| Chapter 11 |

Maybe he should get some work done, while he can. Shizuka crawls to his desk and checks his email.

Golden Week Summer Reunion is taking place at the Katsuura Onsen, you know, the one by the ocean that we talked about? We made the reservations several years ago. Shizuka, I know you haven't probably paid attention, but since your cousins backed out on the reservation, there is still room at the ryokan. I know this is last minute, but if you have anyone you would like to bring anyone, would you let Grandmother know? It seems a waste not to share the space. We shan't bother your friends, if you wish, but you must come! Everyone wonders how you are doing. —Mother

Shizuka stares at it for a while. Come to think of it, Shirahama is fairly close to the coast, and on the warm side of the ocean. It wouldn't be a bad idea to invite Watanuki to come, if it would entice him out of the shop... He falls asleep at his desk...

His dream, his memories: not his, but Doumeki's. Shizuka's eyes fly open, trying to sort himself from his great-grandfather and make sense of this reality, this collage of conflicting sensations and the images before he can focus on the futon and the floor and the wall in front of him. This is what is real, and solid. Rolling over, Shizuka tries to take stock, squirming out of the blankets and pushing himself to his knees. He presses his hands to his temples.

For now Doumeki is settled in the back of Shizuka's mind, curled up and brooding. Doumeki usually tried not to let his moods color Shizuka's, but sometimes nothing can be done to stave it off. It had been a long time since Doumeki's dreams have slopped over into Shizuka's consciousness. Shizuka feels the slow build of a headache gathering in his skull, which happens whenever Doumeki is trying hard to figure something out; sometimes it was hard to know what had awakened him.

Shizuka tries to remember. It was a dream of an ocean, and a beach, and a younger Watanuki. There was a girl with a cute smile and long coiled hair. He felt he had known her completely in the dream he had shared with Doumeki, but now, even as he wracked his brains, he only knew from a photograph. Shizuka remembered discovering the photograph; it was one of the few artifacts he took to Watanuki, because the photograph had been sealed with a special charm, which had broken. Watanuki had said it was for neutralizing bad luck. Shizuka had let Watanuki keep the photograph... He hadn't said so at the time, but he remembered the way Watanuki's eyes had shuttered when he saw it: he must have known who she was.

Yet while the girl's presence was a curiosity to him, Doumeki had not spared her much thought at all. His thoughts had churned with regrets and unanswered questions. There had been a bet. Watanuki had been unable for some reason to go into the ocean, Shizuka knew that... And Doumeki had strongly wanted him to go, but for some reason...

But it was futile. Now matter how Shizuka strained, he couldn't fully recall the richness of the dreamed memory. It belonged to Doumeki. But even now, Shizuka felt Doumeki's feelings seeping through their connection, and the pressure of his thoughts wasn't disappearing. This was unusual enough that Shizuka began to worry.

He supposes he was lucky this had happened now, on a weekend. Sparing only brief glances at the clock, Shizuka numbly goes through his morning routine. He leaves his apartment and gets on the train. He stands, clutching the swaying handle the whole way although there are seats available (if he sits, his head may be too painful to stand again), until he arrives at the right station. The morning is muggy, but cool; it feels like a small raincloud has coalesced around him. Shizuka leaves the station and catches sight of Kochoushu and the Sakurazuka squatting to draw with chalk at a local park. Kochoushu is squabbling about something, and the Sakurazuka is amused. They are debating about something or other by pointing at sides and signs on a chalk diagram. They don't see him. Shizuka keeps walking until he finds the wishing shop. It is always there, even when he almost can't believe that it would be.

He enters. The gate squeals at the hinges and the door gets stuck as he slides it open, which annoys him. Watanuki comes into view with a yawned "good morning" covered by the back of his hand.

Shizuka scrapes off his shoes and comes forward. Watanuki switches expressions with flashes of alarm and concern, he reaches out with one hand—Shizuka takes it and Watanuki somehow understands, folding himself into Shizuka's chest. For a while Shizuka just stands there, and then he sighs and relaxes the tiniest bit.

