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Unkempt grass and moss-covered rocks line the stairway that leads up to the shrine like a living fence. Weeds and ferns creep out from the cracks, reaching upwards with the thirst of the living. There is little visible stone beneath all the greenery covering it, no worn path of footsteps from visitors coming and going. It’s not hard for Nikkari to guess that the shrine standing atop these steps must be very old and very desolate. Perhaps that’s how he likes it.
Standing at the base of this staircase, Nikkari feels a sort of reverent, eerie stillness. Perhaps it’s the feeling of looking up at something much greater than yourself. Even though the greatness of this particular shrine could easily be called into question, holy ground is holy ground, even if it looks like the kind of place even the gods might abandon.
The leaves of the trees have grown thick without pruning, and it’s comfortable to stand in the shade, hiding from the heavy rays of summer sun beating upon the ground. There is little of the actual shrine that can be seen from where Nikkari’s standing. But what he does catch sight of is, at the top of his steps, nearly obscured by the foliage, are the age-stained pillars of a grand stone torii. It is fortunate that it is not made of wood, or else the paint would have peeled and the beams rotted away. Nikkari doesn’t like to attribute human emotions to non-living things, but left alone and uncared for like this, the shrine looks absolutely lonely.
Nikkari steps forward onto the stairs, and his steps are light, leaving no footprints in the moss and ferns. Dappled light falls onto his face through the overhead foliage, the mosaic-like beams of sunrays dancing as the wind whispers through the leaves. Nikkari lifts his head, and his gaze catches on a slip of green and white blown aloft in the breeze. If he’d looked at it for one second shorter, he’d have mistaken it for part of the foliage, but with the with the way that the wind tosses the fabric, Nikkari recognizes it as a sleeve. Several moments later, several steps closer to the top, and he can almost see the full figure attached to the sleeve. Still as a rock if not for the movement of his hair in the wind, there stands a man. Nikkari does not know if the man catches sight of him, but seeing a living being in a place as unexpected as this halts him mid-step. Maybe it isn’t a person. Maybe it’s a ghost. A ghost would feel less out of place in this decrepit location in the middle of nowhere. Eyes trained on this tall man in the robes, watching him stand between the columns of the gate from below, Nikkari is quiet.
Seconds pass, the breeze stills, and the man at the top of the stairs turns around, robes fluttering with his movement. Nikkari watches his back as he retreats into the shrine.
Nikkari brushes a few strands of hair over his shoulder, and continues ascending the staircase.
-
The interior of the shrine is not quite as ruined as its facade suggests. Nikkari follows the man in green through open air hallways that are empty but not decrepit; past rooms that are threadbare and unfurnished, but clean. The man’s footsteps are soft but certain, tracing familiar paths through the deserted shrine with assertion that suggests that he’s lived here for a very, very long time. When Nikkari had come under the faded red eaves of the shrine’s front gate, the man had been waiting for him in the courtyard, and bowed to him politely, introducing himself as Ishikirimaru, the chief and only priest of this shrine, then immediately invited Nikkari in. It’s a surprise that anyone but a ghost could live in a shrine so abandoned and out of the way. But as he follows from behind, Nikkari looks at the broad, solid span of Ishikirimaru’s shoulders and the quiet weight with which each of his footsteps land upon the old wooden floor. Ishikirimaru looks far too grounded and tangible to be some sort of shadowy specter. He doesn’t have an ethereal bone in his body.
But perhaps that’s the kind of impression that a ghost would want to give off, Nikkari thinks with a thin, wan smile. A ghost would want to seem as real and warm and alive as possible, to better catch the living off guard. Perhaps Ishikirimaru is just a very clever ghost with a very convincing disguise, feet and all. The thought is such a stretch of imagination and so amusing that Nikkari nearly laughs. But with Ishikirimaru, tall and firm, leading the way, while slight, shady Nikkari slinks soundlessly behind him, Nikkari is certain that he is the more spectre-like one between the two of them by far.
