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idyllcy · 2 years ago

Text

fun to believe, but they always leave

Word count: 11.5k

Warnings: Smut. (not explicitly described but still), teacher/student, immortal/reincarnated mortal

Summary: The sun chases after the moon for eternity.

What's the point of living?

You're not quite sure yourself.

Friedrich Nietzsche would argue that there is no point in living. He claims the question is meaningless since we're in no position to determine whether our lives hold value, and stepping outside of the process of existence to answer is impossible. It's not like we're some omnipotent being watching all of this unfold. Nietzsche had even claimed that god was dead. You assume that may be where you end up one day. Philosophy majors were just as ancient as those who created it were. All your professors resembled stone statues put up in colleges. What was with them and having beards? But even if you pondered the universe for ages, you would never understand it. Love was just as complex yet, so much prettier to study.

As you step into the classroom again, you spot a new face among the same group of students that you studied in that class with. He's pretty. Yet, his hair is so white that you could almost mistake him as a teacher if it weren't for the fact that he had not a single wrinkle on his skin. You wonder if he's a student-teacher here. It wasn't uncommon that they taught classes, yet you're surprised at the male teaching a course on love of all things. He has pretty green eyes. You wonder if he could be aphrodite with how pretty he was. But alas, beauty was subjective.

You sit down at a desk, laptop out. The rest of the class files in, and the male you had been staring at steps to the podium. Resting his books onto the podium, he pulls out a laptop and a stack of papers. You tilt your head in confusion.

"Welcome to CAMSUA 428 - Love Eternally," The student-teacher hums. "I'm the professor for this course, Professor Komaeda. If you're taking this course, you're either a psych major, deliriously in love with someone, or you came to learn how to manipulate someone into loving you. I'm not one to judge," He pauses. "Did any of you read about me on rate your professor?"

"Yes! Your course sounds like a lot of fun!"

"I'm glad to hear that," he smiles. "I'm also a lot of analysis and everything. This class ranges from neuroscience of a person in love to the body habits of a person in love. I cover everything."

"Prof, are you married?"

"No," He shakes his head. "Unfortunately, the soul I am waiting for has not returned."

"But you wear a ring from on your ring finger?"

On Komaeda's ring finger rests a flower ring set in resin. The flowers are a little dried out, but it's still pretty. "Ah, that's from a childhood sweetheart."

"How old are you?!"

"That's a secret," Komaeda winks at them, a finger over his lips. "Wanna guess?"

"Twenty-eight!"

"Thirty!"

"427!" You blurt out. You're not sure why that number came to mind specifically, but it's left your lips before you can even think it through. Your professor looks familiar. You don't know why. He looks like he's barely in his 20s; why the hell would he be 427-

Komaeda stares at you, and he smiles. "All excellent guesses. Though, I wonder why one of you know how old I actually am."

"H-huh?!"

"Just kidding!" Komaeda laughs.

The light in the room shines on him in the center, causing him to stand in a nearly holy glow. He's pretty. You see the way the other students in the class stare at him in awe. Now that you take a closer look at him, the top buttons on his royal green button-up are open, his white turtleneck resting underneath. His sleeves are folded up to his elbow, and a gold watch rests on his left wrist. He stares at the class as he shifts his weight onto one leg; you take note of his cuffed black jeans and the skull chain hanging off the belt loop. He's wearing... are those combat boots? His hair is nicely combed, yet it had a sense of madness to it. Actually, it doesn't look that combed upon second look. The round glasses on his nose have little chains dangling off of the sides, and he smiles at the class. He looks straight out of a movie.

"Say, Y/n-chan, you didn't say that on purpose, did you? Think I'm too old for you?"

You're caught off guard when he calls you by name.

"I know a handful of you by name; please don't feel creeped out," Komaeda chuckles. "Pull out your syllabuses. We're going over that today."

Professor Komaeda resembles the moon almost. The way his voice is breathy despite young, and the way his eyes always look so distant while teaching. His voice resembles those of the sirens. He pulls and lulls you closer and closer to him. You kind of wish this was a lecture class instead of a discussion class. You stop caring when Komaeda flashes a pretty smile at you though. Oh, he's pretty. You wonder how old he was. There had been rumors that this year's professor was completely new instead of the old one. Apparently, last year's professor left after his wife was transferred to another school. But then again, according to the front office, he just took a year off last year. You wonder what kind of professor gets privilege like that.

You don't find it in yourself to care. You're much too focused on the way your professor looks no older than you. You'd fuck him. He doesn't even look like the hot professor in the dilf way; he just looks like a college preppy boy who ends up railing you stupid after the first date. You wonder if that's what he is. The corners of your lips curl into a smile unconsciously, and your professor takes notice. He doesn't comment on it, but turns to continue rambling about the syllabus. You want to kiss him breathless. You wonder how you're having such awful thoughts about your professor of all people, but you can't deny that you're not the only one who wants him in more ways than one.

"During the first quarter, we study the science behind love. Neuroscience is strange, and for the basic gist of it, your brain is royally screwed over when you're in love with someone," He chuckles. "Then, in the second quarter, we dive into the works of the works of Solaria and all the others. According to the artist, each reincarnation of theirs, no matter how far away, always found themself back at the museum their lover built them in their first life. It's kind of funny watching that relative find them after a century or two. Though, those are only rumors. Reincarnation is rare, if not completely a bluff."

"Ah, is it the artist Solaris? The one who has a recurring theme with the sky?"

"Correct!" Komaeda smiles. "Mi-chan, was it? Solaris is one of many souls that reincarnate and continue to pursue art. Have you been to the museum dedicated to them?"

"I have!" Another student calls. "Their art pieces through each life are gorgeous! And that portrait is so jaw-droppingly gorgeous! Professor, you kind of look like the portrait."

"I've been told," Komaeda smiles. "But that's not the point, because we're going to admire another piece of art by them. We're studying the man in the stars, not the man in the sun."

"The stars?"

"This one," Komaeda presents a photo on the board.

It looks like Komaeda. The blue of the night seems to cover him in a thin veil, the paleness of his eyes are so vibrant. The boy looks sick, yet he looked elated. The smile on his face and the finger pointed at the moon. The painting seems to come to life; the excited cheering of the boy rings through your ears. Eyes wide with fascination, you can almost hear his words. "There; there! Doesn't it resemble me? Right? Cuz I'm your moon?"

"Yes." You mumble under your breath. "It does."

Komaeda glances at you, and he chuckles. "But of course, this piece is compared to the sun piece later on. That one's in their museum, so we'll be going over it later on. There's a lot of parallelism in their works. It seems as if everything they draw reflects the stars."

"I heard their muse was a boy they grew up with."

