Archive of Our Own

Summer heat pressed heavy and humid against his sweaty skin. Tart lemonade lingered on his tongue, the sticky-sweet sugar residue not quite dry where it was smeared on his cheeks. Mosquitoes buzzed through the perfume laden air. The insects drifted in hungry swarms as late afternoon faded into early evening.

Hajime swatted at the bugs lazily, as even their bites were unable to keep the mischievous grin off his face. "Hurry up," he giggled, shaking the tree branch. "We're gonna get caught!"

"Stop it! You're gonna make me mess up," the other boy whined. The pocketknife was shaking in his unsteady hands. He stuck his tongue out in concentration as he dug the tip deeper into the bark.  

Hajime rattled the branch above him again. A shower of leaves fell into his fluffy hair and the boy immediately scrunched up his nose, dropping the knife to brush them off. Hajime froze up for a second, butterflies all aflutter in his stomach. He looked so dumb, it was almost cute.

On some sudden, contrary impulse, Hajime quickly shoved him to the ground. The boy lunged at his waist in retaliation, tackling Hajime and knocking the breath from his lungs in a whoosh. Soon they were tumbling along the ground, fists and knees pummeling each other, laughing and sweaty and covered in dirt.

The way his heart raced, the sting of skinned knees and elbows, the itch of bug bites dotting red along his bare arms and legs, the way the damp earth and leaves and freshly spilled sap smelled around him, Hajime never wanted to wake up. But the dreams always ended too soon, slipping away from him in a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors fading back to reality.

"Iwa-chan, are you even listen—"

"Oi, Hajime! What time are you getting home tonight?"

Bleary-eyed, Hajime glanced up from filling his travel mug. It was yesterday's coffee, but there was no use wasting the pot when he could just microwave it hot again. His mother frowned at him from her bedroom doorway, crew cut as unkempt and short as his, arms crossed before he even said anything. He took a slow sip to stall for time, eyes wandering to the clock on the stove.

"You're up early," he hedged. "Usually you're still passed out when I leave for work. Big plans?"

She snorted, unamused. "It's Sunday. You should be off too."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He was still sore from yesterday, and sleeping had apparently made it worse. He kept having those dreams, the ones about an endless summer and trees he used to know the names of. But the alarm on his phone had been merciless, and already the details were fading.

"The project is still running behind schedule, so we're all pulling overtime this week," Hajime grumbled. He better remember to slap on some Salonpas before he headed over to the site, or his backache was going to be hell later. "Irihata-san said we can get it back on track for the original deadline, but since that damn delivery was late, we all have to push to make up for it—"

"So in other words, you won't make it to dinner," she sighed. "Again."

"You can just leave the leftovers on the counter," Hajime shrugged. "I'll eat anything."

His mother rolled her eyes. "I know you will, dumbass. I was going to invite him over tonight. But we'll just go to a restaurant if you won't be here. No dishes to wash."

"Who? Oh. Your boyfriend, right?"

"Excuse me?" His mom narrowed her eyes.

"Uh… your…"

Hajime blinked stupidly, and took another sip of coffee to try and kick start his sluggish thoughts. She flashed him a grin, waggling her ring finger in the air so the gold band sparkled. It took Hajime's dull morning brain a moment to catch up.

"Oh shit… your fiancé."

"Damn straight!"

Hajime smiled tiredly back. He was happy as long as his mom was happy, of course, but he couldn't help but feel something ache at that as well. It wouldn't be any different than it used to be once she got married; he would just be living alone for the first time. Plenty of adults did that. He didn't know a lot of guys his age that were still happily single and sharing an apartment with their mom. He'd be fine.

He shuffled over in his fuzzy Mothra slippers and gave her a hug. "You guys have fun without me, then," he murmured. "I gotta head out to the bus stop, we start at sunrise."

She sighed and ruffled his messy hair into even more of a mess. "I just wish I could get you boys to spend more time with each other. You work too hard. You don't always have to say yes to your boss, you know. You need to live a little, too."

"I know, Mom."

"And when are you going to bring home a man of your own, hmm? Do I need to set you up?"

"Uh… Gotta go, Mom! See you later--"

"Can't believe you spend all day surrounded by shirtless construction workers and you've never once brought one home. Do I need to teach you some moves? Are you really my son?"

"Go back to bed, Ma!"

Hajime leaned his forehead against cold glass and watched the city lights stream past his window. The night commute was long and quiet. The other passengers all looked as tired as he felt – businessmen, mostly, who were better dressed and had newer models of phones to stare at. Hajime didn't envy them, though; he couldn't imagine himself trapped behind a desk. After high school, he'd skipped the university track, rolled up his sleeves, and jumped from job to job to help his mom with rent – first as a delivery boy on his bike, then a warehouse worker, then eventually the apprenticeship that led him to the construction firm – whatever honest labor he could hold down. He may not have been blessed with any particular talent, but he made up for it by being a hard worker.

He sighed and pulled out his phone, thumbing through his feed. No new messages from his mom. He frowned. It had been sometime after being fitted for his groomsman tux and helping the movers carry his mother's furniture to their truck that reality began to sink in for him. It had always been him and his mom together, them against the world. Hajime wouldn't dare get in the way of her newfound happiness. He just wasn't sure where to stand when he wasn't a part of it.

He turned his phone off before the light gave him a headache, then pulled his hood up. No leftovers waiting for him, then; he should pick up fast food before getting to the apartment. Might as well try to steal some quick nap time now, if he had nothing better to do. It would be another early morning tomorrow.

"-ing? You're not listening. You're ignoring me on purpose, aren't you!"

Cicadas keened through the afternoon air, droning on incessantly as the sun made its way across the expanse of blue above them. The summer sun shone so brightly in his dreams, too vivid to be anything real. He knew he was dreaming, then, but he was small again, and it felt familiar, like a distant memory, like a song he'd heard on the radio but couldn't remember the words to. Tall grass tickled against his bare calves, making him itch. Hajime squatted by the bucket and splashed cold water on his ruddy cheeks, trying to cool himself off.

"'S too hot to keep playing," he called loudly. The fabric of his tank top clung to his sweaty skin. He pulled it up to mop his face, then groaned and flopped onto his back. He kicked off his sandals for good measure. "I give up."

"No! Come find me, Iwa-chan," a muffled voice called in response.

"Too tired," Hajime grumbled.

He rolled onto his side, throwing an arm over his eyes for shade. The oppressive warmth bore down on him like a wool blanket, threatening to drag him into an afternoon nap right there in the dirt. He yawned, blinking as his eyelids grew heavier. Could he even fall asleep inside of a dream? Everything just felt so… content. He didn't want to move from this spot.

A shadow crossed his vision, making him glance upward. The boy with the fluffy brown hair loomed over him, hands on his hips, eyes too-bright, cheeks puffed into an impressive pout.

"Was Iwa-chan going to fall asleep and forget about me?"

"You look like a fish when you puff your face like that," Hajime stated solemnly.

"You're a fish," the boy muttered darkly. Then he giggled, impish grin spreading too-wide across his features, and all too late Hajime realized what he was holding behind his back. "And what does a little fishie like you need—"

"Don't you dare," he cried, scrambling to his feet, but he was too slow; the bucket was upturned over his head, drenching him in icy water. He gasped in shock, too stunned to do anything but freeze.

The boy shrieked with laughter and bolted away. Hajime threw on his sandals and gave furious chase. They dashed through the field, leaped and clambered over rocks, and plunged deeper, deeper, deeper still, into the forest. They ran and ran until they were both gasping for air, lungs burning, collapsing side by side in the shade of trees that soared to dizzying, fantastical heights above them.

Hajime laughed until his face hurt, and the boy was laughing too, tears streaming down his round cheeks.

"I'll get you back for that," Hajime threatened with a grin. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath.

"I know. I'll just get you back again next time. So there," the boy said, and stuck out his tongue. His sweaty hair was a mess, bangs stuck to his forehead, cowlicks flying at wild angles. He didn't seem to notice that he looked ridiculous, and Hajime felt something warm and fond stir in his chest at the sight.

"There is a next time… right?" the boy asked, suddenly sounding uncertain. He stared at Hajime with wide, hopeful eyes, hands twisting up the hem of his shirt. "You won't forget me?"

"I won't ever forget you," Hajime promised, as steady as the pounding of his heart.

The boy's expression brightened into a relieved smile. "Then come find me, Iwa-chan!"

He sprang up with renewed energy and scrambled off into the woods. His small form was swallowed immediately by the outline of the trees, now darker and more tangled than before. Something like worry stirred in his chest. Hajime could have let the idiot run off on his own and get into trouble, but the pull between them tugged at his sternum, dragging him back to his feet. Dutifully, tirelessly, Hajime gave chase.

"I'll find you, so—"

The dim lighting of the sports bar made Hajime drowsy in no time flat. The conversation around him was loud and boisterous as the game played on the television, but Hajime's mind was wandering elsewhere. His blunt nails scratched off the paper label from his bottle to give his idle hands something to do. He thought wistfully of the quiet of the deep, dark forest. He wondered if anyone would notice if he put his head down for a quick nap.

"Yo, Iwaizumi! You still with us?"

Hajime blinked. The label was shredded into fine strips in front of him. Right. The conversation. Yuda and Sawauchi were peering curiously over at him, cheeks flushed pink from their sake. Shido, who had spoken last, grinned knowingly.

"You haven't been listening to a word of what we were saying, have you."

"Guilty," Hajime shrugged, and took another swig. He had agreed to go out with his coworkers for celebratory drinks when the project was finished, and vaguely regretted it now. He must be getting old, if he'd rather go to bed than stay out late. "You know I'm not much of a sports fan."

"It hasn't been a good season for volleyball anyway," Yuda sighed, reaching across the table to snag more chips. "Our team keeps losing."

"If we could just get our old libero out of retirement—"

As they dove back into their passionate discussion of volleyball team drama, Hajime let his gaze wander to the bright screen, though he felt his eyes glazing over. He didn't often bother with social events because he spent all his time at work, and most of their coworkers were older and had families of their own, so it was always just the four of them, and it was always this same bar. The familiarity of routine should have been comforting, but Hajime never quite felt like he was one of them. Like they tolerated him, but only because there was no one they'd rather have in his place. Like there was somewhere else he belonged, but he couldn't remember how to get there.

Hajime tipped back his beer, finishing it off. His stomach gurgled unhappily, vaguely nauseated. He should have eaten dinner first, but it was a little too late for that. Shido raised an eyebrow and elbowed him.

"Bailing already? You got more important things to do?"

Hajime scowled a little. He did want to bail on tonight, but he didn't want to go home, either. Since the wedding, the apartment had become oppressively silent. The two-bedroom he'd split rent on for years suddenly felt far too empty, but both taking on a roommate or moving into a smaller place felt too daunting to tackle on his own. Maybe it wouldn't kill him to stay out late for once, but this bar was putting him to sleep.

"Need to eat something. I'm going across the street for a burger," Hajime said, standing abruptly. "Want to come with?"

Shido shrugged, attention back on the screen. "Nah, game's still going. They can still turn it around. See you tomorrow, Iwaizumi."

"Yeah, see you."

The night air was cooler than he expected it to be. It wasn't much quieter than indoors though, with the honking of traffic and tipsy passersby bumping into him on the sidewalk. His gut churned at the heavy scent of grease wafting from the paper bag in his hands, but he'd scarcely crossed the parking lot before he'd scarfed the whole burger down. It was this or nothing, and maybe fries would settle the beer sloshing in his stomach.

The bus stop was several blocks in the other direction, but Hajime kept walking under the cold glare of the streetlamps. He jammed his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt to keep them warm, and jogged across the street without bothering to look for oncoming cars. Time had taken on a strange, difficult to grasp quality once Hajime no longer had anyone to come home to, to share meals with, to simply talk to. Staying out with the guys was fine for what it was, he supposed: just a way to kill time until the next workday started.

