open starter for p3 muses
fate, playfully mocking him as always, has him arrive at the station just shy of midnight. weaving past the other late-night commuters, becoming a trick of the light to any that spot him, he almost expects to end up in the company of coffins, bare feet stained red.
but there is no bittersweet reunion with the hidden hour. the night remains clear, cold in its transition from winter into spring. on march 5th 2020 at 12:01am, the ghost of minato arisato steps into the streets of his home for the first time in a decade. there is no lingering to be done, lest he be spotted by the late-night loiterers. he has a lot of walking to do.
the ghost wastes no time on cataloging the numerous changes he spots, a decade is a decade && much has happened. dwelling upon them only serves to widen the gap between himself &&-
he shuts down that train of thought, no use in getting upset over something he’s supposedly long since accepted. if you tell yourself something enough times, it should become true.
his alma mater stands tall, the nostalgia of it undercut by how unfamiliar the years has made it. the gates are no obstacle, nor is the similarly locked entrance. minato glides through its halls with ease, the darkness a welcomed blanket hiding the changes. muscle memory (can he even use that term when he has none??) guides him to the roof, another door he walks through without any effort.
even without street lights, the moon is a few days shy of being full && illuminates enough. if he brings his sense of smell to the forefront, the scent of the cherry blossoms that litter the ground hit him with aching familiarity.
the sound of bare feet join the humming of wind turbines as he moves to lie down at his the bench.
the world has continued on without him, a memory of a boy who can never live up to the one that lives inside the hearts of those that knew him. the sun will rise, the earth will continue to rotate on its tilted axis, && minato arisato will be dead but not quite dead enough.
&& so he lies there, tries to sort through his feelings, but he finds he cannot. he doesn’t even know why he’s here- no, that’s a lie. he knows if he hadn’t used this particular anniversary as an excuse to return he would have remained a traveler to anywhere but here.
cowardly, now there’s something that the minato that’s remembered never was.
the beginning of an existential dive into his emotions is cut short before it even really starts, the sound of the roof door opening nipping them in the bud.
he can’t stop the quiet words from spilling from his mouth, cloudy eyes still glued to the night sky
“ the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?? ”
