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The gentle ebb and flow of the phantasmal shore perfectly mimics waters in the land of the living. Here, Makoto’s always felt at ease while gazing out towards it. The same fact remains even here, even someplace where his soul dwelled alone.
That did not, however, necessarily mean Makoto was condemned to a lifetime absent from any company.
“Makoto?”
A familiar voice filters through the ether, the only one that ever reaches his ears these days. Save for the occasional, distant howls of Erebus, it’s the words of a boy in a yellow scarf that echoes all around. Even without arms to reach out and to hold, Death’s words manage to feel like a warm embrace.
Perhaps that’s always been the case when Makoto found nothing to fear about it. There’d been no need, not when it was his ever-present and unchanging companion since his youth.
He rises from his seat upon the pale sand, dusting his palms off against one another. Only then does he tilt his head up, gaze fixed towards the midnight tapestry of a sky. Distant stars twinkle upon its surface, and had Makoto not known any better, he might mistake it for the real thing as opposed to an image conjured up at the ends of the earth.
Ryoji, Makoto thinks to himself, has thoroughly outdone himself in ensuring the Great Seal was as comfortable as possible.
“Is it already time to go?” the human murmurs as Death gazes down from above. And though Makoto cannot see his face, he knows that Death’s pale lips are likely adorned with a smile, an expression to reassure him that he will endure even without Makoto’s presence.
“It seems so.”
The months have truly flown by. Perhaps that’s only natural, given the lack of any timekeeping instruments making it impossible to keep track on his own. But Makoto keeps count of how many times this occasion rolls around.
Makoto smiles back at the invisible face in the sky. “I’ll be back soon,” he reassures his companion. And he’ll bring something back too, just as he always does.
“The only thing that matters to me is that you enjoy yourself.”
Six months may be a long period of time, but it’s an effervescent drop when compared against eternity.
Six months will simply have to be an adequate amount of time to remind himself of the very world that he’d sworn to safeguard.
The air ripples around him, the Seal weakening just enough to permit a single soul to slip free. Makoto steps forward only to glance over his shoulder, waving farewell to the one he’ll leave behind.
“I’ll see you later, Ryoji.”
The silhouette of a boy in a yellow scarf waves back at him.
“See you soon, Makoto.”
There are plenty of tourists milling about Inaba in the spring, flocking to the quaint town for safe harbor from the hustle and bustle of city life. Without the crush of people taking up all of the air, there’s plenty of space for visitors to bask in the new life sprouting along the town’s winding roads.
Of those visitors, several choose to stay at the Amagi Inn.
For the rest of the week, Makoto becomes one of them and steps into their shoes. Instead of skittering around Inaba, he’s taken a liking to sitting quietly on one of the cushioned benches in the inn’s foyer. The visitors come and go. They arrive as friends laughing together, or two parents with their arms folded around their children. When they unintentionally catch Makoto’s eyes, he offers them a polite nod no matter how young or old they may be.
“It’s unusual to see visitors your age at the inn alone.”
A young woman clad in a pink yukata steps out from around the counter, offering Makoto a warm smile. She settles down in the spot next to him, folding slender hands in her lap.
“They’re typically here with their family. Or they come as a group of friends looking for a getaway from the noisy city,” she begins. “It’s… unusual to see a student visiting Inaba alone. When I was younger, people would say it’s a sleepy little town.”
Makoto lifts his gaze as he studies his new company. She is no stranger; he’s seen her tending diligently to the inn, straightening out the foyer’s furnishings while greeting guests. This woman must be Amagi Yukiko, he realizes, the next owner of the Amagi Inn.
He returns her smile with one of his own. “I’m lucky enough to travel alone for awhile. Maybe it’s unusual for my age, but I’ve really liked staying here.”
The inn stirs a sense of nostalgia. It’s not as grand as the one from Kyoto, but it’s similar enough to make something in his chest ache.
“Actually, I picked this place for my graduation trip.”
The woman acknowledges his explanation with a quiet hum. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m honored that you decided to stay here.” She unclasps her hands, rising from the bench while straightening out the cloth of her yukata. But instead of dipping her head to take her leave, she cants her head to the side with a twinkle in her eye.
“If you don’t mind a bit of advice from someone who’s been in your shoes,” she says, “it probably feels like you’re going your separate ways from your friends, doesn’t it? Now that you’ve graduated, everyone’s moving on with their own lives.”
Makoto blinks up at her, slate-blue eyes a bit wider as his lips part with muted surprise.
“But that’s not entirely true. I think everyone carries a piece of their friends with them, even if you’re far apart.”