He wandered on, restless, but going nowhere in particular.

"—wait for me, okay?"

Hajime felt the desperate words tear at his throat like thorns, but the darkness around him was no longer the forest, and they were no longer running. The air was cool and quiet, summer heat fading into evening. Hajime blinked, trying to make sense of where he was, of when he was. They were inside the house.

The boy halted in front of him, small back framed by the familiar shapes of his bedroom furniture, made unfamiliar by the rising shadows contorting their silhouettes. Intermittent flashes of light illuminated the windowsill, reflected oddly in the boy's shining stare.

"Why do fireflies light up?"

The boy approached and tapped on a glowing jar warily, watching fireflies swarming on the inside of the glass. The enclosure was perfectly secure. Hajime had carefully poked air holes in the lid with the borrowed pocketknife, but no bugs would be escaping on his watch until their release. He remembered.

"It's called bioluminescence," Hajime bragged. He leaned his net against the bookshelf and squatted beside the boy, grinning proudly at how many of the little insects he'd caught that night. "They have a special organ that makes a chemical reaction—"

"Nooo," the boy interrupted him with a petulant whine. "Not how, I mean why. Why do they have lightbulbs? Why do they blink on and off?"

Hajime huffed, disgruntled that he didn't get to finish sharing his cool bug facts. He always listened dutifully when the boy prattled on about the names of stars, or the organs in the human body, or which Pokemon type was super effective against which, but as soon as it was Hajime's turn to talk about bugs, he wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. It wasn't fair.

"It's how they talk to each other. Like how cicadas sing. Or bees dance. Fireflies light up to call each other."

The boy scrunched up his nose. "Bugs are gross. You're so weird, Iwa-chan."

"Bugs are cool. You're the weird one for being afraid of them," Hajime corrected. "Who thinks Mothra is scary?"

"I'm not scared of bugs! And Mothra is nowhere near as strong as Ghidorah, so obviously she's not that great," the boy muttered, to which Hajime scoffed. As if strength was the only thing that mattered.

The boy then sank his chin into his hands, still frowning at the little jar. "Are the ones on the inside trying to call the ones outside? Are they lonely?"

Hajime had never considered that before. "Maybe," he conceded. "I guess they can still see each others' lights through the window. So they know they're apart."

"So they can call and call, but they still can't reach each other," the boy mumbled moodily. He sank lower on the windowsill, firefly lights dancing across the fathomless dark of his eyes.

Hajime shifted uncomfortably, but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. It felt like missing someone, but Hajime didn't know who was missing. They were together, and there was no one else in the world.

"I'll let them go once the sun comes up," Hajime finally promised. "They'll be together again. They just have to wait a little longer."

"Tired of waiting," the boy whispered into the gloom.

But when Hajime knelt beside him, watching the glow in the jar flicker on and off like a broken string of Christmas lights, the boy leaned against him, resting his head against Hajime's shoulder, and said nothing more.

Hajime exhaled, barely above a whisper. "Do you—"

Hajime woke up on his back on the kitchen floor, phone balanced on his chest, staring at the ceiling tiles instead of watching whatever movie he was streaming. He didn't remember why he wasn't in his bed. His back ached in protest. Empty bottles and takeout containers were piling up in the apartment, but he would deal with them later, later. He pushed it aside in his usual stubborn fashion, ignoring it to make it go away. Things were the same as they ever were.

Hajime felt at peace in his dreams, and that was what bothered him most. He kept seeing that familiar-yet-unfamiliar countryside where his childhood home had been. The cabin, the grass stains on his knees, the hot summers… The memories were faded and indistinct when he was awake, but at least some of the dreams had been real once, he was certain. All the hours he spent as a kid exploring those woods, catching bugs in his net, proudly lining his windowsill with jars of crickets and fireflies, being too excited to go to bed, watching the endless dazzling stars in a pollution-free sky...

And there was… someone, someone he couldn't quite remember in his waking hours. But that someone called to him. He could no longer ignore the pull. He was sleeping more than ever, but feeling less rested once he woke, yearning to go back.

His phone fell silent as the movie he wasn't watching concluded. His coworkers hadn't invited him out in a while, which came as a sort of relief. His mom and her new husband promised to visit when they could, but it had yet to happen. Hajime didn't want her to worry about him, so he stopped asking.

He wondered idly if the cabin was still standing after all those years of neglect. He wondered if he would feel anything if he saw it again.

When Hajime arrived at the building site several hours late, without his hardhat or his phone, still chugging the bitter dregs of his coffee, it was with the hopeless air of a condemned criminal walking himself to the gallows. He still jumped when Irihata's hand clamped down on his shoulder like an iron vice, steering him away from the construction and towards the tent they used as a makeshift office. Hajime gulped and allowed himself to be led to the noose, even as Yuda and Shido snickered at him for the lecture he was undoubtedly about to receive. Damn his alarm for not getting through to him.

"Where the hell were you this morning. It's already eleven o'clock," the older man asked, gruff as ever. "And the answer better be 'in the hospital, with all my fingers broken so I couldn't reply to your texts, sir.'"

Hajime's tired brain scrambled for an excuse. All he could muster was to square his shoulders and sigh. He was honest as he was stubborn. He simply found as the months dragged on, each exactly the same as the one preceding it, that he was distracted and lagging behind at work, and lacked the energy to care.

"I overslept, sir."

"Overslept. That's it? You just didn't bother to call in sick, and decided to take a few hours off to lounge around in your pajamas?"

Hajime bowed. "Very sorry, sir," he mumbled politely.

He genuinely was, if that counted for anything. It probably didn't. Something was bothering him, but nothing was wrong, exactly. It was like he'd forgotten something important, but he couldn't figure out where he'd left it. It was getting harder and harder to wake up these days, alarm or no alarm, when his dreams were more compelling than reality.

Irihata's thick brows creased as he scrutinized Hajime's expression, searching for any hints of dishonesty. The exhausted circles were dark under Hajime's bleary eyes, and he hadn't taken the time to shave. The heavyset man sighed, and let his hand slip from Hajime's shoulder.

"Iwaizumi. I like you. You've always been a hard worker. But your performance lately has been sloppy, and now you don't even bother to show up when we're already behind schedule," Irihata said bluntly.  

Hajime opened his mouth. The apology was on the tip of his tongue.

He hesitated. Irihata noticed.

Hajime's gaze dropped to his boots. The leather was falling apart, but he still hadn't bothered to buy a replacement pair.

"If there's something going on I should know about, spit it out," Irihata said. "But if I can't light a fire under your ass, if there's somewhere else you'd rather be than here, don't bother coming in at all."

Strangely, that was the moment a weight lifted from his shoulders. For once, Hajime wanted something for himself. All he could think of anymore was the way summer used to smell when he was a boy, not hot asphalt and car exhaust and sweaty crowds, but lemonade and pine needles and crisp spring water. There was nothing to stop him from simply… leaving.

Maybe the fresh air and the stars would help him make sense of everything again.

"Actually…"  

Having a goal in front of him made him feel more clearheaded than he had been in weeks. Hajime expected to feel something after getting fired for the first time in his life; regret for sabotaging himself, or perhaps guilt for letting his seniors down, but it just came as a relief to be able to sleep uninterrupted by alarms. It was the best night's sleep he'd had in as long as he could remember, deep and dreamless.

After a long shower and a shave, he threw on some sweatpants and set about bagging and dumping the trash he'd accumulated. He then proceeded to haul his furniture and scant belongings to the nearest donation center. His mom sounded concerned over the phone, but she knew once Hajime made up his mind, there was no talking him out of it. Once he was done emptying and cleaning the place, he met with the landlord to break the lease, and then he bought his plane ticket.

He stared out the window at the tranquil sea of white clouds rolling beneath the plane wing. Vague recollections flitted about the peripheral of his memories, not quite solidified. He frowned, struggling to picture any concrete details about the house. He had missed it so painfully when he first moved away that he had forced himself to stop thinking about it at all. After his grandparents passed away, his mom hadn't known what to do with their property, and simply held onto the title. He fiddled with the old keys in his palm, trying to imagine that countryside after so many years.

Gravity swooped in the pit of his stomach as the plane dipped low and began its descent. He was getting excited.

His excitement, as it turned out, was short-lived. The cab from the airport would only take him so far, and left him stranded at the edge of a cornfield. His new address was in a farming village so small they didn't have proper roads outside of the main circle, and according to the driver, most of the villagers apparently used bicycles or tractors to get around. Hajime masked his growing doubts about his impulse decision underneath a scowl. No wonder his mother joked he'd get in shape fast, whether he wanted to or not.

One uncomfortably bumpy ride in the back of a local's hay wagon later, he found himself standing in the town circle with his duffel at his feet. And this was all there was. All the paint was peeling off the aged storefronts, and there wasn't a bus stop in sight. He had a long walk ahead of him. He hadn't had reception for hours, and it was slowly sinking in that he wasn't going to. They didn't even build cell towers this far out in farm country. Hopefully his mom wasn't too worried, because she wouldn't be hearing from him anytime soon.

He grimly turned his phone off to conserve the charge and slid it into his pocket to deal with later. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? Time away from the rest of the world to figure himself out. If a city kid like him got lost and died out here in the boonies, no one would ever notice he was gone.

He dragged a hand down his already stubbly face, exhausted but determined. He had at least thought enough to pack basic toiletries like his toothbrush and razor, but after traveling for hours, he was tired and starving and had finished all his snacks already. Of course there was no fast food or even a grocery store to speak of – there was just some sort of general store with a faded advertisement for livestock feed in the window, a hardware store, a pub, a handful of smaller shops, and to his great amusement, an honest-to-god phone booth. He wondered if it still worked. Maybe that was how the locals coped without smart phones.

Hajime paused to briefly consider the rumpled Godzilla hoodie he'd napped in at the airport, complete with a drool stain and bagel crumbs all over the chest. What a homecoming look. He was beginning to regret every decision he'd ever made that led him to this point, but he'd be damned if he turned back now without even trying.

He decided to try the general store first, assuming they'd have something edible. Deep relief washed over him when he pushed the door open and realized that at the very least, they had a coffeemaker. He made a beeline for the coffee and downed his first cup in one scalding gulp. It tasted like burnt rubber, because of course it did, but slowly Hajime's mental faculties began to return to him as the caffeine kicked in.

He pulled a second cup more slowly and then began to take in the rest of his surroundings. An old woman sat on a stool behind the counter, peering at a crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Apparently they still read newspapers here. The boxes and cans on the shelves looked faded and dusty and probably past their expiration dates, but he wasn't about to be picky. Hajime filled a shopping basket with non-perishables, not hesitating to tear open a packet of jerky and gulp down greedy pieces of it in between swigs of terrible coffee.

Slow recognition dawned on him as he meandered the narrow aisles. This was the store his mom always stopped in to buy him snacks. He had last seen the old shopkeeper at least a decade ago… what was her name again? He wasn't sure he had ever called her anything but auntie before. She had a husband too, or so he thought, but he didn't see the old man puttering around the store anywhere. Maybe it was safer not to ask.

He cleared his throat and she looked up slowly, wonderment crinkling her face into a delighted smile. He rubbed the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture and stepped over to the counter.

"Uh… hey, I'm Iwaizumi Hajime. Mariko's kid," he stated awkwardly, setting down his coffee and his basket. He had no idea if she would remember him, or that she used to sneak him extra lollipops at the counter when his mom wasn't looking. That recollection made something in his chest tighten a little, and he stood straighter, plowing past it. "Shima… san, was it? I'm moving into the old family plot… for a while, at least."

