Watching the snow slowly fall from the sky was cathartic in a way. However, with every snowflake that fell, the heaviness in his heart that he was trying to ignore only seemed to become all the more persistent. It only took about a week and a half before the dark began seeping back into his mind, plaguing his thoughts once again. Sure, he was upset that he didnât know where he was and he felt mildly alone, but there was more to it.Â
There was always more to it.Â
Ever since he arrived here, he felt multiple holes appear in both his mind and heart. Some involved his sister, some involved his friends, and some involved an emptiness that he couldnât explain. Looking down at the photo with a group of people with their faces crossed out, the empty feeling only seemed to grow. There were eleven people in the photo and most of them he could point out, face crossed out or not. Everyone wore the same outfit, or generally the same outfit, so picking them out wasnât hard. There was Momo, Kido, Kano, Seto, Marry, Hiyori, Hibiya, Takane, himself⊠And then two people that⊠he couldnât put names to. All he knew was that looking at them hurt him. His heart constricts from the sudden pain he felt and he quickly put the photo back into his jacket.Â
Who were those last two people and way did his eyes water every time he looked at them? Obviously he knew them if his heart hurt like this, but⊠How could he not remember them? Apparently they were incredibly important to him, but how could they be if he didnât even remember them? The picture was proof enough that they were all friends. That picture was the obvious proof. And yet-Â
No, he had to stop thinking about it. He had to. The bags under his eyes were proof enough that he wasnât sleeping much because this was all he could think about now. That was dangerous, especially because he was in a place that he didnât know. From experience, new things were dangerous. New people were dangerous. Granted, no one has been murdered yet and that was the best thing to have ever happened to him. However, that didnât mean it wouldnât happen.Â
His thoughts drifted back to his sister and a sigh of frustration past his lips, a white cloud of air appearing in the air. How was she doing? Shintaro had promised to protect her and he canât do that here. He canât protect anyone here!Â
This was frustrating. A frown tugs down at the corner of his lips as he stands up, grabbing his steaming cup of coffee next to him. He made his way down the street, umbrella in his other hand so that the snow wouldnât fall on him. Forgetting people that were seemingly important to him, being spirited away to this place without warning, being unable to do anything here, not even having any of his coping methods with him⊠It was infuriating!Â
Before he even realized it, he collides with someone else on the street and heâs quick to tilt the coffee towards himself so the other person didnât get steaming hot coffee over them. While that was all fine and dandy for whoever he ran into, his coffee spilled all over his black shirt and wow it was hot.Â
âOw! Fuck! Hot!â Shintaro hissed and dropped his umbrella to pull the fabric away from his now heated flesh. In the air, steam radiated off the spot where coffee fell on him.Â
When he finally registered that he should apologize to the other person, he looked up and shook his head, âNo that was my faul⊠tâŠâÂ
His words cut short as a different pain registered. This time in his heart. It was like before, only amplified. Shintaro didnât notice the tears that formed in his eyes and it took him a moment to register that this person, the person in his photo, had just spoken to him.Â
âUh⊠No. But, whatâŠâ Shintaro just stared at him for a second before a quick gust of wind reminded him that his hand and shirt were both covered in coffee. âFuck okay, um.âÂ
He had to act fast because he needed to show this person the photo but also make the burning on his skin to stop. So, he glanced around and saw a trashcan not too far by and ran to throw it away and then took his scarf off and wrapped it around his hand, jogging back and taking the photo out of his pocket and showing it to the man. âIs this you?â His voice cracked as he asked the question.Â
So surprised had Haruka been that he didnât even notice the peril the other boy was in at first. However, the loud yelp shook him out of his thoughts if only for a moment, and the taller began flailing his arms helplessly. âAah! Are you okay?!â No matter how you looked at it, getting scalding hot coffee all over you had to hurt, and while Haruka appreciated that he hadnât been the victim to it, he couldnât help but feel sorry towards the other, especially since he had been the direct cause of the accident.
âWhat to do, what to do~...â Haruka whined helplessly. He didnât have any tissues on him to help, and was he really about to pull out one of the drawings of his already-full sketchbook and ruin it with coffee stains? He did severely consider it for a moment. Or maybe the guy should just strip himself of the black shirt. Perfect. No wait, not perfect; it was really cold out, and he might catch a fever if he walked around without clothes on. In the end he came short of a solution before the other let out yet another swear.
Somehow it reminded him of Takane. Not just the way this guy was swearing a lot, but his whole air. Haruka couldnât quite explain it, but that might be the sense of familiarity he was feeling. Phew, that made him feel a lot better. He would honestly have felt very bad for forgetting someone. Even if he had met the guy before and didnât know him very well, other than hospital staff the encounters Haruka had were always very limited, so he made extra sure to remember people. Everyone were incredibly special after all.
It was because this guy resembled Takane that he felt as though he knew him. Nothing more, nothing less. Haruka let out a slightly hesitant, slightly relieved laughter coming to that conclusion, but somehow he didnât feel completely satisfied. And that was when the guy pulled out a photograph.
âHuh? Whatâs this?â
It was full of familiar faces. People he had seen before, some during the school festival back then and later on came to realise were Ayanoâs siblings as his life as Konoha brought him together with them again, and some he had met purely as his alter ego. All were standing together with the person before him and all were smiling except for two people whose faces he couldnât see. One of them Haruka had a feeling was Ayano, but that couldnât be. As far as he knew she was stuck in the Haze just the same as he was, so there was no way she could be in a photograph together with all these people who had only met after his own demise.
This guy pointed it out as Haruka himself. Somehow it felt right, but on the other hand it didnât. Most importantly Haruka didnât even remember taking a picture like this, especially since he had never met most of these people as himself. And although it resembled his figure in the picture, there was something off about it. As though it was him but still wasnât. Not just in the way Konoha was him but still wasnât.
This was weird to say the least.
â... Sorry...â Haruka finally muttered after studying the photograph. He had reached a conclusion but somehow it seemed something was still missing from his memories, that something was terribly wrong and that he couldnât properly place a finger on it. It most likely wasnât what the other was wanting to hear, but Haruka really couldnât do anything but disappoint, could he? Back when he had been alive and even now, he couldnât do anything right.
It was frustrating. So incredibly frustrating. Would he ever step away from being the helpless kid who constantly had to let down others?
âHonestly I know most of the people in that picture,â he admitted finally, pointing a finger to every member of the mekakushi dan and calling their name, pausing when he reached the girl with her face crossed over. â... Ayano...â he called out, voice barely a whisper. Although there was no way it could be true, somehow it felt right. Then his finger went to the guy in the red jacket, lifting from the photograph and pointing to the guy before him. âAnd thatâs you. But I donât know who you are sorry.âÂ
Lastly his finger went back upon the paper surface of the picture, lingering over the frame that was suspected to be his own. Why couldnât he outright deny it when it was so obvious? First of all the hair colour seemed to be a lighter shade than his own pitch black hair, but not the pure white of Konoha. âIâm really sorry... But... I donât think thatâs me.â
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