Work Text:
“One.”
A cool nights’ breeze sweeps through the open window. It brushes back Hanako’s bangs for a moment, one of the last rushes of wind he’ll ever feel.
“Two.”
The moon shines, big and bright and unreachable in the sky, high high above everything. Humans made it to the moon, once, and for one brilliant moment, we thought anything would be possible.
“Three.”
Despite the surge of supernaturals—a combination of Tsukimachi night and their nearness to Shore from the destruction of boundaries, surely—this night is a quiet one.
“Four.”
Hanako’s legs dangle back and forth into the open night air where he sits on the windowsill, a torn up classroom behind him. Already he can feel his presence on the Near Shore fading, his spirit collapsing into broken glass the longer he lingers.
“Five supernaturals.”
He watches with ugly amusement his little count of monsters breaking apart on the lawn below, dissolving into smaller and smaller and smaller triangles until they’re gone. He knows it’s only his position as a School Mystery that has allowed him to stay so long. And even so, he knows he doesn’t have much time left.
He ponders going out to find Yashiro, to give something of an explanation, or to say goodbye. . . . No, he thinks to himself. She wouldn’t like that—not his answers nor his departure. Frankly, they’re probably both better off without last words. Besides, then she can forget about him in peace.
A tap of footsteps, the classroom door sliding open.
“Oh, Hanako-kun! There you are!”
…Alas, it seems he’ll have to face her anyway. He looks over his shoulder ever so slightly, watching Yashiro weave through the room and past all the desks to get to him by the window. Despite his internal worry about whatever conversation they’re about to have, he can’t help the rush of affection that bubbles up at the sight of this determined girl.
“Hey, Yashiro,” he says into the quiet. Yashiro pouts at him, and Hanako’s mood only sinks further; she hasn’t even realized anything is happening, has she?
“Come on Hanako-kun, you can’t go disappearing on us like that!” she whines playfully, stepping up by the window. “Sumire-chan and I were looking everywhere for you.” If Hanako were to look at her again, he knows he’d see that fiery determination igniting in her eyes; he hates that he’s the one that will have to put it out.
“We have to find No. 6 and save Aoi!” she says excitedly, hurriedly, in a tone that suggests they gotta get going! But Hanako doesn’t even bother responding. He waits, in silence, for something. For Yashiro to notice the cracking of his own uniform? For her to pick up on the unease practically radiating from Hanako himself? He doesn’t know, but eventually, she asks:
“…Is something wrong?” Her voice is timid now, worried. Hanako doesn’t like it, but there’s nothing he can do about it. It would only be cruel to let Yashiro believe that there’s any hope in going back for Aoi now; no, the sacrifice has been made despite everyone’s attempted interferences, and now. . .
“Hm?” Hanako hums. “Oh, I was just thinking it won’t be long now.”
“Won’t be long…?”
Hanako is saved answering her by the toll of the school bell; the official sign that things are starting—or perhaps they’re ending… Its ding-dong! feels almost ominous when it’s the dead of night, no one at the school except him and the Wonders and supernaturals, and these special few. Or…right, the school sleepover. He’d almost forgotten about that. Hanako can’t really tell if the knowledge that many others are still here is a comfort or just another thing to worry about.
“The school bell? Why now?” he hears Yashiro ask behind him. “It’s so late at night…” Hanako often wishes he could stop adoring Yashiro’s curiosity as much as he does.
“Hey, Hanako-kun,” she speaks, and at the sound of his name, he finally turns to her. “I think something’s happen…” She notices, Hanako can tell, in the way her eyes widen and her lips part and her voice trails off, “…ing…” and her garnet eyes are drawn not to Hanako’s own, but to his cheek.
“It’s the Severance,” Hanako tells her blankly, painting his fakest smile on his face; why bother pretending any outward joy is real? Yashiro will know it isn’t.
His cheek cracks.
There’s a moment of silence in which Hanako smiles at Yashiro, and Yashiro stares at him, his body and spirit finally beginning to lose their tether on the Near Shore, cracking, cracking, cracking. And eventually, he’ll break.
“Wha…?” Yashiro breathes, and Hanako watches her visibly tense up, watches worry fill her gaze, watches her start to move for him and then stop. “Hanako-kun?!” Her anxiety fills the room; Hanako could never figure out if it was better or worse than her anger. He’ll have to deal with them both either way.