"It was," Komaeda smiles. "You see him in a lot of their works, if not all of them. All of the paintings include him and two others, if not three. The pink haired girl, the brown haired boy, and then the black haired male. The three of them are always trailing behind the white haired boy. Other times, they sit on a cloth, a picnic set with them. The three of them are always smiling, the black haired boy only cracking a smile occasionally. They looked peaceful. Even in the scenery paintings under the stars or sun, there was never once when they weren't smiling."

The students stare in awe. "Solaria grew up without parents as an orphan who painted everything they saw. The paint they used was hand made at first, the majority of the colors were things you could find in nature. Eventually, they would meet their sponsor out in a field under the moon. It's anticlimatic in a way, but that sponsor would eventually grow to become their muse."

"How romantic!"

"Exactly!" Komaeda laughs. "So then the reason this class focuses on Solaria's works so much is precisely because of how they only loved one person in their life. There was no other in their relationship. Of course, other than them, we also cover all the other people. We just so happen to cover Solaria the majority of quarter two."

"Professor are you in love with them?"

"Maybe," Komaeda smiles. "After all, their life was quite the fairytale."

Komaeda is pretty. You don't know if he's caught on, but you haven't been paying attention for ages by now. It's funny. He looks exactly like Solaria's muse, the only thing different was the hair. Well, it's the same shade. You wonder if he's aware of that. Maybe he was addicted to the artist because they had painted someone who looked like him centuries ago. You ponder all the possibilities, but you don't worry about it too much. The content of the syllabus goes in one ear and out the other. You miss the entire syllabus. You don't even know that he left homework today. Oops.

Komaeda stares at the clock, and he smiles. "I'll dismiss you all early today. Go get some rest before your next class."

You blink out of focus, and then stare at the clock.

A handful of students rush out firsthand, and you slip your laptop back into your tote bag.

"Ah, Y/n," Professor Komaeda smiles. "Did you catch anything I said in class today?"

"No," You grin. "But I'll go over the syllabus when I get home. Mi-chan pays more attention than I do."

He clicks his tongue. "I'll just go over it with you right now."

He slips into the seat next to yours, and he smiles at you. "how old are you?"

"Trying to catch a case, professor?" You chuckle. "I'm not telling you."

"Just curious," He smiles. "Did you miss everything?"

"Almost." You grin. "I heard the part about Solaria and neuroscience though."

"The rest goes that we're working outside the majority of the time," Komaeda laughs. "And a handful of the classes are going to be at my place since my family holds all of their works."

"How rich," You mumble. "Alright. Anything else?"

"No," He smiles.

"Thank you, professor!" You grin, throwing your bag over your shoulder.

You stroll out the door, and Komaeda's eyes linger on you. You never change.

The world is an interesting place. Nothing determines the way we live. Many live just to live their life to the fullest. Why do people study? Knowledge is power. But is all that knowledge really power if the only thing you need to know is how to survive? What made man develop into what they are now? Why is mankind this way? Nietzsche said the world would end if mankind didn't stop destroying the planet, yet here we all are. The carbon in the air is worse than ever before, and we have barely a few years before carbon emissions, and the climate is changed permanently. So then why do people live? It's amusing to think of.

Komaeda only teaches one course in the entire university. He's well known amongst certain students; something along the lines of losing a hand in a bomb incident he caused. You're confused as to how a student who was a literal terrorist was teaching a philosophy course, but you suppose there is no sane philosophy student. The previous professor nearly destroyed his school, but then again, he has a cute little gamer girl wife. You wonder what you did wrong for the universe to hate you like that. When would YOU get a man like that? When would you live out the life of your dreams with a man who only loves you?

He's also never on campus.

You set your dinner tray down, and you stare at the Italian stained glass plastered everywhere on the windows. It had a nearly gothic vibe to the dining hall. It's never this empty, but then again, it's late into the evening. Traces of the sun are gone, instead, replaced with the blue glow you see from the moon. The glass would look prettier in the day, though. You sit down next to your roommate, her smiling at you.

"He looks familiar." You mumble.

"Well no shit, he looks like the boy in the portrait." Your roommate shrugs. "It's his relative, no?"

"No," You hum. "Same person."

"Huh?"

You open your laptop, and you show your roommate. "Our professor is either a direct descendant, has reALLY strong genes, or he's the same person. Since the professor lost his parents when young, there's no record of his parents whatsoever. I'm just assuming that he's the same person."

"So a reincarnator?"

"Maybe," You shrug. "But those are rare, so it might just be a coincidence. Wouldn't you fall in love with someone who adored you centuries ago to the point that you're hung up in a museum dedicated to your artist?"

"Perhaps," Your roommate smiles. "Have you read the first chapter on neuroscience yet?"

"Nope!" You grin. "But I know the basics of it."

"Why are you in this class again? You don't even need this to graduate?"

"Something told me that I'll find something important here." You smile. "Well, not that it matters. I just want to understand what creates art and the pieces that it adores."

Your roommate chuckles. "It's a shame, if you recalled your past life, I would have asked if we were friends."

"I have a feeling we were," You hum. "I always include you in my warmup sketches."

"And yet you're not an art major," She hums, a smile on her face. "Why'd you choose psychology?"

You stare at her. "Because science explains everything, if not putting a label on it."

"True," She mumbles. "But even then, with hands like yours, I wouldn't be surprised if you could create life one day."

"That'd be hilarious," You chuckle. "But it's pretty, isn't it? That hands like Solaria's could create such beautiful art. Their muse was gorgeous in their paintings."

"Yeah," Your roommate sighs. "I wish someone would love me like that."

"Oh, please," You grumble. "At least you have someone who loves you."

"You're single by choice."

"I'm really not," You stab your broccoli. "I get no bitches."

"Oh, you do," Your roommate mirrors your move. "Only under the pen name."

"Yeah, but that's not me," You shrug. "Say, if our professor is single, do you think I have a chance?"

You dodge the spoon she throws at you.

"The moon loves their stars. The nerves in your body seem to resemble the stars in some way. A bridge to another, the running and spinning to chase after it desperately. The neurotransmitters being held by the dendrites. The way your skin lights up at the softest of touches. Love is a strange thing." Komaeda hums. "Do any of us know the names of the chemical released when in love?"

"Oxytocin!"

"One more," Komaeda smiles at the student.

"Half," You mumble to your roommate, the two of you taking notes.

"On his nerves?"

"No," You mumble. "Not her. Someone else. I know who that someone is, but they're doing it on purpose."

"Vasopressin!"

"Good job," Komaeda raises his brows, a smile on his face.

"Close enough," You mumble.

"Y/n-chan, Mi-chan, do you two have something you'd like to share with the class?"