"It's Shimizu. Little Hajime-chan…" she repeated thoughtfully, tapping the beauty mark on her chin with her pencil. "Yes, you look about the right age. You got so big though! And strong! You look just like your grandfather when he was your age, you know."

Hajime wasn't sure how to react, so he managed a polite half-smile and said nothing. He honestly didn't remember his grandparents' faces, or much about them. Standing here before someone who had known his grandparents better than he did made him feel vaguely guilty, somehow. Like some sort of impostor.

Undeterred, the old woman cracked a grin. She began ringing up his purchases, her movements slow and deliberate. "So why did a handsome young man like yourself come all the way out here on his own? There's not many prospects for you, unless… You're looking for ghosts?"

"What," Hajime replied flatly. Was she teasing him? His arms crossed over his chest, the corners of his mouth tugging into the beginnings of a scowl.

"Oho, did I guess right?" She cackled at his reaction, and reached a bony hand up to ruffle his spiky hair like he was still a kid. He allowed it, but his frown deepened. "There's no shortage of hauntings out in these parts. My granddaughter is writing a book about it."

Hajime snorted. "Uh-huh. I think I have more important things to worry about before I check if the house is haunted, aunt- uh, Shimizu-san," he said.

Like if there was electricity, or running water, or even a roof. He already knew there would be no way to set up internet; his mom used to take him all the way to the library when he needed to use a computer. Water, though; there was a well on the property, he recalled, so long as it hadn't run dry. A memory half-surfaced then: his kid self being taught how to pull water from the well, his hands so small on the rope next to his grandfather's. Drink the water, and…

Hajime stared dumbly at the bag, then back at her. "Wait. Does that mean everyone just grows their own produce here? Is that why there's no grocery stores?"

She blinked innocently back at him. His heart sank.

Hajime swallowed. "Shit. Sorry. I mean, I can live off beef jerky and potato chips for a pretty long time, but I'm not exactly qualified to be a hunter-gatherer. I, uhh. I was just a kid last time I was here. I don't know how this works."

Vague unease stirred in his gut. His grandfather had always been a firm believer of providing for oneself. Stubborn old man, his mother had called him, for insisting on living so many miles from modern convenience. His mother had always dreamed of the world outside of this town, equally stubborn in her own way. He wondered where his own conviction lay. Nothing really stuck for him out there, but it wasn't like he belonged here, either.

Shimizu sighed indulgently, and slipped a handful of seed packets into his shopping bag.

"It won't hurt you to try some gardening," she said. "But the farmer's market is every Sunday morning in the circle, if you need to trade for some eggs or vegetables. Maybe just start with switching to water," Shimizu added, tapping her pencil meaningfully on the side of his styrofoam cup.

Hajime nodded, feeling strangely like he had just been scolded for forgetting something he already knew. He set the half-finished coffee down, though he'd already paid for it, and made to leave the store.

"Come see my family's stand on Sunday! My granddaughter will want an interview with you if your house is haunted. Also she's single," Shimizu called hopefully after him. He pretended not to hear her.

At the very least, the cabin was still standing, and the front door key worked, so he had a roof to sleep under. The electricity wouldn't be turned on for at least a week or two, according to the power company he'd been forced to fax a form to from town, so he had to rely on waning daylight for his inspection.

The building was much smaller than he remembered, or, he had grown that much bigger in the years he'd been away. He had to stoop to fit through the doorways without banging his forehead. Still, it was obviously more spacious than the old apartment. There was a dusty refrigerator still pushed up in the corner of the small kitchen, and a few tables and chairs they had left behind that seemed to be in working order. There were cobwebs in every corner and what appeared to be a sleeping family of bats clustered in the attic, but nothing that could kill him. Home sweet home.

He unloaded his shopping bag in the cupboard, and tossed his duffel in the corner of his childhood bedroom. There were other bedrooms down the hall, ones made for grownups, but this one had always been his. Some of his old textbooks and kaiju action figures were still crammed haphazardly onto the shelf where he had forgotten them, along with his trusty bug net shoved under the bed. He sat down gingerly on the mattress, which creaked in protest under his weight. A cloud of dust rose around him, and he coughed and sputtered until he wrestled the window open for some air.

Once his sneezing stopped, he leaned back against the pillow and found himself staring out the window at the familiar view of the forest out back. Hajime must have been around eleven the last time he was here. Once his grandparents passed, his mother decided they would move to the city for a fresh start and more opportunities than a small town could offer them, and he dutifully followed. He was too stubborn to admit he wanted to go back to the way things used to be. He never thought he'd see this view again.

Hajime inhaled the sharp aroma of the pine trees, and exhaled slowly, savoring it as the sun sank below the top of the forest. This, at least, was just how he remembered it. He recalled with a frown how jarring the move had been, and how he'd struggled to cope with all the changes at once, though he couldn't voice it at the time. Public school was an entirely new world for him. The other boys were loud and competitive and liked to make fun of the holes in his clothes. Somehow, the more people he had around him, the lonelier he had become. He had missed this place.

The dull ache in his chest seemed to calm then, just a little, and Hajime slipped into a deep sleep.

"—want me to stay with you?"

"You're here! You really came back!" the boy exclaimed, excitement pitching his young voice into a squeak. He nearly tripped over his untied sneakers in his rush to give Hajime an enthusiastic hug.

"Of course I did," Hajime mumbled, bewildered but pleased. His heart stuttered as the boy gazed adoringly into his eyes. He cleared his throat, and tried to sound unaffected, casual. "You told me you had something to show me."

"Yeah, c'mon!"

The boy grabbed his hand and pulled him along through the tangles of bushes and briars. Hajime's ears flushed pink, and he studiously looked anywhere except where their hands were touching. His palm felt sweaty and too-hot, but he couldn't let go to wipe it on his shorts without saying anything, and he knew the boy could feel how warm and gross his hand was and going to complain at any moment, and he was about to apologize just to get it over with when – there!

A clearing in the undergrowth. A small dark shape laying prone in the grass. The boy gestured quickly, eyes bright and shining, and dropped his hand. Hajime still felt too warm and weird and he was pretty sure he was blushing and didn't want the boy to notice, so he jammed his hands into his shorts pockets and quickly stomped over to see what the boy was pointing at.

"A dead bird? A stray cat must have got it. Big deal."

"Not that, look – it's covered in ants! It's so gross, right? Iwa-chan is nasty, I knew he'd like something disgusting like this!"

The boy giggled as Hajime crouched low, peering closer at the decaying mound. He was right – the sparrow carcass was swarming with ants eager to strip the meat from its bones. Hajime leaned in, fascinated by the teeming activity. They marched away in synchronized lines, prizes hoisted high in their mandibles. Their anthill must be nearby, for them to have gathered in such numbers.

"Did you know the worker ants are all females? The males have wings," Hajime murmured. "Look at them go. They'll have it cleaned in a couple hours, I bet."

"Ew." The boy was still standing at a wary distance, but he had located a stick long enough to reach out and poke the body. When the carcass was disturbed, the ants scattered en masse, antennae twitching wildly as they ran in circles.

"Oi," Hajime complained, shooting a glare over his shoulder. "Don't bother them. They're working."

"Boring. I don't wanna wait here forever, Iwa-chan," the boy announced. "I just wanted to show you because I knew you'd like it."

"Don't you think it's cool how strong they are?" Hajime frowned. "Ants lift stuff way heavier than themselves, and they know how to build things without being shown how."

"So it's decided. Iwa-chan wants to be a big strong ant when he grows up," the boy sneered. "Good thing you're short."

"Shut up!" Hajime stood and gave him a playful shove, making him squawk. "Like you have any idea what you want to be, other than annoying. I bet you'd be a mosquito, whining all the time while you drag your dumb long legs everywhere."

"Iwa-chan is such a bully!" the boy gasped, pretending to be hurt. He dropped to the ground dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "What if I died out here, and that was the last thing you'd said to me! I bet you'd be sorry!"

"I guess the ants would eat you next," Hajime shrugged nonchalantly. "Better not lay down there or they'll get in your clothes."

The boy sprang up with a shriek, brushing furiously at his hair and clothes. "Are there any on me? I can feel them crawling on my skin! Gross, gross, gross!"

"Don't be such a baby," Hajime rolled his eyes, but loyally walked over to help brush off his shoulders and back.

It was only after the boy stopped squirming and whining that Hajime realized how close they were standing – nearly nose to nose. The boy looked just as startled, brown eyes fluttering wide. His eyelashes were so long. Hajime jumped back a pace and cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his pulse had sputtered into double time at their proximity. Maybe he was weird after all.

"A, anyway, if I were you, I wouldn't worry about being eaten by ants," Hajime said. He squatted by the dead bird again, and didn't look up when the boy crouched cautiously beside him, curiosity overcoming his initial disgust.

"How come?"

"'Cuz the maggots will eat you first."

"Iwa-chaaaan!"

The boy wailed in abject horror as Hajime laughed. The confusing feelings from earlier had vanished as mysteriously as they'd arrived. The teasing, the bickering back and forth, had always come naturally between them – this, at least, was familiar ground for them both. Hajime was glad to be back.

"I-"

Hajime woke with a stiff neck and a pounding headache. His first day without work, internet, or caffeine was brutal. There was no tap water, so Hajime's first survival task was to uncover the old well in the back and fill some jugs for drinking and washing indoors. It turned out to be much easier to haul the bucket today than it had been when he was a scrawny ten-year-old trying to prove his strength, which amused him greatly. He used to fantasize about growing tall and muscular, hadn't he? At least half of that wish came true.

Everything outside was overgrown bushes and brambles. He spent so many hours in the sun pulling weeds and hauling wheelbarrows full of rocks that he ended up with a darker tan than he'd had all summer in the city. When he'd finally uncovered his grandmother's old garden plot, he remembered the seed packets Shimizu had given him. On a whim, he dumped them into the soil, and watered them. He wasn't planning on being here for that long, but maybe something would come of it.

He sorely missed having a hot shower waiting for him at the end of the day instead of a cold bucket and a scrub brush, but it felt good having a project he cared about, for once. He already felt more motivated than he had in ages. He crashed as soon as he hit the pillow, and if he dreamed, he did not remember it.

Faced with the bleak prospect of no Netflix, Hajime's next few days were devoted to renovating the cabin – it needed all sorts of repairs, and he welcomed the familiar labor of construction. In his exploration of the cabin, Hajime found a rusty bicycle in the attic that he guessed was his mom's, and once he'd cleaned it up and patched the tires, he had a way to get to town faster than hiking. The hardware store provided the nails and tools he needed, but also a small battery-powered FM radio and a few six-packs of beer. He couldn't refrigerate them, but it still made for a solid few afternoons of raucous singing to cheesy pop music while he pulled out the rotted boards on the roof and patched the leaky holes.

The bats in the attic always came swooping out in a fright whenever he started banging around up there, so he figured eventually they would simply find a new place to nest, or they'd get used to him being loud, and either way was fine. The nearest human neighbors were miles up the street in either direction, so only the wildlife was around to overhear him. No traffic, no crowds, only… stillness. It was a solitude he wasn't accustomed to. No wonder the locals thought they saw ghosts out here.

Hajime had enough sense to put the hammer down once he was a few beers in. He sprawled out on his back on the roof, staring up at the clear sky. His head buzzed pleasantly from the alcohol, thoughts softened at the edges and just unfocused enough to make him relax. Without the pressing deadlines of work looming over him, he enjoyed getting to put his skills to use. This wasn't so bad.

The downside was that whenever he switched the radio off, the cabin was eerily quiet. Different place, same problem. He needed to get a dog or something to keep him company, or he was going to lose his sanity out here. Hajime never had a dog growing up, and they hadn't been allowed in his apartment building, but nothing was stopping him now. Maybe there were free-to-a-good-home ads in that newspaper. He entertained the daydream until he remembered his mom was allergic to pet hair, and she wouldn't be able to visit him if he adopted one.