"Better?" asks Watanuki, tilting his head so that the word is not muffled in Shizuka's jacket. His breath tickles Shizuka's ear.

"Mm."

Watanuki rests his forehead on Shizuka's shoulder. "As usual, I can't tell whether your mumbling means a yes or no."

"Mm."

"I have hot tea; I was just making strong green tea." Watanuki breathes in and whooshes out; the warm air curls against Shizuka's chest. Watanuki pulls back a little and rubs his hands over the dull leather jacket covering Shizuka's arms, and says insistently, "Talk to me over tea."

"Okay."

Watanuki pulls Shizuka into the living room, hangs up his jacket, and seats him at the table. Picking up the tea kettle, he pours the hot tea, pushing a steaming cup into Shizuka's limp hands. Shizuka sniffs, and breathes deep. He sneezes.

Watanuki startles. "Oh! I'm sorry," says Watanuki. "Are you cold? Should I fetch a blanket?" He gets up and fusses some more before Shizuka convinces him to sit down again.

"You're being kind today," Shizuka mumbles into his cup.

Watanuki frowns. Why shouldn't be be kind? Was he being kinder than usual? Did Shizuka think Watanuki would be so insensitive as to rant or rag at a person who wasn't up to it? Even with a Doumeki or a Yuuko, who never seemed fazed by anything, there had to be a time for mercy. At least he thought there had been. Maybe he had missed those moments. But he never meant to cause actual hurt. It was perfectly clear to him now that this was not the time for teasing of any kind, let alone a string of false complaints...he couldn't think why it wouldn't have occurred to him in the past. But perhaps there hadn't.

It was disconcerting to contemplate that maybe he had changed, without realizing it, and for the better all unaware.

"Well, you seem down today. In a Doumeki way," Watanuki responds, wrinkling his nose. "Do you even realize you're carrying a raincloud around with you? It's giving me a headache."

Shizuka sort of laughs. "Ha. I guess so. Is it that damp?"

"Quite." Watanuki rolls his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want a blanket? You're usually a furnace, but you've got goosebumps on your arms, look..." he rubs his fingers over Shizuka's skin. Shizuka shivers. "Oh, come here," Watanuki exclaims, and hugs him again. "I'm sorry." Shizuka's not sure what he's apologizing for. "Because you seem upset," Watanuki sighs.

"Doumeki woke up today." Shizuka closes his eyes as Watanuki rubs warm circles into his back. "He has some vivid memories. Usually he just tells me about them when they're relevant, but sometimes they slip through, and I dream them with him. Although he hasn't told me anything about these. I think he's the one that's upset."

"About us?"

"No." Shizuka's shoulders tense. "No, as far as I know he's happy about that... No, it's mostly at himself."

"I'm sorry," Watanuki says, once more. His hands move to loosen new tense spots.

"Don't be. He's trying to change." Shizuka winces and rubs his temples. "It's just...it's painful right now. Thinking...thinking too hard." It really hurts.

"This is no good." Watanuki frowns.

"It's all right, really." Shizuka settles back. Watanuki keeps kneading his shoulders.

"Do you still have that picture of that girl I gave you for safekeeping? The one with the broken charm on it?" Shizuka says finally.

"Yes."

"What was her name?"

"Himawari. Himawari Kunogi. What brought this up? You didn't even ask when you turned over the photograph."

"You knew her, didn't you? You and Doumeki, all at the same time."

"Yes."

Shizuka is quiet for a while. "I saw the three of you together. At the beach."

"Ah," says Watanuki, deceptively lightly. But his voice sounds too grave.

"I think...I think you refused to get in the water."

"I remember," Watanuki says quietly, letting his hands rest. "I was supposed to tell Doumeki thank-you, or ask him for help, and he would have helped me into the water."

"And that didn't happen."

"No." Watanuki's hands, though lightly curled, tense. "I was content to watch."

"Were you?" Shizuka twists around to look at Watanuki's face.

Watanuki shakes his head. "Only while I didn't know what I could have had. But by then it was time to leave. But even so...if I had known what I needed to do...I'm not sure if I would have done it."

