His date with Nanami brings a deluge of forced contentment that passes in a spur of jumbled memories. He cannot recall what they did several minutes ago, let alone the past several hours. Yet the rising levels of guilt lingers ever so imminently when Nanami sends a barrage of questions his way.
"Shisui, did you see how quickly they made those sculptures?" She asks eagerly.
The day almost seems natural, but this 'date,' courtesy of Izumi and Yuki's on the spot arrangement, has gradually morphed into an artificial situation that perhaps only he can sense.
"Yes of course, a spectacular show," he answers cheerfully.
The memories of said show is a vague fog - he is not lying, albeit his lack of internal engagement is close enough to warrant dishonesty.
They continue their way through the village markets. Nanami's joviality infects the atmosphere with every passing moment. And though Shisui is willing to be in her presence, there is a swarm of darkened emotions that clings to the side of his body.
Itachi and Izumi's absence has given the clan more reason to suspect deception - however they may come to such absurd conclusions. But the effects are profound. Their level of mistrust and vigilance mounts, and he is forced to escalate the intensity of observation on Itachi.
"Shisui, target aiming. I'll challenge you," Nanami says avidly.
Without awaiting an answer, she drags him towards the busy game stall.
"Two games," she says.
For the sake of politeness, Shisui reluctantly agrees. His mind is unable to assemble a reasonable sentence for protest.
And though agile, Nanami's aim is not perfect. Her kunai hold leaves her imbalanced, and she misses the middle target by several inches. Nevertheless, she manages to foresee the target's moving direction, a clear indicator of strong analytical abilities.
At Shisui's turn, his target aims are unsurprisingly perfect, but the admiration sounds he hears from the surrounding audience is more than enough for him to automatically withdraw.
He does not like attracting attention, and though he appears quite visibly uncomfortable, Nanami is oblivious.
"Shisui, you could have gone easy on me," she teases.
"I won't discriminate when it comes to competition," Shisui answers.
And when she stares back at him in surprise, he cannot help but feel a sense of enjoyment.
"I didn't win anything though," she sighs.
"I did," he says, "so you can pick and have the prize."
"Me?"
She looks to him in bafflement, then, the streaks of red infiltrates.
"Sure," he answers brightly, "I can take the win, and you can take the prize."
She picks a grey-blue stuffed toy that greatly resembles a large hound.
"Thanks, Shisui, this is so cute."
Whilst Nanami is occupied with the surroundings, Shisui suppresses the rising feeling of unease that invades his mind at random. His persistent attempts to pull himself back to the present proves bitterly futile. And when they past a row of park benches, his conscious is temporarily impaired by another issue.
He sees Honoka for the first time in days.
She is sitting absent-mindedly with what appears to be a chess box on her lap, gazing steadily into the vast fields as if floating between two separate realities.
Involuntarily, Shisui flinches at the sight. The scene is a stark reminder that today at this hour is their supposed fortnightly catch up.
Days earlier, Honoka had attempted to revisit their conversation from that night, an action that led him to forcefully halt their catch up indefinitely.
Still, Honoka did not understand.
"If we are halting those fortnightly catch ups, does that mean rescheduling it to another day?" She asked.
"No, it means indefinitely altogether."
"I do not understand, that is not how the friendship works. Friendship requires reinforcement."
"Honoka, it does not work that way. Lets leave it at that," he replied firmly.
But that was a bad point to conclude. Honoka did not comprehend the meaning behind his intentions, no matter the variations to his explanation.
He feels a sense of repercussion from that conversation, considering Honoka has been sitting in the same place - the spot where they always meet for their scheduled catch ups - every day with the chess box on her lap. Their catch up would normally go for about an hour - the same time and duration Honoka would spend sitting by the park bench awaiting hopefully for a game.
The guilt is so incredibly strong, Shisui finds it impossible to be in her presence. He does not understand his own actions, nor the frustration he has with Honoka. Yet he does not exhibit such emotions to the outside world. A part of him wishes to continue his friendship with her, but the more he reinforces the relationship, the worse her existence is affected.
By the time Nanami and Shisui reach the riverbank, the sun slowly sets and the glowing fields of flowers reflect a wondrous display of colours.
Nanami's joyous spirit gets him smiling, however a small part of him is heavily complacent in watching the emptiness of space amongst the faraway hills.
"Shisui, look at these flowers," Nanami says, and she brings a large yellow-white peony to show him her find.
"Do you think it would look good on my hair?" she asks sheepishly.
"I believe so," Shisui replies honestly.
"Would you mind? There's no mirror," she says tentatively, and she hands him the flower.
It takes him several moments to process her question, then, he places the flower on her ear against her hair.
"Looks great on you," he says.
"You're too kind," she answers quietly.