Something brittle in his chest snapped at that – was he expecting her to visit him all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, in a town she hated, if she had been too busy to visit him at the apartment where it was convenient? He scowled, and forced himself back up onto his feet to get some water. He didn't need a hangover, and he should be drinking more water, anyway. Probably.

He took one step towards the ladder, and then a rotted shingle came unexpectedly free beneath his weight. His unsteady foot slid out from underneath him. He lurched backward, arms flailing for something to grasp onto, but there was nothing.

"Oh, you've gotta be shitting me—"

With a loud string of curses, Hajime toppled over the side of the roof, and hit the ground hard. Everything went black.

"—wa-chan!"

The distressed cry came from somewhere above him, but Hajime couldn't seem to move. He was dreaming, he thought, but unlike the dreams from before, he didn't seem able to move or speak. He was adrift in a sea of black.

A gentle current washed over him, lapping at his face. He felt nothing as it seeped into his ears, nose, and mouth, slowly engulfing his senses. It was peaceful. But the voice continued to cut through, a high piercing note disrupting the quietude.

"Iwa-chan, can't you hear me?! Why won't you answer me? I keep calling—"

Hajime became gradually aware that the darkness was ebbing away from him, letting him bob and sink lower. Realization filtered slowly through his hazy consciousness – there was a familiar pattern to the movement. He knew what this was.

It was not water, or shadow, but a roiling, teeming mass of black ants.

They spilled out of the open cavern of his mouth, leaving him hollowed. He watched impassively as the sunken cavity of his chest collapsed under its own weight. As ants streamed away from his immobile form, he could see only the stripped white of bone where his body should lay. Somehow he could still see, in that calm, detached way that dreams let him see himself from afar, that the bones were too small, unfinished, immature – the skeleton of a child. Was he still dreaming, or—

"Iwa-chan, just wake up—"

"—What a stupid way to die that would be," a nearby voice sneered. "You know there are no hospitals around for miles, right? They have to send a helicopter if anyone gets hurt out here because ambulances can't use the dirt roads. You would bleed to death waiting for someone to even show up."

Hajime groaned in response. His head felt like it was split open. He wiggled his fingers and toes experimentally. Everything still worked.

He was lying on his back on the ground, which was probably not spinning, as far as he could gather. He should count himself lucky he'd fallen off a short building onto a grass lawn, and not off scaffolding like he used to work on, onto concrete.

Gingerly he probed the back of his head with his fingers. Still in one piece, but his hair was matted with blood. Maybe he landed on a rock. Nasty.

"Uh… you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?" Hajime mumbled.

"You… Can you hear me now? Really?!"

"Of course I can hear you. Who the hell are you?"

Groggy eyes strained to focus on the blades of grass upside down in front of his nose. Some of his hair had dried into crusty spikes, meaning he must have been unconscious for some time. Shit. That was bad, right?

"The one and only Oikawa-san, of course," the voice sniffed. "Who else?"

Hajime blinked slowly and risked sitting upright. His head swam, but he didn't pass out. He looked around him first, then behind, then up at the ladder still leaning against the side of the cabin. He half expected to see the boy from his dreams, but there wasn't anyone in sight. Oikawa sounded like someone around the same age as him, but the only people Hajime had met in town had been elderly, and none of them went by that name.

"Are you," he started, then faltered. Shimizu's words sprang unbidden in his mind. A ghost. No, that was nonsense. Maybe he was still dreaming. He rubbed his eyes and squinted harder to make sure no one was pranking him, but he was definitely alone.

"Holy shit," Hajime muttered. "You're real. I broke my skull open and a dream got out."

"Rude! I was always real!" Oikawa's offended screech soared far beyond the limits of human vocal range. "How terrible, Iwa-chan must have suffered a concussion and lost all two of his brain cells!"

"That's, shut up," Hajime retorted. "First of all, that's not my name, but actually first of all, how do you know that name-?"

"Iwa-chan was always Iwa-chan," Oikawa chanted uselessly.

"You're my dream, aren't you?" Hajime pressed. "How are you here while I'm awake? I am awake, right?"

"Going into your dreams was the only way to reach you when you were so far away. It took forever to find you, by the way," Oikawa huffed, as though demanding recognition for his efforts. Hajime ignored him.

"Well if you're not something from a dream, I'm hallucinating voices while I'm awake, and that means I'm probably bleeding out after all," Hajime reasoned matter-of-factly. "Which would be… much worse, really. If you're real, and you exist outside of my head, does that… mean you're a ghost?"

Oikawa muttered something low and vicious about his intelligence, clearly displeased with his logic, but Hajime steadfastly ignored it. He wasn't particularly superstitious, but if something existed in front of him, he'd be a fool to deny it. He lurched to his feet, swaying but managing to stand. He was battered and bruised, but the only bleeding came from the back of his head.

"So that means ghosts are real. Huh," Hajime said to himself. Ghosts existed, and they could plague him with cryptic dreams about his childhood until he completely upended his life to seek them out. Also their annoying voices made his head hurt. "Are any other monsters real, while we're at it? Vampires, zombies? Werewolves?"

"Bigfoot is real," Oikawa offered.

"I doubt it. Like, around here?"

"I'm talking to him right now."

Hajime glowered at the cabin. He wasn't sure where else to direct his murderous gaze.

The voice giggled, but nothing else happened, so Hajime made his way weakly through the front door. Once he made it to the bathroom, he knelt in front of the wash basin and carefully splashed water to clear the grime from the open wound. It was a shallow gash, thankfully. Who knows how far he'd have to travel to have access to proper medical care, to make sure there was nothing permanently scrambled in his head. Oikawa was right about ambulances. The time he'd broken his arm falling out of a tree when he was seven, it had been hours before his mom got him in for x-rays. Not to mention he was unemployed and uninsured now. This really wasn't his area of expertise, but he'd have to take care of it himself for now, and hope it didn't get worse.

All of the supplies in the dusty first aid kit were expired, but he figured gauze would be fine no matter how old it was. He taped together a clumsy bandage and prayed it wouldn't get infected. He couldn't exactly see the back of his head in the mirror, and it hurt to bend his neck at that angle, so he stopped trying. This would be fine. Probably.

"How do I look?" Hajime asked when he was satisfied.

"With your eyes, Iwa-chan," Oikawa stated solemnly.

"Smartass," Hajime grumbled. Of course he would be haunted by the world's brattiest ghost.

Oikawa's voice hummed close to his ear. "I'm just overjoyed Iwa-chan has finally come back to me! It's been so long… I've been waiting for years, you know."

Hajime shivered at the sudden chill that raced down his spine. Years…? He'd only started having the dreams about a year ago. And he still had no recollection of Oikawa outside of the dreams. Who was he? His gaze darted to the surface of the water in the basin, half-expecting to see a reflection other than his own, but only his own weary eyes stared back. The room was empty.

Exhaustion rolled over him in a wave at once. He was too tired to deal with the knowledge of another plane of human existence and mortality right now.

"I don't know who you are," he replied gruffly. "And I need to lay down, so shut up for a while, will you? Wake me up if I start hemorrhaging or something."

"Sweet dreams, Iwa-chan~ I'll be right here when you wake up."

"And don't you dare mess with my dreams, either!"

The voice hummed, and promised nothing of the sort. He didn't even remember staggering to his room. Once his face hit the pillow, everything went dark once more.

"Iwa-chan…hurry up! Come on!"

The impatient voice came from outside on the lawn. Daylight filtered in through the window. The kitchen was no longer dusty and abandoned, but clean and bright and lived in. Colorful bowls and plates filled the cabinets like he remembered. The refrigerator hummed in the corner, still working.

The crisp scent of citrus peel filled the air. The lemons were big and plump this summer, sunny yellow and as tart as ever. Hajime carefully sliced them into halves, squinting his eyes shut to avoid the spray, and then squeezed them as hard as he could into the pitcher, pulp and all. The wooden spoon clunked against the glass as he dutifully stirred in the sugar until it melted. Then he carefully added the cool water he'd pulled from the well, then counted out the ice cubes to top it off. Perfect.

Then he blinked and it was sunset, and he'd already wolfed down his potato salad and corn as fast as he could, gulped his lemonade so fast he'd spilled some all over his shirt, and ran outside with his bug net, just in time for the lazy blinking of the fireflies in the gloom. He dashed across the lawn, swooping and snatching as many as he could, until he was proudly pushing a jar of fireflies into someone else's hands, hands the same size as his… but what had he called them?

Not Oikawa, but…

"Who are you?" he asked the dream.

The boy stared at him through the gloom, firefly jar clutched to his chest like a lifeline, eyes brimming with painful hope.

"You already know—"

Hajime woke with a start. There were voices conversing softly nearby. For one long, disoriented moment, he thought he was back in the apartment, and the past week had been one elaborate dream.

But his head ached. The window had no blinds to block the sunrise, and the ceiling was too low to be his old bedroom, and the air was still thick with years' worth of dust because he had no vacuum cleaner. This was reality. He blinked through the early morning gloom, and realized dazedly that the radio was on, talk show hosts chattering away about the news. Had he left it on when he came in? He pawed clumsily at the nightstand until he found the off switch, and silence returned to the bedroom. He was alone.

The radio emitted a sudden burst of static that made him flinch. It blazed back to life, volume climbing higher as it launched into bright dance music in a language he did not understand. Hajime glared, feeling the headache lancing sharp through his skull in time with the frenetic bass line. He slapped the off button harder than he needed to, and waited.

Sure enough, it started to chirp a cheerful commercial jingle about a carwash mere moments later. Hajime grumpily yanked the plastic casing open and prised out the batteries.

"There, beat that, shitty ghost," he grumbled.

The radio whined and then kicked into max volume, merrily blasting bubblegum pop that Oikawa proceeded to sing along with in his best falsetto. Bastard.

"How do you even know the words to Taylor Swift," Hajime accused, hands clapped over his ears. "Haven't you been dead for years? This stupid album is from last summer."

"I still exist," Oikawa pouted. "And I know everything Iwa-chan knows, and you know all the words to this one. It's your favorite. I'm in your head, remember?"

"Don't say it like that, creep," Hajime growled. It made the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. He jerked the volume knob down on the radio, and this time Oikawa didn't interfere. They both fell silent, letting the song play.

Hajime wasn't certain how long he'd slept, but his limbs felt like lead. There was so much pressure behind his eyeballs it felt like they were going to fall out of his skull. Suddenly he questioned whether his memory was simply hazy from the fall, or if someone else had carried the radio back inside for him. He didn't remember taking the radio down from the rooftop.

Hajime sighed and peeled himself reluctantly out of bed. Maybe there would be some aspirin in the cabinet that still worked. Or was aspirin the one that made bleeding worse? God, he missed having the internet for fact checking. He was definitely going to die out here.

Since there was no tap water and therefore no working toilet, Hajime trundled barefoot outside to relieve himself on the bushes. Everything was unusually silent and still at this hour. The sky was lightening, early sunrise painting streaks of gold through the fading dark. The air was still cool, dew wet and gleaming on the grass.

Maybe he was starting to get used to the solitude out here. There was a strange peace in feeling like he was the only living soul for miles.

"I'm always here though," Oikawa purred. "Even when you're peeing."

Hajime sputtered, scrambling to shove himself back into his sweatpants. His ears flushed red, eyebrows drawn in a sharp scowl.

"Fuckin' gross! Don't talk to me while I'm pissing! Who does that—"

"Why not? It's not like I haven't seen you do it before."

"Oh my god. Stop talking—"

"-I've seen everything you've ever done. And I do mean everything—"

"—Shut up or I'll kill you myself, Shittykawa!"