Shizuka's headache suddenly worsens without warning. "I...I think..." he stammers, pulling away from Watanuki, and Watanuki retracts his hands.

"Do you want to lie down?" asks Watanuki, hovering.

"Yes." Shizuka closes his eyes, and grips Watanuki's arm. Watanuki guides him to the couch, where Shizuka lies down, and Watanuki draws all the blinds before crouching at Shizuka's side.

"I don't like that Doumeki can overwhelm you like this," Watanuki whispers. "You shouldn't be in pain, simply because of his insecurities. Raincloud," Watanuki murmurs, and his mood abruptly turns protective. "You're never like that. You were never taught to use, concentrate, and distill your emotions like that. You are from a Buddhist family, but you aren't the son of a Buddhist priest...which means he's brimming very close."

"I doubt—" Shizuka grimaces, "—that he's aware of it."

"Then we should make him aware of it," says Watanuki. "He ought to know what he's doing to you. And anyway, I have been waiting to speak to him."

"Really..."

"It didn't seem necessary to pry into your most private thoughts simply on account of a whim of mine. I was waiting for the right opportunity." Watanuki brushes Shizuka's hair from his forehead, and leans his elbow on the couch. "How does it feel? To be touched right now?"

"Uncomfortable." Shizuka bites his lip. "Warm and sticky. But I don't want you to stop..." he says quickly.

"Hmm. I see." Watanuki thinks very hard for a while, calculating. "Must be the fever. Would you mind greatly if I kissed you?"

Shizuka groans, pressing a hand to his forehead and shaking his head. "If you had but asked at any time except now—"

"But you can bear it, for a little while? I'm asking because I need to get Doumeki's attention. If you have conflicted feelings they will probably arouse his curiosity. I am fairly certain that if he becomes protective he will take over without a second thought; this would be the quickest way. I'll try to be gentle, but I will also make you even more uncomfortable. If you could peacefully cede control to one another without me having to cast a spell or enter dreams to do so, that would be infinitely better."

"Ah," Shizuka breathed. "In that case...yes."

Watanuki propped himself up on the couch, and eased himself up until he had one arm between Shizuka and the back of the couch, and was leaning over him. Watanuki bent, cradling the side of Shizuka's head, and kissed him, half folded over his body, chest against chest, his other hand following the curve of Shizuka's ribs; on reflex, Shizuka shied away. Watanuki tilted his head, changing the angle of the kiss to better cover Shizuka's mouth, and let his tongue collide with Shizuka's.

Between one eye-blink and the next breath the kiss was broken, Watanuki was flung to the floor and pinned down by the strong arm of the archer. But instead of Shizuka, Doumeki is glaring with those same cold olive glass fish eyes, breathing hard and panting. Shizuka's eyes are technically the same color but Watanuki could swear they have more warmth.

"Knew you were in there somewhere. Relax," Watanuki croaks. "I didn't mean any harm." He keeps perfectly still. Doumeki could crush him if he wanted to.

"What do you want?" Doumeki growls, without letting up. Watanuki is held fast. Doumeki's grip is painfully tight, his arms are stiff, and he is trembling uncontrollably. It's the adrenaline giving him strength, but he can't keep it up for long. Doumeki was strong, always, but Shizuka isn't like that. It wouldn't surprise Watanuki if Doumeki was unaware of the limits of his great-grandson's body. Watanuki scowls, and Doumeki continues, "Why have you awakened me? And in such a manner—"

"Forget it," Watanuki says sharply, a trifle impatiently. "There isn't a particular meaning. There isn't a manual for waking people up, but it generally involves making them distinctly uncomfortable. I had to get your attention. As for what I want—I want you to stop. Think." Watanuki smiles humorlessly. "You were fighting your great-grandson's spirit, so I told him to let you take over for a while, so as to prevent further pain to both of you," Watanuki says forcefully, giving Doumeki a significant look. "Since you obviously needed to speak to someone, or at least have the mental space to allow conscious thought, and I have long wanted to have a talk with you. Figured you'd want to protect him. As do I." He holds Doumeki's gaze. "I love him."

