broken sandals on his feet.

Quietly, he moves forward. His sandal taps the side of a glass shard and

"YOU DID THIS TO ME."

Akira flinches back. The words echo through the hallway and screech in his bones, clawing his nerves, convulsing him forward-- another piece of glass goes flying as he stumbles--

"GET AWAY FROM ME. I WON'T LET YOU HURT MY FAMILY!"

what did he do? what-- what happened? It's a different voice, one that heaves desperation and vomits terror-- and his palm-- he's on the floor and his hand goes right on a shard of glass--

"YOU'RE SO CLUMSY. I CAN'T BELIEVE I GAVE BIRTH TO SOMETHING AS PATHETIC AS YOU."

Help! His cries are muffled. The nurse at the station doesn't hear. He slips again--

"HELP? GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Help me--! Somehow, he's at the door, the hospital room, crawling on his hands and knees through the glass on the white, uncaring tiles. I love you! Please, what are you doing? shaking hand reaches for the door fingers on the handle-- it glows sickly green and black and it's moist and wriggling in his hand-- Help! Please--! I love you--!

""I HATE YOU!""

Mom!

Mom! Akira wakes up in a scramble trying to get free and then there's nothing to tear into it's just the floor and the floor is hard and he didn't even notice he was falling until his knees were already bruised his hands were already scratched from the fell and where's his glove the air is like cold water in his lungs where is his glove which way is up he finds his desk and hauls himself up his glove his glove his glove is on but it's not even enough

where's dad dad knows everything dad makes everything better dad can fix the world dad can fix me

out into the hallway he turns on the light but then it's just the hospital again and he turns it off before the glass comes back

dad's room dad's room it's right down the hall dad's room is

closed.

Oh. His stomach churns; reality hits him square in the abdomen. He hunches over, leaning on the wall for support.

This...isn't home. Isn't Dad's apartment. And Dad isn't here. The only person who is here is Dr. Maruki, who doesn't like it when he's too clingy or needy or...

Akira flops over, slumping down to the ground. He considers knocking anyway. Thinks better of it, of course. Wraps his arms around his legs, skin digging into leather, curling into a ball.

He's only been awake for like a minute, and he's already so exhausted. Each exhale into his knees fills him up with more of it, the dizzying static of exertion. His knees are...wet? Oh. He's crying.

When the static of exertion turns into the whispers of sleep, of the faint lullaby dreamer, come back to us sung by humming electronics and shifting carpet, he offers no resistance. Akira passes out in the hallway, in front of a door he won't open that leads to someone who doesn't want to see him. The lullabies promise him escape into something better.

Maybe this time they'll be right.

The shrill ring of the alarm sliced through the silence, pulling Maruki from the half-conscious state he'd been in, his hand jerking toward the desk to silence it. His eyes fluttered open, blinking into the harsh light of the morning. The faint hum of the ceiling fan above him seemed distant, drowned out by the ringing echo of his alarm.

He groaned, pushing himself up, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders like an anchor. A sheet of paper was stuck to his face, the faint imprint of his notes—a hasty scrawl from last night—etched onto his skin. The ink had bled slightly in places, evidence of his half-sleepy frenzy as he had tried to finish the work that had occupied his mind. He frowned as he pulled it off, setting it back onto the cluttered desk and peering at the half-written notes. His brain fogged with the remnants of exhaustion, but he tried to push them aside, focusing on the pressing matters at hand.

"Alright, no time for this," he muttered to himself, glancing at the clock. His practicals started soon, and despite the unorthodox nature of the class, he still hated being late.

He hopped around on one leg, struggling to pull his jeans on while simultaneously gathering the papers he needed for the lab. He stuffed his books and notes into a satchel, brushing past various strewn papers and half-empty cups. His hand went automatically to the coffee pot, but there was no time for that—he’d have to survive on the fumes of whatever he had left in his system.