"Like, how would you kill me?" Oikawa asked pleasantly. "I'd love to see you try! Would you go for salt, or try holy water, or burn my bones—"

"I'll drill a hole into my skull until it hits you. I don't care if it kills me too."

Oikawa's peals of laughter rang throughout his head. The tension of his migraine spiked like a hot poker being driven in, and he gritted his jaw against it, eyes watering at the too-bright light. The reverberation rattled his teeth, and for one blurry, delirious moment, he thought he was about to black out.

Then it cleared, mercifully, taking his headache with it. Hajime froze in place, heart racing.

"Oikawa, what the fuck," he croaked. He touched the bandage on the back of his head, but dared not remove it. His head didn't hurt at all. He felt completely fine.

"You can die if you want to," Oikawa said flippantly, ignoring him. "But I won't let you be alone, Iwa-chan, not ever again."

The farmer's market was about as small as Hajime expected it to be. The grass lawn at the center of town was lined with folding tables and lawn chairs, and a modest crowd of mostly older residents gathered to stand around chatting or lug off plastic crates of produce. All the signs were handwritten, offering cash only prices "or best offer". It looked like more of a social event than anything else; he didn't see a lot of sales going on. He leaned his bicycle in the rack outside the convenience store next to several others just as rusted and old, and didn't bother to chain it. No one was about to steal a granny bike that looked just as shitty as the rest of them.

Hajime walked slowly from table to table, steadfastly ignoring the openly curious stares of the residents noticing him for the first time. A newcomer like him stood out like a sore thumb. He shouldered his duffel, now heavy with apples and potatoes, and inspected the contents of a jar of honey while people whispered about him behind his back. He didn't know much about cooking after living on takeout and his mother's food for so long, but he was getting tired of stale power bars and canned beans. He was only half interested in groceries, though; the other half of his mind was struggling to place some of the names and faces that seemed distantly familiar from a lifetime ago.

He lingered by the Hinata family farmstand, smiling at their tablecloth with its bright orange chicken print. He was pretty sure he had known their kids once upon a time, young enough that his mom had been their babysitter and they'd watched cartoons together, but the couple running the booth didn't appear to recognize him. He bought a basket of eggs anyway, politely accepted a plastic sample cup of lemonade, and paused to stuff an extra dollar into the tip jar labeled "Natsu's college textbooks fund". Hopefully the Hinata kids were doing well out in the world, better than he had fared.

He took a tentative sip of the lemonade, then halted in his tracks. The scent, the taste – he was starting to remember more. It had been ages since Hajime last drank the kind made with real fruit, not the powdered kind, and the shocking tartness brought with it a rush of nostalgia. He'd had such a sweet tooth as a kid, his grandmother used to stir extra sugar into his glass every time she mixed it. His mom was always trying to cut down on his sugar, said it made him too hyper and hard to deal with, but his grandmother loved spoiling him and did it anyway.

In the memory he was holding two glasses, though – the second one was for the neighbor's kid, wasn't it? But there were no neighbors around for miles. Who was Oikawa, then? It had to be him, but the memory was frustratingly out of reach. It was like the name didn't match the face.

"Can I help you with something?"

Hajime looked up, curious to see who had spoken to him. He had wandered unwittingly to the last table on the row, which lacked the clutter of wares and bore only a plain black tablecloth. There were two chairs, but only one was occupied – the woman seated on the right looked to be around his age, with glasses, long black hair, and a complicated-looking black dress with a lot of ribbons. There was a book in her lap that she looked impatient to return to. Her fashion stood out almost as much as his, with his Godzilla hoodie. Not from around here, or at least, someone who left and came back.

"Aren't you trying a little hard?" Hajime joked by way of greeting. "If you're too goth out in these parts, the villagers might have you burned for witchcraft."

She shrugged, glancing back down to her book. Her long fingernails were also painted black, he noted belatedly. "Looking the part discourages the suitors my grandmother chooses to send after me. Be grateful I left the broomstick at home."

"I like her," Oikawa announced loudly.

"Of course you do," Hajime muttered under his breath. Then it dawned on him. She had a beauty mark that matched the old woman from the general store. "Oh, you're Shimizu-san's granddaughter, aren't you. Yeah, she definitely tried to send me your way the first day I arrived."

"Kiyoko, gay, and not actually single," she said flatly as introduction.

"Hajime. Also gay, so no hard feelings there," he replied, half-smirking despite himself.

"Yeah, I definitely like her," Oikawa grinned in his ear.

She closed her book and placed it neatly in her lap, then leveled her cool grey stare at him. "Well? Do you require my supernatural expertise? Or can I get back to reading?"

Hajime blinked, feeling awkward under her scrutiny. Maybe he'd gone too long without company, and now he didn't know how to talk to people his own age. He quickly downed the last of his lemonade to fill the silence. Immediately he regretted it; intense sourness puckered his lips, and left his eyes watering. He sputtered a cough into the crook of his elbow, as Oikawa cackled at his misfortune.

Racking his brain for memories left his head aching all over again. Hajime tiredly rubbed his temples, and looked down at a card beside Kiyoko that listed prices for consultations and exorcisms. So that's what she meant by "looking the part". He paused in consideration. If she could actually talk about ghosts, then she might be the best person to ask about–

Oikawa's gasp was scandalized. "Did you just think about having me exorcised," he hissed.

Pressure mounted in his skull, swelling threateningly behind his eyes. "No," Hajime lied.

"You did, didn't you! I told you, I'm not leaving! You can't make me! Iwa-chan is horrible, horrible!!" he screeched, making Hajime visibly wince.

Kiyoko observed him steadily, though if she noticed his internal argument, she did not comment.

Hajime turned aside, digging his fingers into his thigh as he muttered under his breath, "Would you relax? That costs ten bucks, Shittykawa. Think of all the junk food I could buy out here with that kind of money. I could get the full size bag of spicy jerky, not the snack size."

"Stingy, too! I can't believe this! You're so boring now. Why won't you just, just, remember already—"

Kiyoko started to say something, but Oikawa proceeded to make such a clamor in his head that Hajime couldn't make out her quiet voice. A strong wind whipped through the town center, rattling the flimsy displays and sending plastic cups flying. The townspeoples' voices rose in a confused chorus, grabbing at their bags and hats so as not to lose anything. Hajime grabbed the table edge to brace himself.

The gust subsided as mysteriously as it had arisen. Little plastic sample cups rained down on Hajime's head, tumbling harmlessly into the grass. Hajime stared wide-eyed at the cups at his feet, then looked back to Kiyoko, mumbling a quick excuse – but she wasn't even looking at him anymore. Curiously, she was turned to the empty chair beside her, speaking in a low, soothing tone. Hajime gaped.

Goosebumps rippled along his arms. The hairs on the nape of his neck rose, and he backed away before she could notice him leaving. He stumbled to his bike, shaking hands gripping the handlebars and making it rattle.

Oikawa said nothing more on the ride home. But his presence felt muted in some way, withdrawn and sulking in the farthest corner of Hajime's mind.

Hajime wiped the sweat from his brow, surveying the afternoon's work. The small fire pit he'd dug and lined with stones was now merrily ablaze. As the pot of water slowly began to bubble and heat up, he sat calmly on a rock, using a paring knife to peel the bad spots off the potatoes. His hands were clumsy and unpracticed, but he could see himself getting used to this. He'd only nicked his fingers twice so far.

Oikawa had said nothing since his outburst that morning. But Hajime could feel Oikawa's presence hovering nearby, so he was unsurprised when the disembodied voice finally spoke again.

"Does Iwa-chan want to be a ghost?"

"Is that a joke about my cooking," he grumbled. "Because I'm trying to eat more vegetables here. There's no delivery food out in the boonies."

Oikawa chuckled. He still sounded… less vibrant, than before, worn out perhaps, but it was hard for Hajime to gauge moods without a face to look at.

"No, do you… think about dying? Do you think you'll stay after?"

Hajime shrugged. Oikawa could read his thoughts. He knew the answer. "Everyone dies eventually," he hedged. "Doesn't matter if you think about it. You still will."

"I didn't want to be a ghost," Oikawa said in a small voice.

Hajime stilled. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"That sucks," he tried. Was this about the exorcism thing again? He hadn't meant it, really. Probably.

Oikawa's voice rose shrilly. "But I don't want to be nothing, either…! So it's better to be a ghost than to be nothing! That's what I think now."

"Dumbass," Hajime said. "If you stop existing, you wouldn't know it. There wouldn't be a problem."

"That's very much a problem for me!!" Oikawa blustered.

"But like… there wouldn't be a 'you' to worry about it. There would just be nothing," Hajime explained. He dumped the potatoes into the boiling water, then brushed the peels off his jeans. One of his fingers was bleeding again, so he jammed his hand in his pocket to staunch it.

"I refuse to be nothing," Oikawa spat.

The fire surged, blazing up higher to lick flames around the edges of the pot. It hissed and popped where the fire and water touched, flashing bright against the early evening gloom.

Hajime raised an eyebrow at the colorful display. "But… you wouldn't be nothing," he tried again. "You just wouldn't be at all. It would be over. An ending. That's what happens when you're dead."

"I refuse," Oikawa huffed. "Iwa-chan shouldn't be so accepting, either. You should be something, too."

Hajime grunted noncommittally. Maybe Oikawa had a point there. He took a long swig from his water bottle to avoid answering.

There wasn't much Hajime had ever wanted out of life, really. If he died on the spot, he didn't think he'd be missing out on anything. He never had big plans. His mom had him when she was only a teenager, and a father was never part of that picture. He had been home-schooled out here when he was young, and never thought about leaving. His whole world revolved around wanting to take care of his mom, of proving he was good enough for her. He knew she didn't exactly plan to have a kid, so what else could he do but try to make up for holding her back?

Hajime never once complained about where she took him. He liked working with his hands, so that's what he'd ended up doing. But all his hard work had been for his family, not himself. Little wonder he felt unmoored now that he'd been cut free.

The forest at his back was a comforting constant. Hajime liked that it was quiet out here, no traffic, no demands. He could hear himself think. It felt like he had a reason to be here, even if his memories of this place had holes in them, holes where a person used to be. He leaned over to stir the pot, the warmth pleasant against his hands. He wouldn't mind staying for a while, rent free living off his savings account, letting the rest of the world pass him by.

If he died out here, would his spirit want to stay? Or would he vanish into nothingness, having never truly belonged anywhere?

"I missed you," Oikawa admitted quietly. "Being dead wouldn't be bad as long as we're together. I wish you would just remember me already."

Hajime didn't argue. But neither could he remember.

"—who I am! You have to remember!"

Hajime heard the tail end of the frustrated cry, but he wasn't on the lawn anymore: he was falling off the roof, again. His outstretched arms flailed for any handhold at all, but there was nothing in the inky void around him. No one would catch him. He plummeted into an uncaring abyss.

Blackness streamed past his ears and mouth, swallowing up the sounds of his screaming. The dizzying vertigo dragged on for an eternity. Silence overtook him, but with it, his fear ebbed into a strange calm. The impact was inevitable.

Only once Hajime accepted it did the ground rush to meet him. He stopped struggling, and–

THUD.

His eyes snapped open into confused wakefulness, a cry half-choked off in his throat. He was on the bedroom floor, sheets tangled around his thrashing limbs. It was still dark. He had thrown himself awake when he fell off the bed.

The bruises on his back ached all over again. He was too old for this. He dragged himself onto his knees, and then froze, heart hammering wildly.

Someone else was in his bed.

Icy fear clutched his chest, stole his voice from him in a second. It was too dark to make out the features, but there was a distinctly human-shaped body lying on his mattress, their head on his pillow. His mouth worked uselessly, wanting to call out, but making no sound. He knew he didn't bother to lock the front door because there was no one around, no one who would break into his house and crawl into bed with him—!

