Chapter Text
There were no flowers on the grave.
Maybe he should have been mad, but Sakuma had expected it.
They were spies. They hadn’t even know each other’s real names. A death was expected. They must have gotten over it months ago.
Sakuma was the one at fault, really. First in the Army and then a spy... of all of them he should have been the one to take a death well.
But the one to die had been Miyoshi, and Sakuma–
He buried those thoughts, focused on the grief and not why he was still feeling it, after all this time.
He placed the fresh flowers he bought on the grave.
He said nothing, what was there to say?
So he left.
*
He arrives at his own grave. A morbid curiosity of his, and a risky one. But he does it nonetheless.
There are flowers on it. Fresh.
He hadn’t expected that. It’s been a year, after all.
He’s not sure how to feel.
*
Sakuma could have passed by D-Agency, could have entered and greeted those that had, for a brief time, been his colleagues.
He didn’t.
Instead he took the first train back to his home, in the north of the country.
It was a long journey, but he tried not to sleep. He might dream of Miyoshi; of how pale he’d been, lying in that coffin, clothing still caked in his own blood...
*
He lived in a secluded village, now. He liked it like that; the less news of the world, especially the war, the better.
The villagers were nice, and certainly much more sympathetic to a man of his stature and age not in the army then he’d have expected.
Then again, Lt. Col. Yuuki had forged discharge papers due to internal injury for him. A generosity Sakuma hadn’t foreseen when he’d resigned from D-Agency, along with the small income he'd been given.
Perhaps, it was the man’s way to atone.
Regardless, he had a peaceful life now. Good neighbors, a good home. A stable job that he didn’t really need but took on to pass the time.
And yet, the sorrow was still there. It’d been buried before, but now it engulfed him again.
*
“You went to visit a grave,” the proprietress of the restaurant he worked in said.
Sakuma nearly dropped the empty plates he was carrying, but didn't deny it. “How did you know, ma’am?”
“Death reaches even here, you know. You’ve been out of sorts since you returned from your trip, and I recognize that look in your eyes. I’ve seen it in others, in myself and in young people coming from the war. Was it someone very dear to you?”
“...I don’t know.”
“You left to visit this one person's anniversary and you don’t know?” Her voice was kind, despite the humor.
Sakuma frowned. “I suppose. It’s just...I don't know why. They shouldn't have been.”
Her smile was pitying now. “Go home dear. And take the day off tomorrow.”
“That isn’t–”
“It’s been a week. You need to rest to get over this. I’ll get by without you, now go.”
*
Sakuma laid down on his porch overlooking his bare garden. He didn’t own a television, and his mind was too scattered to read a book.
A stray ran past. He’d considered keeping a cat, initially. But they reminded him too much of Miyoshi, with their superior air, hidden claws and independence.
So he stared at nothing, waiting for sleep to claim him. Eventually it did.
*
“Why do you still mourn? Fool, you should have moved on,” a voice said far away. It sounded pained.
Sakuma was quickly becoming awake...
“You’ll catch a cold, sleeping outside in this weather,” the voice said again, tone neutral now. It was familiar, yet Sakuma couldn’t quite place it.
He was now fully alert, but had enough training to not move a muscle, retaining his sleeping position on the porch.
More importantly, why was someone in his house? He’d given no one a key. Worse, how had he not noticed their presence until they spoke? Even if time had gone by, the instincts he’d learned in the Army and honed in D-Agency should not have left him completely. Was he that out of sorts?
“I know you’re awake,” the voice said again. This time, with a tinge of amusement. Again it rang a bell of recognition, but the only person Sakuma could think of was–
He opened his eyes and looked up.
It was dark now, and with only the moonlight to illuminate them, the figure was shrouded in almost complete darkness. Nonetheless, between the voice and silhouette, Sakuma recognized him.
Miyoshi was sitting on the porch, next to his head.
Sakuma sighed and closed his eyes again, turning sideways to rest his head on his hands. It’s a dream.
And a strange one, at that. His dreams always played out like memories, or sequences.
“That’s quite the disappointing reaction.”
Eyes still closed, Sakuma murmured. “I’m not so gone that I can’t distinguish a hallucination from reality.”
“Ah. I suppose I can understand that logic. However…”
Hands pushed him on his back and gently held his head.
Sakuma opened his eyes just in time to see the apparition looking down at him with–
–he couldn’t decipher what the expression was trying to convey.
And then it leaned down and brought their lips together.
Is this going to be that kind of dream? He hadn't had those since Miyoshi had died.
And then the mouth on his grabbed his bottom lips and bit, hard.
The pain and the metallic taste of blood were all too real.
Oh.
He sat up, eyes wide and heart racing and stared.
Miyoshi licked his own lips clean of blood with a triumphant look.
“Do you still think I’m a dream, Lieutenant?”