In a room that does not exist here, but there, you'll find an open window. You notice the curtains, only slightly lifted by the night breeze. You've seen this window once before. Breathing in, you can smell an artificial sweetness. Behind it is the smell of rain. It's so nostalgic. Your hands reach out for something. It's almost within your grasp. It's so close, so close-
Sometimes it's better to wake yourself up from a dream before you get tossed into a wholesome world where every breath is ecstasy, and every true feeling you have inside plays before your closed eyes. You force your eyelids open.
"Ugh…" You groan and lift yourself up from your waist.
This was your bed once, and it was filled with warmth, so much warmth. And to be honest, a little discomfort at times. But this was your bed.
You shiver a little. Maybe it's just cold for this time of year, but you have a feeling that it's the cold chill of nostalgia.
What was it that you were looking for here? Ah… was it the books? They're a little mouldy now, and probably a little more damaged than you would think. But they still sit in their messy piles closest to the bed. You thought you had sorted them out, but it looks like you missed a few. That was really just a simple human mistake of yours. No one could've been here; it's been too long since someone lived here. That was as long ago as when there was a "he and I" in this room.
No, it wasn't books that you were looking for… that's right. Today marked that day- not the kind of day that you leave a little red circle around the date on your calendar.
"Four years," you whisper. The two words you have to say today. It's a count now. After four years it still meant nothing at all. Maybe in your idealistic world, it would happen today.
You set about organising the room again. Carefully, you rearrange the piles of books. A little order usually puts your mind at ease. That would always remain from your childhood. Sometimes, you can't shake the past, where your emotions were trapped inside. There's still a lot to be found inside you, but only one person had managed to skim the surface. Or, rather, skip a stone along it, making ripples. Yeah, that's more like it.
Suddenly, you feel cold again. But when you shiver this time, it's because you realise you're not the only one here. You didn't hear the footsteps echoing underground, or the clicking of the door handle. You manage to bring yourself to face the doorway. You try to promise yourself that it's a joke, or another dream. But you know there's no turning back now.
There's a figure at the door. Tall, male, cloaked. But he brings the smell of rain.
"Hello, Shion." A smile darts across his mouth.
A lot comes into a name, and you know yours means the flower of remembrance. And your namesake comes into play now. Still frames of memories flash through your head. You remember the name of the warmth next to you in a heartbeat
Words slip through your dry lips.
"Welcome home, Nezumi."