His mind reeled through the possible courses of action, none of them ideal. He couldn't call the cops because he had no reception and there weren't any stations close enough to send help anyway. He didn't even have a baseball bat or a golf club handy, just a stupid children's bug net, and even that was shoved under the bed where he dared not reach for it. His construction toolkit was outside – he had no flashlight, but if he made a break for it, he could probably reach his hammer before he was caught.

Or should he risk hand to hand combat? The stranger wasn't moving. He'd never been in a fight before, but he was strong. If he moved first, got the element of surprise, maybe—

As he stared, a black stain spread from the inert form, seeping along the mattress. The copper tang of blood hit him like a slap to the face.

Hajime fell backwards onto his rear and scrabbled back from the bed until he hit the far wall. His heart slammed against his ribs like it was about to burst. He was awake, this was real, there was a corpse in his bed, there was blood spilling over the mattress and spattering to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the door handle, and—

The dripping noise stopped. Hajime's knuckles were white on the doorknob. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath to steady himself. He wasn't afraid. He was a fucking adult, and even if he was alone in a cabin surrounded by woods, he wasn't afraid of ghosts, god damn it.

"Oikawa," he wheezed through gritted teeth. "Oikawa, if this is your idea of a joke, I swear to fucking god—"

When Hajime turned around, the bed was empty. The sheets were pristine. Oikawa was gone.

The library was a small unmarked building tucked in between the hardware store and the pub. It was in need of a paint job, but otherwise in good shape. Hajime hadn't noticed it until it was pointed out to him. He threw his bike against the rack with a noisy clatter and stormed up the steps. He slammed the door open with far more force than was necessary, and strode up to the librarian's desk with wild, bloodshot eyes.

"I need to talk to you right now," he growled.

Kiyoko stared coolly down her nose at him. "Is this library business?"

"You know damn well it isn't—" Hajime cut himself off. He rubbed his sore eyes, seeming to realize where he was. Thankfully there were no other patrons to eavesdrop save for one scandalized old woman, who hurriedly shuffled out the open door past him.

"Sorry. Sorry! I just," Hajime threw up his hands in a placating gesture. "Something happened, and I didn't sleep all night, and you were the only person I could think of, and Shimizu-san said this is where you'd be, but of course you're at work, so I'll just, fuckin' wait outside, okay? How many hours until—"

Kiyoko rolled her eyes and steered him into a chair. Once he sat, she pushed a glass of water into his shaky hands.

"Panicking helps no one," she murmured, patient but firm. "Take deep breaths. Talk to me only once you've calmed down."

She sat back at her ancient computer and returned to whatever she had been typing.

Hajime felt his wild heart rate gradually begin to settle as he looked around him. The library was silent save for the ticking of a clock, and Kiyoko's fingers tapping on the keyboard. Gulping down the water helped. His leg jiggled impatiently, but it wasn't long before his jumbled mess of thoughts sorted back into coherent lines.

When he gathered his wits, Hajime told her in a low voice all about Oikawa: about the dreams, the headaches that came and left him depending on Oikawa's moods, the way the ghost manipulated his surroundings, all finally leading up to the horrific vision of the body in his bed. Saying it aloud felt like he'd lost his mind. He wished he could call his mom, but at the same time he didn't know what he would even begin to tell her.

To her credit, Kiyoko's calm expression never faltered once. She continued typing her notes, barely sparing him a glance until she was certain he'd finished.

"He's possessing you. Filling up the space where memories of him used to be. But he isn't with you now?" was all she asked.

He shook his head. "Not since I saw the body… You couldn't see him?"

"Mm. It takes a personal connection from when they were living to see them," Kiyoko said. "I can usually hear them, but I have to be concentrating."

He paused. "So can you actually… exorcise ghosts?"

"No, that's a joke," Kiyoko deadpanned. "If you truly want to be free of his possession, you need only leave town. His power is bound to his bones and the land itself. He can visit your dreams, but he himself cannot follow."

Hajime stared down at the carpet beneath his boots. It was that easy, huh. He could just go back to the real world, get a new job, start over. He just didn't feel like he had actually figured anything out. He still couldn't remember who Oikawa used to be, or why he kept dreaming about this place when he wasn't here. Everything would still be too empty.

"You left once… right?" he guessed.

"For college," she confirmed.

"What made you come back?" Hajime asked.

It was only now starting to dawn on him how much influence Oikawa had over him. Had some ineffable force pulled him back here, left him forever dissatisfied with the outside world? Had Oikawa's ghost truly been calling him for years? If he did leave, would he simply be dragged back again? He scowled, his stubborn streak flaring up. He wasn't leaving until he had at least sorted things out with Oikawa, that much was certain.

"I returned for my girlfriend's funeral."

"Oh," Hajime said. Then, "Oh. God. I'm so sorry."

The typing stopped. Kiyoko's grey eyes were sharp as she studied him for a long moment. Whatever she saw in his guilty expression made her soften, and then she continued in halting, deliberate tones. "You sounded like her, just then. It took me several years to start hearing her voice again, and all she wanted to do at first was apologize to me."

Hajime felt that familiar chill creep down his spine as Kiyoko smiled, a warm smile directed not at him but at the empty space beside her. He realized then why she wore all black. She was in mourning garb, dressed for the future that she had buried.

"Who was… I mean, who is she," Hajime asked, mouth suddenly going dry.

He couldn't see or hear anything. His stare lingered awkwardly at the space behind Kiyoko's chair, and he inclined his head in an uncomfortable nod of acknowledgment in case someone was looking back at him.

"Yachi Hitoka," Kiyoko said as introduction. "She was going to apply to my college once she finished high school. We've moved past it, now. There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Oh, so that's why your grandmother keeps trying to set you up," Hajime blurted. "She thinks you need to move on. But you're still together."

Kiyoko sighed. "Yes. Grandmother does mean well," she said drily. "She expects me to leave again, to pick up where I left off. But I am not the same person I was before losing Hitoka-chan. Finding her again in this lifetime… it was nothing short of a miracle. I will not leave her a second time."

Kiyoko sounded so sure of herself and her place that Hajime felt almost envious. She had found where she belonged.

"You're staying for good."

"Correct. I intend to live the rest of my natural life with Hitoka-chan. I've made my peace with staying here, and helping others tell their stories. If we're lucky, I will then join her as a ghost myself."

"It's, uhh… not a guarantee?" Hajime swallowed. Oikawa's question echoed in his mind.

"No one knows for sure, after all. If your bones are returned to the land, then perhaps it will house your spirit as well," Kiyoko said thoughtfully. She adjusted her glasses before adding, "Or perhaps, without ties to the living, you will both fade together."

"Wait. You said it took years for you to hear her? Even with your connection?"

"Yes," Kiyoko affirmed. There was a distant sadness in her gaze. "You may be more talented than me."

Hajime's eyebrows furrowed. He didn't think he was anything special. "It was after I hit my head," he admitted. "I only started hearing Oikawa after I fell off the roof. But I can't remember how I met him. It was so long ago."

"No, that takes time. I struggled to remember Hitoka-chan clearly as well, much to her despair. At first I thought it was… well, I wasn't in a state to remember much of anything, at first," she explained simply. "But now I believe there is a prerequisite to becoming a ghost – they need a strong connection to someone still living, to siphon memories to sustain themselves, perhaps. I'm still researching that phenomenon. Your story will be useful to that end."

Hajime dragged a hand down his unshaven face. This at least alleviated some of his guilt. The missing gaps in his memories would come back. He just had to stay here in the meantime.

"But…" Kiyoko paused, a faint frown tugging at her lips. "I suspect your ghost friend wasn't as patient as Hitoka-chan and did something… impulsive, to jog your memory. He must have been frustrated, following you around but unable to make you hear him."

"Fuck," Hajime cursed. Dread settled low in his gut. He knew immediately what she was getting at. "You think… you think he made me fall on purpose? So that I might hear him sooner?"

"You said he was powerful enough to move small objects. Something, perhaps, as small as a roofing nail?"

Hajime gaped. That bastard.

Kiyoko shrugged. "From what you've told me, he sounds like a reckless, emotional person. I believe the body you saw was likely his, or an echo of it. Sometimes when a ghost becomes emotionally unstable, you can see echoes of the moment of their death. It's a way of… lashing out, or expressing anguish."

Hajime buried his face in his hands. He was so, so exhausted, and the answers he'd gotten did little to calm him.

Kiyoko paused, head tilted in a way that made Hajime believe she was listening to someone else. Then she nodded, and added softly, "I know because I've seen Hitoka-chan this way as well. This is what we bear, as those who outlived our loved ones."

If that was Oikawa's blood all over his bedroom, he dreaded the question he was about to ask, but plowed ahead anyway. He wasn't going to back down from this.

"And where would Yachi-san vanish to after?" he asked. "Where do you think Oikawa is now?"

"He will return to his bones to rest. Find them, and you will find him."

The town cemetery was a small hilly plot of land near a river, surrounded by pines on three sides. Ferns had overgrown everywhere in the constant shade, spilling leaves that obscured the stone markers with rich green. It smelled of fresh water, pine needles, and earth, which had a calming effect on his still shaken nerves. It was a pleasant enough area, Hajime decided, and the locals appeared to visit their loved ones often, judging by the fresh flowers dotted here and there. Perhaps there were more ghosts here than Hajime could perceive. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking, for the ones left behind.

Hajime brought a bouquet for Yachi, to be neighborly. He felt like they'd gotten off on the wrong foot at the farmer's market. Maybe they could be friends, once he started hearing her. Someday. He hoped she liked sunflowers.

He stooped down to leave bouquets for his grandparents as well, matching gravestones side by side. He did remember standing here a lifetime ago, stiff in his little black suit, clinging fast to his mother's hand. Everything seemed much smaller now. It was brighter than he'd remembered it. Hajime bowed his head, and murmured a soft prayer just in case they were actually listening. He had no idea if they had become ghosts – it could be years before he started properly hearing them, and longer still to see their faces again, if ever. They had been lost to the same illness, as though one could not bear to be left without the other.

Perhaps they had vanished into nothingness together, like Kiyoko said. Maybe they were simply gone.

Hajime told them about the wedding, and how happy his mom was. He told them he might be staying for a while after all, if they wanted to see him. At first he had wondered why it wasn't one of them calling him, instead of Oikawa. He missed them too. But he felt more like he understood, now. If they were going to call anyone home, it would be their Mariko. And she wasn't ready to come back yet.

Hajime spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing moss off the crumbling gravestones in the very back just to be absolutely certain there wasn't an Oikawa family hiding somewhere – no ancestors here, and no burials more recent than Yachi's. However, there wasn't a single Oikawa in the entire damn plot. As he got back on his bike to pedal home, his unconfirmed theory solidified with quiet clarity.

If Oikawa wasn't in the cemetery, but his remains were still local, then whoever Oikawa had been, he didn't have a funeral. He had died alone, bones picked clean by the ants. Maybe that was why Hajime had heard him. Oikawa didn't want to be alone anymore.

The seedlings in the backyard were now as tall as his thumb. They were growing quickly. He knew absolutely nothing about gardening so he wasn't sure what they would become, or if they would grow fast enough to beat the winter, but for now, they seemed to be thriving. Hajime finished watering them, then squared his shoulders. He knew what he had to do next.

He refilled his water bottle and grabbed the snacks he'd packed for himself. He felt foolish carrying the bug net with him – in his strong hands, it was nothing more than a flimsy toy. But he always had it in his dreams, in his memories, and he knew the importance of it. He let it rest over his shoulder like he used to in his youth as he traipsed deeper into the woods, letting his instinct guide him.