It’s Makoto’s turn to tilt his head with curiosity. “Thank you, Amagi-san. I’ll keep that in mind. It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
The Amagi Inn’s proprietress lifts a hand to her lips, covering her mouth as the corners of her lips curve upwards behind it. “Something like that, yes. When I was around your age, someone new came to live at Inaba for a year. Thanks to him, I feel like I’ve made friends who’ll be with me forever. No matter how far we are from each other, I know there’s a piece of them that’s always with me.”
Makoto doesn’t need to see the shape of her lips to hear the fondness in her voice. “He sounds like someone who’s loved by all of you,” he notes, looking up at the proprietress with curiosity.
“Our lives would be very different without him. We’re all counting down the days before he comes to see us again from the city.”
The woman’s gray irises glimmer in the inn’s warm light. In their reflection, Makoto sees the silhouette of a high school girl surrounded by the people she holds in her heart.
“I’m not sure if we’ll ever be able to express just how much he changed us for the better, but maybe he can tell how we feel every time he visits all of us here.” With that, the woman’s arms rest at her sides again before giving him a polite nod “Oh, my break is almost over. I hope my little story wasn’t too boring for you. Please let me know if you need anything from the inn while you’re here as our guest.”
And then she is gone, leaving Makoto alone with his thoughts.
How good it is, he thinks, that the world is filled with people who love and are loved in return.
Sunbeams warm the back of Makoto’s neck as he meanders down the neighborhood streets. Its residents shuffle along, some of them heading for the nearby subway station with their briefcases and bags tucked against their sides. Others amble about more leisurely, pausing to nod a greeting to every friendly face they recognize.
It’s no Port Island or Iwatodai, but there’s nevertheless something nostalgic about it. Or perhaps it’s the cafe he stumbles upon, its thick fragrance of freshly-brewed coffee intertwined with cigarette smoke invoking memories of evening shifts at Chagall and a Buddhist monk with a glowing cigar in hand.
“Huh. Well, what do you know? A customer at this time of the day.”
A bespectacled man leans over the cafe’s countertop, a newspaper clutched in one of his hands. He turns his gaze towards Makoto, surveying him before waving him into the cafe.
“Don’t just stand there. Are you looking for a cup of coffee or not?” he mutters, and despite the disgruntled tone there’s an underlying warmth in his words, one that gives Makoto the nudge to step in and let the door swing shut behind. The man makes a pensive hum and nods at one of chairs tucked beneath the bar, setting his newspaper aside. “I’m out of curry for the day, so all I’ve got is coffee.”
“I’ll take one cup, then,” says Makoto as he settles down on the offered seat. “Just a black coffee.”
The barista makes no notes of acknowledgement but sets to rifling through the shelves for a jar of coffee grinds. It takes him a moment to find a satisfactory one, but his ultimate decision is announced by a content sound.
The man glances over his shoulder. “You alone for the day, kid?” he asks as sets the jar and the mug on the countertop, reaching beneath it to grab a cone. Carefully, he slides the fine grinds into it before retrieving the gooseneck kettle off its hot plate.
“Yes. I’m here for summer break.”
There’s a thoughtful hum of acknowledgment from the barista as he pours hot water over the coffee grinds. Silence lapses between them as the water percolates through the cone, slowly filling the ceramic mug with freshly-brewed coffee. The barista slides a saucer beneath it and returns to the counter, setting the drink down in front of Makoto. “Summer break, huh?” the man muses. “Brings back memories.”
Makoto lifts the mug to his lips, blowing lightly over the drink’s surface. Clouds of steam roll across the rim before dissipating into the air above. He takes his first sip of the coffee, returning it to the saucer before glancing back at the barista. “...of your own summer breaks?”
“Hah! God, no. That’s too far in the past for me,” the man chuckles, unfolding the newspaper yet again. “Spent a year as this kid’s guardian. He was – about your age back then, I’d guess. That guy got up to plenty of trouble during the summer with his friends.”
As Makoto takes another sip of his coffee, he spots a twinkle in the man’s eye. “It sounds like he was special to you,” he notes with his own smile, mug clutched in two hands.
The man’s brows lift, mild surprise coloring his features before slipping back into their earlier laid-back expression. “I guess you could say that,” he says, finally, flipping a page of his newspaper. “I owe him a lot. Maybe I miss having him around all the time. I mean, pretty great having that extra helping hand around. This place doesn’t run itself.”
Makoto watches the nostalgia flickering in the man’s eyes, a smile tugging at his own lips as he slowly drinks his coffee. One did not display such fondness in their eyes, he thinks, simply while thinking about a person who was merely a part-time employee.
“Actually, he should be stopping by later today. Said he was in the area.”
The now-empty mug is accepted by the barista who carefully lowers it into the sink.
“If you stick around a little longer, maybe you’ll catch him on your way out.”