For a moment, Doumeki's grip tightens, jaw clenching. But as he continues to look into Watanuki's cool eyes, Doumeki seems to realize that he is sincere, and he slowly eases his weight off of Watanuki's chest, allowing him to sit up. Doumeki says warily, "We can talk, but there is nothing you can do for me."

Watanuki shakes himself. "I will see about that," he says sharply, drawing his legs under him. In a voice as measured and even as he can make it, he asks, "How did this happen?"

"..."

Watanuki tries to gauge Doumeki's guarded expression. At the moment, Doumeki doesn't seem resentful. Watanuki decides to be upfront with all this. He crosses his arms. "For your information, I am only intervening on behalf of your great-grandson in my protective capacity as the shopkeeper. My only concern is his well-being, which you have endangered. The history between us right now means nothing to me." Doumeki says nothing, but Watanuki can see that he understood. "Come, come," Watanuki says impatiently. "You must know, something must have happened to agitate you, or else—"

"Last night, I saw in his thoughts that the boy was planning to take you to the ocean," Doumeki answers abruptly. "I didn't think that was possible. My confusion prompted old memories, which slowly consumed my mind as I began to ponder what I should have done."

Watanuki stares at him.

Doumeki turns mulish. So what?

"You," Watanuki scowls again, clenching his fists, "You endangered your great-grandson for the sake of a small handful of petty regrets?" he screeches.

Doumeki blinked. "I was upset. I was prepared to die like anyone else."

The corner of Watanuki's mouth turns into a distinct frown. "Apparently. Did you at any time consider what that would do?"

"I..."

All at once, looking at Doumeki's dull, stupid, simple face, Watanuki cannot contain himself any longer. He explodes. "So help me— You put your consciousness into the mind of a child," he hisses with cold fury. "Whether you knew it or not, you shaped him, and you are the one responsible for that. But you didn't know what you were doing, did you. You were simply flagrantly irresponsible," he snarls.

Undaunted, Doumeki replies, "It wasn't what I meant to do."

Watanuki climbs to his feet. "Then what? So tell me, Doumeki, because I cannot find it out! From my perspective, you committed suicide," Watanuki spits out. "Although it didn't appear that way to your family. Have you any idea what it was like to go through that? For all your good intentions your gamble with death almost killed me, and I didn't even know why you'd done it," he snarls. "And then where would you be? Useless and deadweight, stealing the vitality of your only great-grandson. That is what you have done!" Watanuki shouts, and the words leave such a ringing in the air that it affects him, too, and he lapses into a sort of stunned silence.

Doumeki stares at him, open-mouthed in shock.

"You risked all our lives," Watanuki continues, in a defeated whisper. "I thought you were happy, you seemed happy before, I knew you were strong enough to live past Kohane if you tried—I, I thought you were trying—" His voice is breaking. He just had another goal in mind, all along. I was wrong. I was wrong...

Swallowing hard, Doumeki looks away. He's started to sweat. "I told you, Kohane helped me with it," he says softly.

"Like that makes it better for him, now he says you're becoming more aware. If this continues you will wreck your own great-grandson without meaning to because you are unaware of your effect on him. I cannot allow it." Watanuki's hard-edged voice brings a stinging snap to his promise.

Doumeki swallows. "I can't go back. It's irreversible."

The wry twist to Watanuki's mouth turns nasty. "Good, then you finally listened for once. You should be frightened." He makes sure the words are cruel. "I see you made your wish, albeit brokered with another party. Whoever they are I can only hope for your sake that they are trustworthy...but you are close to attaining this wish. Do you want me to grant it?"

Doumeki shakes his head. No. "It can't be done."

