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It was a small house by the sea. Simple. Secluded. Serene.
Tazaki remembered its white walls and the way sunrise graced its grey roof, fresh like it was just yesterday. The seaweed tangled in between the rocks, the seashells hidden under the tickling sand, the veranda where they used to watch the waves swallowing down the day. When he closed his eyes, memories and reality melted into one, digging up the days that had been buried away at the bottom of his heart, pulling it out hard as air was ripped out of his lungs, bringing everything back to life with a sigh that escaped his mouth.
Amari liked to sing when he’s there. Whistling cheerful songs he heard at the bar, humming an old tune he never recalled past four lines, tapping his fingers to the beat only he could hear. Sometimes he’s doing it in a moderate volume, sometimes he tried to compete with the wind and the sea. Tazaki didn’t mind, he let Amari write lyrics over the night sky with the smoke of his cigarette, and name his unfinished songs after the constellations above their heads—or maybe it was the other way around. (Not that it mattered.)
Sometimes, many times, every time—he tasted those melodies on his lips and slept with their warmth hugging him tight. Amari never said sweet nothings, for they’d been heartless monsters spies were accused to be, but he whispered him lullabies as they rested their heads together and hands finding each other’s. Tazaki didn’t exactly know what he had held on to, because feelings were as fragile as the cards he tried to stack to impress Emma; one snap and it’d all fall apart; one flip and he’d have to forget, to become somebody else, to let go of the things that were never his from the start.
Spies left. That’s what they did.
“This is exactly where I found it.” A soft voice coming from behind, and the presence beside him chased away his daydream. Tazaki heard her coming—he was trained to listen to anything—he just chose to ignore it. “Papa’s wheelchair.”
It had been their favorite spot on that beach, back when Tazaki still came often to visit, but he didn’t tell her. “I see.”
Emma had grown up into a lovely lady. Kind and caring, but with a gentle sadness that hung in her eyes, as if she too gave up her sight when her father lost his. Smile rarely found its way to her lips nowadays, but when Tazaki told her she sang as wonderful as her father did, the curve dawning on her lips were identical to Amari’s, although they weren’t at all biologically related. (Not that it also mattered.)
Tazaki had always been good at keeping his thoughts to himself—he’s a spy, it’s what they did. Emma didn’t.
“Do you think it was an accident?” The wailing of seagulls in the distance stole the unsaid plea from her question, Please tell me it was. He knew this would come. One look at it and any person with enough portion of common sense would notice. Even if Amari had accidentally fell, his body would’ve been found somewhere close, stuck in between these rocks. Tazaki scaled the gain and lost in each of his prepared answers. Spies lied.
This time he didn’t. “I don’t know, Emma. I’m sorry.”
She hugged her knees close to her chest and cried silently. Tazaki felt bad, but she was no longer the little girl who’d be amused by card tricks, and he had nothing left up his sleeve. (It did matter, but none of them cared anymore. Sometimes you must take things for what they were.)
Wind caressed their broken hearts; it didn’t make the pain any less, but it blew away his desire to replay back the scenes in his head. He wiped off Emma’s tears with a handkerchief, and he let it sail away when the first lines of high tide licked their shoes. She stayed in his arms, loved and protected like the daughter he never had—they never had—until she calmed down and said thank you.
Blinking away the remaining grief from her eyes, Emma stood up. “It’ll be cold, we should get inside.”
“You go ahead, I’ll stay here a bit longer.” Tazaki smiled. “I’ll listen to him singing for a little more.”
She nodded, understanding. Tazaki was always proud of her. Amari should too, wherever he was now.
It had been a home to them. A little paradise of white walls and grey roof tiles. Old but still beautiful. And soon to be forgotten.
He stayed there until it’s dark, with his back to the house, still as a statue. Faintly, he thought he heard Amari singing, of the old tune he finally remembered whole, of the songs they put onto the stars and the lullabies they traded under the blankets. Tazaki didn’t see but he heard all of it, just like the way Amari did, before he made the sea his new home.
Spies left because that’s just how they were, and this time Tazaki did without looking back.