Work Text:
If you knew where to look in Kamome Academy, there was a door. Past the B stairs (being careful to skip the fourth step), and through the art room, it could be found secreted away in the tall shadows of canvas stands and sinks. Nothing special stood out about this entrance, and perhaps that was the way it was meant to be: so ordinary the average person wouldn't spare it a second look.
Not that it would have been possible for the average person to have given it a first look, either.
Beyond the handle was a cavernous hallway with knee-deep water, opening up into a set of gilded stairs and a studio that seemed diminutive by comparison. Paintings upon paintings upon even more paintings lined the walls.
The artist is quite talented
, an outsider would say, choosing not to voice that realism captured in the faces of students and teachers bordered on unsettling. Each portrait had a name penciled into a matching slip of paper to identify its subject.
Yugi Amane,
read one. And to the left,
Yashiro Nene. Minamoto Kou. Mitsuba Sousuke.
There were more than just portraits- A landscape of the academy was rendered in sweeping strokes, vibrant color, and meticulous detail. Every part of the school, from the soccer fields to the town in the distance were captured in all their glory.
The central focus of the piece was also the only abnormality: a peculiar-looking tower, that looked as though it would collapse in on itself at a strong gust of wind.
Standing in the room alone, Hanako traced the lines of a face he'd long since surrendered to ink and acrylic. The likeness was identical to him every way, save for the fact that Yugi Amane wore a smile and the light blue uniform of a student, and Hanako had a seal marking his cheek in exchange. Every brushstroke, each curve of this picture was familiar to him, and yet he wished he'd never seen it at all.
His eyes widened, and he drew away when the images began twisting into their center, contorting and swirling into mistaken likenesses of themselves. The walls vibrated, rocking them back and forth in a low-grade earthquake, but the frames didn't so much as tilt off their hangers.
As soon as the din started, it rested when a pair of shoes protruded from the landscape painting, soon followed by a skirt, blazer, and the unfurling braids of the fourth mystery. The portraits righted themselves again like nothing was amiss.
"I'm home!" Shijima called, landing on the floor with a gust of air to cushion her fall. Hanako was about to announce his presence when her eyes narrowed, searching him up and down.
"Welcome back," he offered, shifting under her scrutinizing gaze.
"I wasn't aware I had visitors," she commented lightly, "But then again, it's not often you're here with my knowledge, is it Number Seven?"
He declined to comment on her line of questioning. It was true that he'd spent many more hours than necessary wandering the gallery, but that wasn't something she needed to know.
"Well, I'd heard you were in..." he gestured to where she'd appeared from, and his throat constricted to prevent him from referencing it by name.
"...there?"
"Yes, ensuring sure everything was in order. And she's doing great, in case you were wondering." Shijima took a seat on a stool, twirling a paintbrush between her fingers. "I'm sure you noticed the latest addition."
She nodded towards an unframed canvas propped up against the supplies cabinet, still dispersing the metallic scent of freshly-dried paint throughout the room.
But it was the two familiar faces depicted that made it difficult to miss.
Amane and Nene were running through watercolor-stained rain, both laughing and flushing and unconsciously leaning into each other. The brush of fingers on their umbrella handle and the shine in Nene's eyes was more than enough for anyone to tell that they were painfully, obviously in love.
~~~
It was supposed to be a harmless request. With Nene captured in the tower, there was nothing to do except anticipate the world's completion and hold her tight one last time, to assure himself everything was for the best. Hanako wandered the halls of the tower, watched the too-starry sky, and waited. All the while, Shijima's words resounded in his ears-
Honorable Number Seven, do you also perhaps intend to stay here?
It was selfish, and he knew it and despised himself for conceiving the fragment of an idea. It would be the most selfish thing he'd asked for, but if he could leave the world knowing Nene wouldn't be abandoned, that she'd still have a piece of him left to protect her...it might be enough to fill the phantom emptiness where his heart should have been.
The opportunity presented itself when he ran into Shijima on the stairs to the prison. She found him lingering outside the door, faltering on the knob, and torn between cutting ties completely or taking another moment to say goodbye. Hanako heard muffled sniffles from the other end, which were only serving to loosen his resolve.
"I was wondering if you'd be here!" Shijima exclaimed from behind, prompting him to startle. "I was about to check in with her, but it appears..."
"I've said everything I need to."
The lie was more to convince himself than her.
"It won't be long from now," she assured as they started down the steps. "Unless you have additional requests, this world should be finished within a few days and the clock will reset."
She'll be happy, alive, safe,
he reminded himself, a mantra in the background of his mind.
"Actually..."
They took a sharp left turn, and he filled his lungs
with a bracing breath.
"There's just one left thing I have to ask."
~~~
"She won't notice the difference," Shijima said later. "With a set of new memories, he'll act exactly like you."
"You're sure?" Hanako asked, examining the portrait she'd presented him with. She laughed, took it from his hands, and hung the frame beside the others.
"Have a little more faith, Honorable Number Seven! Anyway," A melancholy smile adorned Shijima's face when she stepped back to admire the gallery. "I suspected you'd ask for something like this."
There was a growing silence.
"It's done," she affirmed, and the words hung in the air for a prolonged few seconds before Hanako's vision plunged into darkness and the floor beneath his feet folded in.
He woke on the floor of the girls' bathroom like it had been nothing but a dream.
"Honorable Number Seven?"
Hanako tore his eyes away from the painting.
"Sorry, spaced out," he mumbled, clearing his throat quietly. "It went according to plan?"
"Like watching a play. The scenario recreated itself flawlessly."
