What does it mean, to be a stranger in your own home?
Carol had settled back into her routines. Days she thought had been forever lost returned to her almost as abruptly as they had been taken away. She wakes up, she brushes her teeth with eyes still hanging shut, and she eats breakfast with her parents. Only now, at a table once alive with conversation, her father stows his eyes away in a newspaper and her mother stands at the worktop with her back turned. They ask her about her friends, what's she's learning at school, how she's been feeling, but they do it without looking at her. What they have is an unconditional love for their daughter, but the truth of the matter is difficult to face. The lines of surgery which cross her face are unbearable to them. Her scars are forever a symbol of what they failed to protect. Yes, out of love, they care for her now more than ever, but it's that love that twists their expressions into uncontrollable despair when her face leers into view.
"How was your sleepover at the weekend, Carol?" The folding of paper muffles her father's voice.
"Oh..." She thinks, "Uh, It was good. We had a lot of fun."
She didn't trip over her words around her family. They had always been patient with her growing up, watching her struggle to make friends. In that way, they had developed a unique understanding of her. The questions that they ask never make her uncomfortable, and so unlike with everyone else, she speaks with a kind of confidence only in moments like these.
"That's good to hear. I'm sure Filia was happy to see you."
Visiting the city was something they would have never let her do, friends or no friends. Not after what happened. It was the first time she had ever lied to them, but the need for that autonomy in her life outweighed the risks. A sleepover is what they'll always believe it was. She isn't the only one in the house who suffers from sleepless nights, so the less trouble she causes them, the better.
When the time comes for Carol to leave, she hears the love in her parents' farewells, but their smiles are forever hidden by circumstance. Carol is alive, and so a pinched optimism strikes out from that incredible relief - but she is simply too horrible to bear. This façade of happiness they draw over themselves is only a fragile thing. Desperately, they shy away from confronting what lies across the table, in fear of seeing something that isn't their daughter. She wonders, as she slips on her shoes at the door, if they would have even recognised her back then.
C yawns.
He's often tired, but today especially he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open. On this bench, this same familiar bench half-eaten by bushes, sitting just shy of the canopied path looping up towards the school, the thought of skipping classes and taking a nap on the rooftop seems like the perfect idea. But, he thinks, a change of scenery won't do anything to clear his head. Stuck on playback, his conversation with Big Band the day before repeats like a prayer in his thoughts. He had discovered a true 'ambition' during that exchange, something worth considering, and so it was only in the small hours of the morning that he had managed to find some sleep.
Another yawn. He isn't going to reach an epiphany in a state like this.
Someone sits beside him. Or perhaps he imagines it. The cheap metal frame of the bench creaks.
"How have you been?" A voice asks.
What is this presence that surrounds him? Is is malice? Anger? The wind is stolen from between the branches by something that suddenly pokes into his day. The sky darkens, the trees rot where they stand. A shadow so unimaginable worms through the sky, now covered by clouds. In between this yawn and the next, C feels like something is a little different. With a boring look, he contemplates the world around him, but at the edge of his vision is something he can't bear to see. At that moment, the world had already crumbled away; there was nothing more to see in the expanse of that place except for the short grassy platform that the bench sat upon. Even still, he found the abyss below him more comforting than whatever was sitting next to him. Maybe he was angry at it.
Or, maybe it wasn't a matter of asking those kinds of empty questions. His blood was boiling over. It was unbelievable, or as he had previously thought, impossible, to feel so furious. But rather than justified hatred for that thing beside him, the feeling was irrational. While the world crumbled, he seethed for no other reason than because he felt like he needed to be angry about something. Unfocused, filled with potential, the feeling collapsed onto a focal point, attached itself to the most suitable object, forever magnetised. He could barely stand it - how much he detested this thing. It shifted at the edge of his vision, exploded into fragments like a dying star. It spoke to him.
"Look at me."
He confronts it.
The first birdsong of the morning accompanies the laughter of students. On their morning commute, the roads are as loud as they can be in such a small town. In an unnaturally hot Summer, cool days like these are appreciated the most, when the breeze is as refreshing as an ice-cold glass of water. C admires a maple leaf as it lands and slides through a gap in the bench's empty spot next to him. A breath which had been stuck in his throat slowly works its way out. Somehow, he's become completely awake in a matter of seconds.
"...Are you tired?"
As he pulls his attention away from the bench, Carol suddenly appears. She looks at him with a gaze that resembles pity, the kind of understanding expression that radiates camaraderie. Not quite a smile of comfort, although a thing like that would be a lot to expect from a girl like her. The uneasy feeling in C's stomach subsides a little.
