Chapter Text
The first thing the man knew was that he was cold, but it was not a normal type of cold. No, it was the type of cold that felt simultaneously warm, uncomfortably nagging from the back of the neck down to the rest of the body. His arms felt like they were burning, while two sharp lines across his face, the entire lower half of his left leg and his chest felt horribly chilly and numb.
The next thing he noticed was that he was lying against a wall, awkwardly positioned that he was certain that—in most cases—his neck would have hurt from it. But it didn't, and it was odd. He still wouldn't complain about it, or “look at the gift horse in the mouth,” as the saying went.
However long he had stayed there, conscious or otherwise, nothing had happened, so it was best to get to do something. He stood up, slowly and carefully, steadying himself with the wall he was leaning against. The leg that felt cold and numb could barely hold his weight correctly, as he felt it give under his body weight in opposition to his other leg.
It was… odd, and inexplicable, but manageable all the same. He couldn't help but wonder why it was like that, or why his arms burned with vice, or where he even was to begin with. As much as he racked his head for it, all there was was…
Emptiness.
Nothing.
His head was completely blank, without as much as a clue or a sliver of a feeling to guide him about anything. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember his job. He couldn't even remember the sound of his own voice!
He clenched his shirt to pull it away, acutely aware of the bandages spanning over his chest as it expanded and contracted with each and every breath. He felt his muscles burn at his arm as his hand pulled back at the thick fabric, all to give him some fresh air over the increasingly abrasive feeling of warmth pulsing from the back of his head. He blinked away the moisture from his eyes, pooling into tears that fell down his face like rain.
Who was he? What happened? Why was he bandaged? Was there an accident? Was it deliberate? Was he someone important enough to warrant the active desire of harm? What had he done in that case? He didn't– he didn't feel like he was the type to let himself be known to others, but what did he know? Nothing, he knew nothing.
He had let go of the wall as he spiraled, standing somewhere in the middle of what he initially assumed was a room as he brushed his hair back from his forehead with a clammy palm. One of his feet had a sandal, while the other didn't as it made no sound over the tatami mat. Another oddity, one that managed to bring him back to his senses as he realized how little sense it—or anything if his situation, really—happened to make.
Standing around, moping about his complete and utter lack of context would lead to nothing in the end. That was something he already knew. So he had to apply what little he knew of his situation to do something useful.
He was in a room, judging by the tatami mats and the wall he was leaning against, so if he traced back his steps he could find his way back to the wall and follow it until he found a door. He had been injured, deeply so, and if he had received any treatment it had been minimal at best and inexistant at worst. He couldn't remember anything, and if he tried his head started to pulse with the same burning warmth that was present across his arms. That last point somewhat indicated to a head wound, but it made no sense that it hurt in the same way as his arms did; nothing made sense.
He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips tight, feeling the cracked skin stick together uncomfortably. He was dehydrated, then, but he didn't feel any thirst. Nothing made sense yet. It was all like a puzzle with too many missing pieces and no clear edges to serve as a guideline.
But if that was all he could garner from staying put in that room then he needed to head out, somewhere beyond the room where he had rested. It was faint, but if he focused he could hear some movement beyond the paper thin-walls. Someone, or something, was out there and served as his best bet at figuring out what had occurred to him to be in such a state.
He limped back to the wall in which he rested, his steps echoed in his ears. Thud, muffle, thud, muffle, thud, muffle; it simply did not end. His hand traced the wall in front of him, or rather to the front of his left side. Timber and clay, and then timber and clay again until he felt an irregularity, stemming into a shoji door simply waiting to be opened.
The answers to my questions are out there, he reminded himself when uncertainty arose from the depths of his mind. It wasn't something he could avoid doing, as sooner rather than later he would have to head out; be it by his terms or somebody else's. Obviously, it was much more preferable to do that by his own will, so out he went.
The hallway felt colder than the room, some chilly breeze seeping deep into his bones as he stepped outside. The hallways were large and devoid of anything as far as he could tell, yet his steps did not echo around him. Could walls be designed to stop echoes? Or was that another part of the ever-expanding list of questions he had now?