Ishikirimaru comes to a halt in front of a small room near the back of the shrine grounds, and once he slides the paper door open, Nikkari sees that it isn’t as vacant as the others’. Surprisingly, the furniture is already all set up. There’s a futon that looks too small for someone of Ishikirimaru’s stature, a simple dresser with several candles placed on top, and a bronze framed mirror hanging on the wall. Nothing lavish, certainly, but more decorated than any other part of the shrine so far. Nikkari can’t help but notice that the blanket laying on the futon is a bit rumpled, and a book sits on the floor next to it with a bookmark placed halfway through. For a supposed guest room, it looks awfully lived in, as if its inhabitant had just stepped out for a walk. Nikkari wonders if this used to be Ishikirimaru’s room, or if the previous guest had just left it like this.
“Please stay here, if you wish. You’re more than welcome.” Ishikirimaru says with a gentle wave of his hand, gesturing to the tiny four-mat room. His voice is deep and level, with a lulling, soothing quality that makes it easy to imagine him waving a gohei while chanting rituals. Nikkari doesn’t mind listening to it. “It has been a long time since our shrine has seen any visitors, so I’d be glad to have some company.”
Just then, it occurs to Nikkari that he does need somewhere to stay, and if there’s somewhere else he can go, he hardly remembers it. In fact, he hardly remembers much of anything before standing in front of the shrine. Strange how he hadn’t realized that until just now. Perhaps his memories weren’t that essential if their absence isn’t even noticed. They certainly aren’t missed. “Thank you for your kindness, Ishikirimaru-san. Looks like I’ll be causing you trouble by staying here for a while,” Nikkari replies sweetly, even though he has no clue how long a while will be, nor the slightest idea of where here is.
Ishikirimaru shakes his head generously. “No, absolutely no trouble at all. As I said, I welcome the company. Solitude is peaceful for the soul, but it can get boring at times.” Ishikirimaru bows slightly as he backs out of the room entrance, almost hitting his head on the top of the doorframe when he straightens to full height. “If you’ll pardon me, I have some duties to attend to, but you are free to explore the shrine. I will come fetch you when it’s time for dinner.” Ishikirimaru says this, but he doesn’t leave. There’s something in his eyes that Nikkari can’t place, something that’s far away and closed off, and Nikkari can’t tell if the priest is looking at him or through him. The intensity of Ishikirimaru’s stare makes Nikkari feel a little transparent.
Ishikirimaru reaches out a hand, and only then does Nikkari realize that his long bangs are swept down to cover nearly half his face, and Ishikirimaru probably intends to brush his hair out of the way. Nikkari has no idea why Ishikirimaru would want to do that, but strange as it is, he doesn’t feel apprehension at the idea of it. He doesn’t move, letting the larger man reach towards him. There’s a moment of distinct apprehension, and Nikkari senses tension, a spectre of unidentifiable emotion floating between them as Ishikirimaru’s hand hovers in front of him, just short of touching.
A moment passes, and then Ishikirimaru snaps out of it, as if in a trance, hand falling to his side and brushing nothing but air. There’s no reason why Nikkari should be disappointed when the priest’s expression melts back into neutral friendliness, soft and warm and impenetrable.
“Oh, by the way, I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten your name already,” Ishikirimaru adds lightly, as if it were an an afterthought, although Nikkari doesn’t remember having introduced himself in the first place, oddly enough. Ishikirimaru’s probably just being polite.
Nikkari smiles brightly and brushes a hand through his hair. Nikkari, smiling, that’s an adjective, isn’t it? And most people have two names. Then what is Nikkari’s name? Nikkari closes his eyes for a moment and thinks. He has to have some sort of name somewhere.
What comes is the memory of a rushing river, the current splashing over moss-covered rocks and sunlight glistening off its crystal waters. Nikkari feels a wave of refreshment wash over him. A blue, blue river. Perhaps that can constitute as a name, for now at least.