Your roommate pauses, and she stares at you.

"Professor, what's on your mind?" You thrust your chin gently.

Your roommate stares at you, eyes wide.

"Nothing, why?" He smiles, eyes closed.

"Catch that?" You mumble, your roommate clicking on the keys. "Lie."

"Are you psychoanlyzing me in class?"

"Reading your microexpressions, but yes," You smile. "Sorry about that, professor."

Komaeda sighs, and he goes back to the lesson.

"First one to figure out what's pissing him off gets free dinner."

"Oh, it is on."

"What part of the brain isn't active while we're in love?"

"Amygdala," You call.

"Correct," He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"What a genuine smile," Your roommate shudders. "Disgusting."

"He's barely any older than we are," You type a note into your doc. "He's irritated because I wasn't participating. Bingo."

"I hate you," She grumbles.

"The amygdala, frontal cortex, parietal cortex, and middle temporal cortex are all at minimum activity when you're in love," Komaeda smiles. "You know that euphoric feeling of being in love and fearing nothing? That's what love feels like. The amygdala is mainly for fear and anger, so the decreased activity in that area, which means you feel safe in their arms. To add on that, your frontal cortex makes decisions, which means love is blind. Literally."

You finish the notes, and you hum, closing your laptop.

Your roommate stares at you, something clicking in the back of her mind.

The milky way revolves around the sun. To people like her, they're just meteors passing by in your life. You stand at the center of everything. Nothing can touch you, you can touch nothing. It hurts. Loving you burns at their body until there's nothing but flames and smoke in their lungs. You're up in the sky to remind people that you exist. You spread warmth at a distance; you burn when close. If the moon froze everyone in their way, then the sun burned everyone who got close. Icarus lost his wings because of you. The boy who got greedy, who fell to his death at a single touch of you. The sun burns people who get close.

She supposes that you're not the only one.

Komaeda resembles the moon. The way his hair is pale without color, the way his skin looks dainty and delicate. He freezes anyone too close. The frostbite is hard to recover from. Komaeda doesn't have close friends. A simple look at him, and people would realize that he's the only one at the back of the room. He's the type to talk to people out of courtesy; yet never approach anyone first. He's cold. Perhaps that's why you were so eager to take up his case. Something to calm the ramming of your heart against your chest, anything to keep you cool-headed. But it's going to kill the both of you if you get too close. It's like mixing fire and water. It will never calm down.

So begins the vicious cycle of the sun chasing the moon.

"Professor," You smile at him. "Were you bothered because I wasn't participating today?"

"Huh?" Komaeda raises his brows. "No? Why so?" he rubs the back of his neck.

"I don't like liars, professor," You purse your lips, pouting at him.

Komaeda blinks, scratching his cheek. "Sorry. You just remind me of someone I study."

"Huh?"

"The newly arising artist? Ah, the one who paints the sunflowers like Van Gogh." Komaeda smiles. "I stayed up late last night, and I was a little annoyed at how their art style resembled Solaria's so much."

"Perhaps Solaria's their inspiration?" You look up, avoiding his eyes.

"Are you not telling me something?"

"Huh?" You stare at him. "No?"

"Mm," Komaeda hums, tapping his chin. "You see... I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm incredibly perceptive, which means I can tell a lie from the truth easily. Now, tell me what you know about what you know."

"No," You stare at him, all signs of lying gone. "I just know that they're an artist who visits the museum often."

"Well, many artists visit the museum often," He hums. "Have you been?"

"No," You shake your head, a smile on your face.

"It's a very nice place. You should visit sometime," Komaeda smiles.

Komaeda is kind to you. His words soothe you, and when you remain after class to talk to him more, there's so much that he breaks down for you. He doesn't ask why you didn't understand the piece and took the course, but he helps you digest it. It's hard to understand what the two of you are. Student and professor? Too foreign. Yet, saying the two of you were friends sounded strange. But then again, it's probably out of character to be sitting in a cafe booth with your professor discussing about Solaria's art.

"You know most of their early life, right?"

"Yeah," Komaeda smiles. "They were a pretty child, but they were poor. Their parents died because of a lack of doctors in the village, and they became a wandering painter. They took up side jobs to pay for the art supplies at first, before their art was found and then sponsored by an old friend. That friend became their muse."

"Their muse was gorgeous," You bite on the straw of your coffee. It hurts; you forgot it was your metal straw. "If someone as pretty as their muse was sponsoring me, I'd draw them for the rest of my life too."

"You draw?"

"A little," You smile. "In my free time."

"That's nice," Komaeda smiles. "Show me sometime?"

"If you'd like," Your eyes trail back to your laptop, and you continue typing. Komaeda has his laptop in front of him, the rays of the setting sun brushing his face. You want to stare. You really do. You force yourself to keep working instead. He isn't a student. Why are you out with him again? Wait.

"Ah, um," You stare at Komaeda. "professor?"

"yes?"

"Why are we at a cafe again?"

"You said you needed help with the assignment."

Oops.

"Right... I did," You blink. "I was not expecting to end up at a coffee shop with you."

"I don't do well in the classroom cold," He smiles. "My apologies. Is this a little too casual for you?"

"No," You shake your head. "It's just... a little strange, perhaps."

"Ah, because you're out with your professor?"

"Well, it's not like you're old or anything," You smile. "So unless they take your class, they probably won't know you're a teacher."

"I hope so," He smiles. "My luck has a tendency to wear out in moments like this sometimes."

"Is that so?" You continue on the assignment. "I heard that Solaria's original muse had a luck cycle as well. If you look closely on a handful of their pieces, you'll find traces of water on the canvas. Probably from rain."

Komaeda stares at you. "You noticed that?"

"I did," You smile. "Because I had a dream or something. Also, because Solaria's muse never married or had children, so the art belonging to someone that's a descendant sounds impossible."

"Is that so?" Komaeda shrugs, pressing his tea to his lips.

"Ah, back on our psychoanalyzing schedule," You laugh, a smile on your face. "How'd your family get your hands on Solaria's art?"

Komaeda stares at you, eyes mirthed. "How do you think?"

You smirk.

Komaeda's excuse for how he got the art was that he bought it from the black market. Though, it is arguable since the museum was started by the muse himself. There had been no records that he had any children, but people talked about how he probably never died. Immortals of their age weren't unheard of. Though, many of them died of heartbreak. You wonder if Komaeda is the muse. Well, it's not like it matters. Even if he was the muse, you find it breathtaking that he still loved them after so long.

His lectures grow boring sometimes. Occasionally he goes on a tangent about how love was filled with a hope that could overcome any despair. He makes a comment or two about how he's undeserving of it, but then he moves on before anyone can point it out. He has something about his confidence. Though, you don't really think too much about it.