“. . .What’s wrong with your body? I-is it…breaking apart…?” Question after question, Yashiro’s voice seems to tremble, and Hanako swings his legs back over the windowsill, planting them on the floor; his shoes and feet crack at the pressure, and he holds back a wince. But even if standing hurts, even if moving causes his spirit to skitter ever faster to the Far Shore, Yashiro is here now, hands held close to her chest and legs shaky, worried about him, and he finds that when they’re in the same room and so close, he can’t help wanting to hold her.
“Now that a girl has been offered up as a sacrifice,” he explains matter-of-factly, “the human world and the supernatural world will be split clean in two.” He steps right up to Yashiro, not touching but close enough to, and observes as confusion builds in her gaze, in her furrowed brow, in her twisting smile.
“…Huh? W-what do you mean…?” she asks, her eyes all over Hanako in a flickering way such that, under any other circumstances, Hanako might tease her for. Now, with worry plain in her face and hands clutched together, Hanako only wants to comfort her. It’s only a shame that any comfort is something he knows she won’t like, or is just a lie.
So he grabs a hold of her wrists instead, tugging her close to him, cupping her shoulders and her neck with gentle, fading hands. For just a moment, he wants nothing more than to spend his last moments with her warm body against his, soothing the aching tug in his spirit that screams at him to let go,
let go,
let go of this wret-ched world…
-Come to the Far Sho re with— us. . .
“We supernaturals,” he says in Yashiro’s ear, soft as his voice can be as if it will make the news any easier to bear, “are going to disappear from this world.”
He turns his face into her neck slightly, soaking up this closeness while he has it, while Yashiro is too shocked to push him away.
“But don’t worry,” he tells her, holding her tight as she shakes in his grip. Does he steady her, or unmoor her? It feels like a fifty-fifty chance every time. “None of this is your problem anymore.” She sucks in a sharp breath, her body tensing—
“Hanako-kun,” she tries, but Hanako barrels on before she can say anything. He has a feeling if he doesn’t get this all out now, doesn’t help her forget sooner, while he has the chance, restlessness is all he’ll know until Far Shore bound he’ll be, only then guaranteed Yashiro will be able to live out the rest of her life with no memory of him.
“Because after tonight Yashiro, you won’t remember supernaturals.” He tangles a hand in her hair, petting her for a quiet moment in which she tries to protest.
“Hey—What are you saying…?” Her voice is quiet, hesitant, and it’s clear she doesn’t understand, but Hanako can feel his time drawing ever nearer. If a deceiving goodbye is the only one he’ll get, then he’ll make do.
“You’ll forget about me, and about Aoi-chan,” he says, forcing himself to draw back from her, not meeting her sure-to-be tear-stained eyes as he lifts a hand. “And you’ll be able to live happily ever after…” Two fingers, pressed against Yashiro’s precious temple, and she won’t remember him; how has Hanako been such a fool to indulge himself, even just once, in that storybook where he could be prince charming? No, this has to end…now—
“Don’t!” Yashiro shouts, huddling in on herself and ripping herself out of Hanako’s arms, at the same moment that a tingling shock bursts in a forcefield around her, forcing Hanako stumbling back. He swears under his breath, shaking the low-energy exorcist lightning from his hand, which only cracks further with the motion, his palm half-dissolved into broken shards. He glances back up at Yashiro's wrist, finding, as expected, a protective bangle still sizzling from the burst of energy.
“Oh…” he sighs tiredly, “that’s what did it. Why’d she have to give that to you?” he mutters, cursing Sumire and her thinking ahead.
Yashiro takes multiple staggering steps back from him until she knocks over a desk behind her. The distrust in her eyes hurts like daggers, her forcefully blank expression making Hanako wish all over again that she hadn’t even found him in the first place. Inevitable though it is, any hurt on Yashiro’s face because of him feels like killing himself a second time.
“H-Hanako-kun,” she whispers, the shock on her face laced in her voice now too. “What did you just try to do to me…?” She lifts a weak hand to her forehead, and Hanako is reminded abruptly of the kiss he’d once left there, in a picture-perfect world, back when he’d hardly understood a lick of his feelings for this clumsy, gullible, completely reckless girl. Now, he can only stare at her with affection drowning in sorrow.