He did his best to follow the distant sounds he had originally heard, keeping a hand on the wall as he limped through all those twists and turns he came across. Oftentimes there were walls where the sound was the loudest, blocking his path, but the hallway would sinply extend in another direction for him to follow in that confusing maze. Other times he would come across more doors, each of those closed shut in such a way it made him find them by accident.
Finally, he found himself in an uninterrupted path to whatever made that sound he followed. It was as clear as day or the birdsong from the morning, a vague memory of the sharp whistling suddenly coming back with the internal comparison. He decided that he quite liked birdsongs.
Desperate yowls came in front of him, and in just a few seconds he was swarmed with plenty cats at his feet. He staggered back a few steps, his bad leg giving in, causing him to fall on his behind. Still, he couldn't help the smile that came onto his face as all the cats got closer and their meowing softer. They were adorable! How could he have forgotten of them? They were just the cutest little things ever!
He extended his hand out, cherishing the feeling of the felines’ soft fur under his roughened hands. He chuckled in endearment, a deep sound he recognized as his voice ringing out. It was rough from disuse and rasped against his dry throat, but hearing it for the first time after he'd forgotten made him think of it as kind. He liked the thought; that he used to be kind before he forgot everything and he could be kind once more.
As more of the cats swarmed around him—how many are there? I want to pamper all of them!—he attempted to pick one of them up to his lap; a little thing with a hoarse meow that sounded like it was an old man reincarnated. However, even though he managed to hold the little critter with both hands, the moment he tried to lift it up his grasp gave out. He felt something, the cat, pass through him with a shudder and stay still as he moved his hands.
He jerked back, flinching as a mind-numbing cold expanded through him from his hands. “What– how…?” he murmured, holding his, deathly cold hands together in a futile attempt to warm them. He tried again, with another cat as the first had run away when he edged closer, but the result was the same.
But if once was a fluke, twice a coincidence then thrice was indicative of a bigger problem? It was just denial, he knew that, but he couldn't accept it either. If he accepted it, then what would that mean for him? What had become of him? He could feel the cats’ fur when he reached out, as could he hold his clothes before that, so why couldn't he hold the cats? Why was he incapable of–
“Who are you, where am I and what happened to me?!” a young voice demanded from behind him, loud and brash but barely trembling in thinly concealed fear. It was from a boy, a teenager if the man had to give an estimate. Definitely younger than him, at least.
But that wasn't what he focused on, but rather that when he turned around the boy he noticed something; a stark contrast to everything else he had found thus far. He hadn't noticed before, how much he had lacked everything in such a way. But now that there was something like that in his world? He found it captivating, impossible to ignore or brush away as it rendered him breathless.
“Hey! Don't just stare at me, say something!”
He blinked and pushed his awe away for a later time, bashfully conceding, “I apologize boy, but I am not certain where we are either.” He thought of the pressing blankness in his mind that was only filled by the events that just ocurred, noticing that same lingering uncertainty in the boy that led him to doubt, “it… ah… It may sound rude, but did you perhaps lose your memory as well?”
The boy stiffened, his breath stilling for an instant before murmuring, “I'm… I am sorry sir. I thought you would know.”
“Do not worry about it, there is no way you could have happened to know,” the man objected, shaking his head with a hand raised to stop the boy's train of thought. He then straightened himself, turning back to face in front of him, and carefully stood up before limping slightly to the kid, arms outstretched to hold the kid steady.
He only stopped short, hands lingering a little ways off from his arms, as he thought back of the cat situation. He wouldn't know what to do if he went through the kid, or what the boy would do.
“Are you injured anywhere boy?” he asked instead, soft, kind and fearful that something would happen. He only remembered 15 minutes at most, yet he already expected the worst. How much did that reveal of his current situation? “You said something happened to you, I need to understand so I can help you.”
The boy crossed his arms with the rustle of a thick fabric and huffed, “nothing that hasn't happened to you, aparently.”
“That is quite the broad declaration, and I am still unsure about everything that has ocurred to me thus far,” the man implored, placing a cold hand behind his neck.
