Winter sleep
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"…will you hold me now?
My frozen heart.
I'm lost in deep winter sleep;
I can't seem to find my way out.
Can you wake me…"
- "Winter sleep" - Olivia Lufkin
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He could still remember the first time they met. Summer was in full bloom. She was a child, full of smiles and the unabashed giggles that came with the ignorance concerning the outside world. And well, truth be told he was a child as well, more of one, perhaps, than she, despite his seemingly mature appearance and shining gold police badge.
The second time, in autumn, she was a woman. Amazing what a few years could do, he thought that day, feeling his cheeks grow hot. She was taller now, and she wore her hair down, still adorned with plastic butterfly and sunflower clips, and though she'd developed obvious hills and valleys, in some ways she was that same little girl who'd burst into a smile when her father came home every evening.
And it was that girl who could never be fooled by his mature act. Her eyes, alight with fairytale-like dreams, would compliment his polite smile. But then, with a glossy pout that could make men weak in the knees, she'd mock his futile attempts to win her heart with a comment about his age, and suddenly the room became a carnival where he was the fool, kept nearby only for a chuckle or two when things became too serious.
He knew she was joking, could see it in the way she moved and spoke. She cared for him in her own way, even if only as a dorky older brother or something of the sort - Lord knew her real brother had something of a God complex - and he had, at a point, come to accept that.
One day, she would marry a kind man - most definitely not a police officer - while he continued to fight an endless war to keep her glassine world of peace and happiness, of childish delights, intact. But Fate was cruel to a man who had no power, a man who was, in all honesty, very much of a coward.
That is why their third meeting, though planned, was so very unexpected. He'd searched her out in the quiet forest, away from the business of Japan's capital, where the sparrows sang their soothing lullabies from the densely covered tree branches and flowers bloomed even in these coldest months of winter.
She was dead now, suffice to say. Her body fully functioned and she spoke from time to time, but he knew she wasn't the same. Her world had come crashing down around her like a sandcastle beneath an enormous wave; it was too much for someone as fragile as she.
So he came to see her - he too no longer the man he'd once been - dressed in a freshly pressed black suit and a bouquet of colourful flowers he thought she'd like cradled in his arm. She didn't walk much anymore, and barely looked at him when he entered the cabin that smelt of pine.
He bowed his head to her mother, once a vibrant woman, now alone and dull, and made his way to the sliding glass doors that led to the back porch. She was sitting out there again, like everyday he was told; she liked to listen to the birds. He was careful when he opened the door, careful not to startle her, though she barely noticed anyway, and he forced a small smile as he set the flowers on her lap.
He asked how she was. Good, she replied. He knew it was just a lie; an automatic response she'd rehearsed multiple times a day to whomsoever asked. And himself? All right. He was still working at the agency. As they spoke in small fragments of conversation, both were aware of the intentional avoidance of both her father and brother's names. Time may heal all wounds, but theirs were still fresh.
By the time the sun was low on the horizon and the crickets and frogs had come out to perform their evening concert, he knew it was time to leave.
"Will you come again?" came her small voice as she continued to stare blankly over the railing.
He wouldn't, probably. This was just his way of apologizing. Perhaps for things that weren't his fault, but it was all he could think to do. But, even so, he didn't have the heart to be honest with her, and said that he would the next chance he got. She could easily see through his lie, and he knew it, but he didn't put in any more effort. He'd gotten to old for that, made more so after all that'd happened.
Life is funny that way. Laughter and love could preserve youth, but betrayal and the bitter truths of mankind could make the days pass in centuries, and just like that, life was over. When they'd first met, they were children. They fell in love - juvenile and perhaps unrequited, but love just the same - as adults. Now, they were nothing more than frail spirits, mourning the spring that would never come.
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Disclaimer: Tota Matsuda and Sayu Yagami are property of Tsugumi Ohba.