Author's Note: Now, you're standing at the entrance of your cave...

NIGHT DRIVING ARMOR

Chapter I: Hello, Friend

Hello, friend.

Time has flown by, hasn't it?

...

Forgive me, I'm being rather presumptuous. I guess we've never established what this… bond between us really is. It's just always been there, something I've taken for granted. And yet, we haven't had a proper conversation before, therefore calling us friends is premature.

Damn it. This is more awkward than I intended. I've forgotten how I used to talk to you, you know. From what I remember, you're the quiet type, right?

Tell you what. Let's start over, I'll do the talking for now. After all we've been through together, I owe it to you to be candid.

In the near future, you'll find that I've put myself in a position of moral compromise. But I need you to stay with me, because I've made a mistake.

…

Why does it have to be you?

I suppose first I should define what I mean by that word.

I mean you.

Does the date January 11th mean anything to you? I believe that was when we first met.

You watched as Hiratsuka-sensei pulverized my teen self when I turned in that essay brilliantly exposing the evils of youth. Since then, you've always been there, privy to my innermost secrets and thoughts.

We've got that comfortable silence thing going on, and you care about my well-being in some way, I think.

You.

The silent observer, the impartial judge.

The homunculus in my head.

This time around, I need you to be something more.

This time, I need you to be my friend.

People have always been telling me to open up to someone. It's far, far too late, but I'm going to try and take their advice to heart. And I'll admit that this isn't something that comes naturally to me. Things will be rocky at first, and I have some problems I'm struggling with, but I promise to give my most sincere effort.

But you can't be the neutral onlooker anymore. I have no use for a yes-man -

Hold on. I want you to say yes to one thing first.

If everything goes to plan, I will lose everything and you will be all I have left. I don't think I can afford to lose you too.

What's that? You need to hear me say it?

...

Well, I'm not going to let your strong-arm tactics win just like that.

But you know what I said about the near future?

We're going to have to resolve this later.

She's here.

HER APARTMENT

11:39 PM, October 26, 2018

It started when I began taking melatonin. The simplest of over-the-counter sleeping aids, first in three milligrams, then five, ten, twenty-five.

Then valerian root.

(Three capsules one hour before bedtime.)

Benadryl.

(I liked it since I could use the excuse of allergies. Of course, it isn't allergy season but strangers like my coworkers or people on the street don't push, content to let little white lies stand.)

Trazodone.

(I used a pill-cutter at first, to minimize the dosage.)

Zaleplon. Then I moved on to zolpidem and zopiclone, just on the basis that they all started with the same letter and I figured one of them would be effective.

(None of them were.)

At some point, I found a way to get my hands on things you can't get a prescription for. More on that later.

But the point is, I was disciplined. My head was filled with the rattling of tablets and pills as I moved from home to the office. I've been avoiding direct eye contact because you could see the medicine bottles with the caps that can be spun infinitely without popping off gleaming in my eyes. When I ran them dry, I took care to throw them away in public disposal places with discretion, as is my custom.

It's dangerous. A pill too many in too short a span, maybe you get careless and drink it down with a dash of Taketsuru 17 - and before you know it, EMTs in oxygen masks will be resuscitating your still heart before sticking you in a room with a hospital evaluator and a bill so exorbitant it laughs at your cheap, gutted, employer-provided insurance policy.

There's a stigma attached to what I've become, in Japanese culture. We're supposed to be in control over every aspect of our our lives, and those who aren't are judged harshly.

One thing leading to another. An antihistimine haze, an active ingredient trance. The tumble down the slippery slope.

And I've been getting sloppier. I've gotten impatient and thrown the empty bottles away at home too. I don't think she suspects or cares though, so we're good.

I haven't slept in weeks. I'm not talking about the transient, false kind of sleep that comes and goes so swiftly you question if you were ever asleep at all. I mean real sleep, the kind with cycles, that drowns you in sweet ethereal dreams. I'm getting desperate. I still shave and keep up appearances, and my eyes are always like this anyway so no one notices. Rotten, everyone has called them from as long as I remember. Everyone from strangers, to my More-than-Acquaintances, and my own family.

Sometimes I leave our bed, and walk out onto the balcony to watch the metropolitan Chiba night skyline, still vibrant with ambient energy. It has a calming effect on my psyche.

Calmed me down so that I could ponder why. The question I've been unable to answer.

I hear the sliding noise of the lock as the key is turned. Not long now.

Here's my theory. I know she already has her foot out of the door, but she wants to make sure she has her next relationship ready for her to smoothly transition to. The old me would've seen this sooner, recognized this crumbling edifice that used to be our relationship.

But I can't keep up the pretense indefinitely. She may take another week until she ends it, but it could be months. I'll end up tiring myself out trying to wait for her to end it on her terms. So I have to do end it on mine.

I've made peace with it. I've already put in my two weeks' notice at my editor's job.

