Title: Heat-Haze Days

Summary: Natsume Hyuuga has one hour to kill on August 15th, 12:28 P.M. He should find it strange that he ends up in the park, the exact place where his sister died - on the very same day, at the very same time. But it's not strange until a cat, a girl, and two minutes later when he finds himself stuck in a loop of death with no way out.

Author: Rinail

Rating: T for violence and language.

A/N: ...I'm sorry? Really sorry. I didn't expect my break to be this long. But I'm temporarily back with my renewed obsession with Heat-Haze Days, so yes. I do hope that you guys like this, and again, really sorry. No updates for Different Worlds and An Unwritten Harmony for a while, unfortunately. Still have not located my muse for that. But maybe it'll come soon. Enjoy.

(who would like you, idiot)

"You're gonna die if you're late! Hotaru's really going to kill you and me if you are!"

Natsume heaves a sigh, holding back the urge to roll his eyes at his friend as cars zoom by them. Calling out to the other side of the street, he yells, "Okay, okay, I'll be there!"

Like hell.

He isn't really that scared of dear, darling, amethyst-eyed Hotaru; he just feels a twinge of sympathy for Ruka, who has a girlfriend with the cruelty of the devil himself. In fact, he's pretty damn sure that she is the devil incarnated. About two percent of his brain thinks otherwise, but only because there's no proof.

Yet.

Hmm. Maybe he would get started on that.

Absently, Natsume decides he'll show up - just not exactly at the right time because he's got a reputation to live up to. Either way, late is better than not showing up at all like most people expect, and if he plans it just right, he can prevent Ruka from getting killed, with possibly a few minor wounds and no permanent maimage... if he's lucky.

Running a hand through his raven-black hair, Natsume exhales and brings himself back to reality. And with this thrice-damned party interrupting his plans, the better part of his day will be occupied until he can somehow extract himself from Hotaru's claw-like clutches. He doesn't have a plan for that now, but he'll think about it later.

At least he can say he's better than Ruka, who has contingency plans for contingency plans and so on.

Sometimes, Natsume wonders how Ruka would be without Hotaru around but it's wishful thinking at best, and with all he says about her, he does love her (grudgingly) like a sister because of Mi -

Natsume stops. His eyebrows furrow.

...He does love Hotaru like a sister because of Mi -?

And it cuts off there.

What was he about to think? He digs and delves into his mind because he can feel that it's just out of reach, as if it's on the tip of his tongue or something as frustrating as walking into a room and forgetting what you came in there for. But all that remains is a blank slate, no hint or clue or anything -

A flutter of wavy auburn hair in the corner of his vision. Bright laughs echoing hollowly in a manner of a once beautiful orchestra gone, replaced by a discordant lullaby.

After a few minutes, he releases a frustrated sigh because no matter how hard he thinks or concentrates, all he gets is that lock of auburn hair and a laugh that seems… wrong and dim like a faraway dream.

He sighs again, shakes his head, and keeps walking. Perhaps it'll come to him one day.

What was he thinking about before? Something about Hotaru and plans… Right, the party.

Because Hotaru is Hotaru, the only free time he'll manage to snatch is probably the half hour he has right now.

How exasperating. He huffs another sigh.

Huh. Natsume seems to be doing that a lot lately.

Just as his thoughts wander off and start thinking about the science behind why people sigh, vivid crimson catches his eye, and he freezes in his place. A quick glance at the sign by the entrance shows that he's at a park, - Alice Park, judging by the glaringly bright red letters on the sign.

A rueful smirk tilts his lips. "So I'm here again."

The one time he doesn't pay attention to his surroundings is when he finds himself at the place where his little sister met her death on a blazing summer day. And to boot, the date is that day - August 15th.

His jaw tightens. He hasn't been here for years. Not since Aoi died at the ripe age of nine, not since he dragged himself here from the funeral, still unchanged from the black mourning suit that had been too big for him. And certainly not since he ignored the distant cries of his name and instead apologized and apologized for hours in the chilled rain where he had been standing that day, until the words felt dead in his mouth and it hurt to even breathe with how raw his throat was.

His mother found him later in the evening without even an umbrella, wet black hair plastered to her much-too-pale face, crimson eyes wild with uncontrolled panic and rushed, broken words of, "I can't lose another, not this soon, don't do that again, Natsume, please."

He accepted the rather desperate hug she had given him with trembling arms quietly, despite the fact that both of them were too cold to even feel it.