“What do you mean I’ll forget? And—and why would I forget Aoi too?” she demands, that angry furrow already making its way back onto her brow. Hanako is silent. What is there to say?
“Ugh! You’re always like this!” Yashiro’s face contorts, her mouth twisting down and her brows drawing together. Ah, Hanako thinks mirthlessly, there’s the anger.
“You never tell anyone what you’re thinking, you just—decide things, all on your own!” Her eyes blaze with anger, all directed at him, and despite her yelled words and clenched fists and narrowed eyes, all Hanako can think is, You’re beautiful.
“Are you plotting something again?” Hanako almost wants to laugh at that. “What is going on right now? Can’t you just—” Yashiro wrings her hands, now looking more distressed than truly angry. “Just—explain it to me in a way that makes sense!”
She stops, breath heaving as she glares at Hanako across the classroom. They’re separated by the strip of moonlight streaming in from the still open window, Yashiro drenched in shadow opposite from where Hanako stands in darkness, just inches from the illuminated center. Everything is still for that moment, and then Hanako sighs and steps forward into the light.
“I granted your wish, Yashiro.”
Yashiro’s anger falls away in an instant, replaced with something soft, hesitant, bewildered. If Hanako had a heart, he knows it would ache for her. As she stares at him in silence, Hanako has just a moment, this one, quiet second, to decide if he’s going to tell her everything. Chips off his shoulders and legs have drifted from him now, and the call to the Far Shore is stronger than ever.
“My…wish?” Yashiro rasps. She looks so small, standing in gloom across from him. If only he could reach out and hold her, comfort her. He’s already cold again, ten feet and a thousand miles away from the one he adores.
“Yeah. Remember?” Hanako offers the smallest of smiles. “You said you wanted to live in the real world longer.” He huffs a laugh. Some part of his hat chinks into little triangles of glass. He watches them fall from the corner of his eye. “Though…making sure you reach your hundredth birthday might be a stretch.” He sticks his hands—almost gone now—into his pockets and smiles at Yashiro. She returns it, shaky, and he knows she can’t see the truth, not just yet.
“You mean. . . I’m going to live longer?” she asks shyly, taking the tiniest step towards him. Hanako blinks cheery eyes at her.
“Yup,” he chirps. He tilts his head. His smile widens. “Doesn’t that make you happy?” he asks her, and he knows she’ll ask, wanting to know the hows and whys, but for this one second, he can smile at her and she can smile back and they can both pretend her wish has been granted exactly the way she wants it.
Somehow, Hanako thinks she’s forgotten the catch with every wish of his.
They have a cost.
“No, it—it does, but…I mean, are you sure?” Yashiro looks down at her feet, her lips now downturned in uncertainty. “That really came outta left field.” She glances back up at him. He can feel the way almost all of his edges have shattered now; his time is running out.
Grinning in that happy-go-lucky way of his, he tells her the truth: “Because Aoi-chan died instead.”
Yashiro stills completely, expression wiped blank except for a parting of her lips. Hanako meets her eyes, watching as a million emotions and feelings pass through them—disbelief, a flash of anger, and finally circling back to puzzlement. Oh, how Hanako loves Yashiro’s eyes, their revealing of everything she feels, the way they sparkle with excitement, flood with tears, burn with fury. Even now, in their wide, careful emptiness, Hanako loves them.
Loves her.
. . .
Ah.
So that’s why he’s doing all of this, isn’t it?
“Wh-what?” Yashiro stutters, “What are you talking about, Hanako-kun?” There’s something panicky about her now, the fluttering of her hands, the sweat beading on her cheeks. “It’s not like Aoi has anything to do with my lifespan…A-and hey, wait a second! I thought—” she swallows. Hanako watches her gather her thoughts; he knew she’d be like this if he told her. “I thought the plan was for us to go save her together.” Hanako doesn’t say anything, his silence is telling, he knows. “C-c’mon, you’re kidding, right…?”
She reaches a hand out—for him, for some invisible reassurance, Hanako doesn’t know—and takes a few shaky steps toward him. There’s something desperate in her gaze, still locked with Hanako’s, begging him to laugh, to declare it all a big prank, but he just stands there morosely, hands in his pockets, fading away.