Class ends at 4, and you pack your things up slowly. Your roommate ran off first chance for her date. You wonder what it feels like to be loved.

"Ah, Y/n-chan," He smiles. "Did Mi-chan run off?"

"Yeah," You hum. "Did you need something, professor?"

"I was wondering," He smiles. "If you were an art major."

"I am," You're not surprised he caught on so early.

"Could I see?"

You take your laptop back out, and you pull up a website of your art. Komaeda smiles at the art.

"So you are the rising artist?"

"yeah," You scratch your cheek. "Um, Solaria is kind of an inspiration, but I do genuinely share their love for the stars."

Komaeda stares at you, eyes glancing at the moles on your fingers and then at you. He smiles. "Your art is lovely. I'm sure Solaria would've loved it."

"You speak like you know her, professor," You chuckle as he scrolls through the rest of your art. He pauses at the sight of a child that looks like himself. "Is this..."

"Ah," You turn red, your neck burning in embarrassment. "It's going to sound weird but I see him in my dreams occasionally."

"Ah," Komaeda stares at you, and he smiles. "Perhaps a soul connection?"

"Like soulmates?" You close your laptop and slip it back into your bag.

"No," He shakes his head. "like memories from a past life."

"Maybe it was the bibliography that I read..." You brush it off, waving your hand. "Thank you, professor."

"Of course," He nods. "Stay safe."

Fondness. Komaeda was fond of you. You remind him of Solaria. Hell, you are Solaria. Their soul rests in you, even if you're not aware of it. No matter how many times you reincarnated, you were still them. Komaeda feels disgusted. Times and times he fell in love with you, and you had seen him as nothing more than a muse. Even when you were on your deathbed, you were still sketching him. You offered him no words of advice or love. You had always been like that. You had always seen him as a muse. In the first life, you adored him with the love that you would for a best friend. The second, you had adored him with the love that an artist had for a muse. The third, it was the love for a parent. The fourth, it was the love of someone who would never confess or accept. The fifth was the love for the sun and stars and the way he seemed to glow. You had never loved Komaeda with the love that one has for their lover.

He wants to throw up every time he's reminded that you're cursed to never love him.

"Are you cold?" Komaeda raises a brow. "You're shivering."

"It's a bit cold," You smile. "Don't worry about it. It's not an issue."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Komaeda frowns. It feels hot in the room. He can't tell if it's because he's normally cold or if it's actually hot. By the way you're shaking, though, he's sure that it's warmer than he's used to, and colder than you're used to. He wonders if it's the room. He takes off his coat, and he hands it to you. You reject it, a smile still on your face.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," You nod. "That was all I wanted to ask. Thank you, professor."

"The pleasure is all mine," Komaeda beams. "Stay safe out there."

You don't love him.

"Right, professor," You stare at him. "I hope I'm not intruiding, but how much do you make in a year? I heard the school doesn't pay well."

"Oh," Komaeda chuckles. "No worries, you're not intruding on anything. I make around 13,787,696 yen a year. I also yield from money, so it's quite a bit."

"Then... what do you do in your free time?"

Komaeda smiles. "I'm sure you know."

"I'll think of it," You grin. "Thank you for your time!"

"Pleasure was all mine. Email me if you have any other questions." Komaeda stands up from his seat, adjusting his sleeve.

"Of course, professor." You smile. "Have a lovely day."

You don't love him.

The sun chases after the moon for eternity. That's how it's been, and that's how it's supposed to be. Yet, Komaeda chases after you forever. Each time you're in his arms, he suffers. He's stuck in the endless space between the two of you. The sun has so many people adoring it, how could a simple moon be anything to compare with the other nebulas? The moon has her stars, so the sun had turned away; but the sun has his galaxies, so the moon had looked away. Komaeda will spend life after life chasing after you.

The first life, you had painted hundreds upon thousands of portraits of him and his friends. Even as a child, when you first met him as a child, you had sketched him in the sun. Though you gave him a small ring made of flowers, you were a painter. You painted until your fingers grew numb, but you had continued to. Even as you were old and sitting on your deathbed, you were still sketching Komaeda. He was your muse. He was ethereal in your eyes. The way his eyes were pale with fear because of his luck, the way his skin was light as a result of his childhood. The way his hair was pale without color, fading out into a pink that you adored. You had passed with a smile on your face.

The second life, Komaeda spoiled you with whatever marble you desired. You had chipped away at the rock until it came to life. The way Komaeda saw himself as a rock, one with life. You had called him the boy. Just the plain name of 'the boy'. Your skill was recognized everywhere, and you had created life with the rocks Komaeda had given you. His wealth ran endless for you. You would sketch the basics, and then you would bring them to life. The way you created wings for Icarus, patting the pink of roses onto the lips of Aphrodite, you did everything. You sculpted all of Komaeda's friends, all of them perfect copies. Chiaki's pink hair was replicated with granite, you making sure that it was accurate. Your hands traced Komaeda's skin, carving him to perfection. You created life with your fingers, even when the rock had crushed you to your death.

The third, you worked with gems. You had thousands of rocks provided to you by Komaeda. He never knew what form of art you would pick up in the next life. He found you when you were a child this time. In whatever life you lived, your parents never lived long enough to see you grow up. Komaeda had taken you in as your caretaker after finding you on the street, staring longingly at the craftsmen working with gems. You had joked about he never aged, and you had stayed next to him. You created thousands of jewels. You created all of Komaeda's accessory drawers. The green of the emeralds brought out his eyes; the red from the ruby brought out the tips of his hair. You had crafted each band carefully whenever you asked. Even when he requested a set of jewelry your size, you had joked with him. "I hope they let me call them mom." You died from lead poisoning.

The fourth, you had been a tailor. Every yard of fabric under your hands was treated with care. Komaeda had found you at the place he got his suits tailored regularly. You had never changed. With a brief discussion, he had managed to hire you to make suits for him exclusively. Any fabric you wanted to work with, he let you try. The silks from China, the satin from Greece, the cotton from the commoners. You worked with everything. Komaeda had requested little from you. Only a wedding dress your size, and a suit in his. Even as your eyes swirled with hurt while creating the dress, you had never told Komaeda you loved him. Even as you coughed from the smoke of the factories, you never stopped. Three days after the creation of the dress, you lost your life; and Komaeda lost his only chance.

The fifth life, you made people dance with joy. Your fingers would bounce off the keys of the piano, stringing the crowd's heart along. The sun and moon would bow for you, conducting the sky to shine along with the melody. Your music left the taste of honey on peoples' lips. Their mind was hazy with adoration for your pieces. Komaeda found you before you grew famous. He met you in the street under a streetlight, a violin in your hand, placing it into your case. He had recognized you immediately. But even as the chandelier slammed on top of you during your piece, your corpse had been found with a smile on its face.