Nobody had been there to console him because in all honesty, he had thought that his parents deserved to grieve properly. They earned it through and through, but Natsume would have to be blind to understand that they didn't want to earn it. But the truth of the matter was he knew, somewhere deep down because of a voice much older and wearier, that the trembling hands of his mother and the deepening lines around his father's eyes were completely his fault.

So he had let his father comfort his sobbing mother in the night when they thought he was sleeping, locked himself in his room when the memories stole his breath away as he choked and remembered how to breathe, and cut off his screams in the middle of the night when the light wasn't enough to ease bloodcurdling screams of pure terror and splatters of redredred that appeared when he closed his eyes.

And he didn't breathe a single word through it all because he had let that become his punishment.

Only when his mother knocked on his door after a week and asked him to come out of the room with a relatively steady voice, he opened the door to see her eyes still bruised from sleepless nights but the shadows not quite as prominent.

He'd always been good at hiding what scared him, what hurt him, even at eleven, but this was his mother, more perceptive and knowing than anybody else when it came to Natsume. It hadn't come as much of a surprise when his mother pulled him into a tight hug upon seeing the skeleton he had become. Hell, he had even scared himself when he looked in the mirror and the half-healed scratches on his knuckles and the shattered glass lying haphazardly on the tiles had only cemented the fact.

"Natsume, we've been worrying you, haven't we?" His mother had whispered once she had taken a good look at him, one frail hand stroking his hair gently. "You've been taking care of us and you've grown up too fast, and I'm so sorry, Natsume. I wanted to keep you a child for a bit longer. We should've been worrying about you instead. I'm sorry."

But in the end, it hadn't even been him to go next. It was his mother two weeks later in a car accident of all things, and Natsume faintly remembers himself thinking in that same too-big suit two days later that it really shouldn't have been him who she should have been worrying about.

Natsume has never claimed that August is his favorite month, and the events from six years ago had only served to make sure of that.

He shouldn't have gone outside today. He really shouldn't have, because what are the chances that he brings himself to the place where Aoi died, on the day that she died, and thirteen minutes from the moment she died?

It's a cruel twist of fate, but like everything else that involved his family and the month of August, he has learned to, if not accept, then at least deal with it, because no matter what he does, it appears as if fate has a strange sense of humor when it comes to him.

Shaking his head, he turns to leave when a fluffy black thing scampers across his feet. He stops just as he's about to accidentally kick it. The cat sends him an irritated gaze with blue eyes before scurrying on.

Natsume blinks.

Blue eyes.

Strange.

"Aoi, how many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn't run off like that?"

Aoi.

You have got to be kidding me.

"Aoi, don't run off! It's dangerous - Aoi!"

Natsume closes his eyes and suppresses a shudder. Aoi. What are the chances?

He keeps regretting the decision to go out more and more. All the years before he always stayed inside and did something inside his room throughout the entire day or went to her grave, but never, not once has he gone to the park and now that it's happened, he's regretting it more and more with every passing second.

And now he's starting to think that he hadn't imagined the quicksilver sympathy in Hotaru's eyes after all.

Opening his eyes, he turns around. The girl who just called out is kneeling, long auburn hair - auburn hair? - nearly trailing the ground as she waits patiently for the cat. It climbs in her arms with a slinking reluctance, and she scoops it up easily with a smile. As she stands up, her eyes meet Natsume's watchful gaze, and the smile becomes strained.

"Hello. It's a rather hot day, isn't it?"

And it is. Sunlight blazes down their backs, but the weather can't even be decent enough to be dry; no, instead, it's humid and hot. So far, this is turning out to be the worst day of his entire life. Natsume's skin feels sticky and gross, and it's only then he notices a nice shade by the swings.

"There's some shade over there," he says, nodding his head toward the darker space. And then he heads off for the swings, not really caring if she follows or not. Really, all he wants to do is get away from the road and memories -

Tick. The red-splattered clock turned 12:30.

Then the sounds of Aoi's scream pierced the air, breaking the fog in his mind. He watched with horror as her small body flew in the air before hitting the ground in a roll. There was blood everywhere, and somehow, his vision was blurry, he couldn't see behind the red -

- and eleven-year-old Natsume knows he's shaking because it's too dark and everything seems tainted with red and black, and then his fevered gaze falls on the empty bed, shadowed in the cover of the night.

He knows he should've done something, he knows, he knows, he knows even without bloodied Aoi telling him with bitterness in her hollow eyes - no, don't look, don't listen, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead - and the regrets and hatred begin to pile up like a burning inferno that leaves an acidic taste in his mouth. Soon enough it's drowning him, taking him under, whispering nothing but words of, "You deserve this, you were there, you killed me," and it's all he can do to stay above and gasp for air.