There were too many things the boy could refer to; things such as the burning feeling in his arms, or the bandages that pressed against his chest, perhaps the numbing chill that spread across his entire body, and the limp in his step as well. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else the boy took notice of while he himself had not as of yet, or the boy maybe even imagined something while it wasn't there. There were far too many possibilities and none of them were nice to think of, keeping in mind what it implied.
“Hm, oh. Yeah, that's fair. But, y'know, I meant the glowing thing?” the boy clarified, vaguely signaling to the man with his right hand.
But glowing? The word sounded somewhat familiar to the man, although he couldn't pinpoint what it meant. He thought of expressions that had the word, most of them coming unbidden to his mind, but they came with more and more things he didn't comprehend. One after another, the concepts piled up; sight, color, brightness, dullness, light, darkness.
He wished to ask the boy to elaborate, but after just asking him that right before he said that about glowing… If he was in the kid's place, he would have found the question disrespectful, even if it came from genuine doubt. But not to worry, as he came up with an failsafe called: repeating the important part of the given statement as a question.
And if he didn't have a failsafe for the failsafe in case it failed? Well, that was a problem for the future.
“The glowing thing?”
The boy nodded and, just as the man hoped, further elaborated (or complained, to be more precise), “like your leg and the entire left side of my body. It's that glow.”
Like my leg… so that means that glow is a term to refer to the cold kind of injury I have. But… then that means the boy was injured on half of his body and has to deal with the glow now. He's so young though…
Feeling how tears streamed down his face, the man wept empathetically, “namu amida butsu, how horrible that you must deal with that… I hope we can find a way for it to cease in here.”
“Huh?” the boy sharply deadpanned. “What's that mean?”
The man chuckled and decided to ruffle the boy's hair, remembering how he could at least do that with the cats. Any more that that he wouldn't dare, but maybe the glow was what did not allow him to hold them to begin with; it was all possible. How he disliked his situation, not, their situation.
The boy's hair was odd, with his sides shaved smooth off and a fluffy line of hair running down the middle. He laughed and held the man's arm lightly, his grasp on his left side significantly weaker than on his right due to the aforementioned glow. Similarly, his left hand felt less solid, to put it into words.
The man told the boy, “well, that means… It means… ah– I suppose I forgot alongside everything else. My apologies.”
“Ugh, this all sucks! These memory problems are a load of crap!” the boy shrieked, stomping on the ground and… snarling? He made a noise that sounded like snarling, definitely, but he was no wild animal to make that sound.
So why did he do that? Why did it sound like that? There were far too many questions, and every time the man thought there possibiy couldn't be any more he was proves wrong. But then that begged another question: what can I do? He knew the answer, but that did not mean he liked it, for all he could do was wait until they were resolved in due time.
In his inability to answer his doubts, the man instead chastised the boy, “do not say such crass words young man, there is no need for them.”
“Aw, come on! I'm sure I'm an adult already, I can speak how I want old man,” the boy shot back, letting go of the man's arm as he took a step back.
The man sighed and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. With his brow furrowed, he told the boy, “you must be a teenager, judging by how you sound, and even if you were not that sort of language is unnecessary.”
“Bah, voice schmoice. Why not how I look? I mean, I bet that I look like– oh… OH, SHIT!” the boy yelled, entirely ignoring the man's comment about his crass language.
And as the young teenager continued to spout more inappropriate words, one after another seemingly without end, the man acted before thinking twice. He held the boy firmly by his arms and faced him in such a way that the unnamed something the man had noticed before was everywhere. It was incredible, beautiful and mesmerizing to witness, even as he kept his focus as away as he could from it.
“Boy, you need to calm down,” he told him firmly, “why have you reacted like this? You must have found out something.”
The boy freed himself from his grasp, pointed at him and sputtered, “you- you're blind!”
“Yes, that does sound about right, but it does not explain your behavior,” the man confirmed with a nod. Truthfully, all he recalled about the word was that it applied to him. Whatever it meant was frustratingly close to being pinpointed, but he couldn't recall it further than that. Still, judging by the boy's panic he could assume he did remember, and it was not the best thing to be.
