Plucked from the Heat Haze, trapped in this place, the last thing Ayano expected to see was familiar faces. In fact, she felt her heart would only be confused at the sight of them. Knowing she’d give them up, only for an undeserved chance to be with them again… Her head swelled with a mixture of feelings– regret, sorrow, yearning, hope– it ached. She wished it would stop.
Amidst a crowd of people is a flicker of a memory, a flash of someone she’d never expected to see. Her mind froze, and yet her body moved, weaving through the waves to see him. The last time she had seen her father wasn’t a happy time, the snake of clearing eyes gripping his life in it’s hands and threatening the deaths of more she cared for. Could that still be the case, or… Perhaps this was an afterlife for the people like her?
It’s not like she’d know what this place is, or what had happened in his world. But she had to find out. She had to make sure.
“Dad!” She called his name, a word her voice hadn’t spoken in so long. Hand weakly grasped on the sleeve of his shirt, she spoke up again. “…Is it… really you, Dad?” Even so, she was prepared to let go. To run, should the snake speak back, but… Part of her lingered in hope. Hope that it was him.
ONLY A FEW DAYS IN THIS CITY, & IT HAD LEFT HIM WITH MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS ; could any less been expected from a man of science? he had wracked his brain countless times over in search of an answer -- how had he ended up here? why had he been here? what sort of place was this? it was far beyond that of mekaku city in itself ; every inch of it had been so drastically different, & scientifically, he couldn’t figure out a way to explain it. pocket dimensions, wormholes, perhaps, but those were only concepts that were entertained as theories, nothing that man itself had explored, science-fiction. that had been all.
( & yet, he had been presented evidence of something beyond this world before ; that haze-like area he had come into contact with during his death & been face-to-face with a being that surely wasn’t human. the snake inside of him that had assured he would be able to see his wife again as he had wished -- he was rather quiet now, wasn’t he? what was the meaning of that? usually he had something to say in the back of kenjirou’s mind, a hissing whisper of influence & intelligence over him, puppet strings pulled that kenjirou wasn’t aware of-- )
but allowing oneself to get lost within the daze-like state of their own thoughts was always haphazard. he had been shifting through the crowd of people much like a drone, & only a familiar voice could break the chains his own mind held over him. he freezes at the sound of it, staring straight ahead as he resists the temptation to follow it with his eyes, as much as he wants to do so, nor does he dare to crane his neck in a sudden burst of energy & scout for the source.
( after all, he’s sure it was a misunderstanding. maybe he was just imaging it to be ayano’s voice -- ayano was, after all, dead. it wouldn’t have been the first time his mind -- or maybe it was his heart, ever-aching for their presence in his life again -- playing tricks on him & making it seem like he had heard either her or her mother’s voices. ... surely he was just exhausted & thinking things. surely he was just too hopeful. there’s no logical reason for--- )
the grip on his lab coat’s sleeve forces his eyes downward, & once they fall upon her, they can’t tear themselves away. it had been her -- his very own daughter, alive, breathing, no longer a mangled corpse in a coffin & instead, staring at him with the same shock that had been in his own eyes. she was the exact picture of herself that he had last remembered her being ; & a father could never forget his own child’s face, not when he can so clearly recall the very moment he first held her in his arms & those same eyes had been cast upon him now.
the word comes out crackled, trembling in his throat, as if they’re hard to spit-out. it’s a cocktail of emotions -- disbelief, shock, & yet on the flip side there had been joy, an emotional twang, his heart twisting & his eyes would surely burn with tears if they could. there were a million things to say here -- so many hundreds of things he wanted to say -- they flash & flicker through his mind as his hands tremble & raise to grip at her shoulders, as if he’s grounding himself to reality. yet at the same time, there’s fear in his hold, a certain gentleness -- as if he’s afraid if he touches her with too much hope, too much confirmation in his heart that she had been alive, she would fade from his grasp like some sort of hallucination.
( yes, it’s me. is it you? no, of course it’s you. it has to be you. but why are you here? what happened? why did you--? i’ve missed you. things haven’t been the same without you or your mother here, or the rest of the kids-- )
he wants to joke. he wants to brush it off with his boisterous laugh & a fatherly smile, & do something whacky like pushing up his glasses as anime characters would & say, ‘aha, of course it’s me! nothing could keep down the bespectacled man of mystery, & especially from keeping his little girl safe!’ to lighten the mood, to make her laugh & make her smile again, but instead, his voice crumbles:
crowds be damned, & so be damned how outwardly affectionate he could be -- what sort of father would he be if he didn’t pull his own pride & joy into his arms for a hug? a whisper follows suit, nearly lost in the crowd -- a reaffirmation of, ‘you’re alive’, much more clearer, yet shaken, as if he’s speaking it for himself to fully understand & accept.
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