Makoto shakes his head as he rifles about in his pocket, sliding some money across the countertop. “Thank you, sir. But I have somewhere I need to be,” he says, hopping off the chair. “And thanks for the coffee. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a good Jamaican Blue Mountain.”
The man’s brows lift once again. “You know your coffees, kid?”
“A little. I worked part-time in a cafe.”
Makoto offers the barista a polite nod, pausing after a couple of paces towards the door. “When you see him again, you should tell him that you enjoyed your year with him.” It is said despite the fact that, whoever that boy was, he likely already knew how fond this barista feels towards him.
And yet, it’s only a matter of time before the two of them will have to bid each other farewell forever.
The bell attached to the door rings once again. As it swings shut behind him, Makoto hears two words mumbled by the barista.
“Weird kid…”
A boy in a yellow scarf waits for him at the ends of the world. He sits at the shoreline of stars, rising only when he hears the sound of muffled footsteps in the sand approaching from behind. He does not need to see who it is, for he would recognize their rhythm no matter where he might hear them.
“I’m home,” says the visitor, pausing when he reaches the shore.
“Welcome back,” says the one who was waiting for him, reaching up to curl his fingers around a warm hand, gently tugging him downwards to join him on the sand.
Makoto leans over, resting his head against Ryoji’s shoulder as his eyes slide shut, a slow exhale easing from his lungs.
“You’re always tired when you get home.”
He feels the rise and fall of Makoto’s shoulders along his arm as he shrugs. “Lots to do out there. Things to see, people to meet.”
Ryoji hums as they gaze out at the sea, its cerulean waters glittering with the reflection of the midnight sky. He glances down at the head of navy hair resting on his shoulder, carefully lifting one hand to run his fingers through its soft locks. “Did you meet anyone from the past?” he asks, even if he already knows the answer. Makoto would never reappear before any of his past friends’ or allies’ eyes. It would be far too cruel to do so, to resurface several years later and unintentionally aggravate old scars left on their hearts.
“No. And it’s better that way.”
There’s always a hint of mournfulness in his response to that question. Ryoji poses it to him every time he returns from his half-year in the world of the living.
This time, the note of melancholy is nowhere to be found, replaced instead with the sound of serenity. “What was different this time?” Ryoji asks, fingers still gently curled against silken strands.
A few beats of silence pass between the two of them, filled only with the sound of the ebb and flow of the sea. For a moment, Ryoji can’t help but wonder whether he’d asked an incorrect question.
When he hears Makoto’s pensive hum, he realizes his beloved human merely needed a moment or two to collect his thoughts.
“I guess – it’s the people I met this time.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. Helped me remember something I forgot over the years.”
Time had stopped for so long for Makoto. It’s not particularly surprising to hear that he’d lost sight of something important along the way.
Before Ryoji can part his lips to ask what that was, Makoto’s already speaking up again. “People come and go, but they’re never really gone. Not as long as you can remember them.” He pushes himself off of Ryoji’s shoulder to lean back, lying on the soft sand to turn his gaze heavensward. “I guess – I forgot, it’s the same for everyone.”
If there’s anything Ryoji can say is certain for Makoto, it’s that he never forgets anyone who comes into his life. Perhaps no one would have believed that someone with such a composed demeanor wondered if it was the same for those who’d brushed shoulders with him too.
A short laugh breaks free from Ryoji’s lips as he flops down on the sand as well, fingertips brushing against Makoto’s. “Of course it’s the same for them,” he says. “It’s like you said. It’s the same for everyone.”
Makoto looks over at Ryoji with a frown. “What do you mean, ‘of course’?”
In contrast, Ryoji beams like the summer sun. “Have you forgotten? I’m Death. When people reach the end of their lives, their hearts overflow with the memories of everyone they’ve crossed paths with no matter how brief.”
Makoto turns back to the sky adorned with stars, their twinkling lights glowing in slate-blue irises. His pensive expression finally breaks, his own smile curving upon his lips. “Good point. It really is that simple, isn’t it?”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth thinking about.”
They’re blanketed in another moment of comfortable silence. Much of their time together lapses into easy quiet, oftentimes broken first by Ryoji.
“Where will you go next?” he asks, interrupting that silence as he always does.
The warm fingertips against his hand slide past his fingers, pressing the plane of a palm against his own.
“Don’t know yet. There’s no rush.” Makoto tugs gently at Ryoji until his arm warms Death, towing him in like a wayward boat guided towards the safety of the harbor. Their bodies fit against each other, falling comfortably into place: Ryoji’s arm wrapped around Makoto’s side as Makoto rests his forehead against Ryoji’s shoulder with a content sigh.
“I’ve got a whole six months to figure that out.”
Until then they’ll lie side by side, two souls waiting together at the ends of the world.