The boy notably deflated, hunching down and loudly lamenting, “I– I was so stupid! Talking about light and glowing when you can't even– UGH!” He stomped against the ground, stiffening his arms as he brought them up to his head.
The boy was much too hard on himself, that much was obvious. And while the man couldn't remember what was light, or had just pinpointed what glow meant it did not mean the boy immediately had to notice that. It appeared like the boy felt as if failing to do so would otherwise make it a grave mistake on his part. It was a sentiment to be corrected, one that the man would do his best to achieve as he lectured the boy, “wether I am blind or not, it is not something you were obligated to notice immediately. Do not blame yourself for an honest mistake, alright boy?”
The child nodded stiffly and pulled down his arms, murmuring between gritted teeth and clear avoidance, “I'm sorry sir…”
The man's expression softened into a sad smile, his gaze lowering to the point in which the nameless something of the boy met the striking nothingness of everything else. The man turned back up to face the boy by the force of a habit he did not recall, placing a hand over the boy's uninjured shoulder carefully, particularly as to avoid going through him. It was shocking to feel how cold the boy was, specially in comparison to the temperature they were at.
With a frown, the man began to unbutton the shirt he wore over his bandages. With one swift movement, the gakuran-style blazer was draped over the boy's shoulders and promptly adjusted to a more comfortable position. The man couldn't help but feel colder without it, but it was entirely worth it if that meant the boy was more comfortable.
“Oh, uhm… Thank you sir, but you didn't have to do that for me,” the boy bashfully said, still not returning the blazer to it's owner.
Before the man got to answer, one of the nearby felines fell with an unceremonious thud, effectively breaking both of the amnesiacs out of their engrossing conversation that led nowhere in the end. All of them were swarmed together in the same place, pitifully meowing and clawing at a wooden cabinet. A few turned back to weakly plead to the two of them, but eventually returned to the distant begging.
“The cats look so… thin,” the boy worriedly noted, turning his head back and forth from the animals to the man.
The boy was right; the cats were thin. The man hadn't paid it much mind at first, but beneath the soft fur that seeped through his fingers their skin clung to their bones. At the time he had been to focused on the moment, ensuring to get every nice thing of his first happy memory after he forgot everything else. But of course he couldn't even get to keep that for himself.
Frowning, the man theorized, “if so many of the cats are swarming together then that must mean that there is food for them nearby.” He turned back to the boy, a lighter expression taking over his face, “would you mind aiding me with this endeavor boy?”
“I wouldn't have pointed the issue out if I didn't want to fix it, you know?” the boy scoffed in amusement. He held the man's hand (be careful, make sure he won't go through) and pulled him towards where the cats were. The man could walk around by himself, as he had already proved to himself, but he let the boy have the moment. It was the bare minimum he could give him.
The cats, those cute, fluffy, adorable and greedy little things they were, parted way for them while somehow still swarming them at their feet. The boy muttered complaints as he guided the man, awkwardly stepping over the hungry felines with exaggerated steps. It was certainly amusing to witness.
“Will you catch me if I do a stupidity?” the boy suddenly asked.
The man blinked in surprise, briefly wishing he could do a double take at what the boy had just said, “pardon?”
“There's a what seems to be cat food up there,” the boy pointed up. “So I should just climb the cabinets to bring it down!”
“You are right, it is a horrible idea,” the man deadpanned.
The boy cheekily digressed, “not a horrible idea, it's a stupidity! Do it a favor and call it by it's name.”
“I will not do that,” the man sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. He could barely even feel the contact over the cold and numb feeling running in a straight line across his forehead. The feeling was only present on his fingertips, and even then his forehead felt… smooth, and unblemished. For some reason it felt unnatural.
“Oh, come oooon! I'll do it either way, so least try and catch me,” the boy begged, “please? For the kitties?”
“That…” the man sighed. “I will do my best, but I cannot promise anything.”
“Eh, works for me,” the boy shrugged, and up he went.