The boy in your dreams is older today.

"Hey, my sun?"

"Yeah?" Your lips move unconsciously.

"Do you think... I'll ever be healthy enough for another sun portrait?"

"After that sunburn? I think not," You grumble, going back to sketching the boy lying down next to the window. "You're still recovering from that."

"I know... but I wanna-"

"No buts," You feel your lips curl into a pout. "Your parents are rolling in their grave right now."

"My nanny isn't," the boy folds his arms, a frown on his face. "Would you paint me once I recover?"

"I'm sketching you right now, am I not?"

"I know you are," he mumbles. "But I want another portrait."

"Maybe when you recover." You feel yourself in their body. "Say, what's your name again-"

"It's N-"

You wake up in a cold sweat. You stare at your hand and then at the mirror. There aren't any lead stains or blood stains from the dream. You reach for your notebook, and you sketch the same image down. Your roommate snores from her bed, and you paint out the boy's face. He looks exactly like your professor. You're worried, but as the sun rises and you step out of bed, you toss it to the back of your mind. Maybe you would pay Solaria's museum a visit sometime.

Even as you wander through the streets of the university, there's always something holding the back of your mind hostage. It's like the tale about the moles. You pray that it's true. The moles on your fingers and skin make you happy. One is on your ring finger, and another is on your wrist. You feel loved every time you see it. It's like your lover had adored you to pieces. It was a funny concept to think about. There was love about everything. You wonder if reincarnation was one. You would worry about that later.

Komaeda spends his days in his galleries and staring at the portraits. He lingers in front of a picture of a male in the sunflower field. He bears a striking resemblance to him. The piece is gorgeous. Komaeda misses the person who painted it. It had been centuries since he last saw them. He wonders how much longer their reincarnation would take to visit the museum. Well, it wasn't like he needed to wait. He knew where they were.

You bump into Komaeda on accident in the museum. You're in awe at the portrait of the same male who seemed to have taught your class. He looks breathtaking. The way the sun kisses his skin and the flowers hug him. The red on his cheeks from smiling is ethereal. He looks alive with his rosy cheeks and pretty lips. You know the art is from ages ago, yet he just looks so happy. The way he basked in the sun's light made you happy. You don't know why. The green jacket and white shirt make you nostalgic, an overwhelming amount of bitterness drowning you. You don't know what happened to him. You don't know why this piece makes you so sad.

"Y/n-chan?"

You turn to stare at your professor, eyes wide, lost in thought over a feeling you didn't know.

"Are you crying? What happened?"

You don't know what to tell him. That you were suddenly overwhelmed with an emotion you didn't know? That you had no clue why you felt like crying? That the feeling of seeing someone for the first time in eternity burned the back of your head? That you felt like the artist was in utter bliss while painting the piece? The fact that you could feel the artist laughing melodiously as they painted? The fact that you were overcome with the suffocating urge to touch the painting? How would you even begin to explain it? It doesn't matter. You stare at your professor, tears dribbling down your cheeks. You're crying. Eyes wide with confusion, you're crying.

Komaeda panics, and before his mind can reprimand him for cupping your cheeks and wiping your tears, the thought is gone. You're crying. Fuck. You're crying in front of him. Are you crying because of him? Did he bring you that much discomfort? Oh, maybe he should go. But it isn't rude to leave someone you know crying by themselves? Komaeda feels bad. He stays with you, wiping your tears gently. His hands are a little rough, but they give you comfort. You're happy with it.

"I'm sorry," The words spill out of Komaeda's lips unconsciously. "Are you crying because of me?"

"No," You mumble, reaching to wipe your tears yourself. Komaeda offers you a handkerchief, and you mumble a gentle thank you. "I'm crying because the painting makes me feel some way. I'm just overcome with such nostalgia over the portrait. It hurts my chest."

Komaeda knows why it hurts. Hell, he remembers it. That is him. He even remembers the words their soul told him while painting it. The sun made him sweat a mess, but they went home with a rough sketch, and an even prettier portrait. They had shown it to him with such a big smile on their face. Komaeda had sworn nothing had ever shone so brightly. His parents scolded him for being out under the moon so long despite being a sickly child, but he had adored the portrait so much. He had it hung in his room. Even as they grew older and older, the life that they brought out in their art was still so alive. They had painted thousands of paintings in your past, every single one given to Komaeda after they finished. Komaeda has their paintings decorated in a room at his mansion for the day he meets their soul again.

The portrait under the sun was their best piece. The way Komaeda's eyes crinkled with joy, his cheeks red from the heat and embarrassment. Komaeda looked euphoric, the way his smile stretched from one side to the other, the absolute joy in his life. Oh, he adored it so much so. The sun had left him with a sunburn that they treated when they returned to the mansion. His sun had scolded him to tell them earlier, but the look on Solaria's face when they had finished the portrait was just so pretty. It was dazzling. He wouldn't have been able to tell them even if it killed him.

Komaeda has the best ones hung up in the museum he sponsors. Each one is signed under the same pseudonym, and though some people find art boring, the pieces bring light to their eyes. He loved them. He adored the childhood friend who sat him down for hours at a time and painted him times and times again. They were the sun in his life that brought him warmth. They helped him heal during the times that he needed to heal. Even as they had lay in bed, a pencil in their hand in the first life, they had never stopped drawing him. Their unfinished piece was Komaeda hunched over in pain before they passed. Komaeda can't stand to look at that piece.

"I'm sorry," You wipe your tears. "Professor, what are you doing here?"

"My family owns the museum," He smiles. "Every single piece in here is by the same soul."

"Soul? Solaria?"

Komaeda swallows. "They're a treasure to my- me."

You stare at him, eyes watery. "You're the muse?"

"Yes," Komaeda swallows. "Are you alright? You were crying pretty hard."

"Ah," You stare at him, eyes wide with newfound realization. "No. I just... Solaria's art has that effect on me, I guess."

Komaeda smiles. "Understandable. What brings you here? You could have texted me to give you a tour?"

"I didn't know you owned this place," You mumble. "Does that mean you have no family?"

"It's just me," Komaeda smiles. "I never married."

"So you own this place?"

"Everything I own is for my sun's soul to use," He smiles. "I work hard for when I meet their soul again."

"So..." You stare at him. "Are you a government secret?"

Komaeda laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "No, my darling student, I am not. In fact, the government knows I'm alive, but they don't do anything about me. I haven't done anything weird like the other immortals."

"Others...?"