The canopy of leaves above him made the sunlight and shadows dapple the path, light and dark and light again. He closed his eyes at it, enjoying the coolness of the forest air, the rich scent of summer foliage, the trilling of birdsong and whining of insects. Sweat prickled along his skin as he hiked deeper, and he soon drained his water bottle completely. Even though he was likely getting lost, it didn't faze him. He felt completely at peace, like he knew the way by heart. He did.

Hajime's feet halted, and his eyes fluttered open. He found himself standing in front of one tree in particular. He slid his bag off his shoulder and set it down slowly. He couldn't articulate why, but… this felt right. It was here. He walked around the trunk, fingers trailing against the roughness of the bark. And then he saw it.

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the clumsy kanji carved into the base of the tree. Iwaizumi Hajime, the neater handwriting on the bottom read. He traced it with his fingers, slowly recalling the heft of the pocketknife in his small hands, the astringent scent of peeled bark, the thrill of not getting caught by his family. He had done this more than a decade ago. This was his signature.

And the other name, purposely written bigger than his to overshadow it. He remembered shaking the tree branch in retaliation so leaves would fall into the boy's hair, to make him whine and scrunch up his nose and pick them all out. He was so fussy about his hair, his clothes, the bugs, the heat, but he would go everywhere Hajime led him. He never wanted to be alone.

"Oikawa… Tooru."

Oikawa flickered into view. Hajime caught his breath. He was tall and broad-shouldered in adulthood, but there was no mistaking the same wavy nest of hair, the soft brown eyes, the sad twist of his smile.

Hajime felt his throat choke up suddenly. It was coming back to him. He sat down cross-legged, patting the ground next to him. Oikawa settled noiselessly at his side, and reached out reverently to touch the bug net.

"You weren't from around here like me," Hajime began slowly. "I'm starting to remember."

"My family lives way north of here," Oikawa agreed. "But our summer cabin is on the big lake. Dad flew us there every summer vacation and I hated it. No phones, no video games, no fun allowed. He and Mom would ride around on their stupid boat, and Nee-chan would take her stupid boyfriend out glamping, and everyone would leave me behind to rot."

Hajime chuckled softly. Oikawa sounded like that same spoiled kid whenever he got whiny. "Yeah… You were such a brat, they hired my mom to babysit you so they could get a break."

"I was a delightful child," Oikawa huffed. "You don't understand! None of my friends from school would travel there with us, so I could never have a birthday party! Nee-chan wouldn't stop teasing me about it!"

"You threw a tantrum and Grandma took pity on you and made you that ridiculous birthday cake," Hajime said with a smile. "Extra sugar and extra frosting. That was… when you started sleeping over. I remember now. Every summer you'd come back and stay with us. I would wait for you."

"You were the only person who would play with me," Oikawa smiled back. He made to lean against Hajime's shoulder, but only a chill passed through his skin. "We took your action figures outside and had monster fights. We built blanket forts and called ourselves knights. We'd look out the window at night and watch the stars. I taught you all the names of the constellations because my school made us memorize them that year."

"You didn't want your own room so we shared the bed, didn't we? Only… you were still scared to be left alone, so you wouldn't let go of my hand."

Oikawa scoffed. "I was not afraid! I just didn't have my nightlight and it's so dark because of all the trees—"

"—And that's why I caught all the fireflies for you. To be your nightlights."

Hajime stared into Oikawa's eyes, who gazed helplessly back at him. It was all flooding back at once. All the fireflies and summer nights and stargazing and Tooru, always at his side, adventuring and taking on the world. He never wanted Tooru to leave. He remembered every time Tooru's parents took him back for the new school year, and they both wept bitter tears, and vowed to see each other next summer, next summer.

Until the year Grandma and Grandpa got sick, and didn't get better. Until Hajime moved away, and there was no next summer. Until now.

"Tooru," Hajime said softly. He raised his hand to cup Tooru's cheek, but his fingers passed through empty air.

How could he have forgotten this? The missing piece in his chest, the longing he'd felt, the ache of missing something he hadn't had a name for. His best friend. His first crush. God, he'd been away for so long, doing nothing, wasting time, wasting his life, and now… He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes.

"Tooru, how did you die out here?"

Tooru shook his head mutely, lips pressed together. His eyes were bright with unspoken emotion. A fierce wind rattled the branches above them, causing a shower of leaves and twigs to cascade over Hajime's shoulders. He was shaking, colors dimming into transparency, and Hajime longed to hold him, even though he knew he never could again.

"Okay… Okay, let's just go home," Hajime whispered, and stood. He offered his hand to Tooru.

Though their fingers passed uselessly through each other, Tooru stubbornly held his hand all the way back to the cabin. And when Hajime finally collapsed into his bed, exhausted to his core, Tooru curled up beside him, pressed against the curve of his back like he'd always done when they were small, craving the warmth of a body heat he could never again offer in return.

He blinked, and he was in the forest again. The dark canopy loomed over his head, branches long and gnarled and twisted like black claws blotting out the stars. The woods shifted and groaned, a living beast drawing breath through craggy teeth.

Hajime was alone out here, walking quickly. His pulse was fluttering fast. Acrid fear rose like bile at the back of his throat. The drumming of his heart was a rhythm he tried to focus on. He was brave, he was brave, he was brave. He rubbed his clammy palms against his shirt, and drew a shaky inhale to steady himself as he stumbled deeper into the unknown.

The tortuous path swayed to and fro under rolling waves of shadows. Hajime was aware he was dreaming, but that was as far as his awareness could take him. Thorns snagged at his clothes, scraped red welts on his bare arms, snarled his shoelaces, tripped up his ankles. Try as he might, he could not speak, nor could he resist the pull of puppet strings jerking him reluctantly further. Shadows eddied in inky swells to lap at his feet, threatening to engulf him should he slip.

A choked off sob hitched in his throat, and Hajime broke into a run, trying to outpace the darkness that was swallowing him whole. One tree in particular shone through the gloom, brighter than the warped, corrupted shapes surrounding it. It felt right, it felt safe, the last bastion against the encroaching night.

Hajime rushed gratefully to its protection, and ran a small hand along the trunk to find the sigil he knew would be carved there – their names, Hajime and Tooru, together for eternity. The fresh scar in the tree's hide was white and jagged, still healing from where he'd sank the knife into it. It would always be theirs.

But the darkness crept closer still, growing bolder and wilder and forming into grotesque mouths and claws aiming to rend his flesh from his bones. He squeaked in fear, and fled in the only direction the dreamscape would allow him – up.

Hajime scrambled up into the branches of the tree, their tree, their secret place. Higher and higher he climbed, the rough bark scraping his palms and knees, the scent of pine flooding his senses. He would find the stars, and their light would save him.

When he reached the top, he heaved a shuddering sigh of relief. It was quiet and still above the canopy. He could see the black tangle of branches stretching in all directions below his vantage point, but they could not reach him here. The stars twinkled bright against the endless black canvas of sky. The wind was cold against his cheeks and bare arms, but he clung stubbornly with all his limbs against the tree like a bear cub, refusing to be dislodged.

And then he waited. He waited until the stars faded into morning light, and the sunrise slowly painted colors across the swath of black sky. He waited until his empty stomach began to cramp in hunger, and his shivering limbs were numb and exhausted from the effort of holding on. He waited until the trees below him were no longer monstrous entities designed to tear him apart, but peaceful leaves and branches swaying in the gentle breeze. It was finally safe to come down.

Hajime exhaled, and edged a hesitant step towards a foothold, and –

The branch snapped. Suddenly, everything was upside down. As he tumbled, free and helpless, the wind was a roar in his ears, his heart in his throat, the blur of branches snagging and snapping at him like the jaws of beasts. His voice burst out of him in a desperate scream for help, but he was alone, alone, alone.

And when he hit the ground, his little body crumpled and broken at the base of the tree, Hajime realized it was not his body at all.

"Tooru!"  

When Hajime woke with Tooru's name on his lips, it was still dark in the bedroom. Cold sweat soaked through his clothes, plastered his hair against his pillow. He was still panting from the shock of the dream – the memory – the death. His heart thudded heavily against his ribcage, where Tooru's indistinct figure was curled against him like a cat, watching him with a guarded, inscrutable stare.

"I told you it was a stupid way to die." Tooru's voice was soft, but tinged with resentment. "Even if you survived the fall, you'd bleed to death waiting for someone to find you. And no one did."

"Why were you alone," Hajime whispered, voice cracking. He was trembling. He wanted desperately to gather Tooru in his arms, but there was nothing solid to hold. "Where was I? Why wasn't I with you, why didn't I save you—"

Tooru cut him off with a smile, a bitter twist of an expression. "It was a different summer. After you were already gone. My family came back to the lake every year, but without you, I just went off exploring the woods on my own. I kept hoping you'd come back, somehow. I was stupid."

"Your family, they didn't…" Hajime's voice trailed off, uncertain what to even ask when the obvious was right before him.

"They realized I was missing when it got dark out, of course, but they didn't know where to look." Tooru shrugged, dark gaze flicking away guiltily. "They thought… they thought I ran away from home. I always threatened to leave, y'know? Told them how much I hated Nee-chan's teasing and how they all ignored me, and, and that must be… what they believed. I think they must have called the police eventually, but. They never found the body because I'm still here."

Hajime tried to swallow, but he felt the lump in his throat choking him. It was just an accident, but Tooru was dead. His Tooru had been dead for years. It was finally sinking in, all that they had lost.

He reached out a shaking hand to touch Tooru's cheek. At first his fingers found only air, but for a brief flicker of concentration, something solid met his fingertips. Tooru cautiously met his gaze, torn between hopeful and forlorn all at once. He leaned against the touch, but all too soon his control dissipated, and he slipped through Hajime's hands. A flash of frustration darkened Tooru's expression, there in an instant, quickly masked into smooth nothingness.

Hajime blinked too fast, trying to hold back the heat welling behind his eyes. After a long silence, he finally cleared his throat. "Tooru… do you want them to know?" he whispered hoarsely.

"What? No! No, no, what if they throw me a funeral or something," Tooru said too quickly to sound casual. He tossed his head in a haughty gesture, glaring at the far wall. "Too stuffy, too boring. All that feelings talk. No thanks."

"That's not the point and you know it," Hajime cut in. "If I notify the police, they'll contact your next of kin. Your parents will finally know—"

"—And then they'll take my bones away, Iwa-chan. Forensics, the morgue, the family cemetery. I'll…"

Tooru's voice cracked, and he turned away suddenly, appearance wavering. His eyes shone with a strange gleam, brighter than the rest of him. For a moment, he looked young again, curled up small, stubborn and vulnerable and afraid of the dark. Outside a sudden wind rattled the trees, whistling mournfully through the gaps in their branches.

"It's okay," Hajime said quietly. He longed to reach out and hug him, and settled for gazing firmly at his dimming silhouette, as though he could restore Tooru's confidence through sheer force of will. No one would make him disappear. Hajime wouldn't allow it. "It's okay, Tooru. I know you want to stay here."

Tooru seemed to relax then, though his outline remained dimmed. He uncurled his tense posture and slowly settled beside Hajime, resting his fluffy hair against the pillow, so their noses were nearly touching. The bed was small, and their legs would have tangled to fit together, chest to chest, had they both had living breathing bodies to fit there.

Tooru's expression seemed to soften then, something fond and curious and fathomless in the depths of his eyes. He raised his hand to Hajime's broad chest and hesitated, for a moment. Asking permission. Hajime watched him steadily, trustingly, allowing him anything he wanted.

Then Tooru reached out, his touch passing harmlessly through flesh and bone. Hajime shuddered at the cold chill that swept through him, lips parted on a gasp, but there was no resistance in his body. His heart stuttered into double time, racing wildly as it had always done whenever Tooru got close. He trembled, but he did not hide it.