They remain silent - a sweet quietude intermeshed in a thin layer of anxiety.
When Nanami speaks, her tone is soft and demure.
"Shisui, thank you for today, I had a great time."
And without waiting for his answer, Nanami steps forward and embraces him.
The sudden movement is startling, but Shisui holds his composure well. His response is stilted and unsure, as if afraid he would make a wrong move by reacting.
But when Nanami stirs uneasily, he detects the timorous uncertainty that may be a reaction to his lack of reciprocation.
Hesitantly, he responds to her embrace. The warmth she provides is that comforting equilibrium to the cool summer breeze.
x
When Nanami departs for home, Shisui's mind inundates itself with the increasing mountain of reports and mission preparation for next week.
As if his day with Nanami resembles an iron-clad gate, her absence leads to the destruction of such security.
A deluge of emotional turmoil blends with the fatigue that weighs heavily against him. And yet he is always solution focused - a clear, pragmatic mind that pushes him to achieve so called prodigy status. But he never measures his self-worth based on people's perception of his fighting abilities.
Conflicts within his clan and the loyalty he pledges to the village has stirred an internal battle he wishes he be labelled a prodigy for. But internal battles are fought alone, and he gets that overwhelming sensation he is losing spectacularly.
"Excuse me, Shisui."
Honoka's vacant tone stirs his quarrelling mind and sends him into the present.
"Honoka," he says.
Her presence at this hour is surprising, considering he never sees anyone at this time.
"I see you are walking alone," she says blankly.
Her expression is dull and bland, yet there may be an underlying feature of concern behind her impassive gaze.
"Yes, just a stroll for fresh air," he says, consciously acknowledging that he has been out for fresh air since midday.
She keeps silent for several moments before speaking.
"Are you feeling sad?" She asks curiously.
Her watch is careful, as if she is selectively confirming something.
"What made you ask that?"
He is half puzzled, half surprise at her questioning.
"I am unsure," she frowns.
When he does not reply, Honoka fumbles in her bag and pulls out a small package wrapped in green paper.
"Shisui, this is for you," she says.
"What's it for?"
"I made it for you because I think you may be feeling sad. I read that when someone feels sad, it helps if you make them something sweet to eat. It also shows that you are thinking about them and that someone is out there making sweets for them."
Shisui does not question her statement. Sadness may not be an entirely correct definition that concludes his state of mind, but Honoka may only have a limited vocabulary when it comes to comprehending and naming emotions.
"Thank you. You didn't have to."
"I figured that friends would be there for each other when they are feeling sad. I wanted to live up to our friendship."
Instead of appreciation, his mind is suffused with guilt and resentment. A part of him does not want to reinforce any actions that may push Honoka into any misunderstandings. However, she is making it difficult for him when it comes to her understanding of friendship.
"This won't reinstate our fortnightly schedule," Shisui says.
"That is okay. I will wait for you until you do not feel sad anymore."
"No, Honoka, please don't do that. I don't want you to sit and wait."
"I see, may I ask why?"
"I don't know when it would be appropriate to have our catch ups again."
He is wondering whether he is protecting Honoka or himself.
From what?
"I see. I am okay with that," she pauses, thinking hard, "Shisui, may I have a hug like you did with Nanami earlier?"
He stares at her in bemusement. The peculiarity of her sudden questioning and transient topics will never be something he can fully comprehend, let alone her creepy knowledge of his earlier embrace with Nanami.
"I can't do that," he replies tensely.
"May I ask why you were able to with Nanami but not me?"
He frowns.
"It's a bit different with her," he says.
"I see. I apologise, is it something inappropriate I have asked?"
When Shisui remains silent, Honoka continues.
"I just want to know what it feels like, but I apologise if that is something I am not meant to ask."
At her comment, he averts to the ground.
He can accept her request should he choose to, considering his relationship with Nanami extends no further than friendship. But the need to distance himself from Honoka calls for some level of disconcertment.
It is this moment that his mind is suddenly able to speak on Honoka's level, a way that she would perhaps understand his point.
"Honoka, I think it's best if we end our friendship contract."
His comment elicits a troubled expression from her.
"May I ask why?"
Her tone stumbles between each word, a disheartening reaction she never gives.
"It's-" he abruptly hesitates, the decision attached to his spoken words is inconsistent with the reluctant emotions coursing through him.
"Is it something I have done that can be rectified?" She asks quietly.
At this point, Honoka is no longer present. As if speaking to herself and answering her own questions, her glazed look merges with her movements to form a bizarre measured walk.
Shisui does not speak nor react to her slow disappearance. The guilt that sits painfully against him has dispersed into minuscule fragments of remorse.
If there is one agonising revelation about Honoka, he has finally gotten through to her level of social understanding - by an infliction that punctured the core of what little emotion she had left.