Concerned, the man prepared for the moment the boy would slip and fall. He steadied himself, opening his arms wide to spring into action at a moment's notice. However, there was still the underlying worry that the boy would fall straight through him, as if the was not even there to begin with.
Please… do not fall.
But of course, things had to go wrong time and time again. There was not as much as a single opportunity for things to go well, when the man heard a door slide open several hallways away; throughout the paper-thin walls forming labyrinth-esque twists and turns. Maybe somebody else who was in the same situation as both the man and the boy, or maybe the reason why they were in that situation to begin with.
“I got it!” the boy cheered.
The man nodded and cautioned, still turning away from the boy, “just… Come down quick. I believe to have–”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” the boy suddenly yelled, cutting the man off as he slipped. The man snapped back to his senses, turning back to the boy's something covering everything before he managed to catch the boy. He could do it when it mattered, he realized as he carefully set the boy down on the ground.
But the man did not get any chance to check up on the boy, as slow and heavy footsteps neared the two of them. The cats skittered away, bolting for doors and exits he had not known were present. He positioned himself in front of the boy, making sure that whoever was coming would have to go through him before reaching the boy.
The last door opened, and in they came. They stopped on their tracks for a moment, possibly being from the moment they noticed the man and boy. However, opposed to the gorgeous and nameless thing that came from the boy, the other person did not have that, just as the man himself.
The other person sighed and stepped forward, their feet bare against the tatami mats. The man stiffened, and behind him the boy demanded, “who are you? And why the hell are we glowing?!”
The stranger did not answer, instead passing by them to where the cat food was kept. They acted as if the man and the boy were not even there, as they took the bag of food under their arm before feeding the cats. After feeding the cats, which hesitantly began to file in to eat to their hearts’ content, the stranger scoffed with an amused and jovial voice, slightly younger than the man's own, “damn, how many cats did you have?”
Something of that statement struck the man as odd. The stranger spoke, yes, but he did not talk to the man nor the boy when he did. Was ignoring them a deliberate choice, or another matter entirely?
Not to mention, the stranger sounded… sad, when he mentioned the cats, even thought the statement clearly attempted to hold an edge of amusement. But no, it was not when he mentioned the cats. It was about the owner of the cats. An owner that, presumably, had something happen to them. Something that—if the man assumed correctly—was death.
So they were encroaching in a dead person's property, injured, with no recollection as to why they were there. Good to know.
The stranger continued on about something of finding the cats a home, but the man couldn't pay attention to that at the moment. He tried to make sense of everything, the cold numbness over his body and the warm aching in his arms, the way his hands went through the cats but still allowed him to hold the boy and open doors, the nameless something from the bow and the glow they were afflicted with. It riddled his mind, all the questions that were unanswered, but the stranger could answer them. The stranger did remember, if he could talk about the deceased owner of the place they were at.
The man hesitantly stepped foward, incredibly aware of the awkward limp in his step. The boy followed close behind, but the man stopped him and shook his head. In wordless understanding, the boy understood that he should stay where he was, confirmed with a firm nod. Sternly, he asked the stranger, “could you stop ignoring us? The boy just asked something, please do not act as if we don't exist.”
Silence, yet again. The stranger continued being in his own world, even though he did turn around. The man waited with anticipation, but when nothing came out of that he got closer. In a swift moment, the man reached out for the stranger's hand, attempting to hold it tight and failing as it went through.
“Ah, fuck! That is unflamboyantly cold. the hell was that?” the stranger exclaimed, pulling that hand back, as the man did himself. But, at the very least, the stranger was not ignoring them anymore. The stranger sighed, and the man expected some sort of recognition or comment directed at him—at least further than a rude question—but instead he started walking towards the man.
And then went through him, the disorienting feeling extending all across his body. For an instant there the constant numbness that he felt vanished, being taken over by a horribly blinding pain. His forehead, his arms, his chest, his leg. By Buddha, his leg vanished under him, causing him to fall onto the ground without warning. And then? Numbness again.
“Oh, Kami… I– are we dead?” the boy asked with a trembling voice, and the realization made the man's face pale in horror.