But he chokes and shudders when his steely grip on the sheets aren't strong enough to anchor him against the hurricane that swallows his mind whole, and by then it's too late to remember how to breathe as the memories take him downdowndown into the swirling splatters of red while the screams of a dead girl echoes in his ears -

God, Natsume hates summer.

He sits on the swings, closing his eyes and letting a cool breeze blow over him.

A second later, a hollow ringing of chains tells the presence of the girl, and then a voice says, "Are you sleeping?"

Natsume opens his eyes, and immediately, brown fills his vision. A startled heartbeat later, he jerks back from the girl's face with wide eyes. "What the -"

A laugh spills out of her lips and she leans back into the swing, obviously delighted. "I thought you were sleeping."

"What the hell?" Natsume stares at the girl for a few seconds. What the literal fuck?

And then he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. "No, if you really thought I was sleeping, you wouldn't be so happy with yourself."

"Who said I was happy?" the girl asks. The irritatingly bright smile is still fixed on her lips.

Natsume snorts. "You seem pretty damn happy to me."

She scoffs. Her lips twitch a bit. "I'm not happy! What are you talking about?"

Natsume raises an eyebrow. "Oh, and I suppose that the smile is just sewed onto your face?"

"It's not!" She exclaims, and after a moment, adds, "And I am not smiling."

Natsume scoffs. "Yeah, you're right. Upside down frown, then. Whatever makes you happy."

"Like I said, I'm not happy!"

Natsume rolls his eyes. It should come as a shock as to how with a single sentence, this girl - this stranger can draw more words out of him in two minutes than his friends can in a whole day. (Granted, it's mostly retorts and exasperated comments.) But surprisingly, it doesn't. It's almost as if talking with her soothes his mind, eases the memories and the horrors of summer until they've faded to the back of his mind as a faint imprint.

"You know, you have a nice face but a horrible personality; has anybody ever told you that?"

"Listen, you…" And again they go, with only a single sentence from her.

Time passes easily as they toss retorts back and forth at each other. It's not small talk as much as it is teasing arguments and exasperated laughs, but Natsume finds himself having more fun than he has in a long time, even on this day. It doesn't take a while before she draws a reluctant smile - along with an eye roll - out of him too, and he wonders who this girl is to make him do such things.

A single look at the clock tells him that it's nearly 12:30, and Natsume knows that his time with the girl is over. He's already late to Hotaru's party that he doesn't really want to go to, but Ruka's already begged him a thousand times to at least show up, even if only for a few minutes, and Natsume can't say no to him in any dimension.

"Do you like summer?"

Natsume's head whips around. "What?"

"Do you like summer?" she asks again. "Or this day in particular?"

Natsume stares at the ground. He still hates summer, no doubt about that. But he thinks that if for the fact that it wasn't August 15th, he would have chalked this day to be a memorable one, even without all the strange coincidences.

But in the end, it's still August 15th.

"No," Natsume says. The word sounds strange to his ears, but the thought passes as soon as it comes. His eyes dart towards the traffic, and they narrow at the smooth road. There's no trace of Aoi's blood now, no evidence of the truck that killed her, but everything's the same. The sickeningly bright sun, the constant noise of the cicadas chirping, the feeling of being choked as the summer's heat drowns him in memories.

It's the same with nothing changed, and he hates it, loathes it like the color of his own eyes (redredred like her blood). All of it reminds him too much of what he's lost, reminds him of what he's lost because of him, and Natsume hates that fact the most of all. "I hate summer."

The girl laughs. Her brown eyes gleam, sharpening for a moment, and her hold on the cat tightens. "That's funny. I hate summer too."

He glances down at the cat staring at him.

Blue eyes.

"Why?" Natsume asks. He doesn't really care about why, but he needs to distract himself from the memories, from his mind, from the cat staring at him like it's accusing him.

Your fault. Your fault she died. Don't forget, Natsume.

Of course, his conscience isn't to be forgotten.

The girl pauses. "It's not exactly a clear reason, and there isn't just one; but to be short, someone I love died on this day." Her voice trembles, and her arm does too as she raises it. "Right there."

He follows her hand, and he stands up quickly.

The road.

She's pointing toward the road.

He inhales sharply, fists clenching in his pockets. Natsume needs to go. Right. Now.

He doesn't say a word as he turns from her, but he can't get involved anymore. He's late to the party, and she's just a stranger anyway.

Then why do you want to stay?

Shut up, he thinks back, and the quiet voice in his mind does exactly that.

Under his stoic expression, his heart is pounding in his chest and all sounds fade away as blood rushes through his ears. A sense of foreboding enters his heart, but -

He won't.