"All of Solaria's muses were immortal," Komaeda smiles. "You'd be surprised at how many immortals are teaching at this school."

You blink at him.

"Professor Nanami, Hinata, Kamukura..." Komaeda counts on his fingers. "You know? All of them were muses."

You blink at him.

"Ah... do you have the portraits of them?"

Komaeda holds his hand out to you, and you grasp it loosely. He pulls you to the back of the museum and unlocks a room with a card. You let go of his hand, and you stare at the paintings on the wall. It's the other professors. You blink at the portrait of your roommate on the wall and pause.

"That's..."

"She's also an immortal," Komaeda swallows. "I don't know if she-"

"I suspected it," You mumble. "So this is a government secret? Are you all part of the men behind the curtain?"

Komaeda laughs. "No. We just choose to not tell people. It's much safer that way."

"I suppose so," You stare at him. "So, what made you trust me?"

"Solaria's art triggered... something about you. I guess," He smiles.

"Ah, do you have any of their sketches?" You turn to him, and he nods. "Which ones?"

"There was a boy laying under the sun." You mumble. "That I read about." You add. You don't think your professor wants to know that you keep dreaming scenes of Solaria's life.

"Oh, when I got a sunburn?" He pulls a drawer open, and he reaches for the sketchbook. "It hurt that day, and Solaria did not make it any better."

"I thought she was with you the whole day?" You take the sketches from his hand, and you pull out your phone. It's an exact copy of what you drew in the morning. Your face is relaxed, but your mind swirls with emotion. You have their soul. Their soul is yours.

"Are you alright, Y/n-chan? You look sick again."

You shake your head, a smile on your face. "No worries. You just look like you're in immense pain."

"I was," He chuckles, but his eyes are gentle with tenderness. "But they made it better."

"Did they have a name?"

"No," Komaeda shakes his head. "It was always Solaria."

You should probably continue to sign with Solaria on your art pieces.

"Anything else?"

You shake your head. "Thank you, professor."

Komaeda grows closer to you after the event at the museum. The two of you go out for coffee, and while it's taboo for a student and professor to go out for coffee every week to discuss an artist, the two of you stopped caring. Komaeda's way too old to care, and you're too into Solaria's past to give a fuck. You never bothered confronting your roommate about this whole thing, only asking her for advice on your art.

Komaeda spends a lot of time with you. For the most part, he forgets that he's in love with Solaria. You remind him of the soul, yet you're a completely different person in his eyes. He can't bring himself to compare you to Solaria. Yet, as you wave at him as the sun rises from their slumber, Komaeda finds a sense of peace with you. Maybe it was his sign to move on, not that he wanted to.

The students in the class are lively. When midterms end, the class throws a party. You tag along, mainly because your roommate had bet you fifty bucks that the professor wouldn't come. You had raised a row at her, lip quirked into a smirk, and tagged along. It doesn't take much to convince you to party. Though, you were drowsier at night. You wonder how you ended up tipsy at the edge of the second-floor balcony when you told yourself you wouldn't drink. However, the bigger question was why your professor was next to you.

"Hey, professor?" You giggle, cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"You're drunk, Y/n-chan," He mumbles, taking off his blazer, resting it over your shoulders.

"You know," You spin gently, the glass of alcohol still in your hand. "I chased after the sun for eternity and rest while the moon illuminates the field. I am neither the sun, the sky, the stars, nor the moon, but I am an observer. I am the child that stares out the window of their worn-out cabin, dreaming of a love like theirs."

Komaeda watches you slow down, and he takes the glass from your fingers.

"I can only pray for someone to chase me like the sun chases the moon," You turn to glance inside the flat. "The way the moon loved the sun, but finally turned to notice how much the stars adored them. The way that the sun chased the moon but finally glanced ahead to stare at the plenty of nebulas that adored them. I want to be loved the way that the sky loves."

Komaeda stays silent from next to you, and he stares at you in a way that makes you lighthearted.

"Ah," You grin at him. "But who am I to wish for something only the stars have?"

Komaeda smiles. "Aren't you afraid of me taking advantage of you?"

You're drunk at this point.

"I'd jump you before you could do that," You smile at him. "Hm? Professor?"

Komaeda inhales sharply as you drape your arms around his neck. He leans against the railing, trying his best to keep his hands off of you. You look ravishing. The way your outfit hugged your figure in all the right places, and the way your lashes batted innocently up at him. Fuck. You're his student for fuck's sake. He grimaces and clings to the balcony railing instead.

"You're drunk."

"I won't regret this in the morning," Your eyes focus on his throat, and he swallows. "A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, you know?"

Komaeda sighs, and his lips part.

"So?"

"You better not regret this in the morning," Komaeda doesn't resist as you press your lips to his.

Komaeda is a pleaser. He listens to every whine and beg that slips past your lips as he fucks you. He pays attention to when your expressions change, and the way you squirm under his touch. His touch is gentle, yet as he grips your waist to keep you in place, you think they're more firm than gentle. You wonder if he's fucked you like this in one of your past lives. Well, it's not like it matters. He must've taken up at least a lover or two while waiting for Solaria's soul. You don't mind. Your brain is too hazy to think straight anyway.

Komaeda wants to make sure you feel good. The only thing racing through his mind as he presses his lips to your skin is to please you. So he drinks up each sound that your pretty lips make. The purple and red decorate all over your skin in places you can hide. He's sure you don't want to get caught sleeping with your professor of all people, even if he is young. Komaeda drinks you up like you're the nectar of the gods. Like you're the water from the fountain of youth. He could spend eternity under you, worshipping you for your worth. So Komaeda makes sure that you know he loves you. Even if you won't remember it in the morning, he would please you to no end.

Komaeda worships you like the people adore the sun. To you, he's just an insignificant worshipper at your feet, doing his very best to please his god. Oh, you're just so pretty to him. You clench the sheets until they're stained with the remnants of you, your lipstick messy on his collar. He's sure he looks more of a mess than you, but he doesn't care. His wrist is drenched by you, but as he pulls another breathless whine from your lips, he supposes you'll be fine for the night.

"In me," You whine. "I want you in me."

He swallows, unsure.

"Please," Your mascara stains your cheeks, and you jut out your bottom lip for emphasis. "...Nagito?"

Who is Komaeda to turn down your request?

As Komaeda complies with your request, you mumble incoherent thoughts. It's usually mindless praise for how good he was, or a breathy whine about how it was too much. Komaeda doesn't stop until you finish, and even then, you're crying for him to finish inside of you. Ah, inside of you? inside? He can't argue with that if it's what you want. So as your eyelids finally flutter closed, Komaeda pants on top of you. You look so vulnerable under him. Komaeda gets off of you, and he stares at the room in his mansion. He has a brief fantasy before he gets to work to clean you off.

