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She's always cold. It's another facet of her life that she's grown accustomed to: she lives at the antique shop; Wajima is not her father; she's always cold. These are things that she knows as fact, because even though she doesn't quite remember much about her family, or her own life, there’s a familiarity within the room above the shop that feels trustworthy. She knows that Wajima is a facsimile of what she'd imagine a father to be. Wajima even told her as much - that she's not exactly his child, but he cares for her nevertheless. It's...nice to hear, even if she's unsure on how these circumstances came to be. The thought brings up an implication within her head of how she was an orphan before. She feels that she could remember something like that but just like the wind blows in the room, the thoughts dissipate just as quickly. Everything feels like cotton in her head, along with the chill that’s settled into her bones. Wajima however, is kind and he gives her space to leave if she wants to. Surely, he must be a father, if not hers.
Her life can be contained to one room in one shop and there's a precipice to something unknown that her mind dares not venture further into.
The antiques around the store feels familiar - The Grandfather clock reminds her of a point in time she can’t remember, the memory slipping just as fast as the soft gong echoes through the room before fading. She thinks of the journal that stares at her, the blue rectangle that has drawings of nature - birds and trees, outlines of a wardrobe someone was going to build; was it her? She doesn’t know if those are her drawings. Wajima said that she took a year off to think about whether she wanted to go into vocational school, or if she wanted to study for the university entrance exam. She's not sure why exactly a year off was needed, considering there's a book in her room to study for entrance exams. But then she sees spools of fabric within the closet, and remembers the first day she woke within the upstairs room of the antique shop.
A summer storm sprinkled through the open window, pattering lightly against the hardwood floor as she looked up to the ruffled skirt and cape hanging up neatly. Haruto was in the doorway when she woke up, staring at her as if she were a cipher. She remembers the wide smile he gave her, and the ring he kept fiddling with. Something about him feels right to her, even waking up in a strange room with gaps in her memory, Haruto was trustworthy.
She remembers the shortness of breath, the exhaustion when she stood that he had crossed the room in three strides and held her hands to keep her standing. He is the first to tell her that she was attacked by Phantoms but that she will be okay, and she needs the energy of the ring. The freezing cold she feels abates when he places her hands inside his, warmth seeping into her like an ice cube melting under hot water. She trusts him because the smile sets her at ease. Just like Wajima feels trustworthy, Haruto feels safe.
There's a great white spot in her memory that is indescribable, but she imagines that she's lived with Wajima her whole life, and Haruto is a dear childhood friend of hers considering how he is always around. They tell her more but she never remembers - or rather, it never sticks in her head. They would tell her about the Phantoms and the cotton within her head that sticks to everything seems to disappear before returning and the next week she’s making a face as they speak about Haruto leaving to check the city. Phantoms are created from people’s worst moment, and something about them makes the hair on the back of her neck stand. It’s an epidemic, the news reports. She stares at the screen longer before Haruto’s words snap her to attention. In any case, she stays inside because walking out still takes a lot out of her. Still, she knows the Phantoms mean more in context to her missing memories, because they poke at the blank spots of where her childhood should be, begging to be pulled, like loose threads on her skirts.
Those are memories that don't seem to be easily accessible with her mind. She remembers what she did last week, but last month, it gets fuzzier. So much of her feels like she was pulled out of a book and placed into the antique's shop; a doll that collects cold and snatches of memory. She wants to feel warm; she spends hours in the morning sun near the back of the antique shop when it’s out. However, she's never able to retain the feeling of warmth for long. She still tries though, sits out and waits for the day that she doesn't feel so tired and cold. Haruto brings warmth though, and she’s never forgotten the first day where he took her hands within hers and made her feel almost normal. She tries to sit by him when he comes by.
Haruto feels like sunshine. It's mostly the ring but, he really does feel like the sugar donuts he raves about fresh out of the oven. Sweet, fluffy, and always warm. It feels odd to compare a man to a food, but it's the comparison that always comes to mind, on top of the fact that he brings donuts and offers them to her. Something about Haruto makes her feel warm that she wishes desperately she could hold him to her and burrow inside.
“Is it okay? If I am always near you?” She asks one day. She never leaves the shop if possible, but Haruto had extended his hand and she found herself wanting to leave the stuffiness of the shop that feels more like a prison some days than a home. He takes her to the donut truck. She doesn’t leave the antiques shop because stepping foot outside feels freezing, despite the warm temperatures; however, with Haruto, the chill is manageable. She wonders if she has some type of sickness, that she somehow can't remember? Or is she just...weaker? The thoughts bounce around her head, flying from one place to another but all she feels is warmth and a clear spring field.
“Huh?” Haruto asks. Her arm is wrapped firmly around his forearm, his hand covering hers lightly. It sends a tingling sensation up her hand, though she wonders if that’s because of the ring making contact with the fabric of her shirt.
“I’m always asking you to sit by me to keep me warm. I know I’m not the most helpful because I don’t have any memories,” she says. “Except for you. I remember you holding me once.” He smiles, a thing that beams to her. “But, I don’t know if you noticed how cold I am.”
“I’ve been aware,” he replies drily. He smiles at her anyway as he steers them towards the truck and asks for a sugar donut, and for her, an ice cream cone.
“But I hope it’s not too much of an annoyance,” she responds. He looks at her, and sends her another dazzling smile as they overlook the water.
“It’s not an annoyance at all. It’s nice to be needed.” She smiles at his words, and is grateful for the rush of calm it sends through her. Haruto and the ring are always guaranteed to make her feel some semblance of normal and warm.