Chapter Text
The alarm clock startles you awake. Must’ve been dreaming, but whatever about fades rapidly as you rise to silence the blaring. It’s replaced by a vague gratitude to yourself for following the same routine everyday, work or no. You can brush the mess out of your hair not worrying about what day it is.
You follow the spacious hallway to the kitchen, methodically prepare your morning tea, let its warmth bring you to life as you gaze out the window. Over the years, this routine has found a way to blur together, but it’s the little things that keep you present. The faint bitterness of your tea, the ambient light peeking through the window, a new paper to read every morning.
A pang of trepidation rises in you as you scan the paper for the date - do you really want to have the day off that badly? Saturday… oh. September 1st. That’s why. Your heart sinks, your tea loses its flavor. The paper might as well be written in another language, it’s so incomprehensible beyond that date.
You stand up. No sense staring at it for longer than you have to. Your tea sits unfinished, growing cold as you head for the garden, the most comforting place in the house. That’s what you need.
Though the blooms are long gone, the azalea bushes are still pretty in a way. Placid and verdant, just like the trees. Leaves rustling all around you, mingling with the distant sound of waves in the bay. There’s no corner left that you haven’t explored, nothing new to focus on, but somehow this garden never becomes indistinct in your mind. It pulls you back, for now, brings you a modicum of peace. Maybe it’ll stick. Hopefully.
* * *
The woody plucking of koto strings plays off the walls, filling the room with an old, familiar melody. Simple, traditional, uplifting, this was your song. Yours and…
Maybe you should play something else, but this one has a way of making time pass more smoothly. Whatever you might have meant to do today, this is what you’re doing.
The tune sours when your ringtone enters on top of it. You don’t have to look to know who must be calling today.
“Kanan.”
“Hey, Dia,” comes the voice of your oldest friend, pitch sliding down in that way that whispers pity. “How ya holding up?”
“Well enough,” comes your reply, perhaps more prickly than you intended. “I appreciate you checking in with me, but it’s only the first-”
“So you're good? Keeping it together? Because I wouldn't wanna ask you out drinking if you couldn't handle it." The teasing lilt in her voice as she mentions alcohol shouldn't catch you off guard anymore, but it does all the same.
“I’m sure I could handle it, but…” You trail off. But what? It’s not like you can fool Kanan any easier than you can fool yourself. “Oh, fine. I could stand to see you. I might not drink, though.”
* * *
“Another round!” you call out. Your speech isn’t slurred yet, you’ll be fine.
“Wow, Dia, I gotta admit I’m impressed,” replies Kanan from behind a wall of empty cans. “You just might catch up with me at this rate.”
Your vision focuses lazily on the still-full glass of water in the midst of all your empty sake cups. Sure, hydration is important, but-
Another cup of sake appears before you. You know what to do. The water can wait.
“Hell yeah!” Kanan pantomimes applause as she watches you go.
You pound another empty glass on the table, alcohol vapor burning your sinuses, and find it hard to hold your head up anymore. Another shock sets all the glasses clattering around you as you faceplant, still conscious.
“Woah, wait, are you okay?” The cool in Kanan’s voice evaporates. “Talk to me, Dia!”
“I’m…” Probably something. Your cheek is getting wet. That’s got to be the water glass.
Kanan’s hand on your shoulder suggests otherwise. Are you crying? That’s not right.
“I’m glad you brought me here, Kanan…” It’s suddenly hard to speak.
“Yeah, of course.” Her voice comes from next to you now. “I figured you could use some company.”
As always, Kanan sees right through you. More tears come, quietly, unceremoniously. You don’t deserve her.
“It’s okay. I’m here for you.” Kanan’s voice takes on a warm character as she sits you up and holds you tight. Her hugs have only gotten better as she’s gotten stronger. More comforting. It’s incredible, really. “Now drink some water, please.”
It feels like all you can do is comply, sipping down the ice cold water as fast as you can. Your head is still swimming, but at least you aren’t desperately thirsty now.
“We should probably go, shouldn’t we?” you offer, trying to rebuild your composure.
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
You stumble as you get up, so the whole walk home you lean on Kanan. Ever since she grew that little bit taller than you, her shoulder is the perfect level for you to rest your head on. Part of you relishes the opportunity, knowing that you’d only let yourself get away with this while drunk. It’s brisk this late, too, so you manage to wrap your arm around hers with no teasing.
The change of scenery might typically help your mood, but you can’t forget that this is only the beginning. As September marches on, this will only get worse, and Kanan can only spend so much of her time babysitting. You shiver.
“Feeling okay there, Dia? We’re almost back.” God, what would you do without her?