“How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself,” Nikkari answers smoothly. “I am Nikkari Aoe. Yes yes, strange name, isn’t it?”
Ishikirimaru laughs, and Nikkari isn’t quite sure why.
-
For someone who can’t remember anything about his own past, Nikkari isn’t very preoccupied with retrieving his memories at all. Instead, he develops a routine of following Ishikirimaru around on his shrine duties, and performing small, mildly helpful tasks. Armed with his trusty broom, he waves away cobwebs from the corners of rooms, save for those too tall for Nikkari’s slight frame to reach, in which case he recruits Ishikirimaru’s vertical aid. He spends afternoons in an old straw sunhat that pricks his scalp, knees digging into the dirt as he weeds the vegetable patch. In the mornings that Ishikirimaru goes early to the market to get fresh produce and supplies before Nikkari is awake, Nikkari prepares breakfast for the both of them to enjoy when Ishikirimaru returns. He boils miso and steams rice, welcomes Ishikirimaru’s return and sits across from him while giving thanks for the meal. They often eat on the terrace instead of inside, enjoying the food, the view of the mountains behind the shrine, and the pleasure of each other's’ conversation.
Although nobody ever visits the shrine, Ishikirimaru keeps himself busy with fulfilling all the ritual and spiritual requirements needed to satisfy the spirits and gods that watch over the shrine, and maintaining the purity of the space. The rest of his time he spends reading: not only Shinto texts like modern translations of the Kojiki and Nihongi which Nikkari suspects he may be able to recite by heart, but old Buddhist and Confucian texts as well. Nikkari guesses that Ishikirimaru must be well-learned, but Ishikirimaru never mentions anything of the past, so Nikkari can only assume. Sometimes, when Nikkari is finished with his chores, he will sit next to Ishikirimaru on the veranda, admiring the sunset while Ishikirimaru reads. And sometimes, Ishikirimaru will read aloud to him. Stories of demonic women and the exorcism of ghosts, and while these are terrifying things, Nikkari cannot feel terrified when he is listening to the soothing lull of Ishikirimaru’s voice.
At other times, when Ishikirimaru is looking through storage, he will find things for Nikkari, like a lacquered hairbrush or some clothes that happen to fit him just right. Nikkari will smile and accept them gratefully, teasing Ishikirimaru about courtship gifts. “Are you certain you want to give me this? Are you trying to win my affections?” Nikkari says, and his laugh is featherlight, almost floating on air. He glances at Ishikirimaru coyly from behind the shadow of his bangs. “I may turn into a serpent one day and burn you to death.” Ishikirimaru only smiles and brushes off Nikkari’s goading as if it’s nothing, but Nikkari can still see a barely visible blush spread across the back of his neck.
Days pass in a beautifully unremarked manner. The blazing summer heat fades into mid-autumn cool, and Nikkari finds himself spending a lot of time sweeping fallen leaves from the corridors and raking them into piles to use as mulch for the garden come spring. It seems an unending task at times, the leaves dying and falling with the barest breath of breeze, faster than Nikkari can count. The brilliance of the colored foliage around them brings the landscape to life, hills bleeding with vivid crimsons and golds that serve to highlight how faded the red lacquered wood of the shrine has become in comparison. But despite the dilapidation of the shrine, the monotony of his daily chores, the endless raking of leaves from a courtyard that will never be cleared, Nikkari has come to realize that he doesn’t really mind this lifestyle. Living simply with just him, Ishikirimaru, and the old shrine is good enough.
Ishikirimaru seems oddly satisfied with Nikkari’s presence as well, never asking Nikkari where he’s from, where he’s going, or when he plans to leave. Although it’s definitely strange that Ishikirimaru seems to have no desire to know more about his impromptu guest, Nikkari appreciates that the priest doesn’t ask questions that he can’t answer. Their entire cohabitation is based on a mutual trust and accepted ignorance that eliminates the need for such lines of questioning. As far as Nikkari can tell, Ishikirimaru is happy with their days going on peacefully like this as well.
