Work Text:
“Will we meet again somewhere?”
“Mhm. I’m sure of it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Now go, and don’t look back.”
***
Footsteps resonated softly within the echoing chambers, a steady click-click-tap that matched the dull thud of Chihiro’s own chest. The tunnel of the abandoned train station was long and dark, with only the faintest sliver of golden afternoon light shimmering up ahead. Beside her, Chihiro’s mother chided her for clinging, but Chihiro couldn’t help it. Haku , she whispered to herself, fondly ingraining the name into her memory. Kohaku, Haku, Haku. She didn’t want to forget; to leave and wipe everything from herself like a blank slate. She studied the faded orange of her sneakers as she walked. Will we meet again somewhere, Haku?
The light gradually brightened into a wide swathe of yellow, bathing the remaining distance in the warmth of its rays. Leaves churned in the slight breeze from outside, hurrying the small family of three from within the darkness of the arched entryway. Promise , the leaves whispered, yet no one but Chihiro seemed to notice. They swirled lightly into the open air and disintegrated into a fine, flaky, dust.
Outside, the sky was a brilliant azure blue, impossibly deep, like the color of a limitless ocean, like the color of meticulously embroidered fabric, like the color of sugared candies. A few white birds caught her eye as they soared high into the clouds. Like the color of an indigo jinbei under a white haori.
She looked back. The ancient archway gazed serenely at her, the black of its gaping maw open wide. Haku ...she heard it whisper one last time, like the drawn-out sigh of an elderly woman. Chihiro stared, her purple hairband sparkling under the sunlight like a band of small jewels.
Haku.
Chihiro stepped over the inconspicuous border between two paths onto the dirt road.
“...Who’s Haku?”
***
1. ir·rev·o·ca·bly
/ˌi(r)ˈrevəkəblē/
adverb:
in a way that cannot be changed, reversed, or recovered.
"A new door was thrown open irrevocably the moment she set foot through the tunnel to the other side and into the bathhouse."
The subway rattles as a swarm of passengers pack into the small compartment like sardines. Chihiro plasters herself into a far corner, gingerly flipping through her vocabulary study cards. She has an English exam at school today and is not looking forward to it. The subway doors struggle to close with an airy whoosh. A pair of professional subway pushers grunt as they shove the body of one last passenger into the remaining spaces. Chihiro stares out of the window with her cheek pressed to the cool glass.
(It had been many years. The Ogino family had supposedly gone missing under wholly mysterious circumstances, their car left parking outside of an old amusement park entrance before they finally arrived at the house they were meant to move into two months prior. Life afterward was relatively normal. Chihiro had finished elementary school, crawled her way through middle school, and moved elsewhere deep in the neighboring city to continue her last year of high school after her father switched jobs (for the fifth time in a five-year time span). While the experience was oddly insignificant to both parents, who claimed that they never saw anything strange or experienced any out-of-the-ordinary experience, the effects of such an escapade were confounding.
Curiously, after emerging from the strangeness of their disappearance, Chihiro found that she could no longer stomach pork. The very thought of it churned in her stomach and made her sick. Once, they had visited a friend back in their old city who had invited them to their house for dinner. The wife had graciously cut up a large roasted pig, saying that ‘Chihiro needs to eat more, she’s a growing girl!’ and had thrust a thick slice of juicy meat, sandwiched between seasoned skin and fatty layers at her small bowl of rice. Of course, intentions were nothing short of good, but upon seeing the rising steam and oily sheen...Chihiro had felt an unexplained violent wave of nausea pass through her, stared bugged-eyed at her parents and rushed to the bathroom. Since then, pork was never served in the Ogino household.
Chihiro smiles a bit at the memory. She can still remember the panicked expressions on her parents’ faces, pulling any insane excuse from their brains to supplement her outrageous behavior. One of the more creative ones included that she suffered from chronic and severe constipation sometimes, and was required to relieve herself at random intervals. The passenger beside her gives Chihiro a funny look as she tries to stifle a laugh behind the vocabulary term “eloquent.”
