this was supposed to be a normal shrine visit, but i decided to check the japanese luck calendar for this year... (for reference, noe's birthday is 3rd march and hinari's birthday is 3rd september!)
this is a story that they both remember clearly; from the eyes of the playmate.
(CW: implications of depression and suicidal ideation)
on the morning of 10th november, maihara konoe woke up to an open window, a shallow breeze, and the letter.
the letter, folded in the shape of a paper crane. ten words, written in the hurried yet sincere print she could see in every corner of their shared bedroom. a room that could be only hers one day, or only her brother's one day, but in that present— still shared.
"i will be back tonight. please do not follow me."
she didn't know what these words meant. even today, outside the boundaries of a completed story, she still doesn't know. that's what she likes to tell others.
that's what she wants to believe. not that it matters yet.
she read those ten words once, before folding the letter back into the way it was. her brother had always liked folding paper cranes. she wasn't as good as he was, but she liked that he liked it. so she retraced the steps and turned the letter into a crane again.
she didn't want to tell their parents. it was a sunday, so their parents were sleeping in. they wouldn't wake up for... another hour or two. it was too early to go back to sleep, though, and even if it wasn't, she thought she wouldn't be able to anyways. so she just grabbed a few crackers and a glass of water.
cheese rice crackers. her favorite. she made sure to lap up every bit of cheese dust in the wrappers.
the window was still open. she sat under a shallow breeze, clinging onto rich flavors and loud textures. she looked up to the morning sky, the clouds that rolled by, and reached out for pencil and paper.
one, two, three. the third cloud reminded her of a fox, laughing and running freely. her favorite. four, five, six.
blue skies washed away to a brighter, harsher afternoon. by then, she changed out of her pajamas, and her parents had woken up. she came down for lunch — tofu that wasn't seasoned properly — and all three of them say "let's eat".
they didn't ask her where her brother was.
she didn't know if it was a good thing or not.
this was what her brother would've wanted, though.
she went back upstairs. the noe outside this story remembers, still, all the games she played. her favorite, amongst them. all the things she did in those games. all the strategies she'd planned, slower and clunkier without her brother to bounce ideas off. how many times she walked downstairs, waited just outside the living room, until their parents asked her if something was wrong. if she needed something. how many minutes she paced circles around their room.
her brother asked for her not to follow. and she trusts him— forever, until the end. past, present, and future. she had always trusted him, so she didn't follow him.
and yet.
and yet?
they had always dealt with everything together. she didn't understand why not, this time.
she had trusted him to tell her why.
he just needed to come back. tonight, he'd said. and her brother always kept his word.
so she kept waiting.
the clouds rolled by. she lost count at a hundred and fifty-six. the sunset bled into the empty afternoon canvas. she waited, and waited, and waited. she filled out a lot of papers. clouds, creatures, her brother and her. a ghost and a monster. she charged her game console. she paced some more circles. she remembered to breathe, under the shallow breeze.
the dusk sank into the inky night. it had been getting more difficult to see the stars every year. maybe it was because it had been more difficult to dream of better things, too.
but that wasn't important. that didn't matter.
it was night now. her brother would be back soon. soon. he'd tell her everything, and they could deal with it together then. they could go back to their usual days.
the usual days that had been making her brother more miserable. the usual days where her brother forgot what it was like to stay happy. the usual days where she felt nothing outside their room.
but still, even still.
their usual days. the days that couldn't change. the days that she never ever wanted to change.
the days that he wanted to disappear from.
on the night of 10th november, noe leaned out of the open window. a shallow breeze tousled her hair, uncovered. she had been holding her hat instead of wearing it. she looked down, and saw a shadow walk back home.
it looked like her brother.
he climbed back through the open window, and she let him in. he took off his shoes, set his bag on their desk, and sat on their floor. her brother would always, always clean up first when coming back, and her brother almost never did things differently than usual.
she asked him what was the matter.
she remembers telling him he could tell her anything.
and through glassy eyes and a heavy voice — through a visage she had never seen before — he spoke.
"i promise i won't leave again."
a tired breath.
"so please don't leave me either."
he held out his pinky. so she held hers out, too, and wrapped their pinkies together.
forever, until the end, or a thousand needles would hollow them inside out. more than they already are.
this is a story that they both remember clearly. even if her brother won't tell her anything, about the day he disappeared.