You wake up to the smell of takeout and a shirt draped over your body. It takes you a moment to recall where you are, and then turn an unrecognizable shade of red when you recall this is Komaeda's apartment. The shirt smells like him. Wait. No. Holy fuck, you fucked your professor. You wonder if any of your past lives had done this with him before. Well, it doesn't matter since you did. You get off the bed. You're glad he didn't fuck you brainless.

"Good morning," Komaeda smiles at you.

"I can't believe I fucked my professor," You mumble a quiet thank you before biting into the rice.

"Well, a lot of things are surprising," Komaeda hums. "I canceled class today."

"Because of this?"

"Yeah," He shrugs. "Also because we start studying Solaria's art next week and I need to pull out a couple of portraits to set up the room we have class in."

"Oh, right," You stare at his kitchen. "We have class at your place."

"Mhm," He hums.

"Um... professor?"

"I believe we are well beyond formalities, Y/n-chan," He raises a brow at you in amusement.

"Komaeda."

"Nagito." He leans onto his palm, staring at you. "You had no problem with it last ni-"

"I got it," You flush red again. "What does this make us."

"Up to you," He sips on his tea.

"Up to me?"

"We could've been a hookup," He grimaces for a moment.

"Annnd there you go," Your lips curl up knowingly. "You don't want it to be a hookup."

"But even if it isn't," Komaeda places his mug down. "You can't date your professor."

"You talk as if you hadn't fallen in love with the same soul again and again." You shrug.

"So?" Komaeda reaches for a biscuit. "What do you suppose we are?"

"I wanted to say friends with benefits," You mumble. "But I suppose it'd be professor and student."

"You're not fucking me for a grade, are you?" Komaeda raises a brow in amusement.

"No," You grin. "The grades would be a bonus."

"Too bad I don't do bonuses," He smiles. "It was on the syllabus."

"Another time when not reading has come to bite me in the ass," You sigh blissfully. "So what are we?"

"At this point," Komaeda mumbles, fingers dancing up your forearm. "It's a rhetorical question. We know what we are."

"I suppose so." You mumble, eyes distant.

There's no label for the sun and the moon. Lovers, perhaps? Yet, they aren't together. The sun attends to the people and the moon attends to their stars. They chase after each other on the brief moments of eclipses and rises. The sun kisses the moon good morning when the moon kisses the sun good night. The brief moments when the sun and the moon are both in the sky is what the two of you resemble.

The moon spends his mornings waking up in the sun's arms. Komaeda spends his mornings waking up to food that isn't from a local market down the street. He wakes up to actual food, and gentle kisses on his skin. Komaeda worships you, yet you love him the same. You're the one he wakes up to in the morning, and sometimes he falls asleep in your arms. With you, Komaeda feels loved.

He counts the dots on your skin in the morning, reminding you that it's normal to stress over things. He's old with wisdom, you're young with life. Komaeda wishes that one day you could become immortal. If you did, then he wouldn't need Solaria's soul anymore. Maybe he could introduce you to his coworkers. You'd get along well with Chiaki or Hinata. You seem like you'd fit right in. Komaeda tucks your hair behind your ear as the moon lights up your skin. You're really pretty.

Komaeda feels you press gentle kisses to his face when you wake up, and then leave the room to make breakfast. You like the way the sun hugs his skin. He looks holy under the rays of the sun. Komaeda's eyes meets your half-lidded ones, a peaceful smile on your face. You look mundane; like a cup of tea in the morning with a simple breakfast. Komaeda wants to stay with you forever. He didn't mind if you were staying with him for personal gain or private lessons; You were his.

But he should know nothing ever goes his way.

He's had many meetings with his luck, after all. Each time he had loved you, you had ended up dying because of his luck, two out of the five deaths you had experienced. Komaeda should know better than that by now. He stares at himself in the mirror less nowadays. He doesn't berate himself outwardly, settling for your arms instead as you massage his scalp and work out the knots in his shoulders. Komaeda should really know better by now.

Among the many nights he stays over to study with you at your dorm, he never touches your stuff. He gets curious. Once. He peeks into your bag while you're off to grab the two of you coffee, and he's caught off guard. Carbon copies of Solaria's art. Each one was something you had asked him to see before. Were you an art thief? No. It's impossible. You couldn't have snuck something that big. You didn't even have the keys to the room to begin with. Komaeda racks his mind for an excuse. Something. He finds nothing, so he chooses to flip through the rest of the pages.

"I'm here with the order," You smile.

"Ah, thank you," Komaeda smiles. "Sorry, I wanted to see your sketches."

"Ah," Your face pales. "That sketchbook..."

He stares at you, noticing the way your skin turned white.

"The sketches... are they stolen?"

"Heavens no," You shake your head. "I could never do that to them."

"Then...?"

"Dream log," You swallow slowly. "I log scenes from my dreams."

There's a moment of silence. It's tense. The way that the string could be cut and either of you could bubble over with emotion. You aren't sure what to feel as you stare at your professor. You can see him fight back the realization. It hurts. He doesn't want to admit it. Maybe he does. Maybe he feels hurt that you hadn't told him about it. You stare at Komaeda's eyes, trying to read his emotions. Maybe you would feel better if you knew what was on his mind.

"you're the soul." Komaeda's eyes are wide with hurt, something bubbling in the back of his throat.

You stare at him, eyes swirling with emotion. You wanted to fall in love with him first as an apology for all the pain you had caused him before. You had never loved him with something romantic. It had always been a platonic love that left him longing for more. You felt bad at first. You're sure this isn't just a feeling of pity of guilt anymore. Great, the one time you actually tell him you love him, you accidentally hurt him.

"Did you... actually love me?" Komaeda stares at you.

You swallow, eyes meeting his, voice shaky. "I do. I still do."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

The sun burns anyone it grows too close to.

"It didn't seem like something important to our relationship," You avoid his eyes.

"I thought we trusted each other about everything." Komaeda stares at you, and you stare at him.

"I'm sorry for being a coward," Your voice is cracked as you put down his coffee on the table. You grab your bag, and you're out of the cafe. Komaeda stares at the coffee on the table. His chest hurts.

He isn't sure if it's from the fact that you knew you were Solaria all along or the fact that you had just left him at the coffee shop, but it hurt. He stares at the door to the store, and he sighs. He would apologize later, but he had to sort out his own thoughts first. Even if you weren't the artist or sculptor, your soul had always adored communication. Perhaps you were hurt because of how freely he communicated his feelings to you when he didn't know you were Solaria. But you weren't playing him. Perhaps you had just wanted to make up for the hurt you caused him in your past life.