A strange liking to names had also developed. Despite her mother’s chiding, Chihiro began to cherish her name (‘to an unreasonable degree,’ quoting her mother) and would take great care to print it on everything she owned: such as water bottles, homework papers, lunch containers, and even chopsticks. Oh, but she had a particular aversion to signing paperwork. She also became very adept at remembering the names of classmates and teachers, often referring to them with their names as much as possible. During tests and quizzes, one could often notice her pausing to write her name down in slow, deliberate strokes as if enjoying a sweet candy before it dissolved. It was almost as if she was savoring her own name.
Cleanliness also became a key factor of habitual, everyday thoughts and actions. Chihiro’s parents found it a bit dumbfounding that their once-melancholy and almost lazy daughter had suddenly found a bizarre passion for wiping down the wooden floors of their new home. Though they weren’t complaining. Sometimes, children just need such experiences for when they grow up (totally not an excuse for the parents to sit back and relax). However, it did concern them on occasion when it appeared that Chihiro had been overworking herself, washing the laundry, and mopping the patio with fervor and not a single complaint. She just kept sweeping.)
The intercom dings, subway doors opening to a new wave of passengers that stream in tides of identical, salaryman-suit blue.
She flips her vocabulary booklet over to the very beginning.
2. in·ex·pli·ca·bly
/ˌinekˈsplikəb(ə)l/ adjective: unable to be explained or accounted for.
“For some inexplicable reason, she found herself waiting patiently, as if almost endlessly, for someone she couldn’t seem to remember.”
She runs the words over her teeth, smoothing the jagged letters with her tongue.
The subway jerks to life then begins to move. Outside of the window, the rising skyscrapers and buildings all blur into one; a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Chihiro’s eyes follow the path of two lone birds against the backdrop of sky, tracing the rising and falling of buildings as if they were the gentle slopes of rolling hills and deep green mountains. Chihiro sighs again, her breath fogging against the glass. The sky is a brilliant, deep azure today.
(like the color of a limitless ocean, like the color of meticulously embroidered fabric, like the color of sugared candies. A few white birds caught her eye as they soared high into the clouds. Like the color of an indigo jinbei under a white haori.)
(Most notably out of all of them, Chihiro had developed a habit of staying eerily silent on train rides. She would gaze out into the distance with a faraway, starry look in her eyes as if she was seeing something nobody else was.
Sometimes, Chihiro would wake up to the noontime sun shining in her face from a crack in the paper door, the thick covers of a foreign quilt draped softly over her shoulders. She would slowly rise up in the empty room, feeling as if she could feel dozens of presences all around her, though not quite human. Looking down, she would find herself wearing a simple pink kimono with a Tasuki cord tying up the sleeves. A familiar kimono, although Chihiro was convinced she had never worn one quite like this before. Sometimes, she would lie on the futon for a while, staring up at the painted ceiling. If she really focused, she could almost smell the sweetness of anpan drifting in the air--from where she had no idea. Sometimes, if she steps out onto the balcony, she could see an impossibly endless stretch of blue, winding forever until it met the horizon. Perpendicular to that was a set of small train tracks. If she squinted, she could almost make out the sound of a train car in the distance. If she squinted, she could almost make out the figures of a white serpent and a young boy at the same time, twisting and turning in the deep, blue sky. But she could never make out his face.
And when she woke up--really woke up, she would be hit by a sudden and mystifying flood of nostalgia; a feeling of wistfulness, and the uncontrollable salt of sadness as it rolled down her face like glass beads. The images would roll through her mind once like an old VCR tape, then vanish without a trace. She could never pinpoint the exact reason for this rare outburst, but she savored the dreams nonetheless. Even if she could never remember them.)
Chihiro flips over another card, struggling to comprehend the messily-scrawled letters.
3. in·ev·i·ta·bly
/inˈevidəblē/ adverb: as is certain to happen; unavoidably.
"inevitably, promises are kept."
