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The summer heat seemed to arrive before summer itself. It began with a few days of unintrusive, teasing warmth, but was replaced all too suddenly by the onslaught of dizzying humidity and relentless sun. It was nothing short of loyalty that led Yashiro toil away regardless in the practice garden. She was something of a caretaker, and the thought of leaving the tomatoes unwatered for even a day caused her to feel slightly antsy. The occasional passing ghost would remind her that she was also the most exploitable member of the gardening club, and Yashiro would requite his impertinence with the sharp end of her crowbar.
Despite his blithe attitude, Hanako was surprisingly thoughtful. His consideration may have been buried beneath mounds of cheap, horseradish-themed jests, but it resurfaced every so often in the form of a canister of water placed carefully by her side, or a hand pressed against her forehead, wiping away the sweat and grime that had collected beneath her fringe. His skin was cool. Yashiro suspected lecherous intent in the gesture, but these days, her exhaustion left her reluctant to tear herself away from his inviting touch. Perhaps she was losing hers.
One particularly gruelling afternoon, he suggested they visit a winter boundary for temporary respite. She lay on the ground, chest heaving as he made his pitch, squinting beneath the sunlight as it beat down on the premises.
“We walk in, sit in the snow for a bit, and leave the same way we came.”
He spoke casually, as if such control over the vicissitude of the seasons were a trifling matter. Perhaps it was the nature of an aberration to remain unfazed in the face of surreal happenings. Yashiro imagined that he had long grown accustomed to jarring changes in scenery, having guarded the boundless space between the near and far shores for longer than she had been alive. It must have been routine to him. No matter which boundary they visited, he would always stand unwaveringly by her side as hidden worlds unfurled before her eyes, brimming with wonder and majesty. She even sensed that he might have been watching her instead of their surroundings.
Once she had made the rounds of the garden vegetables, she met Hanako by the Misaki Stairs. He sat cross-legged at their foot, head propped up against the wall, fingers gripping the handrail weakly. His hat was askew, and tufts of unkempt, feathery hair stuck out from beneath the hem. His appearance was a lupine one, as usual. The comparison was all too appropriate. He was the school’s esteemed seventh mystery—a wolf boy whose eyes were the size of the moon they watched on lonely nights, unblinking and longing.
Hanako bolted upright as she approached, and an unmistakable cheshire grin overtook his formerly vacant expression. His boyish excitement only accentuated his wolvish aura.
“You ready?” he said.
“Hold on a sec,” she said, reaching for his misaligned hat. She made a show of fumbling with the rim and brushing sparse hairs behind his ears as he stared silently at her. Such physical proximity had become the standard for them. Provided he was able to see Hanako, a passerby might have mistaken the pair for one of those—as Yako would have it—insufferable school couples who often visited the stairs to indulge in ostentatious displays of young love. While she normally delighted in such endeavors, the thought of being involved romantically with the ghostly boy before her was not one that she willingly entertained. She prayed that he would not notice the warmth that was beginning to creep across her face, perceptive as he was.
As they traversed Yako’s territory, Hanako hovered beside her, arms held aloft in the usual manner. From time to time, she would spare a covert glance in his direction, but his eyes were always ready to receive hers, and she would look away immediately, too bashful to hold his gaze. Faint traces of a mischievous grin could be detected in her peripheral vision, and she was unable to suppress her own growing smile.
When they reached the boundary gate, Hanako stepped in front of Yashiro, as if to guard the entrance. “You know we can’t just walk in like that, right?” He pointed to her shoes. “How are you gonna move around in those?”
Yashiro reprimanded herself internally for failing to note this beforehand. The vamp was a flimsy synthetic material that exposed the front of her foot to the elements. Beyond modest indoor activities, it was not particularly suitable for wear, and even less so for treading snowy terrain. “What do I do, Hanako-kun?” she asked, visibly flustered.
“No worries,” Hanako said. Without further comment, he slipped one arm beneath the crook of her legs, and enclosed the small of her back with the other. Yashiro was swept up nonconsensually in a single abrupt motion, and held daringly against his chest.
“Ah—What are you—” she spluttered, far too taken aback to string together a coherent protest.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just stay like this.”
She clutched the fabric of his tunic. “Why do you always do these things on your own?”
“But this was the only solution,” he said, playing the innocent.
“You could have told me about the shoes earlier.” she said.
“You don’t like this?” His tone had been reduced to a low, sensual murmur. His question was rhetorical, of course. She had begrudgingly divulged her growing feelings for him during their time together in Mei’s painting, and although Hanako had courteously avoided addressing the subject so far, she felt that he had grown bolder in his advances; even the smallest of his actions were imbued with a certain degree of conspicuous intimacy. While she did prefer that he demonstrate at least a modicum of restraint, she could not deny the thrum of her elated heart against his soft ghost body.
He carried her through the gate and into the snow. Yashiro steeled herself for the bite of chilling wind, but found herself pleasantly surprised by the gentle, still cold that pervaded the air and settled into her bones. The afternoon heat was a fleeting echo in the midst of the large flakes that descended from the sky like glitter, and the white abyss that environed them, endless and silent. The clouds above were a blanket of gray; she wanted to tear off a piece of them and draw it over their intertwined selves.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Hanako said.
“It’s nice,” Yashiro confirmed. She reached out to catch the falling snowflakes. They melted in the palm of her hand into little puddles of tears. “Did you visit boundaries like this one before you met me?”
“A place like this is too big for just one person, y’know,” he said after a pause. His voice had adopted a minor key. He seemed wistful. Yashiro’s heart sank as she realized that her words had likely evoked painful memories. He never discussed them, but she knew. She knew, but she could never understand. No living soul could understand the melancholy of an earthbound boy, forlorn and drowning beneath decades of solitude.
“Good thing there are two of us, right?” she said. She gripped his shirt and buried her face into the space between his neck and his shoulder. She could not see his expression in this position, nor did he respond, so she drew him closer as she envisioned his boyish smile and half-closed eyes.
Hanako wandered the winter hills for a little while longer, Yashiro tucked safely away in his sturdy arms. He would spin her around in small circles as she held onto him for dear life, flailing and sending them both tumbling into the snow, arms and laughter entangled. It was so beautiful. She wanted to cherish this moment for eternity, to leap through many more beautiful worlds, whether it be the near shore or the far shore. It made little difference to her. As she exhaled slowly, her frosty breaths spelling out her dearest wishes before they dissipated, she wondered if Hanako was watching.