Probably the same thing you do without-
Your train of thought is interrupted by a rustling noise in the nearby bushes. It’s not exactly suspicious, but in your inebriated, half-asleep state it makes you jump.
“What was that, Kanan?”
“Probably just a cat or something,” Kanan replies with a comforting laugh. “When’d you get all skittish again?”
You tense up, not ready to interrogate that development. Kanan lets it go, bless her.
And here's your front door. You hold onto Kanan for as long as you can justify it to yourself, but eventually she has to pry you off to give you a proper hug goodnight. Her muscular frame is still so soft and warm when she embraces you. It’s not fair. But you reciprocate, trying to make this comfort last as long as you can.
“Are you going to be okay, Dia? I can’t be here every hour of every day but if you need me, just say the word.” She pauses, idly running her fingers through your hair. “Or uh, at least let me check in with you. I wanna support you however I can right now.”
You bury your face in her shoulder, enough to muffle your response: “Okay.”
“Good, I'll hold you to that.” She breaks the hug for you and steps back. “Sleep well. And drink more water! I’ll catch you around.”
She turns, disappears into the darkness, and you stay on the porch for a moment, trying to collect yourself. It’s so good for you, having Kanan around. How are you going to cope alone?
The rustling sounds again, a bit closer to you than before. A shiver runs up your spine, and your heart beats harder as you fish your keys out of your pocket and duck inside. You stay still, glued to the door for what feels like an eternity, hearing only the sound of your breathing, trying not to let your imagination run wild. It was a cat. Or something. Nothing to worry about.
You follow Kanan’s advice and work an extra glass of water into your bedtime routine, so ingrained in you that the alcohol does nothing to make it harder. Before you know it, you’re staring at your bedroom ceiling, reeling from that special kind of dizziness that only strikes as you fall asleep after drinking.
It’s quiet enough that you’re quite sure you hear a voice just before you drift off. Distant, echoing, but unmistakable.
“Onee-chan?”
* * *
There’s an empty room in the Kurosawa house. Not empty, per se, all the furniture and such should still be in there. But nobody sleeps in that bed. If you went by your feelings, that door has remained closed for something like a decade. It's barely been a year, though. Nothing will ever get you used to that absence, that silence.
Maybe that’s why you spend so much of your time trying to fill the empty space. With your koto, or your records, or even the TV. Today, it’s the latter. Some horror movie Mari texted you about a few weeks back. It’s still hard to distinguish between what she recommends and what she only tells you about to make you squirm, but you’ve decided to give her the benefit of the doubt this time. For some reason.
You're not sure what's possessed you to try watching a horror movie. Maybe you'd rather experience someone else's emotional turmoil for a while. Or maybe your headache is keeping you from thinking this decision through. Either way, the couch is inviting.
To Mari’s credit, this one isn’t the kind that immediately repulses you. It doesn’t try to shock you with sudden cuts or jarring musical stabs. But it still gets under your skin with its discordant soundtrack and careful, tense pacing. Even as you watch the credits roll, you can’t shake the feeling something could be watching you. Great. Just what you needed.
Your head pounds and spins as you rise from the couch, too quickly it seems. Your ears ring for a moment, and as your hearing returns you swear you hear a creak down the hallway. No, you’re hearing things. Get something for your headache, already.
The kitchen is still and quiet, save for the hum of the fridge. You find the stash of painkillers in a random drawer and take exactly two. The shock of ice cold water washes them down along with whatever tale you may have been spinning around that lone, illusory creak.
You check the clock on the microwave; it’s only two in the afternoon. Certainly thanks to last night, and probably to your inactivity as well, your eyelids are already heavy. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t consider a nap, but this month all bets are off. You just have to get through the day.
The silence bears down on you in the hallway, slowing you to a crawl as your mind still wanders in the wake of that movie. There are no windows here, it’s dim even in broad daylight. Plenty of shadows to hide in. You shuffle past the empty room and feel a familiar chill creep up your spine like a draft from under the doorway. It would be nice to just turn away and keep walking, but the corner of your eye catches something.
It’s open.
Cracked, just a hair, but the door is open. A whole array of possible scenarios calls to you from the back of your mind, each more horrible than the last, each telling you to just open it, see what’s inside.
You’re not about to hurt yourself just because you’re a bit jumpy today. You gingerly reach out and pull the door shut, kicking a year’s worth of dust into the air. Even as you wish desperately to simply forget this and take your nap, you can’t help but wonder how the door opened in the first place.
But no answer to that question could possibly comfort you. Better to keep walking, fall face first onto your bed, try to get some rest.
You roll out of bed an hour later, still groggy, but at least your headache has subsided. The image of that open door won’t get out of your head. Just the thought chills you for a split second. Shake it off. The hallway will be the same as ever.