“Tell me—” she chokes, and the tears start to build now. Oh, how Hanako wants to wipe them from her flushed cheeks. “Tell me it’s n-not true…” Her eyes glitter, fat droplets pooling and falling into her hands, both raised now and trembling, so unstable, and Hanako only wants to cradle them, to make her stop, but it would all be a lie, and he can’t lie to her.
Not anymore. Not now.
“That—isn’t what I wished for…It’s not!” she cries. “That’s not what I meant when I made that wish!” She looks to him for something, help or guidance or an escape. Anything but the truth Hanako has told her. “The world I wanted to live in wasn’t supposed to be any different from before. You, Aoi—everyone, would still be there!” She wipes her tears, palms growing wet, looking ever-so-much like Hanako’s worst nightmare; but this isn’t something he can make better.
His wishes have a cost, and his life with Yashiro is the price of this one.
He wishes he could convince himself that it’s worth it.
“That’s what I really wanted,” Yashiro gasps through her tears. “It—it doesn’t count if Aoi dies instead of me! I don’t want that…!”
Hanako smiles. “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he says truthfully, and he steps up to her; they’re both standing in the rays of the moon now, and the truths are coming to light. He leans close to her, bending down so their eye level is the same, and he grins.
“But I like you better than Aoi-chan, Yashiro.”
He removes his hands from his pockets, fingers still chipping out of existence, and he cups her cheeks, finally getting a fleeting chance to wipe those damned tears away. “I’m sorry. But it’ll be okay,” he tells her reassuringly, his eyes softening even as Yashiro’s meet his, and then flit frantically over his cheek that must have a sizable hole in it now.
“I’m going to disappear soon, too,” he whispers, and Yashiro’s eyes snap back to his, garnet tears pouring down her face. “And it might take a while, but you’ll forget us someday.”
Yashiro flinches away from him at his words, pulling away from his cold hands and raising her own; her face is covered in ire and wetness, but her eyes are so, so sad. Hanako squeezes his eyes shut at the movement of her hand—instinctual—but the pain of a harsh slap on the cheek doesn’t come. It’s a shatter of glass instead, a sharp pull from the Far Shore, as Yashiro knocks his spirit ever further from this world.
He blinks his eyes open at the sound of a sharp inhale to meet Yashiro’s wide, terrified ones, and her hand trembles, shaking and falling and gripping the front of Hanako’s shattered uniform. Reaching for him. She clings, nails digging into the fabric and forehead falling against Hanako’s chest. What?
“Don’t,” Yashiro whimpers, her voice cracking. “Don’t go…”
She pulls him close, not in an embrace, but it’s as good as; her hands clutch at him so tight it hurts, and she sobs into Hanako’s collar. Desperate, that’s what she is.
Hanako can feel his own eyes grow wide at the realization. Wasn’t she mad at him a second ago? Hadn’t she been upset over Aoi? Why, then, is she crying over him? Oh Yashiro, please don’t cry.
“Hanako-kun…”
Hanako grits his teeth; his existence in the human world is so close to being ripped away. Still, he clings for a moment more, for Yashiro’s hands clinging to him.
“If only things could have stayed that way forever.” Hanako closes his eyes wearily. He can almost picture it, the three of them; him, the kid, and Yashiro. Always Yashiro. The girl he loves. The girl he grants impossible wishes for.
Hanako-kun, Hanako-kun, will you grant my wish?
What would he wish for?
“No. That’s not right.” Hanako pries Yashiro’s hands from his uniform, hooking them around himself instead as he holds her close, the last time he’ll ever be able to. He can’t tell Yashiro he loves her, will never be able to, and so he’ll settle for this, the next best thing. Holding her close, absorbing as much of her warmth and her scent and her affection and her tears as he possibly can, he tells her, the most honest he’s ever been:
“I wish. . . I could’ve lived a real life with you too, Yashiro.”
He lets go then, finally, responding to the call of the Far Shore, and even as the last shards of him float and dissolve, he can feel Yashiro, cradling them and crying over them and loving them, as much as a girl can love an apparition she can never have. He heard her wish, her new one—her right one—but every wish has a catch, and sometimes…
Well…sometimes, there’s a wish Hanako just can’t fulfill.
That wish is Yashiro’s.
That wish is his.