Watanuki whirls, stamping his feet. "Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?" he says viciously, as his robes swirl mesmerizingly around him. Oh yes. He is angry. "What do you know about it? I am Yuuko's successor and the shopkeeper. I am the magician. Only I can judge what is and is not possible! Do not presume to tell me—"

"I need more time—"

"You had time. All the time in the world!" Watanuki bellows, so hard that his cheeks puff out and briefly flare red. "I made my wish in the space of a moment, a second, and I couldn't look back, while you thought, for your whole life you pondered and you thought— You had the gift of that time and I hate you. You want to know what you did wrong? You always thought, 'oh, it can't be helped,' and then you always did things for me, to protect me, but you would never confront me! You always took it, as if it was okay, and it wasn't! If it wasn't okay, and you should have fought me. You could have tried—to make me realize. Deep inside I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop, and I didn't realize that your silence—that your silence—" Watanuki chokes on the words, until he forces out, "We have to move on." His voice cracks.

Doumeki swallows. He settles back properly on his knees, hands curled tightly over his legs, accepting the chastisement. "I hate myself for it..." he says, with only a faint, thin thread of a voice.

Watanuki only now seems to realize the impact of what he's just said. "Yeah?" he says, voice falling. "Well, I liked you too. By the time I realized, it was too late, and you were already gone. And now there are other people who need and deserve my kindness. But no more." Watanuki takes a deep breath. "There is no future in us, Doumeki; you are dead to me, and you shall remain that way."

"Yes," says Doumeki, with sorrow. He agrees. "I am."

Watanuki sighs. "What did you hope to accomplish, Doumeki?" he asks hopelessly.

Doumeki averts his gaze. "I can't tell you that."

"Will you let me grant your wish?"

Doumeki shakes his head. "Not yet. I'm still...the time is not ready."

Watanuki kneels on one knee. "If you can refrain from hurting Shizuka, I won't have to."

Closing his eyes, Doumeki says, "Please. Please don't."

"But can you keep that promise?" Watanuki insists.

Again, Doumeki shakes his head.

"I can't give you something for nothing," Watanuki warns him.

"Then...then this," Doumeki says finally; he stands, taking Watanuki's left arm, and with his other hand he cups Watanuki's ear and whispers the secret words into it.

Watanuki starts. "What...what was that?" he says, shakily.

Doumeki lets him go, stepping back. "The key to my consciousness. I kept it for emergencies, for if something went wrong. If I should become unstable, should you need to speak to me again, you should repeat that phrase and you will reach me."

"Repeat them again," says Watanuki, trembling slightly. Once again, Doumeki whispers them in his ear. This time, Watanuki perceives the words clearly, and he repeats all the syllables, barely moving his lips. He won't forget.

"Does Shizuka know of this?" asks Watanuki, his fingers poised over his mouth as if the words of the spell might jump out.

"No. But he doesn't need to." Doumeki glances at Watanuki. "He won't be aware that anything has happened. That's the nature of the spell."

Watanuki can't bring himself to argue. "All right," he says, exhausted. "Fine. We're done here."

"Then place your fingers on my temples," says Doumeki, picking up Watanuki's hands and molding them into the right positions. His hands are dry now, like dust or paper, quite unlike the fever, the oppressive raincloud of emotions, for in this short time these have all gone. Doumeki, using Shizuka's hands so gently that Watanuki can't quite believe what he's doing: "Recite the spell, and put me away."

It all suddenly seems too cruel, when Doumeki puts it that way: like a doll about to be thrown into a closet and shut up in a place that is as silent as a tomb, like a naughty plaything, a toy. It comes to him in an instant: Watanuki sees himself as selfish and petulant, lacking all empathy. He must be, to do this, and he is filled with loathing for his own willingness to use the power that Doumeki has placed in his control. Watanuki can't stand to think of him like that, even for an instant; it brings the taste of bile. Watanuki looks up, into Doumeki's eyes. He opens his mouth but it is dry. He opens and closes his mouth, but though his mouth moves he makes no attempt to say a sound while his eyes mist over, lost.

"Remember," says Doumeki, closing his eyes; and for a moment he is alien, Egyptian, foreign, a frozen mummy within Shizuka's face, and for a terrible moment Watanuki remembers he doesn't belong. "Remember I am dead. I am dust and ghost. Only one of us deserves to live in this body..." His face is haggard. "I knew it was wrong...and still. I didn't know what else to do, except that I couldn't leave things as they were."