It is on a especially breezy day that Ishikirimaru is late for lunch. They don’t have a particular set time for meals, but over the days and weeks that he’s been here, Nikkari has gained a sense for the rhythm of Ishikirimaru’s routines, and has become rather adept at timing himself so that he finishes cooking just as Ishikirimaru has completed his priestly duties. This time, Ishikirimaru is taking far longer than usual, and the grilled mackerel that Nikkari has cooked is beginning to get cold. So Nikkari sees no harm in going to fetch Ishikirimaru himself.
It’s hardly for the first time that Nikkari has wandered the shrine alone, but the act of searching for someone makes him all the more aware of the shadows that whisper between leaves still lingering on barren branches and the wind-whistling cracks between floorboards of the creaking shrine corridors. It’s too bright in the day for Nikkari to be scared, so he just grins away these uncomfortable observations, puts one foot carefully in front of another as he drifts past room after empty room with no living soul in sight.
Nikkari is approaching the main chamber of the shrine where Ishikirimaru performs most of his rituals, when he notices a slip of green out of the corner of his eye, through the curtain of hair. He starts, sleeves flapping with the force of his movement as he turns, and- It’s just another fallen leaf, twirling on its way to the ground. Strange that there are still green leaves at this time of the year, let alone ones that are still green while falling. But it is still not the priest that Nikkari is searching for.
There’s a small doorway just near where the leaf fell, and as he takes a step closer, Nikkari realizes that he’s never entered that part of the shrine before. Ishikirimaru is very serious about the sanctity of his ritual spaces, so there are places that he doesn’t allow anyone but purified priests to enter. Since he and Ishikirimaru are the only ones ever here at the shrine, it effectively means that Nikkari is barred from some areas. Nikkari’s never thought much of it, to be honest. If Ishikirimaru is willing to have him despite knowing virtually nothing about Nikkari, then he’s entitled to his own secrets and skeletons. It’s only fair.
A breeze rises to meet Nikkari as he stands in several steps from the doorway, blowing him forward as if prompting him to investigate, and Nikkari’s lips pull tight in a smile. Even if he were to follow such a course of action, what would he expect to find? A secret chamber full of corpses? Even if there were such a thing hidden in the shrine without a lingering stench to betray its existence, Nikkari is certain that Ishikirimaru would be clever enough to keep it locked. Nikkari thinks about old tales of travelers who discover that their hosts are rotting corpses and their chambers actually abandoned graves. If that’s the case, then perhaps Nikkari is perfectly willing to be in the company of ghosts.
Nikkari is broken out of his thoughts by the sound of soft but firm footsteps coming from behind him, and he turns to see Ishikirimaru in his fresh green garb rounding the corner. “Ah, Nikkari, there you are!” He calls in his usual serene tone. “I’m late for lunch aren’t I? Sorry, I was performing some extra rituals for the beginning of Kannazuki. Shall we go eat?” He doesn’t look unnerved or upset by Nikkari’s near-breach of his holy spaces. Ishikirimaru’s face is always closed, always controlled, and always calm. Nikkari has never seen him angry.
“Sure,” Nikkari says, and he smiles, walking with Ishikirimaru back towards where their food awaits them. “I made mackerel today. Let’s eat it before it gets cold.”
Nikkari falls into stride alongside Ishikirimaru, shortening his steps to match the larger man’s leisurely, sluggish pace. Without thinking, he leans closer towards Ishikirimaru, and nearly stumbles when the priest strafes to the side to maintain the space between them. Despite this blatant rejection of Nikkari’s closeness, Ishikirimaru’s hand hovers behind them, as if wanting to wrap his arm around Nikkari’s waist. There’s a moment of consideration before Ishikirimaru gives up. Nikkari gives an imperceptible sigh and laughs inwardly at Ishikirimaru’s shyness. Maybe one day the priest will gather the bravery to actually touch him.