Tooru's face scrunched up into a delighted grin as he felt it beating, his heart in the palm of his hands. It was the honest smile Hajime remembered, the unguarded, youthful smile that only the two of them could share with each other. This was no dream. Tooru was real.

Hajime laughed shakily, a strange, lightheaded giddiness overwhelming him. His pulse was an electric current, lighting up his veins. He felt like he could pass out, like his heart could stop at any second, or like he could exist suspended in this moment forever. He had never felt anything like this before. He had never felt so alive.

Hajime let his eyes close. Softly, breathlessly, he confessed into the dark.

"I want to stay here, too. Together."

The next several days were quiet, peaceful ones. Having finished all the major house repairs, Hajime turned his focus on cleaning out the cabin – opening all the windows for fresh air, dusting and sweeping and wiping down shelves, cleaning out the old fridge even though he'd given up on them ever turning on the electricity out here – and then taking a break to garden, when he could stand the sneezing and coughing no longer.

The battery radio cheerfully piped summer tunes to fill the quiet, and occasionally the dial would turn on its own when Tooru capriciously decided he wanted a different station. Hajime knelt and gently watered his seedlings, noting with pride how large they'd grown. The soil here must be good. He made a mental note to buy more seeds from Shimizu; it would be satisfying to have an actual vegetable garden again, like his grandparents had tended to. He presumed the neglected lemon tree had perished over the winters gone by, and thought about getting his own. He missed the scent of citrus in the kitchen, crisp notes harmonizing with the scent of pine needles on the breeze.

He thought about buying more furniture, more cooking utensils, more tools for building. He thought about taking up repair work locally, to help out the elderly with their houses. He thought about planning for the months to come. He thought about how he had called this home, once, and it could be that again.

Tooru crouched moodily nearby, staring at the plants like they had offended him personally. He reached out to trace his finger along the delicate edge of a fresh green leaf, toying with whether or not the leaf moved, or his finger passed through it. Hajime watched Tooru's focused expression go sharp as he experimented with his control. The ghost was improving with practice.

"What if…" Tooru ventured. He studiously avoided looking at Hajime. "What if we write a letter to my family and it says I'm okay. That I did run away. That I'm fine on my own."

"You want to lie?" Hajime countered. His brows pulled into a scowl, and he crossed his arms.

"Not in a bad way, Iwa-chan! I am fine! Stop glaring at me like that," Tooru blustered. Sulkily he plucked the leaf from the stem, and let it flutter to the ground. "I just-! I want them to have closure, and not worry forever about what happened to me! Isn't… isn't thinking I'm an ungrateful son better than thinking I'm dead?"

Hajime exhaled through his nose. He didn't like the idea of lying to parents, even as a white lie. Loyalty was too deeply ingrained in his nature. But he also knew Tooru's relationship with his family had been very different from his own. Maybe they would rather think of him as a bratty runaway than know the tragic truth. Maybe it would be easier to hate him. He just didn't want to believe anyone could hate Tooru.

"If that's what you want," Hajime said finally. He straightened up and brushed the soil from his knees. "Whatever you decide, you know I'll help you."

With Kiyoko's assistance, they spent hours on the library computer searching social media platforms and news articles. When they searched Tooru's name, they found stories about his disappearance and the sizeable reward offered for any information to his whereabouts. Hajime felt a strange guilt clutch in his stomach when he saw the smiling school portrait they used to represent one Oikawa Tooru. He looked so young. He had been.

To Tooru's disappointment, his parents were too reclusive to have a public online presence. His sister, however, got a hit. Tooru crowded over Hajime's shoulder to goggle at her gallery, a sea of perfect photogenic smiles staring back at him. There were several recent vacation selfies, and even a shot of her steering the family boat. The years had treated her more kindly than her brother, it seemed.

"She looks almost exactly like you. You have the same eyes," Hajime commented. "It's a little creepy."

"Don't be jealous because beauty and success runs in our family, Iwa-chan. Scroll down, scroll down! Nee-chan dumped that loser college boyfriend, right," Tooru crowed excitedly.

Hajime clicked to expand the relationships section. "Actually they're married and have a son together. Huh."

Tooru squawked in disbelief. "They what?! Nee-chan had a kid?!"

"Yeah… Takeru. Here's his profile. Looks like he's in high school. That makes you an uncle."

Hajime glanced sidelong at Tooru, whose expression was transforming from comical shock to resentment to something wistful like… longing. It was still a little surreal to think he and Tooru were the same age, born only one month apart, but grade school felt like a lifetime ago. So much time had passed. Tooru would never truly age again, he supposed, but at least he could seemingly adjust his appearance at will. Tooru was probably too vain to ever give himself wrinkles or grey hair, though. Only Hajime would bear that particular burden.

"…They all moved on, didn't they. My family really did leave me behind."

Tooru spoke calmly, but his eyes stared blankly at the stranger on the screen. A sulky teenager with spiky hair and an unfamiliar school uniform stared back. A nephew he'd never met. A life he wasn't a part of.

"Tooru," Hajime said gruffly.

The monitor abruptly went black as the power was cut. Nearby Kiyoko made a soft noise of disapproval, but did not chastise them. Tooru flickered out of sight, but Hajime could sense he had not gone far.

"Forget about the letter. Forget about them. Take me home," Tooru's voice whispered near his ear.

There was a quaver in his tone that made fierce protectiveness suddenly well in Hajime. He leaned back in the computer chair, staring down at his hands still hovering above the keyboard. He thought of his single mother, dragging him to the city to escape their grief, finding her own place to belong, leaving him behind to fend for himself. He had tried to blame her for his loneliness, looking at his empty apartment, his empty life. He no longer felt the emptiness, now that he found something he wanted. He knew where he was supposed to be.

Hajime rose resolutely, and they left the library together. He refused to let Tooru feel alone. Neither of them ever had to feel that ache again, now that they had each other.

Some months later

Night had fallen outside the cabin, but inside, candlelight cast a gentle, inviting glow. There were plates and cups stacked up in the kitchen from a passable attempt at a home cooked dinner. A new rug was spread on the living room floor, and four chairs were crowded around the small table. Only two of them were visibly occupied, but all four pieces on the board game took turns moving. A large, bearish dog of nondescript breed curled underneath the table, her fluffy tail thumping pleasantly against the floor as she listened to their game.

Hajime rolled the dice for his turn, and moved his game piece accordingly. Then the pair of dice rose into the air and rolled, seemingly all by themselves. Yachi chirped in excitement at her double sixes, and her game piece clattered quickly to catch up to Kiyoko's.

He and Tooru were still getting used to hearing Yachi's disembodied voice without being able to see her, but he liked her attitude so far. Apparently once he became aware of her, she became aware of Tooru – something like tuning into the same radio frequency, which Kiyoko had been fascinated to discover. Hajime was looking forward to helping with her research.

"You're sure you're okay watching the place while I'm away?" Hajime asked Kiyoko for the third time that evening. His eyebrows knitted into a frown. "Hotaru doesn't know her own size, so don't let her jump on you. If she gets wound up before bedtime, just throw the ball around out back to wear her out. And there's extra dog food on top of the fridge where she can't reach it, in case you need it—"

"I believe I can handle the dog, Hajime," Kiyoko smiled. She leaned under the table to scratch under the dog's chin, a contented smile on both their expressions. Hotaru's leg twitched and began to thump against the floor. The big dog enthusiastically licked Kiyoko's fingers in response. "It will be good for you to see your mother again. You needn't worry."

"Iwa-chan is such a mama's boy that he's practically a mom himself," Tooru snickered. "I'll also be here with Hotacchi, in case you've forgotten."

"You're what I'm concerned about. Don't teach her weird nicknames while I'm gone," Hajime groused. "And don't spoil her!"

"Yes, Mother," Tooru promised solemnly.

Hajime reached out a hand to swipe at the back of Tooru's head, though his hand passed harmlessly through the apparition. Tooru stuck his tongue out, jeering. Hajime promptly cupped his hands over the dice, blocking Tooru from being able to play.

"Hey, that's cheating! Dearest loveliest Kiyoko-chan, make this brute stop cheating!"

"Too late," Hajime grunted. "Should have thought of that before you insulted me. Kiyoko, your turn."

They both scowled at each other, stubbornly refusing to budge. Hajime's chair creaked ominously as Tooru began loosening the screws holding it together. Kiyoko folded her arms and calmly waited. Yachi's giggles spilled from her chair like she could no longer hold back her amusement. The candle flames sputtered and flared brighter, splashing warm yellows and oranges to fill the room.

"Um, Iwaizumi-san, you might want to let Oikawa-san have his turn," Yachi pointed out cheerfully. "Otherwise he might have a temper tantrum and throw you off a roof again."

Hajime barked a startled laugh. "It's true, he was petty enough to try to kill me once already."

Tooru spluttered. "It wasn't like that! You were just," he struggled, appearance wavering uncertainly. Transparency faded his features, which Hajime had come to recognize as the ghost equivalent of blushing.

"Spit it out and you get the dice back," Hajime smirked.

Tooru's voice got smaller as embarrassment crept into his tone. "You were working on the roof with your sleeves rolled up, and you were all sweaty and hot, and your biceps looked so big and I just, got flustered, and, it wasn't my fault! You practically made me do it."

"So you pushed me off a roof because you couldn't handle that I looked hot?!"

Hajime threw the dice at Tooru's head, but he neatly caught them and flashed his fingers in a victory sign. Yachi's peals of laughter were like music, filling the cabin. Kiyoko calmly raised an eyebrow, hiding her own modest smile.

"What was it you did before I could hear you, Hitoka-chan?" she said smoothly. "I seem to recall an incident at the library that no one could explain—"

"Okay, okay, you don't understand the context! She was wearing heels, alright," Yachi squeaked in protest. "Like, heels heels, like she looked like a model, heels. Like this was completely unfair and obviously some cruel cosmic test of my restraint that I failed immediately, type heels."

Tooru sighed appreciatively. "So what did you do, Yacchan," he drawled, mischief bright in his eyes. "'Fess up."

"Might have… collapsed a bookshelf. Or two. So that she'd notice me."

Tooru and Hajime snorted. Kiyoko shook her head at the memory. "It was the entire reference section, actually. It took weeks to reorganize everything."

"I said I was sorry!!" Yachi wailed as the others laughed. "The card catalog went up like confetti… Raining down around her… It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen…"

"That's worse than a concussion, right," Tooru grinned. "You have me beat, Yacchan."

Eventually night stretched on in earnest, and they all began to feel tiredness creeping in. The games were put away, the dishes were washed, they said their goodbyes for now. He thought about the long cab ride to the airport, and the morning flight awaiting him. He was looking forward to seeing his mom again, to telling her everything that had transpired out here, and asking her to teach him some cooking, now that he'd gotten the hang of the basics. He thought of seeing Tooru in his dreams every night they were apart. He thought about having a place of his own to return to, when the visit was over.

Something warm and contented settled in Hajime's chest when he thought of the four of them, together. Kiyoko and Yachi with the keys to the cabin, keeping everything lived in and warm for the two weeks he'd be away. Hotaru, wagging her tail when she noticed him looking at her, trying not to miss her already. His Tooru, hovering nearby with downcast eyes, not wanting him to leave but stubbornly not wanting to admit it. He hadn't known the shape of what he'd been aching for, nor how to find it. But now he had friends, ghosts, and a dog – his new family, that he would do anything to keep.

"I'll be back before you know it," Hajime murmured. "And I'll see you every night. I promise."

He reached out to tangle his fingers with Tooru's, raising his hand to his lips to press a chaste kiss to his knuckles. Tooru made a soft noise, his hand solid for a moment in Hajime's callused grip, just long enough to squeeze his fingers back. The quiet peace of the cabin in the woods, this home they were building in each other. Hajime already didn't want to go.

"Come home soon," Tooru said, smiling softly. "I'll be waiting."