Komaeda and you go about your ways. He teaches class about Solaria, masking his emotions about the artist. He didn't want to get you in trouble for something that could have been handled differently. You mask your emotions well. Had Komaeda not known what happened, he wouldn't have been able to tell that you were worse than before. He supposes he's the only one to blame for this. Maybe a part of himself had just convinced himself that Solaria could never love him. Maybe that was why he was so surprised at the revelation.

In the first life, you loved him with the love that you had for a best friend. He was the center of everything you did. Even if you had died before you could tell him that you loved him as one would love their partner; you prayed he could tell from the messy sketches and ornate paintings. The second, you had loved him with the love that an artist had for a muse. You wanted to give the stars in the sky to him, even if you couldn't. You prayed that the delicate hearts at the end of your signatures on his statues would tell him. The third, it was the love for a parent that you knew you couldn't love as anything else. He had raised you, and even if you weren't related, it was taboo to fall in love with your caretaker. The fourth, you loved him from behind the millions of cloths of fabrics. You had shown your love through the carefully crafted outfits of his. The fifth, you loved him as the sun loves the moon, quietly, without word. You had always loved Komaeda with the love that one has for their lover, but you had never told him in fear.

The two of you go back to the old cycle. Simple comments and plain questions after class. Neither of you overstep your boundaries, pretending that everything is fine when it's not. Your roommate grows concerned for you, yet you don't overstep your boundaries. The sun is supposed to burn everything that gets too close.

"Ok, dumbass," She forcibly sits you down one evening.

"Look, I-"

"I am not taking excuses right now," She glares. "Spit it out, Solaria."

You stare at her. You don't even have the energy to argue with her anymore.

"What happened between you and moon boy?"

"I told you," You hum. "We got into an argument."

"There has to be more than that. It takes a LOT to piss Komaeda off."

"It was about my identity," You sigh, changing into your sleepwear. "That was all. We're just... taking a break."

The moon freezes everything in its way.

Komaeda's words are only unpoetic when he's caught off guard. Usually, his words have a graceful ambiance around them. His words are lovely to hear; they resemble the siren's songs. His words hurt you that day. He feels awful. The urge to throw up each time he meets your eyes while teaching claws at his throat. When you stop after class to ask questions, he just wants to grab your hands and pray that you would forgive him. Yet, neither of you speak up, because the sun and moon are supposed to be in an endless cycle of chasing after each other.

Finals are around the week, and with each step you take inside of the classroom, you feel yourself grow sicker and sicker. Your stomach churns, but you still pull through the exam. Did he feel as bad as you? Was his heart clenching each time he saw you? You haven't bothered staring him in the eye since the breakup. It's the last final you have. You don't bother staying when you finish, turning in your paper to Komaeda. He stares at you, and the two of you pause for a moment.

"Thank you for this year, professor," You smile to the best of your ability.

"Ah," He flips through your page. "You missed a section."

"Sorry," You mumble. "I can-"

"It's on your mind, isn't it?" Komaeda's voice is quiet so no one else can hear. "If you want, we can grab dinner later."

You stare at him, paper in your hands crinkling.

"If you don't want to, it's fine," He smiles. "I just... want to apologize."

"I'll go," You mumble. "Where?"

"The same place as before," He hums lowly. "Stay safe."

"Of course," You sit back in your seat, pulling out your pen again to finish the final.

Komaeda feels bad. He has the urge to throw up. His stomach churns in disgust, and he stares at himself in the reflection of his laptop. He looks worse than usual. As each student turns in their test, he feels a little more of himself die. You finish your test at the same time as your roommate, and he stares at you walk off. Your roommate stays behind.

"Listen," Your roommate stares at him, eyes hard. "If you hurt Solaria again, you won't hear from any of us ever again."

"I know," Komaeda collects her test. "I know."

"We're rooting for you," She mumbles. "We've been waiting for the two of you to get together for just as long as you've been in love with them. It's their 6th life, please."

"I know," Komaeda doesn't have the confidence to meet her eyes.

Komaeda has no confidence in himself. Even as the two of you sit down to eat, it feels like the fruit is stuck in his throat, the fruit of the tree of knowledge. He wants to talk. Yet, as you stare at him and the two of you eat in silence, it's more suffocating than comforting. He's just glad you haven't gotten up to leave yet.

You stare at Komaeda, and you continue eating. His words are caught in his throat, huh? You don't rush him to talk. You needed to talk to him anyway. Your graduation was in a couple of days; it didn't matter. If he wanted to break things off, he could. You wouldn't blame him. Yet, as the two of you sit under the stars, you find yourself wishing he doesn't break anything off. You don't really want it to end. It'd be like wasting an entire life before you reincarnate again to find him again. You wonder if this life is the time you actually have to leave him.

"You mentioned once... that you had wished someone would chase after you like the sun chased the moon. You don't need someone like that," Komaeda swallows, staring to the side. His voice is quiet, but he still continues speaking. "because to me, you were my sun. Even if you had never turned back to look at me or love me like I did you for eternity. I adored each ray that was pressed onto me as you awoke life in everyone else. I never needed the stars of the sky if it meant you would look at me."

You glance at him.

"Because the world adores you. Because there's nothing worth more than you that could ever be bidded for. You were the sun of each age, turning the page to a new era. You were the Helios of the age, turning each new day and rising up to greet us in the morning," Komaeda laughs pathetically, running his fingers through his hair. "You don't need a story like the sun and the moon; because to you, everyone else is like a galaxy other than the moon. You would only turn to thank the moon as you found someone better, yet the moon wishes they were more to you. When will you learn to adore the moon like it does you?"

You stare at Komaeda, and your voice is quiet as it comes out. "The sun loves the moon, Nagito. Since centuries before, you had been deemed my moon. I was your sun. Does that not prove how much I adore you? Forgive me for being foolish and believing that you did not love me because of the stars. I love you; and I have loved you for eternity past."

His eyes widen at you, and his lips part in surprise. His eyes aren't hurt like before. He stares at you like you're a revelation. Like you're a sudden epiphany in his life. He stares at you with stars in his eyes. Like you had stopped the sun and moon's cycle to give him a longer moment of peace. Komaeda stares at you like he's in love. He stares at you like every single doubt in his life had just been a misunderstanding and that the sun had come out after a rainy day. Oh, you love him too? Was he dreaming? Oh, how could his luck finally fix him?

"As the moon loves the sun?" He stares at you, and you grasp his hand gently, giving it a squeeze.

"As the moon loves the sun."

And for the first time, the cycle stops.

#komaeda x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #dangaronpa x reader #sdr2 x reader #sdra2 x reader #☾.nsfw #☾.fics

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