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Chinju Forest became cold before it rained.
The water-slicked stones that shone like smooth opal, braving the currents of a bubbling brook; the towering trees that hung solemnly, their branches steady against quiet breezes; and the soft skittering of wildlife beneath fallen leaves, the quiet accompaniment to his night walk.
And the memory of walking away, too drenched in rainwater to notice tears sliding down his face.
He shouldn't have been here, he knew that. But there wasn't something nostalgic about this place, how he memorized paths they'd built together.
Ones that were now reclaimed into the earth.
If only, he lamented as he walked past the rocks, walked past the trees, walked past the onikabuto that slinked around.
Walked past a snapshot in time, a dreary night that played over and over again in his head. All he ever felt was an aching emptiness.
He couldn't decide how to feel.
He realized that he'd accidently walked the path to the Kamisato Estate he'd treaded a million times ago.
And Ayato's sister, Ayaka, his head supplied, was walking towards him.
"Itto! What a pleasure to see you." Her face was like stone, set into an easy smile.
He knew that didn't tell the full story. He had seen that look on Ayato many times and never once questioned it.
He assumed that Ayato was just an actor by trade.
He was right in a gut-twisting, ironically, tragic way.
Two could play at that game, though. He slapped a nonchalant smile on his face, and waved back. "Heyyy! Ayato's younger sis, how ya doing?"
He leaned against the wall of the estate, and ignored the aching between his bones, and tightness under his face, the insincerity of his mask.
He had leaned against this wall in a moment of passion, his head dipped low to kiss a lover he could never marry.
The one.
The air in Chinju forest was cold that day, they had taken off, feet flying like they could reach Celestia if they ran fast enough, mud splattering on their clothes as they swerved between trees.
Was the one.
They had spent the day in Ritou, trailing one another as they wove in and out of red and orange speckled trees that came right out of a piece of art.
Could've been the one.
The kisses always felt electric, no matter how many times he did it, short pecks between breaks that held longing for something more, or long presses at night, their area wrapped around each other like vines clinging to a wall.
But wasn't.
She giggled at his antics. "I am well thank you." After a pause, she opened her lips to say something else, but was silenced by a single drop of rain. Lightning tore through the sky, and more raindrops crashed down, dousing the two in water.
Ayaka's face turned down like the light departing from the day. "You should come inside, so you don't catch a cold," she gestured for him to follow, her hair swishing behind her as they entered.
Stolen nights spent sneaking in shadows, finding places where not even the light could share into the secret of their love.
It filled the empty spaces, like sewing a patch into teared fabric. A patchwork tapestry that they had sewn with their own hands.
She poured tea for him with elegance and grace, the two opposing one another in a simplistic yet grandiose sitting room. Her posture was relaxed and fluid, his was stiff and forced, like he was repeating a newly-learned task.
She must've learned it from him. He always seemed to move like the rivers, so comfortable no matter where he was.
Itto didn't realize Ayato had entered the room until he saw the Commissioner's face, thrown off like a river blocked by a dam.
He never seemed unfazed. Even when he had chased after Itto in the cool, dripping rain, he calmly stated his reasoning again, and again, and again, and again, his voice getting quieter, and quieter, and quieter, and quieter.
"I wanted you to see the best parts of me."
The air seemed cooler in the room, like Ayaka was using her vision to make the room a reflection of the relationship between him and the Commissioner.
His frame shivered like frail grass in the vicious wind as he ran, mud splattering on a pained face as he swerved between trees that seemed too loom so much taller and ominous.
He didn't notice the crash of a teacup hitting the floor until the porcelain exploded by his feet, shards scattered across the floor like his sporadically beating heart.
He had slammed down his cup when he heard the words fall out of his mouth. Like a tsunami breaching land, every emotion came crashing through all at once.
His blood leaked on the ornate table, ruining the beautiful furniture the Commissioner owned.
We sure were something, huh?
Nights they shared stargazing, naming constellations after each other. Mornings spent promising each other, that this wasn't a "long goodbye". Evenings they took walks to the cliffside, too distracted by the pools of shimmering light in Ayato's eyes to see the sun.
Pools he now saw as murky and dark, like the turbulent ocean.
"Sorry to disappoint, but I should get going. I've gotta lot of stuff to do, not a lotta time to do it, yanno?" He pushed his chair out and rushed towards the door, when a hand caught him.
Phobos and Mars. Was he destined to fall apart in his arms?
Had he already?
No, there were days when the water would clear, mirrorlike and reflecting beams of sunlight off its surface.
He was better.
"Itto, please wait. Let us talk," if he didn't know, Ayato almost sounded apologetic. Sincere.
Desperate. He was so desperate to believe anything else, but the way Shinobu glanced away from him fornlorly when he confronted her, his hair still damp like wet rags.
Always the Dumb Oni.
Falling for childhood tricks and crafted illusions.
He pulled away. The facade Ayato wore seemed to melt like snow in Sumeru, his eyes murky with fear and a deep sadness.
He slid the door open. "I've really gotta go, maybe some other time," he murmured. Ayato didn't move, his posture and expression corrected, like a soldier snapping to attention.
The three of them were a miniature masquerade of lies and illusions.
"Please, Itto." His voice was pained, though he didn't let anything else leak past.
If my wishes came true, it would've been you.
He could have gladly spent eons living blissfully unaware of what happened. And maybe he would've.
If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?
Maybe they would still share those moments together, hungering for more but satiated by small glimpses of a life that stood just out of reach, like a cat chasing a toy.
He slipped out, walked into the courtyard, and walked, not ran, through the rain.
Getting a cold was better than going through that talk.
It would've been fun, if you were the one.