Chapter Text
“So, we’ll meet again next month. Same time, same place.”
“...That I can agree upon.”
The rest of the month flew by in a blur. Before he knew it, Reca was walking to that familiar coffee shop. The place his life had changed just a few short weeks ago.
It was nighttime of course, as it typically was in the Golden Hour. Reca was never really sure why there needed to be a coffee shop there— as coffee seemed more like a morning drink to him— but he assumed the more caffeine there was available, the longer the nighttime activities could go on without interruption. Though, who would want to sleep in a dream?
Nevertheless, the director pushed open the door to the shop, immediately spotting his friend’s shiny halo from across the room.
“I see you came after all,” Sunday quipped as Reca slid into the seat across from them.
Reca smiled that ever-so-slightly sly smile he was known for. No one ever could truly tell what he was thinking.
“It’s no bother, it’s been a slow week on set, so I had plenty of time to make it here.”
“Hm. Well, good that you came. I need your advice.”
“Mine? You really think that’s a good idea?”
Sunday merely nodded.
“Well, what is it, then?”
The feathered fellow folded their hands together on the table in front of them nervously.
“There’s this person I want to say something to. But I don’t know how they’d react.”
“Hmm. Have you tried asking them how they’d react?”
“Reca! I can’t do that!”
“Why not? It’s the easiest way to find out—”
“Have you two been served yet?” A smiling waitress asked from the end of the table.
Reca and Sunday stared at her for what felt like eons.
“Uh, no— I’ll have black tea,” Sunday finally said.
“Ah, same here.” Reca conceded.
“Got it. I’ll have those right out. Couples these days are so cute…” The waitress muttered as she walked off.
Reca turned to face Sunday, who sat awkwardly staring at the table.
“So… what were we talking abou—”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“...Something else…?”
“What were you like as a human?”
“...As a… human? Hmm… that was so long ago, I don’t remember very clearly, haha!”
“But surely there’s some things you can recall?”
Reca’s cheery smile faltered. His eyes nervously danced across his surroundings, not fully taking them in.
‘You’re so good at faking those pesky emotions… can’t you let down your walls for once?’
“Reca…?” Sunday was looking straight at him now. Reca shook his head, snapping himself out of the trance.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“...You don’t have to answer if it makes you sad…”
Reca sighed.
“I was short and skinny. Others told me I acted ‘weird.’ I had hair that went down to my tailbone and wore skirts for a very long time… I didn’t have a lot of friends.”
He glanced up at Sunday, his eyes full of what seemed to be grief.
“...A lot of the time, bad things happen, and they’re just bad things. But sometimes you wake up one day in the midst of a psychotic break, and you think to yourself… ‘This isn’t how things should be.’ So, you change something.”
Reca’s expression softened.
“That’s why I’m a memokeeper.”
Sunday reached out, taking Reca’s hands in theirs.
The pair was silent, their gazes drifting from each other to everything else in the room, but never quite meeting.
“Sorry your drinks took so long!” The peppy waitress interrupted, placing their teacups gently on the table. “There was an issue in the kitchen, but it’s all—” Noticing their expressions, her smile suddenly turned awkward. “I’ll just leave these here for you two.” And quietly, she excused herself.
Once alone again, with the pair’s eyes cast down towards the table solemnly, Sunday spoke,
“Was it hard to change?”
Reca’s perpetually shaky hands tensed in Sunday’s grip.
“Oh, you know… When I became a memokeeper, I changed everything. My hair, my height, my body’s structure… I picked it all.”
He sighed.
“...But some things never change. And I fear… deep down, I’ll always be that strange kid with no friends.”
The halovian’s eyes danced across the director’s downcast features, searching for a rhyme to what he might be feeling. He was unreadable, somehow, as his gaze glazed over.
“It’s funny,” Reca finally interjected with a small, tight-lipped smile. “I spend so much time documenting memories, it covers up the fact that I can’t remember much of my own past.”
Sunday smiled as well, letting out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.
“I think you remember more than you give yourself credit for.”
“...Perhaps… or perhaps it’s all just arbitrary in the first place.”
“Maybe so…”
“There’s something I wanted to say to you,” Sunday said with a small sigh.
“Really now? Do tell.” The director’s expression brightened slightly as his gaze finally met with his friend’s.
“I like you, Mr. Reca.”
Reca blinked.
“You like… me? Why?”
Sunday smiled awkwardly.
“Because you’re the irreplaceable you. Even if you are just a formless being who lives through memories… You’re still completely the you you chose to be. And I admire that, as someone who’s always had a form that follows what others dictate for me.”
Reca couldn’t help but smile in return.
“The Irreplaceable You…” He chuckled. “That sounds like something out of a movie.”
“Ha-ha. Maybe you should write a script about it right now,” Sunday laughed as Reca pulled his hands away from his friend’s, reaching into his bag and pulling out the bright blue sketchbook clearly labeled #9 and a drafting pencil. He flipped it open to the next blank page and began fervently scribbling away, to Sunday’s delight.
Reaching out, pencil still in his right hand, he framed Sunday’s smiling figure with his director’s eye view.
“Perfect. You’re the star of the show.”
“You want me to be the leading role?!”
Reca grinned at this. “Haha, not quite, my dear Sunday. This one’s just for us. So we can remember.”
“There you go, being a memokeeper again…”
“Very funny. Though I am glad you got to say that thing you wanted to say to someone.”
“How’d you know…?”
“You’re not the only perceptive one around here, my friend.”
“Obviously not…”
And as the night grew, many cups of tea were enjoyed, and two friends found solace in what it meant to be irreplaceable.
‘Perhaps it’s not so bad to be so different if I can be the me I’ve chosen to be.’