"I forgive you," says Watanuki, through numb lips. "You chose."

Doumeki shakes his head. "No. Put me away. Lock me away. You must take back the one you love."

Watanuki flinches and shuts his eyes tightly against his tears. Heart hammering, he lightly passes his fingertips over Doumeki's face and Watanuki speaks the secrets in the syllables.

"Watanuki?" In a moment, Shizuka's eyes flutter open. He gently peels Watanuki's hands from his face. "Watanuki, what happened?"

For a long moment Watanuki doesn't respond, and then he finally lifts his head. "Ah, I know what it looks like..." Watanuki mumbles, swiping his eyes. "It's not that..."

Shizuka tuts softly. "He hurt you!"

"He— No! No, it was a long time ago. We have a lot to sort out." Watanuki shakes his head vigorously. "He gave me what I wanted. He won't hurt you anymore." He tries to smile, but it's weak. "Or I can stop it if he does. Not that it was on purpose; I knew that."

"But now you're upset."

Watanuki shrugs deliberately, as much to placate his own nerves as Shizuka's. I have to remember that he's dead... "It will pass. Anyway, how are you now?"

Shizuka touches his temple. "Better. The pressure is gone." He grips Watanuki's shoulder's suddenly. "I feel as if I only traded my unhappiness for yours," Shizuka says. "Tell me what I can do."

"Nothing," says Watanuki, swallowing the lump in his throat, and steps a bit closer to thread his fingers through Shizuka's hair. "It's not your fault. It's because of something else entirely. Just be as you always are."

"Mn." Shizuka nods once in agreement.

They end up sitting on the couch, not speaking, but Watanuki leans his head on Shizuka's shoulder and closes his eyes, and Shizuka wraps an arm around him. Both have lost too much energy in the ordeal. After a time, Shizuka falls asleep, and Watanuki falls in after him, without even having to use a single spell, he careens into the darkness...

In a dream, Watanuki draws himself up and out of the darkness, the scene unscrolling before him. A mirror image presents itself: Shizuka the younger on his right, sitting on the ground and sleeping soundly, Doumeki the elder on his left, awake and almost a decade older, appearing closer to the way he probably saw himself and how Watanuki remembered him alive.

There is work to be done here. Calm, Watanuki centers himself and recognizes this. There is work to be done here, and this is Doumeki's dream.

Doumeki shrugs, silent, and looks back at where he had been staring: a tangled mess of memories and thoughts that hung in the middle, snarling without an outlet, coiling in on itself. It's rather beautiful and awe-inspiring, in its way, but it feels like a Problem, drawing tension throughout the dream and the mindscape. Doumeki doesn't have enough space, mentally, to resolve it alone: it requires too much flexibility to do the mental gymnastics without disturbing Shizuka; simply maintaining that distance is exhausting. The barriers between their minds are much too thin. If Watanuki doesn't convince Doumeki to fulfill his wish some time soon, their minds could become permanently fused. That is one possibility.

"I see the Problem. That won't resolve itself without help, will it. Will you accept my assistance?" Watanuki asks Doumeki, who nods, without resistance.

Doumeki stays mute, but he grasps one of the tendrils, pulling it away from the rest of the structure, and offers it to Watanuki. Watanuki touches the vine, and bits and pieces of the dream begin to seep across.

why the ocean (when you couldn't)

Watanuki answers the question. "I chose it because I had never seen it, and everything I heard about it sounded wonderful. I was an orphan. I saw very little of the world."

The vine shrinks, but briefly grows a new branch.

how was it like

"It was nice. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, so I wasn't in a place to judge. All I wanted was to see what it was like," Watanuki says somewhat wistfully.

At that, the entire vine slithers out of the structure and vanishes. The structure shifts, hanging more loosely. Doumeki reaches up, and passes another vine, this one shorter and thicker, to Watanuki.

living through us

"Of course I did. However you and Himawari were happy, that was enough," says Watanuki. "But I didn't know what to do with you, remember?"

