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It was a gloomy day, so thickly clouded that the afternoon was as dark as evening. Inaho drew his coat tighter around himself. The chill stayed.
His bare hands had long become numb in the cold; his fingers stiff and pale. But he doesn’t release his hold, doesn’t even swap hands to relieve the hand that now feels more like a frozen claw. There’s not really a logical reason to be doing this, but Inaho knows that he cannot bring himself to loosen his grip. Not here. Not now.
His destination faded slowly into view. Dark stone, harsh against the greenness of the turf. Inaho wonders if he would have preferred something… more like himself. Energetic. Cheerful.
Even Inaho can tell that the quiet, sombre air of this place would make his friend uncomfortable. Inaho himself doesn’t mind it. He’s had enough noise for a lifetime – gunfire and explosions and the crunch of metal being torn apart. Screams and tears and the laboured, blood-choked gasps of those that didn’t have long in the world. Here, the only sounds are Inaho’s soft footsteps and the faint whisper of wind as it blows over the stone and grass and dirt.
But he hadn’t come here to stand in silence, so Inaho said, “I’m sorry for not coming earlier.”
His voice is avalanche-loud; Inaho knows that it’s only a matter of perception, an illusion of his own human mind, but it sounded as if the whole world was listening. Even the wind died down.
He kept talking. “I was busy.”
There’s a sound behind him. Inaho turned, lightning-fast, hand already reaching for his concealed weapon when he realised that it was nothing but a common raven. It cocked its head and stared at him with beady black eyes. Inaho ignores his new avian audience and resumes his conversation.
“That’s the truth, but I was also reluctant to come. That’s why I chose to come here today, instead of with everyone else.”
He’s only a couple of days late, but it had been raining on the anniversary and the white flowers that his friends had brought had long turned to mush. Inaho sets about clearing them. The recent weather meant that there was still quite a bit of moisture trapped in the crushed petals, icy pools of grey and brown water. Its frosty touch stings Inaho’s skin as he brushed the flowers to the ground. He ignores it.
“I haven’t spoken to anyone else about this. I know that they’d just tell me it wasn’t my fault. And I know that it isn’t, but I still feel the need to apologise. Somebody should.”
Inaho stood up. He took a few moments to try to shift the grass stains on his trousers before he realised that it was futile. Yuki was probably going to scold him for ruining the suit when he got back to the car.
“There’s something else I want to say as well.”
He takes the ribbon-bound bundle from where he’d tucked it underarm.
“Thank you for saving my sister.”
Inaho arranged it carefully so that the white bellflowers lay neatly below the headstone.
“And I’m sorry for letting go.”
The wind picked up again, causing the little blooms to sway. They almost looked like they were nodding… or waving.
Inaho raised his left hand in a gesture of farewell. It’s stained with muddy water and wet grass. Slippery. As it had been that day, except back then it was with sweat. Inaho can feel the phantom slide of fingers against his palm, the way his hair lashed at his face in a wind that wasn’t blowing, the bite of the cable he held onto with his other hand cutting into his flesh. The sound of crunching pavement. The moment when his breath had been knocked out of him as his body slammed against the metal of the car roof and then he’d realised that his hand was empty.
‘Inaho!’
The crow gave low caw and Inaho was thrown back into the present.
Yuki would get worried if he stayed too long.
Inaho turned and walked back to his sister, leaving Okisuke behind.