Sure enough, the door remains shut. Still. Quiet. Must've imagined it opening.
* * *
The days pass like you’re wading through sludge. Work does its best to distract you, but your mind never fails to wander. It slows you down, makes you less productive. That’s not like you, you should be kicking into overdrive right about now. At least here you can tangibly do things right. Take pride in something.
Friday. September 7th. You’re home before you know it, back at the quiet Kurosawa house. Time to fill the space again.
You rifle through your box of records, looking for something nice to read to. An old Japanese jazz record, that should do nicely. Piano notes swirl around the room as you take a seat and reach for your latest read, an unremarkable but page-turny romance novel. You’ve gone through a fair few of these in the past year, slowly migrating them from the chaotic 'to read' shelf to one of the properly organized ones lining the walls. Maybe you can take some small pride in that.
You open to the middle of a scene - oh, great. You skip back and reread the few pages before your bookmark as the music breaks into a drum solo, skeletal enough so as not to distract you.
Before you can fully settle back into the book, remember what was going on, you hear something in the spaces between drum hits. From down the hallway, again, it comes.
Laughter.
The way it cuts through the emptiness and sneaks on top of the music is enough to make you drop the book with little regard for where you were. A few stray creaks, rustling bushes, these can be rationalized. Short of you losing it, this can’t.
As enticing as the thought of throwing open the door to the empty room, seeing the nothingness, and putting this all to bed may be, you can’t seem to stand up. Your legs won’t let you do this to yourself. Fine then. You grab your phone.
“Hey Dia,” Kanan answers, voice free of the pity you heard a week before. “What’s up, everything alright?”
“Hey, I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this, but do you think you could come over and give me a hand with something?”
“Uh, lemme check.” Voices in the background as she asks to leave work early. “Yeah, I can be over in a few. Is uh, everything alright, though?”
“It will be. Probably.” Hopefully that doesn’t spill too much. “See you soon, Kanan.”
* * *
“You want me to… open a door.” Kanan’s fidgeting, clearly not knowing whether to laugh or hug you.
“Yes. I realize this sounds trivial, but remember that rustling in the bushes the last time you came by?”
“You mean that stray cat?” Closer to laughter.
“That’s what I want very badly to believe. But there have been other noises, coming from parts of the house that should be quiet. And that door has already swung open by itself once! I really wanted to ignore this. I still can, if you’ll just go into that room and tell me that nobody’s in it.”
“Oh, Dia…” Kanan’s face softens. “Are you sure sending me in there will make this go away? I think you might just be-”
“Going crazy?” That might as well be the end of that sentence. “I know. Just do this for me, though. Please.”
Whatever rebuttal she might be formulating stays under the surface for now. She nods and heads to the hallway. To the empty room and the door that never opens. You follow at a distance, not wanting to see more than you have to.
Kanan opens the door and steps in casually, never faltering as the hinges squeak and the floor groans, the same way it did the other day. You shiver involuntarily in the silence that follows, but Kanan’s voice comes through to save you after only a few moments.
“There’s nothing in here, Dia. Nothing new, anyway. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here.” She steps out and turns to face you, brow furrowed, mouth in the slightest frown. “Is that good enough for you?”
“I… suppose.” It almost feels bad to let it go. At least pretending there was some kind of presence in there was preferable in a way to sheer, crushing emptiness. You approach Kanan and fall into an embrace. At least she’s here, sometimes.
She holds you for as long as you hold her, standing there in the silent hallway. Feeling another positive, tangible presence puts the past week into perspective, or so you hope. This is what it feels like not to be alone. Hold on to it.
“Are you going to be okay? I can stay the night if you want.” Kanan’s offer to go the extra mile almost brings tears to your eyes.
“I think I’ll be fine,” you reply, unsure if you believe it but hopeful you can will it so. “Sorry I made you skip out on work-”
“That literally doesn’t matter even a little bit. They get it,” she assures you, brows still knitted together but smiling now. You wonder again how you’ve kept her around this long, why you still deserve her company.
“Thanks, Kanan.” It’s hard to be articulate between the relief, the gratitude, and the nothing lurking underneath it all. “This really is a load off my mind. Hopefully I won’t have to bug you about this anymore.”
“Anytime, Dia. Really.” She hugs you tight again, like she wants the sensation to stick with you. “And uh, if that cat shows up, let me know. I want pics.”
With that, she bids you farewell for the night again. This time, as you stand alone on the porch, there’s nothing lurking in the bushes, no feeling of being watched, no sound. Pristine silence again. It’s the best you’ve felt all week.
Hold on to it.
* * *
Another week passes by just a bit less oppressively. Work comes easier, you finish the book you’ve been reading - it was generic, but competent enough. If that’s the best you can hope for in the month of September, that’s still pretty good.
