"Oh, Seiji, wait up- you've got something in your hair."
Shuuichi's fingertips are unexpectedly warm when they brush - accidentally, because surely - against Seiji's cheek.
"Where'd this come from?" he asks, expression wondering. He's close. (Could Seiji count his eyelashes?) (Maybe.)
Caught up in the proximity, Seiji misses his chance to say anything at all so instead, he directs his attention to what the older boy has in his hand.
It's perfect, this petal. A pale shade of pink, catching the light with a near mother-of-pearl finish, somehow. From where indeed.
Seiji looks up.
Oops.
With a rush of warmth, everything softens.
Blossom-laden branches arch above you as the tree gracefully bows down - a profusion of color against the matte white of winter's sky. Sunlight filters down through the petals and leaves, a settling of gold that begins a pleasant thaw. No longer so sharp and biting but now kinder to your nose and lungs, the air has rounded into something earthier and floral. Birdsong, high and sweet, accompanies the vernal splendor.
And the spectre, set amidst the flowering, centered in the scene. For where else should it be? The logic still occurs to you, even here and now.
Taking a human's shape, it raises a silver flute to its lips with a knowing smile. At first, its song steps and skips among the birds' carried on the sweetened breeze. Then suddenly, all-encompassing and absolute, sweeps them up altogether.
A beckon to this world where the cold has subsided to nothing but a distant memory readily forgotten for an existence in this spring, lush and eternal-!
"Seiji!"
Shuuichi is close again, this time in concern. Snow is falling and the sky has taken on a darker cast. "Are you-"
"I'm okay," he hastens to assure the other boy. "What about you?"
"Oh, I'm-" Shuuichi takes a step back. "I'm fine. My glasses got, uh, snowy."
Seiji can't help himself. "Aha! So they're good for something." Innocently enough. Predictably, he's rewarded with a disgruntled look.
"So, eye contact is at least half of it." Back to business. Shuuichi keeps his head down as he tends to his lenses.
And being caught unawares, Seiji thinks, venturing a glance up at the tree. Like this, he can see past the glamour. Branches, bare and brittle, shuddering with each gust of wind. What's exposed of the roots is shriveled, curled fraying against the hardened earth.
And up in the branches something else, if he squints. Something small and desperate and hungry.
But with the growing storm - by morning, at the latest - it'll be nothing but a heap of kindling. Harmless, save for splinters.
Sometimes, it's easier to let Nature take its course.
He glances around them at the carpet of petals that remains, the illusory had been made physical just for an instance. A clever trap, for smoke and mirrors.
So he gives the action no thought - not now, not for a long while - as he reaches out to brush petals (they're fading) and snowflakes (they're melting) from Shuuichi's hair.
"You'll get a head cold," he says when he meets the other's questioning look.
"A cold head, a head cold," Shuuichi muses, shifting his scarf up. "Is that how it works?"
"So says Nanase-san."
"So it must be true." Indulgently, Seiji thinks. "You too, then."
Before he can react, Shuuichi sets to the task with the ends of his scarf, much like how one might towel down a dog, snow presumably all that's left. Kindly firm, almost comforting.
But perhaps he should be more offended. How would Shuuichi respond if he pointed it out? Any of it? He allows himself the mental tangent. (Unsurprisingly inconclusive.)
"Well, there's no point if we stay out here," he finally manages, stepping away. "We should hurry before the last train leaves."
"Wait, what about her?" Oh. Right.
"Take a closer look, Shuuichi-san." Turning back to face him, Seiji patiently lists his earlier observations.
"It's not like that right now! What if someone else gets caught?"
"Yes... Someone taking a walk in a snowstorm."
"We don't know for sure! Something could happen. Maybe..." He trails off uncertainly.
Seiji considers him. Sometimes it really is hard to see where Shuuichi's coming from. Though that's what usually makes him all the more interesting.
Interesting Shuuichi and exhausted yokai aside, Seiji doesn't really want to stand out here any longer arguing hypotheticals. The cold has fully returned, seeping into his hands and feet with earnest. He can't really feel his face either.
So, it's really not ideal, but—
"All right. Let's find a way up."
.
"I'm looking forward to Shuuichi-san's plan of attack."
"...Are you going to help?"
"Have more confidence in yourself - I'm sure I won't even have to lift a finger!"
"Seiji!"
He simply laughs, bounding ahead, feeling warmer than he ever was in that conjured springtime.
.
That day, victory tastes like the meat buns they share as they warm up and wait for the train home.
"Ah, what's this? A flower petal, it seems. Just as lovely as-"
The lizard makes its fifth appearance of the showing, winding between his fingers as he brushes the petal, no doubt all silken thread, from her perfect curls.
Unwittingly - he'll say - Seiji averts his gaze.
The sweetened pop and fizz of his drink are a welcome distraction, though they do little to allay the heat rising to his face.
Seiji sinks down further into his seat and wonders what Natori remembers of that snowy spring.