"Miharu . . ."
Miharu answers from the doorway, hands carrying two glasses of lemonade, "Yeah, Yoite? What is it?"
Smiling slightly, Yoite's slender face looks up at the clouds whisked across a deep blue sky. The sun's golden rays are lightly soaked into his unnaturally pale skin, providing a sense of pure warmth to his already heavily covered body. Quietly, Yoite says, "It feels nice – the weather, I mean."
Placing the lemon ciders on a side table resting next to Yoite's rocking chair, Miharu glances over at Yoite with a slightly worried expression. Whenever Yoite makes references to the weather, he typically is talking about himself.
"Yeah, it does," Miharu affirms softly. They sit there in silence for a while, the only sounds breaking their hush being the clicking of Yoite's knitting and birds singing their melodious melodies. Each note is carried by the docile current of the caressing breeze, and Yoite seems as though he can hear these sounds despite his impending deafness.
"It's almost time for the sun to set . . ." Yoite points out, trailing off as his focus is absorbed by the knitting of his scarf.
Miharu hesitates to comment, but eventually mentions in a forced monotone voice, "But it's beautiful."
A sound comes from Yoite, probably meant to be a laugh but come out as more of a sigh. "Still, that means we have to say goodbye to the sun."
Miharu's eyes narrow painfully for a moment, his heart panging in sharp, harsh beats. His stomach knots uncomfortably. "Hey," Miharu says, trying to change the mood of this tranquil atmosphere, "isn't it 'see you later'?"
Turning his head slowly, Yoite's grave eyes assess Miharu's small form. "I guess it is, isn't it?"
Silence ensues again.
"Hey, Yoite . . ." Miharu begins, staring at the wooden floor with his small hands bunched into fists, collecting a portion of his school pants within his slender fingers.
"Yes, Miharu?" Yoite responds, but he doesn't look up from his knitting.
"Those three words I told you . . . What if they were something else? What if . . ." Miharu says, pausing before gaining the courage to finish his thought, "What if, instead, I said, 'I love you'?"
At this Yoite stops his work, even taking on a motionless posture as he stares into the darkening evening sky. Reflecting against his blue irises is the ending scene of a sun set and the opening scene of a serene night, yet what Yoite sees isn't either of these. Rather, he's completely absorbed in some lucid, blissful thought because, as Miharu watches Yoite's sickly face, he can see a happy expression take over Yoite's fragile features.
Yoite opens his mouth, delicately breathing out an, "I . . ."
Yet then the sun sank behind the horizon, and Yoite followed after the sun in both body and spirit. It was as though the darkness concealed a light, gently enveloping Yoite in its depths. Yoite's last tangible emotion was left; the glimmer of Yoite's single tear glistened in the moonlight, only to fall and soak into Yoite's abandoned, unfinished scarf.
Miharu's eyes widened. Biting his lips, Miharu manages to murmur in an almost silent, quavering voice, "Yoite, I will never forget you . . ."
Burying his face in his hands, Miharu takes on a fetal position, the pain in his chest all too real. Groping for the rocking chair's arm, Miharu accidently pushes over his glass of lemonade in the process. Placing a hand on the seat for support, his hand gently falls onto Yoite's scarf. Yoite's tear was then combined with Miharu's, each leaving an emotion of love on the cloth, one out of sorrow and one out of joy.
"Miharu . . ."
Her voice softly rings in his mind.
"There's no reason to not forget Yoite . . ."
Her coaxing voice seeps into Miharu's consciousness.
As if accepting, Miharu answers to the calls, "Fairy . . ."