"Oh, Carol." C greets, "I was wondering who sat next to me. Guess I didn't recognise your voice for a second."
The girl tilts her head, "I wasn't sitting down..."
"Of course you were. You asked me how I was doing."
Her face falls a little. It's a look of worry, "...Are you okay, C?"
This feeling is familiar to him. Like breaking something expensive you don't own, or telling a bad joke and waiting those few seconds for a reaction. As fleeting as it is, the mind strives for nothing else other than to be away from it, so even a short-lived dread is easily remembered. Without logic to explain what he felt, his brain rationalises - latches onto the most explainable outcome and refuses to budge. It's that coping mechanism that keeps us from idling on it too long.
"Must've been hearing another conversation." Is what he decides on, "You're early today."
Carol nods, "Wanted to leave the house."
"Feel free to join me. I'm just relaxing before the day starts for real."
She helps herself to the free space on the bench. Looking at the time, C figures it'll be another half-hour or so before the others start to appear. Still, the atmosphere between them feels far from casual. Carol is difficult to approach, he thinks. It's the lack of mutual understanding between the two that drives them into an awkward silence. Naturally, C's thoughts drift to questions about her identity, and her problems, but for the first time he feels the need to truly put an end to them.
"I ended up forgetting a lot of yesterday." He scratches his neck, "I'm not implying that Filia is biased or anything, but - my singing wasn't that bad, right?"
He knows the look on her face. Pure pity. Apprehension about answering. The truth sinks in before she even opens her mouth, "It was."
"Let me apologise personally for putting you through that." He replies with a straight face, "Did you sing anything, Carol?"
She raises her head, "Did you... really forget?"
"Ah! I don't mean I didn't enjoy it or anything, alright? I'd like to remember it!" He backpedals, "It's just- you know how I am, and all."
"No, I mean..." Her brow furrows, "Are you okay with that?"
"Huh?"
Carol doesn't often stare at people, C had noticed. It isn't a ridiculous thing for a girl as shy as her to be a little uncomfortable with making eye contact. But there are moments where this curtain of hers recedes, moments of spontaneous confidence, where her eyes are narrow and focused, singular in their attention. She asks him that question with conviction, interested in hearing only the truth. It is a hand in the darkness reaching out to - what would you call it? A friend? Is that why she asks? It reminds him of himself, asking such personal things out of the blue, but something essential accompanies her. No, he has never asked for the betterment of a person, only a friend. That single-minded attachment only to the ones he finds interesting is uniquely selfish. Whether to help or not, did he probe because he wanted to help, or because it interested him? Carol's eyes go beyond that purpose, to an unseen plateau C had never reached. A true, pure-hearted worry. Even in that abyss of her otherwordly red eyes, there is an unmistakeable comfort.
It's beautiful.
"Uh-" He comes back to his senses, "No, I'm not really okay with that."
He feels like pushing her away. Is this what the other feel, as well? Carol fiddles with her hands as she continues speaking, "Filia lost her memories once, too."
"Yeah, she mentioned that to me." The morning, he hadn't quite forgotten yet, "...Did she get them back?"
Carol nods, "But she's a little different, from how she used to be."
This is the truth he needs to hear. To confront whether or not 'C' is just a fabrication, a curtain drawn over the real thing. It's his purpose to track down these pieces and stitch them back together - to finally see the person he once was, to reconnect with him. But his situation is distinctly hopeless compared to Filia's. Only after so much time did she find her memories, and even then she couldn't return to being her past self completely. C's memories are entire countries apart from him, so what hope is there that he'll ever graduate from these unsatisfying glimpses into his past? It strikes him then, that the answer might be never.
"Couldn't have picked a worse time to move, huh?" He muses, "Or, maybe it's because I came here that things ended up this way."
Cabbing through No Man's Land must have had him a little worried, so it's no wonder he ended up taking a nap on the way over. It wasn't until Filia asked him for it that he realised he couldn't remember his name - or much of anything else. So at what critical juncture had he forgotten? This unanswerable question can't begin to explore the issue. There are only the leads which he can follow now, for as long as it takes to return to the Dragon Empire.
"Today," C starts, "I'm gonna visit the reception desk and find out what my name is."
"Oh." Carol raises her eyebrows, "...I guess it really is as simple as that."
"I'm convinced now that it's not coming back on its own." He continues, "So I'll ask for it. They'll have it written down somewhere."