Coming home to the silence still feels a little like stepping into a parallel dimension, but you don’t avoid glancing at the door to the empty room. It’s just a door. Just a room. You can walk down the hallway without hearing things, or imagining something waiting for you in the shadows.
Now all that’s left is to confront the emptiness.
Easier said than done. So maybe it’s okay to spend the rest of the month playing your koto and forcing the time to pass. Just stay away from the horror movies.
Sometimes the intrusive thoughts come all the same, though. It’s on a Sunday night, as you’re changing and getting ready for bed, that you feel a pair of eyes on you. In your room, of all places. The nerve, honestly.
This time, with your will bolstered by Kanan’s reassurance and your imagination free of whatever disturbing movie Mari has last texted you about, you can counter-narrate this feeling, at the very least.
This house is empty. You’re the only one in it. There’s no way anything could get in here.
You’re alone.
Of course, none of this actually prepares you to turn around and see, poking through the shadows in the corner, a pair of eyes.
Same color as yours.
You jump, reflexively try to blink the image away, but it lingers just long enough. Rubbing your eyes finally banishes it, for all the good that will do now.
This isn’t over.
Fuck.
* * *
The image won’t leave you. Those eyes. Her eyes. There’s no other way to interpret it. You wanted more than anything to be done with this, to let yourself confront this on your own terms, but it’s following you. Taunting you. Is it even just in your head anymore?
You called in to work. It felt bizarre to break your perfect attendance, but you know you couldn’t get a thing done today while this is stuck in your head. It’s time to take matters into your own hands. No making Kanan bail you out this time.
It’s midday. Sunlight pours unobstructed through every window in the house. You’ve opened every blind for this, triple-checked that every door is locked. Set the stage.
You stand before the door that never opens, to the empty room. To her room. You take one deep breath. Two. Three. There’s nothing you can say to yourself to truly prepare, so it’s time to just take the plunge. You reach for the doorknob, shiver, open the door, your chest starts to go numb, take a step inside.
And here it is. Ruby Kurosawa’s room, as pristine and untouched as the last time she was here - about a year ago. A layer of dust has settled over every surface, whispering a finality you’ve been straining to keep at bay. Her idol posters and shelf of magazines and closet full of cute, girly clothes remain undisturbed, ready to be lived in again.
But there’s nothing in here.
No shadows to hide in. No corners hidden from view. You can see it all. And it’s as empty as the day you lost her.
Is this worse?
It would be horrifying to see something out of place in here, it’s true, but once again, all you’re left with is this empty room. This quiet. Ruby’s gone, and there’s nothing hiding in her room. You turn around to leave and sit with your grief, only to be stopped in your tracks by a tiny whisper in your ear.
“Please don’t go.”
Your heart skips a beat before pumping ice water through your veins, your eyes go wide, your breath catches in your throat. Why can’t this just be over? Why can’t you just be with this nothing without needing to fill in the space? Why can’t you just let her go? You try to regulate your ragged, uneven breathing, and decide on one last look.
There are the eyes again. Like she’s standing right in front of you, but not all here. Your eyes fill with tears as you stumble backward, throwing the door shut and running to your bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, shuddering and sobbing, afraid and angry and desperately sad and alone.
Every choice you’ve made since Ruby disappeared has been to prevent this from happening. Keeping her case open, refusing to hold a funeral, leaving her room untouched, all because she couldn’t just be gone. She had to be out there somewhere, so you had to be ready to welcome her back.
But even if you won’t admit it, you must know. You must understand that the only thing that could fill in that space now is a ghost of your own making. But you should be past that now that you and Kanan have both faced the emptiness. This shouldn’t be getting worse. So why is this happening?
One answer crosses your mind. This has reached a point some might call paranormal, so - no. It wouldn’t be worth it. Unless…
Okay, look at it this way. Either you're mad with grief and she can give you the closure you’ve been missing, or this is real and she can help you. She has to help you. You won’t give her any other choice, because you don’t have any other choice. Fine, then.
You wipe away your broken expression in the bathroom, brush your hair again. You’ve got somewhere to be now.
* * *
Here you are, visiting a house in Numazu you never wanted to visit again, to see someone you never wanted to see again. Just your luck, but this isn’t for you.
It’s for her.
You timidly knock on the door. Moments pass. Nothing. Now would be the perfect time to turn around and go back home and try to just forget all of this.
No. You try it again. Moments pass. Then, you hear the lock sliding. The door opens, and there she stands, squinting away the sunlight, dressed as ridiculously as ever, a feather sticking out of her now messy hair.
“Dia?” Her voice is incredulous.
“Hello, Yoshiko.”