Doumeki winces.

Watanuki rolls his eyes. "Well, it's nice to know you cared, back then, you know. I had this idea that you didn't, that you thought it was convenient to tag along for a free lunch or something. I didn't have a clue what you felt. If I had understood you fully, things might have been different."

Some more vines spontaneously slither out of the structure, and fade away, though Watanuki hadn't touched them. The Problem becomes more buoyant. Something seems to be working.

Expressionless, Doumeki hands Watanuki another line, this one thinner than the others, but braided.

.

They began to play, bouncing the ball back and forth over the clear water, but the dreamer was distracted as again and again his attention drawn back to the shore as if his eyes had been pulled by an invisible line. When the girl caught the dreamer glancing back to the white sandy shore, her smile turned rueful, more real.

The dreamer turned to the girl and apologized. He took the beach ball and waded out of the water and trudged up the sandy slope. He approached the boy, and stared at him, holding the cool plastic lightly in his hands, until the boy looked away. Still the dreamer waited. "I can't," the boy said, and it hurt him to say it. It hurt him because he was proud, which was what had made him say it, and because he did want, and he thought it would be worse to say, "please help." Perhaps it was. He was used to doing everything by himself, and believed himself to be capable of making it alone.

"I can't." The boy's glasses glinted, hiding his feelings once more.

"Did that part actually happen that way?" Watanuki glances at Doumeki, who shrugs. It was only a dream of a memory.

This last thought was taking its time to coalesce, emerging still murkily.

why

"You were right. I was proud. Proud enough not to ask for what I wanted from you. But you know, I never wanted it so badly in the first place."

me

"I didn't want to be weak in front of my opponent."

would it have been better

"Well, of course. It would have been nice to swim. But I don't miss it. It wasn't what I wanted out of the trip."

bet or no bet, I should have

"Yes. Because that was what you yourself wanted," Watanuki says. "Regardless of what others want, you can claim it. You can express it. You should, when you can. Your choices are worth something."

This vine briefly expands, and then it begins to rapidly contract, and slithers out of Watanuki's hands. Somewhere from within the structure, a knot snaps, releasing flames; a braid frays, and the rest of the ropes fall apart. The entire structure collapses, aglow from the inside, and within moments only scraps remain, about to be consumed and disappear.

The humming intensity of the dream is gone.

Thank you. You have changed. Doumeki touches his shoulder, closes his eyes, and he simply fades away: sleeping, as Shizuka was. Watanuki looks back over the other shoulder. Now Shizuka is waking, and the dreamscape is changing from black to white...

Rising, Shizuka walks to him. "You're not sad anymore."

"Not here, no. I have work to do," Watanuki replies calmly. "I still have. I am the wishing shop keeper, and I do most of my work in dreams."

Shizuka points past Watanuki. "Like that? What is it?"

Watanuki turns—and there it is, the bird. It is shaped like a canary, yellow and streaked with golden bands of light woven about its body.

His mouth turns dry. "It's my project. A construct."

"What for? Is it for a client?" Shizuka asks.

"No," says Watanuki, rather heavily. "It's for myself."

Shizuka glances at him from the side, questioning.

"That night you invited me to see the cherry-blossoms with your coworkers," Watanuki says, wavering a little, "I couldn't let go of your hand until we had reached our destination. But I later realized that was because, without my realizing it, my magic had been flowing back towards the shop."

Shizuka comprehends in an instant, blanching of color.

"My predecessor had a double anchor that bound the shop to our world through a pair of dolls. When I fell sick in aftermath of Doumeki's death, my strength failed and the spells on the dolls crumbled. My power was great enough that it could bear the existence of the shop ever since, but that would only work as long as I never left it. Knowing that I had paid the price of my freedom to wait for Yuuko, I never replaced the dolls." Watanuki pauses in his explanation. "That day, your touch gave my power a small boost so that my resources weren't drained past my limit. But had you not been there, or should I ever have needed to travel farther, my strength would have failed and in the worst case I might have died. So I have been working on a solution," he confesses. "In secret." Watanuki waits, unusually tense.