It's unsatisfying for this strange part of his life to end in such a boring way, but enough is enough. These thoughts and apprehensions about his real identity just stand in the way, cause more problems that they should. He'll get some strange glances asking to be reminded of his own name, but this is the way to do it. It's about time he starts focusing more on himself.
"It'll turn up eventually, with any luck."
"Are you sure?" He asks, "Isn't this really bad?"
"It's not uncommon for documents like these to be misplaced every so often. What did you need to see it for?"
"Oh, uh-" C pauses, "My father wanted a copy of it. I didn't ask why."
"In that case, I'll make sure to keep an eye out for it. I'm certain it's just been filed into some other cabinet, so it's just a matter of time."
"Alright. Thanks for the help."
"You're welcome."
The entrance is a little space closed off from the chaotic rotunda of the hallways, although the muffled chatter of the crowd is still audible from beyond the double doors. Students don't normally have a reason to visit besides using the room as a crossover into the school proper, so it's unbelievably peaceful at such a time in the morning. C pulls away from the desk with a complicated expression stuck between relief and disappointment. Somewhere within the building is a lost sheet of paper with his name on it, probably filed between timetables and report cards, and until it naturally worms its way back into the right hands, he isn't going to be seeing it anytime soon. His exit into the hallway is accompanied by the bell, which rallies the shifting and unruly mob into an even messier deathtrap. Having spent so much time trailing behind the others, he almost has a little trouble remembering what classroom is actually his. Once he tours the loop a few times and finally slips in, the class is already beginning to settle down. His tardiness doesn't even give him time to speak with Filia.
The Trinity are the mother Goddesses of the Canopy Kingdom - this religious module is what C had just barely missed on his first day. A week is how long he's lived in Maplecrest for, as unbelievable as it sounds. The thought puts into perspective a lot of the problems he's been afraid of confronting. How well could you possibly get to know someone in that kind of timeframe? While Filia, Squigly, Carol and Cerebella have told him a lot more about themselves than he should know, digging into their shared past causes a lot of grief. As flattered as he might be that they feel trustful enough to tell an acquaintance of seven days such personal things, there's no need to dig for it just to satisfy his curiosity.
"C." Someone speaks down to him, "The lesson's over."
He peeks up at Filia, who lingers over his desk as the sound of chairs scraping against the floor fade in, "Is it? I was kind of in my own world."
She crosses her arms, "No kidding. You didn't even look up when that new girl introduced herself."
"New girl?"
"Yeah. A transfer student, I think. Like you."
"Two in one week, huh? Where is she?"
"She's sitting over..." She points to the far end of the room, but pauses, "I mean, she was sitting over there. Did she leave?"
He stretches, "Must be a busy day for her."
"Guess so." Filia looks down at C's empty desk, "Were you even taking notes during that?"
He chuckles, "I would say something like 'my notes are all in my head' but who would I be fooling?"
"Oh, speaking of which!" She perks up, "Carol said you were gonna go find out your name at the front desk!"
"Don't get too excited. They lost my record, or whatever it is they keep my name on."
"Oh..." Her smile fades as quickly as it appeared, "But, they have to have it somewhere, right!? It'll turn up soon, right!?"
"Sounds like it." A yawn escapes him, "So, what's going on? You seem kinda pumped up today."
"Hhm-hm~" She sounds pretty proud of herself, "It's a new week, so of course I'm pumped up!"
"Suppose we all deal with Mondays differently."
"Urgh..." Her attitude deflates slightly, "You're making it sound like a coping mechanism..."
"You know..." She stops in her tracks, "That's really bothering me. Do you even know who the Trinity are?"
This lonely corner of the school is perhaps the only place the students fear to tread. A hair's breadth from the staff room, with the kind of door that seems like you'd get in trouble for opening. Stopping just short of pushing the bar, Filia turns around and asks C that simple question.
"You worship them, right? They're your Gods." He surmises, "That's what it sounds like."
"Yeah, but- I mean you specifically. Do you get the Trinity in the Dragon Empire?"
"Don't talk about them like they're a TV station..." He replies, "But, no, we don't. We have our own religion. Kind of."
"Kind of?"
"Open the door first. We'll get caught standing out here."
Still curious, she obliges and pushes the bar. A gust of fresh air blows down the metallic stairwell. C's voice shifts to an echo as he gently closes the door behind them, "It's kind of complicated. We make Gods for everything, you could say. If it's important, there's a God for it - that kind of thing."
"Like a... God of air?"
