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“You have been napping less,” Doppo chuckled. “There have been fewer sightings of a pale ghost in the stacks.”
Takeo smiled.
“There’s more to look forward to these days.”
Those words were tinged with melancholy, but Takeo adroitly maneuvered the conversation to its lighter tone.
“The librarian still hasn’t given me a pillow. He gave me a scarf, though.”
“Maybe he’s noticed your liveliness as well.” Doppo gazed softly before amending with a grin, “But perhaps, it’s a pillow in disguise. If you wrap it comfortably enough, it can cushion.”
“Oh, you’re clever!”
“Don’t go back to sleeping so much again now that you know. It’s nice talking with you while you’re awake.”
Takeo smiled with glassy eyes before prodding, “Have you tried talking to me while I was asleep then?”
“Oh, I have.”
Takeo laughed, brushing off the remark. However, Doppo’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I was investigating the ghost, you see. I muttered several conversation starters into his ears as he curled up against a bookshelf.”
Takeo wished this report wouldn’t continue, but was also conflictingly invested.
Continuing, Doppo detailed, “He responded to me by mumbling something from ‘A Song of Myself’.”
He wore a languid smile.
“Do you always dream of Whitman?”
You visited me in my sleep too, Takeo reflected, as laughter subsided. Words he held back; sentiments deflected with jest.
“Would you have preferred me incanting Goethe?”
Doppo smirked.
“I would have seeded more rumors in the library if you responded to me in Faustian chants.”
Playfully nudging Takeo, he added, “Except, upon hearing you cite such a sensual poem, I decided to keep quiet.”
Pale hair fell stark on reddened skin. Takeo hoped, if he were dreaming of naked men bathing, that there were no familiar faces among them--especially not Doppo’s. He could only respond with a cornered “mmph”.
Peals of laughter rang pleasantly. Doppo lightly touched Takeo’s shoulder, and the two instinctively decided to part.
“Take care of yourself, Arishima. I’ll look into efficient scarf-tying methods for sleep. But let’s meet outdoors next time! You can handle the cold better than I can, anyway.”
The journalist headed off, but his warmth cooled slowly like the kiss Takeo had once dreamt of.
I’d sleep forever if you’d greet me every time.
The writer tugged his mouth gently. His lips were numb again.