Nikkari follows Ishikirimaru, striding into the sunlit noon. He is all too happy to leave that shadowy doorway right where it is.
-
While the rickety old shrine is the only building upon their mountain, it is surrounded by acres of thick forest and sloping hills. During the summer and autumn, the shrine is at the heart of a scenic view worthy of poetic homage. But once winter sweeps across the land and leaves only the leafless ghosts of trees, the absence of rustling leaves and roosting birds elevates the silence surrounding the shrine to almost deafening levels. When he watches the sun hang static in the grey sky and feels not a breath of wind through the corridors of barren forest, Nikkari truly feels like time has stopped around him.
One morning, Nikkari wakes up, looks outside, and the entire world is white. For a moment, Nikkari thinks that he's died in his sleep, or has gone blind. Then he blinks, sees the glimmering sparkle of sun reflecting off the white in the distance, and realizes that it has snowed. Nikkari doesn't remember if he's seen snow before in his life, so although he knows what snow is, this feels like the first time he's seen it.
There’s something about the soft glimmer of fresh snowfall on the distant hills that draws Nikkari outwards, and although he hasn’t left the shrine in months, he decides to take a walk. Nikkari has no reason to be confident in his own sense of direction, but as long as he can see the faded red and black of the shrine from between the barren branches of stripped trees, he figures that he should be able to find his way back without problem. With this in mind, Nikkari steps out into the snowy hills in the summer jinbei that he’s worn all year and a pair of straw slippers. His feet immediately sink into the snowbank and he has to shuffle his way through the weight of frozen water, but Nikkari is impervious to the cold, barely even shivers as ice encrusts the edges of his pants, slips between the folds of his clothing.
Nikkari climbs icy hills and traverses barren snowfields until the shrine is shrunken in the distance, and only then does he stop. The chill has yet to seep into his bones, but Nikkari breathes puffs of warm air out into the grey skies, and smoke leaks from between his lips as if he were smoking a pipe. It curls around him and then vanishes before his eyes like a delightful illusion. Nikkari sits down against the frosty trunk of an old tree and takes note of his surroundings. There are mounds of snow all around him, making it difficult to distinguish any other particular features, save for the half frozen river that flows sluggishly beside him, floating chunks of ice down its current slowly. Just by looking, Nikkari can tell that it’s the kind of river that’s far deeper and far faster than initially anticipated. Once all this snow and ice has melted, it’s probably a lively, roaring menace.
Nikkari leans his head back against the crusty bark of the tree and sighs heavily. He isn’t cold, but the hike from the shrine to here has left him feeling drained and tired. Before he knows it, his eyelids are heavy and he doesn’t fight the lethargy that washes over him as he closes his eyes. This grove by the riverside seems like a good place for a nap.
Nikkari dreams when he sleeps, as he often does, and this time, it’s the same image as one he had a long time ago. A rushing river, now bearing startling similarity to the frozen one that Nikkari sleeps by, only unfrozen and vigorous in the summer heat. Its current splashes over moss-covered rocks. Nikkari feels a wave of refreshment wash over him, and he is neither warm nor cold. Nikkari looks up to where the sunlight silently refracts off the water’s rippling surface, and even within the dream, he closes his eyes and sleeps well.
-
When Nikkari opens his eyes again, the sky is already dark, and he can see stars twinkling in the dark riverbed of the night. Many hours must have passed since he arrived here. Nikkari thinks that his skin must probably be freezing to the touch, but he can’t quite tell when his entire body is just as numb. He still doesn’t feel cold though, so he should be fine. With barely a hesitation, he stands up, brushes the fresh snow that’s piled up on top of him, and heads back towards the shrine. Ishikirimaru must be waiting for him. Ishikirimaru must be worried.