Black flashes in the corner of his vision. A second later -

"Ah, come back!"

Natsume shouldn't have looked back. He really shouldn't have.

But stupidly enough, he did.

The girl is there, running towards the cat - the damn cat - and to the road. And there is him, watching again even as this girl, this idiotic, moronic, stupid girl runs toward her death.

Leave the damn cat alone, Natsume wants to shout. It'll take care of itself.

But the words don't come before the traffic light turns to a glaring red.

Screech!

It's like deja vu.

Playing in his mind, rushing through his head are the memories and he can't help but see it -

His hands reached out for his little sister -

Natsume's hands stretch, a scream dying on his lips -

It was like time was frozen, and he could only watch as the truck hurtled toward Aoi -

His heart counts the seconds that pass by, but it's like even that slows as the girl steps one, two, three steps into the road and the truck, the truck -

She stared at the lights wide-eyed -

The girl stands up, brushing off her skirt calmly and it's like she doesn't even notice the truck ("Move, move, move!" his mind screams) but the blaring horn finally makes her realize and her brown eyes widen, mouthing a wordless whisper taken by the wind -

Natsume.

He reads it somehow, and he can't understand, there's too much going on but why why why races through his mind even in this kind of situation. This kind of situation where the girl's going to die, where she's Aoi, where it's August 15th all over again while he does nothing - but Natsume realizes, in this slowing time. He realizes that it's not the same August 15th. This isn't Aoi, this isn't his little sister. This is a normal girl who's about to die because he's not fucking doing anything and- and-

That's it, Natsume realizes with dawning horror. There is no 'and'. She dies, and that's it.

The thought hits him so hard that he feels as if someone has kicked him in the chest and knocked the wind out of his lungs.

She's going to die. She's going to die. This girl is going to die.

No.

Not again.

So with all the fear and agony and desperation he's ever felt lining his voice, he screams, louder than he's ever screamed before, "Move!"

He's taken a step forward before he realizes what he's doing but -

Crunch.

But it's too late. Much too late.

The cicadas stop chirping, and the thudding of a body hitting the ground and shattering glass and breaking bones take its place. Blood paints the entire road in a crimson canvas, and blood splatters his surroundings in a shining liquid.

Everywhere. The blood - her blood is everywhere.

It's splattered on the truck that hit her, shining on the telephone poles, dripping from her fingers lying limply, shattered and twisted on the ground - it's everywhere. It's all he sees for what feels like eternity and all he can think is that even Aoi's death didn't compare to this monstrosity.

Absolutely sickening how the sharp tang of metal overtakes his senses. But he can't look away.

So Natsume closes his eyes, hoping that the warm liquid streaking his cheek isn't blood. He hopes that the sounds cutting through his mind aren't the screams of a dying girl. He hopes that it isn't August 15th, hopes that Aoi never died, and hopes to God and all things above and even to fate, who he hates, that it's just a dream.

Hopes that none of it is real.

"But it is!" A voice calls out happily. "This is reality!"

Tick.

It's 12:30.

Now it's complete, Natsume thinks, and he loses his train of thought moments later as exhaustion suddenly crashes down on him. His eyes open just in time to glimpse a figure in black with red lining the edges of his body. The figure smiles, waving to Natsume teasingly. "See you later, Natsume."

As the concrete rushes up to meet him, his last thought is, I never gave them my name.

(sixteen-year-old killed in a car crash)

Natsume stares at the ceiling, hearing the clock in his room idly tick by. He already knows what time it is, what day it is, and even the year. He's checked. Checked. Checked again. And checked seven more times, because he didn't believe the clocks or his watch or even his phone the first time, but all of it reads the same date, the same numbers.

All of it is the same.

August 15th, 12:03.

It can't be a dream, Natsume decides right off the bat. It can't. There's no way a dream can be that real.

For some reason, the words he heard last - "But it is! This is reality!" - rings in his mind long after it is over. And for some even stranger reason, Natsume believes those words, believes it like nothing else because nobody is aware of the possibility of being in a dream while in a dream.

So, not a dream.

But he still can't figure it out. The girl. August 15th. The replaying day.

Natsume shakes his head, and the stray thoughts that are loosely connected disappear. Snatching his phone from his bed, he strides to the door. None of that matters right now.

Everything fades to the back of his mind as he opens the door, grimacing as a blast of hot air hits him. There's something much more important to do.

Natsume has something to check. Or more specifically, something to check at the park.

("the funeral is today; let's go")

"Are you looking for something?"

