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Sunsets are fawned over by both the young and old. Admired for their immense beauty, cherished for the tender way pink took on the rays of the sun and orange merged with the horizon to create something unique, something entirely its own.
The power of a sunset is that it is meant to fade.
Hanako's lips purse, eyes darkening beneath the visor of his hat. The bathroom is silent, sinks gently gleaming beneath the tan glow of the sun. His hand clenches into a fist that sinks into the shadow beneath the window, where light can not bear to greet his trembling form.
His head rests back against the wall, cowering away from the light that reaches out above him, that grabs at the wall ahead of him until it turns amber. A bitter taste rolls inside of his throat.
What happened today was not supposed to. If it hadn't happened, perhaps he could've stuck to his own foolish agenda, his foolish thoughts that no, Yashiro couldn't die! It didn't matter that she could call him from the other world, all it meant was that she had immense spiritual power!
He sighs, head dropping, eyes trained on the tiles.
If Yashiro were here, she'd lean against the window sill and gape at the sunset the way Kou did with that dumb expression of his— Except her face, swallowed by the sunlight, never looked dumb. It looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
Even in a room with a thousand colors— some known, some not— painted across its walls, she'd be the only bright thing there. The prettiest. The kindest. Her smile had this strange quality of making his heart flutter like a leaf in the wind, taking his breath away as sharply as winter wind must cut through thin coats.
That sensation has long since left his memory, but when he closes his eyes and her face comes to him in tender lines and smooth skin, he can almost feel the snow brush his fingertips; feel snowflakes scatter across his cheeks the way he wishes he could kiss hers.
He stands up, pictures Nene— She's home now, probably with her tongue unknowingly poking out of her lips as she doodles, legs kicking back and forth atop her bed. Her hair is freshly washed and her eyes carry stories. Maybe she's coloring the sunset. Maybe the sunset already lives inside of her, the colors of the sky aligning to match her mood.
Taking one deep breath, he looks up, and his throat catches. A teal sky blends with dark red across the horizon, trees cutting up the color to reveal thin strokes of pink that feel like comfort. Beige clouds float effortlessly across the sky, and for once, he forgets how dearly he adores the stars.
He could stand here all day. Watching, admiring.
But then the teal turns dark, shadowed by graying clouds as the sun becomes a faded dot, covered by trees that now cover the little light remaining. The window dims. The wall loses its amber.
Every surface mourns the loss of the sun.
The sun, which was so strong it could hide the dust coating the window sill. Two handprints are indented into it. The window is blurry with grime. The stall hinges creak, and the tiles are beginning to rust.
Hanako's uniform feels tight around his throat; his emotions are so fresh, he almost forgets it's outdated.
The bathroom hasn't been cleaned in a long time. Apparitions shouldn't have emotion, and yet he carefully places his fingers over the handprints, swallows them with his broad palms, and lets tears drip down his cheeks.
It's like losing her all over again.