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It was the dead of night when Yamada shambled his way downstairs to the communal lounge area of the UA staff dorms. With all the lights off, it was pitch black, but he knew his way around well enough by now to get there without needing to see, the only light the dim glow of the TV.
It was there that he found her, dressed in a soft pink knitted jumper, one elbow up on the arm of the sofa, cheek resting on her hand, absently ‘watching’ the movie playing on TV, with her legs up on the cushions. Her eyes flicked up at him when he entered the room, but quickly went back to the screen.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Yeah…” He looked a little pathetic, stood half in the shadows in a shirt that absolutely swallowed him, long hair tangled and untidy. He folded his arms and meandered over to perch himself on the other sofa arm and look inconspicuous.
“I know that face,” Kayama shook her head, “But I’m not using my quirk on you again. You know it only works for a while and then you’ll be up again-”
“No, I didn’t want that.”
“What are you doing down here, then?”
Yamada shrugged. He gravitated down here when he struggled to get to sleep; the sparse décor and open space helped to clear his head, rather than being in his dorm, full of papers yet to grade and disorganised records, unsleeved CDs he couldn’t find the cases for, cassette tapes with the tape strewn about, yet to be re-wound with a pencil, various books and notes and parts of his hero costume. But downstairs it was quiet.
“Can I sit with you for a while?” he asked, tentatively.
Kayama nodded, and he slipped down to take a seat on a large cushion on the floor.
“What are we watching?”
“Gojira."
“Please tell me it’s the original.”
“It is.”
He silently mouthed an enthusiastic ‘yes!’ before settling down. He’d watched that movie so many times as a kid at his grandparents’ house he could practically remember every scene by heart, and seeing it now brought him a certain measure of comfort, despite the destruction occurring on-screen.
“This needs a brush.” Kayama spoke up, reaching over to take the ends of his hair between her fingers and untangling a knot.
“I’ll sort it later.”
“I’ll sort it,” she insisted, pulling him back and drawing up a hairbrush from what seemed like thin air.
“You don’t have t- OW-!”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. It’s only a few knots.”
Yamada resigned himself to his fate with a wince, choosing to focus on the TV instead, though the film seemed to all blur into an abstract mess, and the audio turned into a muffled cacophony of vague noise, until it was no more than nondescript shapes and sounds.
“Not going to ask me why I’m up?” Kayama hummed, gathering another lock together.
Yamada didn’t answer. Kayama was always here when he needed her to be. It wasn’t something he questioned.
“The movie was just too tempting?” he suggested, and she gave a short huff of a laugh in return, but nothing in the way of a real answer.
It wasn’t the first time they’d been in this exact situation, and it wouldn’t be the last. If he’d been so unfortunate as to discover an unwelcome eight-legged guest upstairs, it wasn’t unheard of for him to end up sleeping in the lounge, and that’s where he expected he would end up tonight.
“Yamada…”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you so upset?”
“I’m not upset,” he scoffed, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Look at me. I’m fine.”
She snapped a hair tie on the skin of his shoulder and he drew in a sharp breath.
“Don’t try that with me, you know I know better.”
“Then fine. I am.”
“What’s the reason, then? Is Aizawa being mean to you?” Kayama asked as she turned his head away so she could gather his hair into the elastic.
“Aizawa isn’t mean to me.”
“Then what?”
Yamada tensed, unwilling to acknowledge it, though the knowing tone in Kayama’s voice told him she already had a pretty good idea.
“I know you’re not here,” he admitted.
She didn’t reply, not for a while, just neatened up the ends of his hair around his shoulders.
“You finally learned how to lucid dream then?” She raised an eyebrow, “I thought you said you wanted to know how to do that so you could go on the roller coasters at Fuji-Q Highland without having to queue.”
“Yeah, well, I was sixteen when I said that.”
“It just seems like a waste of potential is all,” she shrugged, “To use it just to sit here when there’s so many other things you could be doing.”
“I wanted to see you again. Is that such a crime?”
“Hizashi.”
The sound of his given name knocked some sense into him, and he shuffled around to face her properly, staring up like a wounded animal.
“I don’t mean to. It’s just all I can think about. I fall asleep, and I end up back here.”
“...How many times have you had this dream?”
“Like, this month?”
“Hizashi...”
“Twelve.”
“And you keep coming back to it. Why?”
“I still have so much I want to tell you. To ask you. It’s… however many times I try, it never feels right. Saying goodbye. It’s so much harder when I know you’ll never really hear it.”
“It’s never going to feel right. But one day, you have to say it for the last time.”
“Why? Why does there have to be a last time? Why can’t I keep coming back?
“At some point you have to get on with your life. You can’t live in a single moment forever.”
“But I miss you.” His voice cracked, “Who’s going to help me sleep? Who’s going to do my hair? Who’s going to take the spiders out of my dorm? How am I supposed to keep it together for Sho?”
A tear slipped down his cheek, but she leaned over to brush it away.
“You weren’t supposed to die.”
“Everyone dies, Hizashi.”
“Not you. Not my Kayama.”
“Everyone. Even you. My life ended, and you can’t spend the rest of yours thinking about what it would have been like if it didn’t.”
Yamada curled himself up,
“Don’t I deserve this? After everything?”
“You deserve to be able to move on with your life,” Kayama told him.
“If I told you I was sorry I wasn’t there… would you forgive me?”
“I’m a part of your imagination, it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“But if you were here, really here, would you forgive me?”
“I’d say there’s nothing to forgive. And then I’d insult you.”
He couldn’t help but crack a smile.
I know. I know you would.
“But Hizashi.” She placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, “I’m serious.”
“I know. You tell me every time.”
She relaxed her grip on him, managing to smile back, and patted his cheek.
“Wake up.”
“Five more minutes. Please, Nem.”
“Fine. Just five more minutes.”