Chapter Text
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍
𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗' '𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠
𝙸𝚏 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝙼𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘
~ 𝚁𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝙵𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚜
There’s room for small miracles, in a world of wishes, and prices, where you can weave across the fine line of impossibilities on the silk threads of fate. There’s room for the sun to stream light beams across flesh, sunset orange dusting him off golden and warm with the heat of the summer sun. Not just in colour, but in the way his fingers curl around the palm of Nene’s hand, his grasp solid, firm in her own.
But here Hanako is, cast in a healthy glow rather than a palette beneath his skin, once, not even an hour before, translucent glass, a mere echo in the land of the living. The illusion of a body once worn and torn, a soul still clinging to past sins and repentance. The ice of his ghostly skin has thawed, giving way to an underlying heat, the badum badum of a pulse which has been frozen mid heartbeat, caught between two pages of time for longer than Nene has lived.
It’s much the same way Amane had appeared in Number Four’s painting, all living acrylic with a painted on complexion. But it’s real . Oh so much more real when this can be nothing but a dream. Perhaps she’s nodded off in class — which wouldn’t be beyond her — drifting into the realms of far fetched fantasy where, in a moment or two, the spell will be broken by a ghostly arm creeping its way over her shoulders, pulling her from sleep with a whisper in her ear like her own personal alarm clock, every bit as annoying as one.
( If endearing )
His touch says otherwise, every so often squeezing her palm just to prove he can. He’s open to pinching her, too, just to dispel any further lingering doubts, and this had easily earned him a sock to the stomach from a not so pleased Nene.
Which, okay, may have been a little harsh, but at that point she was fairly certain mr figment of her imagination over there would have disappeared in a puff of smoke, teasing grin and all. Dreams don’t have consequences for actions that have never really happened, yet reality, with all its dampening nature, does . And he’s here, alive alive alive, as if reviving the dead is just a regular occurance on your average Tuesday.
It’s peculiar, after having grown accustomed to Hanako’s chilling touch after so long. The way a hand of his cupping her cheek would send her shivering, yet leaning in all the same. Especially in the midst of peak summer’s scorching heat when a ghostly ice pack comes in handy. It may be cold, but in the presence of just themselves, between the playful arm round the shoulder, the gesture is filled with such tenderness and care, that, for a moment, she can allow herself to be something precious. Somebody worth two bright moons orbiting her solar system.
It's a gesture so very him, that to have anything else but — a hand with its own self sufficient heat — it’s quite frankly weird for an action otherwise perfectly ordinary.
Weird. But not unwelcome. In fact, Nene relishes this new touch with every fibre of her being, alive and beating beating beating to the rhythm of his own heart. His own — very much alive — heart.
For once, Hanako’s touch burns as much as the flush dusting the pair’s cheeks.
“ Are you ready ?” She cuts through the silence. Their hands are still clasped, and they should still be moving, forward forward into a new unpredictable future they’ve written for him. But his roots have, for the past half century, been interlocked deep within the school’s walls, unable to step a foot outside its confines. His tethered strings have come undone, but it's one thing to know this and another to cross the boundary itself. To take another step would mean leaving the school into the wider world.
Unlike with Number Four, this is the real deal. And there’s no going back.
They are long past the point of no return. Past the days where she’s used to his guidance in the supernatural world. Here, she’ll be the lantern bearer to guide him back to the land of the living, where people breathe fresh oxygen into their lungs, and sleep off exhaustion — not as a pastime — but to recharge as a means for living another day. Where either of them could lose their breath, drunk on the sweet kisses of paper flowers, delicate yet beautiful enough to leave her with a fluttering heart. Almost as if she’s the one who died only to come back alive in his arms.
(Death is a cold and heartless lover, ice for a heart, a timeless romance)
(She would much prefer him)
(She really would have)
She’s alive. But never has she been alive as she is now dreaming of all these newfound possibilities. All of the places they could go, hand in hand, with Hanako at her side, no longer the toilet bound ghost she knew him as. At long last, he has a future to carve out.
He takes the step.
( She doesn’t)
“ Yeah ,” Hanako says, his breath warm on her cheek. She shivers. “ Guess I get a chance to try living with you after all, you lucky Daikon~”
He’s teasing, she knows this. But he speaks with such aching sincerity that she can’t help but face him with a heartfelt smile rivalling his own, sunshine caught in between her lips, and rainwater from her eyes. Heck, she’s willing to let the slight on her ankles slide by, just this once. Nothing he can get used to. A get out of jail card that will only work once in his newfound lifetime.
“Guess so,” She pairs with a hum of approval. She imagines taking another step, like walking on air, and suddenly she’s a thousand metres above ground level with the clouds below her feet, the moon as wide and bright as his eyes, and Hanako is pouring his heart into her hands with “ I want you to keep on living” .
(She wants him to live just as badly)
( He’s been relieved of his duty now. No longer bound to the promise of ninety years of life )
(She did it. She saved him. And he doesn’t need to know how-)
(Not that he will remember)
(She wanted to live with him too)
(But fantasies are fantasies)
She’s not so certain where the future will take him. But standing beside the boy who has defied fate not only once, but twice , she’ll listen to no one’s written out plan but his own. Tomorrow will come and go, and he will make it up as he goes, one day at a time.
And Nene will be but an echo of his past from a moment that, perhaps, she’s staring back on with rose tinted goggles. Perhaps his face isn’t as golden as she remembers it, or the weather as perfect, the flowers as pristine, nor the sunset as visible as it is, the bright speck of the sun dipping behind an inferno of clouds.
But right now, they’re smiling as if they’ve mastered the world.
It’s beautiful.
Yes, there is room for small miracles in life. But, as always, the quiet before the storm is a prelude to the dawning inevitable. The future won’t be all sunshine.
There will be a price. There always is.
(She knows what it is)
But for now, she’ll count her blessings.
She takes a step with him.
( It won’t be forever )
(But she can live in the moment. It’s all those with no future can do)