Nikkari is right about Ishikirimaru. When Nikkari returns to the shrine, entering the courtyard through the gate in the back, he first hears Ishikirimaru calling for him, then sees him race over at a breakneck speed worlds away from his usual heavy pace. His eyes are rimmed with a red apart from his usual crimson beni, and his robes are in a disarray. With the haunted look on his face and the openness of his relief, Ishikirimaru seems like a completely different man from the composed, controlled priest that Nikkari is familiar with.
“Aoe! Aoe, where did you go? I thought you’d vanished!” Ishikirimaru gasps, voice rough as he nearly chokes on his breaths and words. Nikkari looks at the fear reflected in Ishikirimaru’s eyes and he realizes what a mess he must look himself. The stiff folds of his clothing are encrusted with ice while flecks of fresh snow dust his hair- Nikkari must look thoroughly frozen from how long he slept out there. Yet he feels nothing. Why does he feeling nothing?
Ishikirimaru looks upset, and it’s almost refreshing to see. Something dark twists in Nikkari’s belly that tells him to prod Ishikirimaru for new, wilder expressions, wants to goad him on and watch his concern morph into anger, see him furious yelling why didn’t you tell me where you went, why did you disappear you could have died! But Ishikirimaru turns before Nikkari can say a thing, not even looking Nikkari in the eye. “You look frozen. I’ll run you a bath so you can warm up,” Ishikirimaru says, and his voice is flat. Something akin to disappointment wells up in Nikkari’s lungs, bitter and green, and he finds him calling Ishikirimaru’s name.
Ishikirimaru hears the sound of his name spoken from Nikkari’s lips so plaintive and yearning, and he stops. Just as Nikkari knew he would.
“Ishikirimaru, I’m cold,” Nikkari lies, and his voice is soft, as if he barely has the strength to speak. Nikkari cannot remember lying, he has never found the opportunity to reason to in recent memory, but the falsehood springs from his tongue so easily and effortlessly that Nikkari wonders if this was something that he did often in his lifetime.. It is with this practiced ease that Nikkari gives a flawless performance, and every needy tremble of his words is another waver in Ishikirimaru’s resolve.
“Ishikirimaru… I’m cold,” Nikkari repeats, and takes a step forward. The crunch of his slippers against snow is audible through the entire courtyard. “Hold me.” This time, it’s Nikkari reaching out towards Ishikirimaru, leaning in towards him, wanting to grab onto his sleeve, stroke his hands against the other man’s cheek, actually remember for once what another person’s skin feels like against his and-
Ishikirimaru is a priest, and far too strong against temptation. Just at the last minute, he steps back, dodging Nikkari’s advances and leaving him hanging, arm falling down to his side, eyes confused and forlorn.
“If you’re cold, then you’ll warm up soon in the bath,” Ishikirimaru says, and his voice isn’t calm anymore, but blank. Without another word, Ishikirimaru turns back around and leaves Nikkari alone in the snow.
Nikkari’s voice is wavering and weak, and this time it isn’t a lie. This time he really does feel the winter chill trickle into the gaps of his marrow and his joints, feels lost in the woods where the snow piles deep and swallows the sound of his words.
“Touch me,” Nikkari says.
Ishikirimaru doesn’t respond, and walks away.
-
The mornings are still cold when Nikkari wakes, but ever since the snow melted, the chilliness of the outside weather is second only to the atmosphere of terse silence that has overtaken the shrine. He and Ishikirimaru have scarcely talked in weeks, and when they do, their conversations rarely endure for longer than a handful of short sentences. Even then, the character of the silences between their words has changed completely. If Nikkari thought Ishikirimaru inscrutable before, now that he’s distanced himself, the priest is absolutely impenetrable.