I should not have stayed up that late, huh?

pulling on his jacket with one swift motion. He hated the idea of walking in late. He always had, even if it was just a cognitive college, and he could easily get away with it. But no, he had standards to uphold, even in the face of mounting exhaustion.

He grabbed his keys, tucking them into his pocket, then threw a last glance at his disheveled study. His eyes lingered on the notes he'd barely finished—fragments of thoughts, the threads of a mind too restless to rest. A quick sigh escaped him before he moved out of his room.

The hallway stretched before him, and as his eyes caught the door across from his own, his chest tightened.

Morning's room.

Right-

The memory of the night before flooded back in a rush, unbidden but persistent. The shadowy image from the nightmare still lingered in his mind, and despite the daylight, a chill ran through him.

He hesitated in the hallway, the unspoken question settling in his stomach—Was he alright?

A faint sound reached his ears, a soft noise echoing from the direction of the kitchen.

Maruki squinted down the hallway. "Morning?" he called out, his voice casual.

The living room hummed with soft ambient light—the kind that drifted in golden through the gauzy curtains, catching flecks of dust mid-air like a sleepy snowfall. A quiet moment, held like breath.

By the small windowsill, Maruki crouched beside a terracotta pot, his hand steady as he tilted the watering can just so. Water dripped onto the dark soil with a soft glug-glug, the smell of earth rising briefly into the air. The tag on the pot read, in his tidy handwriting:

"Evenings only – overwatering will make her grumpy!"

He smiled faintly at the memory of how fussy this particular plant had been during trial-and-error. The leaves were glossy now, proud. It liked 7PM.

On the kitchen table just behind him, a modest bag rested neatly. Beside it, a sleek cylindrical case wrapped with a red ribbon—half practical, half sentimental. Inside: a brand-new spectacle case. Durable. Lined. Custom-fitted for someone whose current one was cracked near the hinge. Maruki had noticed. Quietly. Of course he had.

He didn't announce it. Just left it there.

Morning’s door was still closed. Had been for a while. Faint clicks and muffled button taps filtered out—the kind of sound Maruki had grown used to.

He leaned a little on one hand, twisting back to glance toward the hallway.

"You've been there for a while, haven't you?" he called out lightly, not loud enough to pry, just enough to be heard if Morning was listening. Suppose it's not videogames it's something else.

No answer, but he didn’t expect one right away.

The plant’s leaves shifted gently as the last drops settled in the soil. Maruki ran a careful finger along the rim of the pot, wiping away a stray splash. His gaze drifted to the spectacle case again.

He stood up, stretching with a soft sigh, back cracking in a way that reminded him he wasn’t the age he felt in his head. Then, hands on his hips, he glanced back toward the hallway one more time.

“If you’re hungry later, I picked up that strawberry milkshake you like. The one with the weird mascot. And the spicy chips that pretend they’re not spicy.”

He said it with the casual rhythm of a routine. Like he’d say it again tomorrow, and the next day. Like nothing had to be forced.

And then, he reached for a sticky note from the drawer, scribbled something quickly in his looping handwriting, and gently stuck it to the ribboned case.

“No pressure. Just thought it might be useful. – Doc”

He went back into the kitchen to wash away the watering can in the sink.

Edited 2025-05-02 10:13 (UTC)

It had been, all things considered, a pretty riotous evening! Not too shabby! Ichinose had practically hung off of Morning and Maruki (though the latter wasn't any more sober than she was) and instead of going to the Palace, she followed them inside. Not that either of them would really resist.

Humming off-tune her favorite song, Ichinose had managed not to fall over when kicking off the borrowed shoes at the door and had managed to find her way to the sofa, flopping down into it without a care in the world. Mmm, not bad, she could snooze here...!

"You have sooooo many plants here!"

Threaded | Flat

[ at Maruki's apartment, late at night / cw horror b/c nightmare]

[at maruki's apartment, the next morning, current cr: 1]

Rank 2: back at home, 19:00

11-4, Drunkenly stumbling home from the cherry blossom party