Chihiro yawns, scrubbing her eyes tiredly with the back of her hand. She’s starting to think that maybe she should give up on studying her flashcards for now and take a nap. The subway enters a tunnel, dousing the train car in pitch-black darkness. Either way, the vocabulary will have to wait. Strangely enough, the tunnel is longer than expected.
It’s an oddly familiar feeling.
Chihiro falls asleep to the rhythmic thudding of wheels on train tracks click-clacking with the steady thud of Chihiro's chest.
Chihiro wakes up to warmth on her cheek. A painted sliver of sun caresses her sleepy eyes until she stirs, and slips out from under her cocoon of covers. She is wearing the pink kimono again and is barefoot. Stepping out onto the balcony, she shuts the sliding screen door behind her and studies the landscape. It is raining this time, normally blue skies a cloudy gray. In a way, it resembles a blank slate wiped clean. Despite standing in the downpour, Chihiro doesn’t feel cold. She doesn’t even feel wet. She studies her fingers, which are starting to look a bit see-through.
It’s an oddly familiar sensation.
She inspects her arms, her legs. The eerily translucent quality of her limbs is consistent, wrapping all the way around to her neck. Interestingly, she doesn’t feel panicked (even though she’s pretty sure she should be). The sound of flapping makes its way into her ears and she turns.
There, across the horizon, is a patch of bright blue sky amidst the storm. And in that patch of light, is the sleek figure of a twisting white serpent. Chihiro gasps. In graceful swishes of its great tail, the dragon encroaches closer, cutting through the rain smoothly and scales flashing like a beautiful white fish in a sparkling, clear river, swimming through the air. It reaches her after a long moment, pausing just in front of her hands that grip the wooden railing. If she wants to, she can lean over and place her hand on its snout. She gazes into its jade green eyes, blue mane fluttering.
(like the color of a limitless ocean, like the color of meticulously embroidered fabric, like the color of sugared candies. A few white birds caught her eye as they soared high into the clouds. Like the color of an indigo jinbei under a white haori.)
Something clicks in Chihiro’s mind, and her eyes widen.
She knows him. Chihiro knows this dragon. Taking in the familiar landscape, she comes to the sudden realization that she knows this place. This bathhouse.
She leans forward, grasping the beast’s snout close and pressing her face against the smooth scales and fur. She can’t hear anything but the soft rumble deep in the dragon’s throat and the gentle patter of rain against both of their bodies. He smells like salt and water and the scent of the forest she had exited in her youth, many many years ago. He smells like paper, like rice, and herbs. He smells like soap, milk, and..and..he smells familiar.
“...Kohaku. Kohaku River,” she whispers desperately, impossibly soft. Her eyes are wide and imploring, a shining hope beading from under her lashes. She hugs his snout closer.
In an instant, the dragon disintegrates in a flurry of pearlescent scales, becoming smaller and smaller and smaller until a figure stands still in front of her. A figure of a young man, taller now than years ago. His green-tinted hair whips around them as Haku guides both of them from the balcony and into the air. Almond-shaped eyes crinkle at the edges, and he smiles a fond smile, eyes shining with an emotion Chihiro can’t help but match. He takes her hand (it isn’t a big gesture, but it makes her heart soar), and all of a sudden she realizes she is no longer see-through. Belatedly, she notices that it has stopped raining, and the silvery crescent of the moon illuminates both their smiling faces.
“Haku!”
“Chihiro.”
***
“Approaching the Sixth Station. All passengers, please make way for incoming passengers.”
Chihiro startles from her sleep, the vocabulary flashcards dangling precariously from her fingers. She yawns, wiping the sleep from the corner of her eyes, and collects her school bag. There is an English Exam at school today, and she is not looking forward to it. She pushes against the tide of salarymen trampling their way into the train car.
Chihiro Ogino steps out of the inconspicuous border between two paths onto the train platform.
She does not look back.
***
“Will we meet again somewhere?”
“Mhm. I’m sure of it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”