It's halfway through the last month of the six-month lease of our shared apartment, so this is the most convenient time I could have chosen for her sake... I suppose she's already made the preparations, but if not, this will give her the push to go through with it. But this way I get to feel a little better about helping her. Let it not be said that I cannot read the writing on the wall.

So. We've established that the timing is ideal. That's progress.

The method itself has already been determined.

She storms in. I'm standing there, doing nothing in particular. Waiting for her.

Her lip trembles.

"Senpai."

She knows what she's doing. She's intentionally twisting the knife by marrying a term of endearment with deepest hate.

"Iroha."

"How long?" she hisses.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," I follow the script by playing dumb. Giving her the satisfaction of catching me in a lie.

I've already predicted this. The temptation to indulge in anger and righteousness is too strong, she doesn't notice that she's on rails. This conversation is my doing. Every dialogue branch leading her to the same destination.

She raises her arm. In her hand is her phone, held horizontally.

"How long have been fucking her?"

On the screen is someone that appears to be me. Next to that figure is a brunette holding his hand. Her face isn't totally clear but you can see her smile and her dark brown, perpetually tousled-looking hair. The pair are about to enter a place that is very, very incriminating.

"That's not me," I deny.

Except it is. And the girl next to me is Kaori Orimoto.

I'll spare you the details of what comes next. The how-long-have-you-been-doing-this's and I-bet-she-laughed-when-she-saw-you-naked's. I just wonder if she thought I was ever capable of hurting her pride like this. I wonder if we ever really understood each other.

I guess some context is necessary. She's the one who caused this ungodly insomnia I've been struggling with. One day, my manager dismissed the staff an hour early and I swung by the headquarters of her company to greet her, and saw her with him, doing something I don't want to describe.

"I can't believe how delusional you are. A house husband?! Even if you worked every hour of every day, who would be stupid enough to marry a useless idiot like you?"

She's not crying at all, there is only pure contempt. This confirms that she doesn't love me anymore.

Had I confronted her over her unfaithfulness, the outcome would've been the same. You know how it goes. She didn't cheat, no, it was I who drove her into the arms of a more handsome, wealthier paramour because of whatever. That's how caught girlfriends worm their way out of it. They reframe things so that it's not their fault. That's why there's no point in asking her why she's out so late.

I've had tunnel vision for a while now. Trying to secure a future for us, the family we might've had. I started working a steady 9 to 5, in solidarity with all the other countless workerbees in this country.

To work is to lose.

I've lost. I've become like all the rest of them for you, Iroha.

Ah, I wish things could've ended differently. Why didn't you just talk to me? I'm not perfect, but when have I ever been offended by your criticisms or been defensive with you?

"Ow!"

I cried out involuntarily as she hurled a vase at me. It rocks my head to the side with the force of the throw and I almost lose my balance. Weird, surely my reactions aren't that slow?

I think it's time to go. I don't want to get hurt anymore.

I move, eyes downcast. I've already shipped my things to my new abode in anticipation of this moment. Will she find this suspicious? I don't think it'll matter. I'm a non-person to her now.

She's beyond furious now, but in time she'll be relieved that I gave her a way out.

I pass by the coffee table in the living room, stooping low to smoothly take hold of the notebook lying on its surface. This will be important soon. Unlike everything else I own, I absolutely need this with me and not with the delivery company like the rest of my belongings. Curses and the shattering of trinkets that we've collected together, our photos, gifts, and of the life we were living together follow in my wake as I leave.

Farewell, Iroha.

I thought we found something genuine together, for a little while at least.

STREETS OF CHIBA

11:55 PM, October 26, 2018

You're just as cynical as I am, aren't you?

Relax, calm down.

I never laid a hand on Orimoto, for your information.

Another almost-relationship I had to end. I don't know how I managed to get her to come with me. She wasn't drunk or bribed so I guess she thought she was playing a joke on me. She came with me in full view of two of Iroha's friends, the goody-two-shoes actually thought they were being stealthy as they tailed me. Hah. Who do you think wrote the book on stealth? Why did I set our meeting point right outside your office building at the end of the workday? Tch. Novices. More likely, they're just flat-out morons.

We watched a romcom movie, then had drinks. Then I left. She'll wake up alone and fully-clothed, except for her coat which I had draped over her sleeping body. She'll have a monstrous hangover, but she'll be fine.

Why her? There's a delicate balance that must be struck. Pick a girl too distant from me and it won't make sense why I'd go for her. Pick one too close to Iroha and it'll hurt Iroha in excess of the emotional power of having the moral high ground I've given her. That's why it had to be Orimoto.

I don't want to hurt Iroha - I want her to be free. Of me. Of any guilt she may have felt, if any.

But I could never lay a hand on Orimoto in such a vile manner, or destroy a bond that Iroha holds dear.

Did you think I was capable of something like that?

Who do you think I am?

You know, we're not off to a great start, you and I -

Wait. I don't mean that. I don't mean that. Let's just try and move on.

...

It's not too surprising though, is it? The role of villain fits me like a glove, even after all these years, huh.