Somewhat more calm, Shizuka gazes up at the bird. "But it's beautiful. You've been carrying this in your mind since then?"

"Yes...although I'm sure there's a physical counterpart in the shop somewhere."

"You've been thinking about the future?"

Watanuki hesitates. "Yes."

"Then I'm happy," says Shizuka, smiling.

"Huh..." Watanuki doesn't know what to make of Shizuka's reaction.

Shizuka says, "You made a mistake, a potentially life-threatening one. I wish you had told me before, but I'm glad you took steps to make it right again. Most of all, I want you to keep preparing to make your way out into the world." He gestures up to the light yellow canary construct. "What do you need to complete it?"

"Time," says Watanuki, breathing out. "And memories, and sensations. Enough to fill up a living being with a life to add to, something that reflects me. Those I can gather. And after that—a song."

"A song?"

"Mm. It's a bird. It needs a purpose in life," Watanuki tells him. "I haven't been able to choose which, though, yet..."

Watanuki hears the song as if it's coming from a long distance, and only over time realizes that the tune is coming from Shizuka, and it is too late to stop him, for the bird has stooped to swallow the song, beating its wings:

Kagome kagome, / Caged bird, caged bird,

Kago no naka no tori wa / The bird within the gilded cage

Itsu itsu deyaru / When will, when will it escape?

Yoake no ban ni / In the dawn of the night

Tsuru to kame ga subeta / When the crane and turtle ruled—

Ushiro no shoumen daare / Who stands behind me now?

Watanuki shivers. Shizuka breaks off the song and looks at him. "Eerie," says Watanuki.

Echoes of the song float in the distance, where the bird is attempting to practice.

"I think it worked," Shizuka says. "It seemed appropriate to you. My mother often sang that children's song to me; she said that my great-grandmother was very fond of it. I hope it protects you."

Kohane...

"Thank you," says Watanuki, still stunned.

"My pleasure," says Shizuka, his face tipped up, watching the golden bird. "And if there is anything else I can do, let me know..."

Shizuka begins to blur, and the dream breaks up and fragments into pieces...

. . . . . . . . .

...

.

"So I want to invite you to join the family vacation for Golden Week, but if it would be impossible for you to make it—"

Watanuki comes abruptly to awareness.

"No! No," Watanuki finds himself exclaiming, and Shizuka jumps, as if he had been practicing a speech in secret, and he hadn't thought that Watanuki would awake. Watanuki pushes himself to sit straight, swaying and a little flustered. "I—I would like that very much. In some time the, the, the bird—the bird will certainly be ready in time," he hastens to add, wondering if Shizuka thought he was going crazy, or if he remembered it. But then Shizuka smiles.

"I had that dream of the ocean," Shizuka continues. "With you unable to go in it. That was Doumeki's. But I thought maybe you would like the opportunity again. Although there's also hot springs."

"I will go," Watanuki murmurs, touching Shizuka's hand. "Thank you."

"No need," says Shizuka faintly. "My mother asked me to bring someone, because there was room. But you ought to be part of the family again. You should belong there. I think you will find things have changed since my great-grandfather's time."

"I may not..." Watanuki looks troubled.

"At the very least, I cannot continue to present myself to them as if I am not interested in anyone," Shizuka tells him. "They will worry. Given enough time, they would pressure me to do something."

Watanuki tips his head. "I see."

"I don't want to hide who I am," says Shizuka, clasping his hand. "And you are a part of me."

...

I hate it. I hate when you clasp my hands just as I hate when you leave me to myself.

I hate kisses, I hate when you touch my body. I hate my own life so much.

I hate these lengthened nails, and I hate the scent of adult perfume.

I know I am bothersome, but I feel so strongly that I must be out of my mind.

Surely someone like me is incapable of romance, but I want to meet you,

The only person who has ever come this close to my heart, and kissed it;

There is no one else like that I want to face.

No one else has sunk their feelings into me like this, and I want to meet you.

—"Aitai," by Shikao Suga [translated and remixed]