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In the little hallway on the second floor of Bar 4/7, there sits an old mahogany dresser. It looks a little different than it did 2 years ago, when Shiki had first stepped foot onto that floor. There’s the lacy runner across it now that collects the dust instead of the wood, the shallow jewelry dish where Yohei puts chain bracelets and rings sometimes, and the chip on the corner that he caused a long time ago when Ryu was having some one-sided roughhousing with him (He started crying when he realized he’d damaged it, though Saimon just chuckled and assured him it was alright). And since Shiki’s arrival, through all the changes that little dresser had gone through, there has always been that framed picture of her. An eternal shot of Tsubaki’s bright smile as she links arms with Naoakira and Yohei.
Shiki always liked that picture. He’s seen other photos of her in Saimon’s home for the occasions he’s stopped by, and though she’s equally beautiful in all of them, there is nothing like the one on the dresser with the radiant beam on not only her face, but all three of them. It’s a comforting sight that almost makes him feel closer to her, a little more understanding of the joy she brought to some of the most important people in his life.
On late nights like these, it’s too easy for him to fall into his habit of overthinking. He usually finds himself worrying about silly things that happened during the day– awkward interactions, inconveniences he caused, the like– But this time his mind’s happened to stumble upon that picture yet again, and he can’t help but think about Tsubaki.
…A part of him really wishes he could have met her, to have seen her living and breathing. Even beyond picture frames, he feels her presence in so much more– The red of a camellia and the sound of fingers dancing over piano keys. The wistful looks in Master and Owners’ eyes.
His brain can’t help but wonder into the hypothetical. Her presence in Bar 4/7. How she would banter with her husband and with Master. How she would deal with Ryu’s eccentric behaviors (He imagines she would have a similar saintly patience as Owner). How she would comfort Shiki in her own way and make him feel loved. How would things be different if she were there cheering for him from the bleachers during the school sports festival or exchanging gifts with the rest of them during the holidays? How did she act on stage? Would they have won Paradox Live if she were still around?
He squints his eyes shut and grips the sheets beneath him, shaking his head and all the thoughts racing within it. He knows it’s ridiculous of him to miss Tsubaki when he has no memories of her, only the suggestion of her person from framed photos and little anecdotes that could never fully capture her brilliance.
Perhaps it’s even worse that he sort of.. wants to miss her. He already knows the pain of loss; for a long time, he couldn’t think of things like record shops and rooftops without his mind replaying Nayuta’s pained voice. It’s not only selfish of him to think this way, but so utterly stupid, because why would he ever want to feel like that again?
And yet still, his curiosity is too much to bear, bordering on something morbid. Without thinking, his hand reaches up to clutch his rosary tight, the metal beads clicking against one another, and he holds his breath.
Just this once… he thinks without even knowing what exactly he was about to do. He grips the cross so hard the metal feels like it’s burning into his skin. He lifts it to his mouth slowly, and the sound of his lips puckering against the rosary seems so loud in the quiet room.
Phantasmic wisps of smoke billow in front of him then as the metal reacts to his DNA, slowly swirling and gathering together. They form the vague shape of a person, then a young woman with long, black hair as it clears up. The uncertain blur of her facial features gradually comes into focus, revealing soft-looking lips and full lashes fanning over her cheeks. She is a spitting image of the woman in the picture frame.
“Ah..” His hand aches where the cold metal cross jabs into his clenched fist.
Her form glows in the dark, illuminating his bed sheets with a calming blue. She opens her eyes and smiles. “Hello, Shiki.”
“H… hello.”
She says little else, smiling while she waits for the words of his subconscious to come to her lips. After some long seconds of staring at her, in awe and anxiousness and uncertainty, he drops his head in shame as he quickly realizes what a terrible idea this was. He knows in his rational mind that phantoms were phantoms, that this Tsubaki before him was nothing but a projection of his own half-image of her. Everything about her was ethereal and glowing, more spirit than person.
“I’m sorry…” He shrinks in on himself and shuts his eyes again. “I.. I don’t know why I did this… I’m so..”
His words trail off. The phantom approaches his sunken form, and her arms wrap around him, somehow cold and warm all at once. It shouldn’t feel so comforting. It’s not real. And yet..
“Shiki..”
He doesn’t even know what her voice sounds like. The phantom speaks like any other young woman. Maybe it’s the hidden memory of his own mother’s intonations. He tries to nudge his head into her and meets empty air.
“I’m sorry…” He repeats. His grip on the rosary loosens, and Tsubaki subtly begins to unravel. Parts of her body pull out into stray wisps in the air like thread. “I- I wish I could’ve met you…” He speaks low, a timid near-whisper. It does feel nice to give voice to the thought, to let those words just be without all the other self-deprecating sentiments quick to berate his foolishness.
“Shiki… Shiki,” she repeats. She reaches for his hand, and when Shiki turns it with his palm up, she rubs her thumb over the indents the phantometal made in his skin. “Can you do something for me?”
“Yes..?”
“You don’t know a lot about me,” she says, “But you and I– we both want Naoakira-san and Yohei-kun to be happy, isn’t that right?”
“O-of course..!” He stutters, but the response comes without a second thought. It was the least he could do, after everything they’ve given him.
Tsubaki smiles and gives him the same fond look he sees in Owner’s eyes sometimes. “You’re a good child,” she praises. Her body continues to come undone, threads growing into slivers growing into gaps of darkness between her fading light, and she seems unbothered with it anyhow. The way she smiles at him despite her oncoming demise is not unlike the way she smiled years ago in the hospital bed of a sterile room. Not that he would know. “Please, watch over them for me, okay?”
“I…” He looks up at her timidly. “I’ll do my best.”
The phantom Tsubaki leans forward, and he feels her cold-warm lips press against his forehead in a not-quite-kiss that was nonetheless affectionate.
“Thank you,” she says softly. And with that, Tsubaki closes her eyes, serene as she dissipates into smoke, and then nothing.
The room is dark once more, and Shiki sits on his bed in dazed silence, staring off into nowhere and absentmindedly rubbing his hand where she had touched it.