...

Why do this?

I already told you why. Back in the apartment, remember?

...

There's something I'm not telling you? Jeeze, you're more perceptive than I bargained for.

Heh. You wouldn't understand...

...

No, I guess you of all people would understand. Alright, why not.

When she looks at me, she sees someone she hates.

But when I look at her, I still see my kouhai.

The girl telling me I was the only one she could show herself too. The girl I tried to cheer up on the train after the Destinyland rejection by Hayama Hayato, who told me she wanted something genuine too. I can't make her lie to me any longer.

Does that answer your question?

...

I appreciate the moral support back there. But this is where I need you. I'm not sure if I can do this alone. We have to stick this part, so you can't let me back out.

There will be consequences for my actions. I may not have cheated on Iroha, but I hurt her reputation and she'll lash out. I'll be toxic on social media where I have no presence and no means of defending myself. That'll be her revenge.

My hand slides into my pocket and I extract my phone, my fingers automatically swiping the lock screen aside as it flickers to life.

No missed calls.

No new messages.

I think a small part of me wanted to see something. Just a text from someone, anyone, asking how my day went would've made me happy.

It's a reasonable assumption, what you're thinking. But I won't be making a call.

I take a deep breath, and instead power it down and remove the back cover. I pry out the lithium ion battery, so that I can in turn remove the SIM card. I let it rest in the palm of my hand.

This delicate thing contains more of my life than I want to admit.

The last person I spoke to over the phone was Komachi, two days ago. Dear Komachi. She was so happy that I had a real, bonafide girlfriend, who I liked, who liked me. She teases me about her every time we chat. What a good sister. So busy but makes time to check on her big brother. But that's all over. A social butterfly like her, there will be no way she won't find out what happened from Iroha. In a year, maybe two years, she will get over her anger and disgust, and maybe then we can go back to being on good terms.

Hmm?

… Yeah, she'll be beginning her fourth year at Tokyo University and is naturally one of the top students of her class. I'd just be distracting her at a critical juncture in her life if if I tried to go to her now. Good point, it didn't even occur to me until you brought it up... Wow, some Onii-chan I am, huh? She needs to be focused on her studies, so that she can carry the hope of the Hikkigaya family into the future. That's how she'll earn the maximum Komachi points, right...

Yui and Yukino.

I should have told them how I really felt. Instead, I hurt them both. We've barely been on speaking terms since we went our separate ways. Out of some nameless hope, I kept their numbers all these years since we've graduated. I wonder if they kept mine.

...

Enough stalling?

Yes, I suppose you're right.

... Why is this so hard?

...

I slowly turn my hand over, and the SIM card falls down onto the road.

It seems like an eternity passes before I hear the faint clatter of its landing. That sound, barely discernible amid the strains of distant traffic and the wind, makes my legs feel leaden, and I slow down.

I don't expect anyone to call me, not after what I've done. From that perspective, I agree that this is a redundant action. But this is not about them.

This is for me.

I can't find myself in a moment of weakness crying out for help. I will never subject myself to that humiliation. I refuse. I will always refuse.

That's why I did it, this row-by-row deletion operation.

My contact list. Names of people who meant something to me. Sibling squabbles and orders via text from Komachi with my grumbled replies. The first texts I ever exchanged with Yui and Yukino. To me, this SIM card is a small history of our time together as the Service Club. If my memories should ever fail me, then this card is what I hoped would preserve them.

Why is this so hard? The streets are empty. No driver is going to run over it and crush it, not if I turn around and go back for it. Rain won't fall tonight and wash my past into the gutter forevermore. Nothing is stopping me from heading back and retrieving it. My every instinct is screaming for me to do exactly that.

I don't.

Instead, I pick up the pace. In a few minutes, I'm a block away, then two, then three, then four. And just like that, I've become a ghost. No address. No paper trail. No phone number.

This is the strength of Hachiman Hikigaya.

No. That's not entirely accurate.

Truth is, you are my strength.

I mean it.

I couldn't have gone through with this without you. As long as I have you to watch my back, I'll be fine. Moreover - hmm?

I don't have to say any more?

...

I appreciate that. I do.

But I've learned from my past mistakes.

I want our communication to be open and clear. I mean it, we don't have to hide anything from each other. So I'll say it. You're different from the rest of them. The ones who never acknowledged my efforts. The people who only played games and kept me at arm's length, hiding what they truly thought of me.

That's why I want to make a request.

Will you...

Will you be my armor?

Opening theme: Eddie Averell: Vang

Ending theme: To be decided

Ship: Hachiman x Y

Hi everyone, as you can see this is my first fic. Oregairu is one of the first anime I've watched, and I'm a bit surprised by how big a fan I am of the series. I hope the first chapter interests you enough to read on. I won't reveal too much, but Hachiman's path will lead him back to the people from his past.

But enough about me. Right now, this is about you and Hachiman. Will you be there for him? I think he needs us to watch his back.