For the first time, Nikkari actually takes time to consider what Ishikirimaru thinks of him. If he’s committed enough of an offense to warrant Ishikirimaru’s silence, then why doesn’t the priest expel him from the premises? Nikkari is the outsider and guest who doesn’t belong, surely. Although he’d never realized it, his home in this temple has always hinged upon Ishikirimaru’s generosity and favor. There's always been this power imbalance, he'd just never seen it. It seems foolish that he hadn’t thought of it before, but now he feels all the more insecure in his place here; as if he’d been standing on a suspended, precarious perch this entire time and hadn’t noticed until it started to rot beneath his feet. Ishikirimaru has made no implications, overt or otherwise, that he wishes to Nikkari to leave. But Nikkari is starting to consider it on his own because, in truth, he is not sure he feels safe here, no longer certain if he belongs. Perhaps he shouldn’t really be here at all.
Despite their lack of communication, Nikkari is still aware of Ishikirimaru’s habitual routines. It is one early morning, when Nikkari knows that Ishikirimaru is out of the shrine on his weekly market run, that Nikkari wakes from his sleep to a sharp tug from inside his chest, as if someone had wrapped a cord around a branch of his ribs and pulled. Nikkari springs awake, breathing heavily and thoughts still muddled with half-dreamed shadows and unrememberable fears, the remnants of a nightmare that he cannot recall still coiled tightly around him. Gasping and blinking himself to awareness, Nikkari catches a strange sight of the room from the corner of his eye, and this abnormality only becomes more obvious once his vision comes into focus.
Freshly-risen sunlight pours in from the window, bathing everything in radiance. There is not a shadow insight.
Nikkari raises his hand to shield his eyes from radiance, and yet, still, all he sees is sunshine.
-
If what Nikkari had felt earlier was a tug on his ribs, the sharpness and clarity of the pull inside of him now hurts as if an unseen hand were trying to dig its fingers into his lungs and wring his last breath out of him. Nikkari can scarcely breathe, shallow fruitless breaths huffing from his lips as he stumbles along the wood-paven corridors of the shrine, leaning against bannisters and pushing off corners in order to move. He feels adrift, lost in his own body, but every time he tries to move, he finds himself floating in the same direction whether he wants to or not.
And there it is again. That nondescript, dark doorway off to the side of the main chamber that Nikkari had thought so unsavory and so unworthy of investigation all those days ago. Nikkari finds himself stumbling and lurching towards it as if he is dying and that chamber is the only thing that can save him, gloved hands sliding down the flat wooden pane of the door desperately, as he bids it to open, praying that it isn’t unlocked because whatever is in there, he feels as though he needs it more than life itself. It takes barely a push, the slightest application of pressure, and the door glides inwards as if welcoming Nikkari to enter, and Nikkari does with labored, stuttering steps.
It is dim inside the room despite the light outside, and it reeks with dead air as if nobody has entered in a long time. Nikkari treads warily, not knowing what he is looking for. The chamber seems empty, walls bare like an abandoned closet, and Nikkari feels disappointment bubble up in his throat like bile.
But then a wind blows into the room from behind Nikkari, and with it, carries a single flower petal in from outside. Nikkari hadn’t thought that the trees had begun to bloom yet this early in spring, but that tiny, fragile flake of a flower spins in the air for a moment, before landing on a shelf at the back of the room. Nikkari looks closer, and sees that the shelf is more like a small cabinet with its doors left open, and an assortment of articles inside it. In the faint light, it takes Nikkari several moments to identify the objects in his field of vision, but once he does, there’s no mistaking it.
On the left, there is a short vase with the ashes of burnt out incense sticks scattered around it, and on the right are the rotting bodies of some dead flowers, showing that the altar has not been attended to in a while. But in the center, between these two objects, is a framed photograph, and while the glass is smeared with a patina of dust and dirt, Nikkari can recognize the face well enough. Dark green hair pulled in a ponytail with bangs draped over one side of its face, a single catlike yellow eye, a teasing smile that never quite seems sincere enough…
This is the face that Nikkari had seen in the mirror every morning up till today.