"Yeah."
"God of writing?"
"Uh, yeah? Probably."
"Radio? Is there a radio God?"
"Wouldn't that just be the broadcasters?" He wonders, "I dunno. It's all kinds of stuff."
These heavy-duty metal doors, created with no particular taste in mind, make one hell of a racket when they creak open. It's important, especially with this one at the top of the stairwell, to ease into them and slip through the smallest crack you can, otherwise the students socialising in the courtyard will hear it. Is the peace and quiet really worth exposing themselves to such a casual risk? Or perhaps it's because this is 'their' spot, unappreciated and unvisited, which brings them here. Just to have ownership over a simple place like this - it means a lot.
"No-one else is here yet." Filia looks around.
"It's romantic."
"You wi-" Thoughtfully, she cuts her retort short, "...I guess it kind of is."
"Even you've got a maiden's heart sometimes."
She smirks, "Who even says flowery stuff like that? Get with the times."
The view from the rooftop is lovely as usual. Through the meshed safety fence, C can spot students congregating by the stairs near the entrance, peppering the outer walls and hugging the front gates like they're thinking of sprinting back home. The downhill path to Maplecrest's streets are marred by the blushing canopies of the trees. A single student could spot him from the ground simply by looking up, but none of them ever think to try it. In that way, it's almost exhilarating idling near the fence like this.
Knowing that, it's only natural that those two eyes near the gate follow him so fiercely.
Of course, a gaze like that is only fair. If he's allowed to relax on the roof, then why shouldn't everyone be allowed to? Although there is something unsettling about it. C only puts it together while pretending not to notice that someone's spotted him. While he scans the crowds from on high, that person remains stuck in his peripheral vision - yeah, that's why it's a little strange, he thinks. Unmoving, completely focused on him alone, passed by like the students can't even see them. He tries to appreciate that person from just out of sight, but there are only so many things he can notice. Why are they still staring, anyway? It's starting to creep him out a little. Wait, what's happening now? They're raising an arm and pointing at him. That's no good. Someone's gonna notice.
"Hey." He snaps his eyes to that person and smiles, "Quit star-"
Here's this feeling again. Like something is on the tip of his tongue, ready to spring off. He stares at them - her, for the first time, standing near the entrance with a kind of satisfied look that says something like 'I finally got you to notice me'.
Who is that girl? Is this another fleeting thing he's supposed to remember? Somehow, C's blood thickens at that moment. He stares back at her with not an ounce of the familiarity she looks at him with. There isn't a student nearby who acknowledges them. For however long that moment lasts, the two of them become a part of their own private world. Is this love? Is this the fabled 'love at first glance' he's heard so much about? He asks himself questions like that to disguise the truth - that he hates this girl. Hadn't something similar happened during the morning?
"I'm doing fine." Whether or not she can hear him, and whether or not she's even the same person, he answers that question.
Despite the distance, he can spot the scrutiny in her eyes. Like a tired, investigative detective, she seems to examine him for something that's either hidden or not quite there. As if it might help her, C fondles for the watch in his pocket, yanking out the chain like a cord and cusping the broken thing in the palm of his hand. He holds it down to her like you might show a child something, pushing the top button and exposing the clock's unticking face. From here, he can see it - the girl's smile flattens out and her eyes widen into a look of pure surprise. It's a very nice watch, for sure, but C wasn't really expecting that kind of reaction. She holds out her arms with hands nicely open in front of her. It's a pose that says 'Let me see it.'
Of course, he doesn't throw it down. Someone would immediately notice, and, he doesn't really want to give it to some random stranger. Plus, he hates this girl (for some reason) so why should she have it? For a moment, between them there was peace, some kind of mutual, unspoken understanding. But now, with the watch safely in his pocket, the two of them are nemeses - the air between them is electrifying.
"Someone's going to notice if you stand there, C."
Squigly idles safely behind him. Like he's been brought back from a world of dreams, C blinks a few times and steps away from the fence.
"My, you seem awfully tired." She notes.
"Just couldn't doze off last night." He speaks, feeling his throat loosen up.
Her expression turns sad, "...That wouldn't be because of what I showed you, would it?"
"No, no. Definitely not." He waves a hand, "I think your hand's pretty cool, honestly."
"Hm. Well, if that's not the case, then is there something on your mind?"
C sighs, "You didn't have to, uh... you know, force yourself to tell me any of that stuff, right?"
Squigly's head tilts, "Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, Filia was saying to me..." He stops to think, "...How do I explain this?"
