Money up in Smoke

August 15 came once more, the day of the heat haze, the mythical world without time. A year had passed quickly, almost alarmingly so. Once, I would have grumbled, and listened to depressing music in my headphones. Now, I had a bigger obligation, a greater task to fulfill. On this day, this oh-so-hateful day, I needed to visit a certain someone's grave. Ayano Tateyama. Had it been three years already since she died?

I stretched, still not fully accustomed to the concept of exercise and jogging. Two years of being a NEET and a shut-in did that to me, in the years of my life I wasted away doing nothing. Though that wasn't what bothered me, what bothered me was that I had to go back to school with the rest of the Dan. School hadn't changed; it was still as easy as before, but now my 'circle of friends' had grown to a troublesome size. My 'circle of friends who would attempt to shorten my life span' also grew in wealth, doubling in size.

Even though I had to return, no one else seemed to really care much about me, despite being the 18 year old once-NEET. Really, I had expected getting my life back on track would've been a lot more difficult. I had certainly expected as much back in my NEET phase.

In some of my rare contemplative moments, I would think back to my current situation. I would think of the years I was losing, the months gone to waste, and the time forever gone. Every time, I would never be motivated enough to change. Whether it be excuses or twisted thinking, I was definitely good at avoiding something.

Thoughts like "Reconnecting to society will be hard", or "I'm a high school drop-out, no one will accept me" weren't uncommon in those brief periods of inner turmoil. Yet, despite all my misgivings, there never was really anything much to say except that it was surprisingly easy. Either my outlook on 'difficult' had changed since awakening my eyes, or I was just completely dead wrong in those empty years.

Ayano Tateyama still haunted me, if that were the word to use. I would turn to my left and expect to see Ayano, smiling her fake smile she always did in school, but instead see Momo. Whispers of Ayano still trailed in my thoughts, nostalgia awakened by the sight of the school building, the scene of her death, the same old everything.

Still, I understood the mystery, or at least now I had. The unspoken 'why', the forgotten motive, the unanswered reason for her suicide, it became clear only after two years of being in the dark. My intelligence hadn't helped much there, eh? If only this world had been kind enough to let us meet in a realm without the haze, would we have become something more? I slapped myself, recognizing the pointless what-if question for what it was.

"Rest in peace." I murmured, depositing numerous paper cranes of my latest tests on the tombstone. Another 100%, another empty number that meant nothing. What good were tests for? What good was it to score perfect if that's all you scored? More pointless self-doubt. I opened down my wallet for good measure, scattering the few bills I owned on the ground, and a good wad of cash borrowed from Momo.

I plopped down in front of the tombstone, taking out a lighter, and setting fire to them both. It may not be a strictly Japanese tradition*, and even if she was trapped in the heat haze for all eternity, I still needed to send something, anything her way, if it would ever get there. The fire burned low, but grew strong, the heat almost unbearable to stand next to. In the hazy heat, my eyes began to water, dark fumes engulfing my upper-body as the wind changed directions.

"Ayano. I hope that, wherever you are, you can be happy." I choked out, the smoke clogging my vision.

Fat chance of that. The heat haze was a bland place, unmoving, uninteresting, dull and drab. I remembered it very clearly, or my daze, anyhow. They were all different, like a luminescent rainbow. Everyone saw the same light and water illusion, but no one could describe it the same way. The heat haze was something like that, except only never a prosperous place. Ayano, the smiling Ayano, the laughing Ayano, the happy Ayano, that version of her could never exist in the lifeless eternal solitude.

Still, maybe, just maybe, Marry could crack the passage between worlds open. It was a long shot to push one's hopes on the fluffball, but it was all I had. Perhaps this was a good sign, a sign that I'd begun to hold hope in the universe once more, in the ill-fated stars' alignment. Trusting others was something I'd lost, forgotten, abandoned and left in the dust. That I was doing it again was… something else entirely.

Did this mean I was growing indifferent to Ayano's death? Her eternal exile to the realm of madness? No, I could never have intended it, but to be happy when Ayano could never, to be joyful when she was gone, to revel in the happiness she so loved without her ever being able to again. Was I mocking her to be doing this, to be living like this, to enjoy life in all of its moderate splendor again?

No. That wasn't it. Ayano, the Ayano I knew, wouldn't want me to be depressed about her death. Ayano would be the type of person to try to cheer me up regardless. Ayano would've wanted me to be happy. To smile, to laugh, to cry, to shake off the emotionless husk I used to be. In that, I think I've succeeded.

"I guess I should say that… I've begun to change. You could say that I've smiled a lot more in the past year than I used to. You could say that I've laughed a lot more in the last year than I did before. You could say that I enjoy myself more… but I still miss you." I told the tombstone, smoke still I feel something moist in my eye, a mixture of mucus salt water fats sugars and other fluids, the heterogeneous solution often referred to as 'tears'. They emerged like drops from a leaky faucet, running down the sides of my face for a short time before falling into the fire.

Was I crying? It didn't matter anyway; no one was here to watch me. I could shed as many tears as I desired, and it wouldn't make a difference. It was a sign I was alive. It was a signal to me and those around me that I gave a damn. That I was alive and kicking. Maybe I was set back a few years, maybe I might not be able to do everything I once could, but I had changed. In that at least, I could find some solace, that I was still able to, even in Ayano's absence.

"Shintaro?" A ghost called out, startling me. I stumbled forward, stepping onto the nearly burnt out fire, the searing hot pain rushing through my leg. It burned, it hurt, it was a scorching hot fire. I stopped, I dropped, and I rolled. A relieving cool splash flushed my leg, and I sat up heaving, getting a hazy glance at my benefactor. For a moment, the most brief of split-seconds, I would've sworn it was Ayano, but only for that moment. Reality sunk in, and Kido stood over me, her water bottle upended.

"And that's why my pants are burnt." Shintaro finished, waiting for the inevitable recoil he'd come to expect from telling any stories to the Dan. Nothing. Not even a single smidgeon of sound, only downcast glances and quivering faces. Only Konoha seemed undisturbed, casually munching down on a pie, completely unaware of the rest of the Dan's moment of dejection.

"For the record, it was the fumes that made me cry." Shintaro coughed uncomfortably, breaking the silence.

"Sure they were." Takane poked fun at him, but catching Konoha's eye, excused herself from the room.

* A tradition in China, where you burn money/other possessions as an offering to the deceased in heaven. They would presumably receive these. I'm not entirely sure whether or not other countries in the area would have similar habits, although I presume it wouldn't be too out of place.

This is one of the fanfictions where I wish I could have edited it to make it better for the content. Ah well. Again, finished barely 8 minutes before the end of the day. I need to start working on these earlier.