Natsume knows he's staring, and he's not afraid to admit it either. There's nothing, absolutely nothing that has changed. The soft brown eyes, the curious little smile, and even the damn cat staring at him with amused blue eyes.

He's going crazy.

Or maybe not.

Natsume doesn't know, because somewhere in his mind is a little theory piecing itself together. But as half-developed it may be, it makes no sense. It defies every law of science and then some. It definitely doesn't make his idea of just being crazy go away.

He could be crazy, but he doesn't like being crazy (not that he has ever been) and he prides himself on picking up things fairly quickly. But this… this is unbelievable.

"Hello?" the girl asks, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Na- person?"

Natsume ignores her and stares at the road. It's smooth, shadowed by cars passing over, and unmarked by any traces of blood. Frankly, he'd like to keep it that way.

"Ah, come back!"

Natsume freezes. He turns to look at the girl but the ends of her long hair trail past his eyes, and he snaps his head around. He doesn't even think before his hand shoots out toward her wrist, capturing it in an tight iron grip. A truck whizzes by an instant later, drowning out all sound, but his stare is piercing enough to compensate for the silence.

"Are you stupid?" Natsume demands after they can both hear. His voice is angry, incredulous, and just a little bit desperate. He knows he should stop - he's becoming too involved but he needs this girl safe for some reason. He can't stop himself from asking, "Do you really like getting yourself killed that much?"

The girl blinks. "No…?"

"Good," he says. "Let's keep it that way."

Natsume sets off at a brisk pace, and the girl trails along reluctantly. Only, he realizes a few seconds later that's it's not reluctance - it's caution.

He finds out the why soon enough, but he wishes he never had.

(let me try again)

There's a sickening shlick of shredding flesh and crunching bone, and the tortured screams fill the air between the buildings of the city like wind chimes on a summer day.

The wrist in his hand falls limp. He doesn't even have to look to know she's dying because there's too much blood if it's seeping out from under his sneakers and even further to the post box down the street. Natsume stares at the blood dazedly, the blood streaming through the cracks in the streets like a crimson spider web.

Yeah, he thinks, this is a web, and we're all stuck. You and me, you stupid girl.

Wet coughs breaks him out of his haze, and he spins around, unconsciously tugging the girl toward him. A choked gasp for air is her only response.

Iron poles clatter on the concrete, rolling over with gleaming blood staining the smooth steel. Three roll to a stop right at the toes of his red-soaked sneakers, but he doesn't care about any of them, because the only one that matters is the one right in front of him.

Running straight through the girl's chest.

And to his horror, it slides even further, grotesque sounds of the ripping and tearing of her skin and probably internal organs too, before one end of the pole clatters against the ground.

The girl staggers, and it's not blood that trails her cheek like Natsume's, but agonized tears and tortured screams that's wrenched out of her throat. Her voice runs hoarse before seconds pass, and she's left without even an outlet for her pain. Gasps come with a new stream of tears, and with her remaining strength, she reaches out and grips Natsume's hand tightly.

Natsume stares at her in return, stares at her right in the eyes where the light is fading, and simply asks, "Why?"

He needs to know.

But the girl offers no answer, only a tiny smile before her eyes roll up to the back of her head, collapsing to the ground in her own pool of blood.

He's instantly pushed away by spectators, by people who's had "medical training", people who can "help". He doesn't resist; even he can tell that she's already gone, dying. They can't do anything. He can't do anything.

Natsume flicks a glance up at the rooftops, from where the poles dropped. He looks just in time to see a swishing tail disappear.

What is this?

"Well, this certainly isn't a lie." The figure suddenly appears before him, leaning against the railing of the road. A smirk spreads on his lips, teasing and playful for all the disinterest it contains. "This is all real."

"Why are you laughing?" Natsume asks quietly. White-hot fury simmers under his skin, too loud for him to raise his voice any higher than a whisper. He inhales sharply, fixing the shadow with a piercing glare before demanding, "Why? This isn't a game!"

People turn to stare at him. From his peripheral vision, he can tell they see nothing. They know absolutely nothing.

The shadow smiles, and Natsume's anger dissipates for an instant, stricken by how similar it looks to the girl's own smile. "Oh, but it is," the figure says. A cruel light enters his eyes. "A game that you, me, and that girl are now stuck in."

The figure's grin widens, and he steps forward.

And with deliberate slowness, he reaches out and pushes Natsume into the road.

A truck speeds towards him, blaring its loud horn. But somehow, Natsume doesn't miss the words the figure says before it slams into him.

"So, tell me: how are you going to win?"

Left with those words, Natsume's world collapses into black.