At that moment, a large shadow blocks the light coming into the room, and Nikkari hears a heavy thud. He whips around to see Ishikirimaru standing slack-jawed and pale-faced in the doorway, the shopping bags in his hands dropped to the floor. While Ishikirimaru had seemed scared when Nikkari had disappeared before, the priest’s expression now shows no fear. Only grief.
Nikkari doesn’t wait for him to speak or explain. He makes a beeline for the door and rushes out as quickly as he can. Now, he knows better than to try dodging or avoiding Ishikirimaru’s huge frame blocking the doorway. When Nikkari dashes out, he passes right through Ishikirimaru as if he were made of nothing but air, and disappears into the woods.
-
The sun is high in the sky by the time Ishikirimaru makes it to the river, slow in movement as he is. It’s funny how he hadn’t even had to wonder about where to search. He knew exactly where Nikkari would be waiting for him. The snow has melted already, and the river is flowing with its usual vivacity, leaping over rocks and lapping at the riverbanks with verve and life. Nikkari sits on a boulder overlooking the riverbank, one leg tucked beneath him as the wind plays with his hair, tossing it playfully in the air. With his eyes closed and a gentle smile on his lips, Nikkari is the most serene that Ishikirimaru has ever seen him.
It’s after several moments of silent admiration that Ishikirimaru is noticed by Nikkari, and Nikkari’s smile widens as he rises to his feet, still not quite as tall as Ishikirimaru despite his higher ground. He turns to look at the river, and his bangs are tucked behind his ear so Ishikirimaru can see his elegant profile, and the crimson eye usually hidden by that curtain of hair. Ishikirimaru burns this image into his mind, not daring to say anything for fear of ending the moment. Nikkari’s gaze is set with determination, and the set of his jaw shows nothing but certainty, but to Ishikirimaru, he is so fragile that he may evaporate in the sunlight like morning dew.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Nikkari says softly, his voice like wind blowing through grass. “This river. You used to take me here on strolls. We’d have picnics here.” The warmth of the memory and the tenderness with which Nikkari recalls it brings an unbidden smile to Ishikirimaru’s lips. He nods without speaking, sensing that Nikkari isn’t finished.
Nikkari’s lips fall into a frown, and he turns again to look Ishikirimaru in the eye. “I’m sorry we fought. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.” He pauses for a moment, and swallows hard. Ishikirimaru can see the movement of Nikkari’s throat, and feels like he’s choking on air himself.
“It was an accident, just in case you ever wondered. I slipped. Pitiful, isn’t it?” Nikkari gives a self deprecating huff of laughter. “I thought of you until the end though. I think I was apologizing. But now... ” Nikkari shuts his eyes hard, a pained expression on his face. As Nikkari speaks, Ishikirimaru can see the sunlight filtering through him as Nikkari’s presence weakens, his body becoming more and more transparent.
Nikkari heaves a deep sigh with more weight to it than his disappearing form does, and gives a sweet, sad smile. “I wanted so badly to be here. And you wanted so badly for me to be here… But these things never last, Ishikirimaru.” At the sound of his name Ishikirimaru flinches as if struck and instinctively shrinks a step back. Nikkari takes a step towards him, cupping Ishikirimaru’s cheek with his immaterial hand.
“It’s time, Ishikirimaru,” Nikkari says, his voice softer than before, and when he smiles widely this time, Ishikirimaru can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Remember me, but also move on.”
Nikkari raises himself on his toes and presses one last kiss to Ishikirimaru’s lips. And although Ishikirimaru feels nothing but the cool brush of air, it is the sweetest kiss he’s ever had. “I’ll always love you,” Nikkari whispers against Ishikirimaru’s lips, and then takes a step forward, passing right through Ishikirimaru and diving into the river.
Nikkari disappears with a glimmer of sunlight on the surface of water, and Ishikirimaru stands there, alone on the bank of a blue, blue river.