She smiles, "Have I made you worry about me?"
"Phrasing it like that is a little embarassing..."
"How dependable." She stops just short of laughing, "But, why is that? I'll hear out all of your worries."
"All that stuff you said at the opera house." He replies, "It sounded like you were dying to let it all out."
The mood of their conversation quickly turns south. While her lively attitude seemed almost impenetrable, C's words cause Squigly to break eye contact for a few moments.
"I see. So it's about that." She mutters sadly, "...I'm sorry for burdening you with what I had to say."
"How I feel about it doesn't matter." He explains, "Filia's right. Without an identity of my own, I'm supplying experiences from others by caving into them, always coercing out what I want to hear. It never struck me that I'd be causing a lot of trouble just saying whatever I want to. Is that who I used to be? Trying to 'reclaim' what I know of myself by acting that way, it's just my excuse to stir the pot. It's painful to admit even now, but I don't want that anymore."
He cuts himself short, noticing that he's beginning to ramble, "Uh, I'm kind of a nuisance, is what I'm trying to say. Always bringing up bad memories and such."
"C..."
"So, I guess I have a lot of apologising to do." He concludes, "But, I won't pretend like saying 'sorry' every time is enough."
Nothing about this is familiar to him. These words, these thoughts - instinctually, across lengths he can't quite understand, it's obvious that this isn't how 'C' is supposed to act. In that way, he's closer to himself than he knew. While he reaches for the clues that lead him to his past, at the same time he takes two steps away from his former self. At the end of this development, will he even recognise the person he used to be? Perhaps that apprehension, too, is something he should leave behind, "Even if I don't understand it, I'll be a part of that 'solemnity' that you all share."
The silence lingers. He straightens himself out, "Not to put you on the spot or anything."
Squigly blinks with eyes widened, before her face falls into a familiar smile, "...It sounds to me like I'm not the only one with some bottled-up feelings, C."
"Doesn't suit me, I know." He shrugs his shoulders, "But, I'm being serious."
"I know you are. I won't take that for granted." She replies, "I don't like it, having to keep you in the dark about everything - I'm sure the others don't, either."
"Whether you tell me or not, I won't pry anymore." C holds up his hands, "Right now, I should focus on figuring out my own story."
She giggles, "Did you forgot that you're also an enigma?"
"I can focus on it a little more now that I've aired my thoughts." He pokes the side of his head, "It won't take long. I'll remember everything."
"I'll hold you to that." She replies, "You might end up owing me another favour if you don't."
"Don't make it sound like you're saving them up..."
A pair of broad and immovable hands find themselves on C and Squigly's shoulders. Cerebella steps forward into the gap between them with a grin on her face, "What're you two lovebirds whispering about? Bell's about to ring, you know."
Squigly's face warms up. She fidgets with her hands while stumbling over her words, "W-We're having a perfectly normal conversation!"
C speaks up, "Feeling jealous you don't have someone to share a little rendezvous with, Bella?"
"Please don't act like what she said was perfectly normal!"
"Ah, what was that~" Cerebella shouts, "Hey Squigs, coulda sworn I just heard a fly buzzin' around. You hear it?"
"Meeting you is something I wouldn't mind forgetting." He tries to move away, but her grip is like a clamp.
"You're gonna forget a hell of a lot more than just that when I knock your lights out one of these days!"
"Oh - please calm down, you two!"
Sure enough, the bell rings in amongst their little quarrel. As the conversaiton cools down, Squigly manages to cart Cerebella towards the stairs with sweetened words. With his back towards the fence, the truth is that even though the atmosphere between C and her is as caustic as ever, he would take that pointless back-and-forth bickering over this feeling of anxiousness. Behind him, maybe, standing in the courtyard, he can feel the stare of that girl burning into him. None of the courage he had just moments ago, to bashfully turn around and smile defiantly, exists with the rest of the girls funnelling downstairs. But even so, out of just plain curiosity, he finds himself peering over his shoulder, below to the now-empty pen of the school's entrance.
It is only the two of them now. The other students hurry inside to beat the crowd, leaving a cold wind behind them. Like a coin flipped on his head, the girl is now the one smiling at him. C wants to shout out and call her something like creepy, or mention that her constant staring is making him a little uneasy. But something stops him - maybe he doesn't want to make her feel bad about herself. More than anything, he wants to know her name, or hear her voice. This kind of meeting, alone and undisturbed by the world, is almost like destiny.
"Hey." His words come naturally, loud enough to echo, "Who are you?"