"That's...great."
Shijima watched him while he pretended not to be staring at the lines of Nene's painted smile from five feet away. She began taking paints out of a well-stocked cupboard and chose brushes from a glass jar. Their bristles were stained with color and wear.
"You know…”
Cerulean joined white and crimson and green in her hands, and they clattered on the desk.
"It would be incredibly easy."
"It?" He parroted, "You're going to have to be more specific."
"I may not have total control of that world, but it's not sealed off entirely. Let's see..." She pressed a pencil to a nearby pad of paper and started sketching outlines of an object. "A tea to replace his consciousness with yours, or a pill to implant memories... "
A fully-formed teacup dropped out from the page, steam radiating from its rim.
"I still don't understand."
"Then, I'll have to spell it out." She leaned close, glasses slipping from her nose.
"You could become Yugi Amane again."
"No. That's impossible." Hanako's reply was immediate and absolute, to admonish any trace of hope blossoming within.
"As the oldest, I'm sure Number One would be more than prepared to take your place as leader."
She placed the delicate china cup down on the table next to him, smelling of jasmine, and an orange prescription bottle containing a single grey tablet.
"My
place as leader,
" his voice dropped dangerously, "Is for atonement. It's ridiculous to even suggest that I...that I..."
Shijima shrugged and went back to her easel, unbothered.
"I merely meant that it'd benefit us both. The fictional world has been out of balance since one of the main characters," -She pointed the end of her brush to indicate him- "...since you left. With a fake replacement, I regularly have to be drawing new scenes to progress the story. So you get to be with your friends, and my role will become more indirect."
Her laugh was short and humorless.
"But it's not as though I'll be able to stop drawing, anyway."
He faced the opposite direction, and she noticed how he'd become worse at hiding his emotions, how his shoulders were permanently hunched.
He spends all his time in the boundaries,
Tsuchigomori had once said two years ago,
But never in his own domain. Fighting supernaturals near the far shore, I've heard. I don't think the kid's been found in the girls' restroom once this year.
Their discussion was cut short by Hanako signaling the current meeting's start, but she couldn't look at him the same way afterward.
~~~
Forgetting was a curious circumstance. Everyone preferred to think that they'd hold onto their most precious memories, like a tangible thing bound together by sheer willpower. In the end, it was too simple to unravel them like a ball of string.
Nene, Kou, even Mitsuba- all disappeared without a trace, but the world kept turning. Teru Minamoto walked home to his younger sister, the absence of a brother beside him only felt by Hanako. Aoi Akane laughed and shared homework answers with another classmate. The seat of Number Three was temporarily left empty.
Happy. Alive. Safe. This is what I asked for.
(Sometimes, he wondered: If Nene came back, would she be able to recall what they'd been through together again? Or would she simply see a translucent boy in an outdated gakuran, and say, "You're not Amane-kun?")
Nearly two years was a long time to be missing someone, so instead, Hanako did what he could to occupy his time- kept peace around the school, fought off aggressive supernaturals when they arose, and ignored most else. From time to time, there'd be a knock on his stall door, no doubt another student seeking to confirm the rumors.
He overlooked that too, and how his heart twisted when he remembered a girl with silvery-blonde hair on the other end.
It wasn't so bad. He'd endured five decades this way, who wasn't to say he could stay around five more?
~~~
"Well, the decision's up to you," Shijima concluded, following a lengthy pause. "But If you'll excuse me, I believe I've misplaced my palette knife."
When she dusted off her skirt and lifted a half-finished painting lifted from the table, Hanako only caught a glimpse of it. Fireworks- illuminating the skies, the clouds, and four students watching from the school roof. Mitsuba and Kou's faces were suspended mid-sentence, reaching up to the bursts of color. Amane's eyes mirrored theirs, alight with laughter, and his hand was laced with Nene's.
Shijima stood in the studio's doorway, holding the canvas close.
"It's okay," she said, taking a step backward and disappearing into the boundary's depths, "To still love her."
"...Yashiro was my assistant," Hanako told the empty space where the girl had vanished. The fight from his voice drained.
It would be absurd to think of her as anything more.
If she heard his lie, Shijima didn't respond.
~~~
You wouldn't have noticed it had you been in the shoes of Yashiro Nene.
The air was clear, red leaves tumbling to the ground, and Kamome had recently let out for the afternoon. There was much more to be distracted by than Yugi Amane. You wouldn't have noticed it if his form wavered, once, swift and vibrant, and if his carefree expression was unceremoniously substituted with something else.
"Amane-kun?"
You wouldn't have noticed until he stumbled back into the school gates, planting his feet firmly on the ground as if he didn't believe it was solid.
"Are you alright?!"
Nene took his arm to help steady his balance, concern twisting her features. He just stared at the hand on his elbow and looked up into the face attached. The cloudiness in his eyes parted.
"Yashiro," he said, as if the name hadn't passed his lips in years.
"What's--!"
She supported him while he stood, and the moment they were level he gathered her into his arms, right there in front of the few students filing out the gates. Just the two of them in their own world, him silent and running his fingers over her hair.
"Hey," she murmured, kissing his cheek lightly, "Hey, are you hurt?"
He traced the curve of her face.
"I missed you so much."
She didn't know the reason why her tears were overflowing and soaking the front of his uniform. Though Nene was pretty sure he wouldn't care, because when she looked up, he was crying too. And she couldn't explain how her arms were shaking, or the unfamiliar-sounding name tumbling out from the depths of her mind.
She didn't understand, but it felt like coming home.
"...I missed you too, Hanako-kun."