rhododendron borer

She flinched. His eyes snapped open and he rose his head. His eyes searched the corners once more. Her fright oozed, pouring around him and suffocating the hall. He swallowed, uncertain what to expect if he looked back.

Reier spoke her fears into reality, and his confusion spiraled. He redressed, hiding the source of her terror behind cotton and spun to face her. Her eyes were screwed shut. Her pale skin lost color as light shimmered off the newborn dew on her forehead.

"Reier--"

He could not contend with her questions. She dreaded the wrathful deity on his back as if he breathed fury upon her hand and willed her surrendering. He parted his lips to speak false truths uttered by every human to rationalize the afterlife, but his lips fell limp and he dropped his eyes, yielding to his vast ignorance.

A defeated sigh escaped his nose. His body slacked. His heavy head dropped, then carefully rose again. Zhang San's shoulders straightened in a straight, yet loose posture, and his sunken eyes opened. Incandescent hue replaced the dull irises. An halcyonic smile blossomed upon his face.

She listened unflinchingly to the ghost's words, letting its truth pass over her--accepting but not believing. Although the entity was possessed of a living body's intelligence, she raised her hands to sign to it in its primitive, ancestral language in addition to addressing it through Zhang San's ears. "You are proof that something 'remains'," she replied flatly, gesticulating as she spoke. "Your body, too, is gone. Yet you 'remain'. Do you desire the same freedom he found? Do you want Nirvana?" She paused, frowning at it as she considered the circumstances of the possession. "Perhaps you don't. That is why you 'remain'."

For each spoken instance of the word 'remain', she gestured to different aspects of herself, attempting to pinpoint which part the ghost considered the most significant--the 'heart', the 'mind', and the 'body'.

She spoke of a transient memory that returned course. He attempted to comprehend her rationale, though it was entirely unique to her person. She alone could see and hear spirits; she alone could communicate with a world the rest of humanity yearned to see just once. He tightened his lips, eyes flickered across the shrine, groping for direction from spiritual mentors. Thankfully, she continued, easing the manipulation in his head to a malleable concept.

"Oh," a sign he finally understood her memory. "The artist's passion," he conceptualized what he assumed she felt. Without warning, Zhang San began to undress his top, scooting on his hind to reveal his back. The menacing deity scowled at Reier, his purifying flames came alive against the candlelight, burning the evil that wandered close. Zhang San looked over his shoulder at his friend.

The fierce god on his back stared at her with hard eyes that seemed to challenge her claim to life. Despite its aesthetic similarity to the painting, the inked god bled into the space around her with a scope of presence markedly different in intent. It radiated before her, passing some silent judgment she could only guess at, and with a pang of fear she concluded that 'He'--the god itself--guided Zhang San's master in rendering it.

Weakness hollowed her legs, and He forced her to sit.

"Y-Your master died channeling this," Reier managed, "yet I don't feel him. I feel the... god. Oh... oh no, where did your master go?" Without thinking to ask for permission, she reached forward to brush her fingers over the tattoo in search of its artist, but before she could make contact, she paused as if listening to something, then flinched and retracted her hand. "I don't understand it. The... g-god overtook your master's presence. It's different than the painting I saw. But you're saying his passion did this?" Squeezing her eyes shut, she roughly shook her head to banish her unease, but her skin yet prickled with fright.

It's the chirping sound of a bird that brings her out from her focused duty toward the skies. "..." It's so selfish to still wish that Haru was right by her side.

In the distance, coming up the long stairway, she sees Reier coming up. It's been a bit since the last visit. Perhaps a few weeks.

Zhang San completed the final task and left the straw broom at the Supply Hall. He returned to the reception hall and sought her between the pillars where he usually lounged on rainy days. His eyes spied her hovering over his drawing table. Impulsively, he rapidly closed the distance and flailed his arms before her view.

"Nononothisisnothingitsnothing--" he met her gaze. The dewy lash line forced him to withdraw. His art moved her, which he failed to understand, still refused to deny her the pleasure of art. "It's unfinished." He felt timid about naming the subject, cheeks warming in the shady hall. He opted to plop next to her, eyes cast away.

"He's my friend. I wouldn't call him a man. Not in human sense," he paused to think about the other sense, a man, a real man. His flush grew thicker and he curled his legs in, wrapping his arms sheepishly around his shins to hide his face against his knees.

"Scuba...?" She repeated what she heard, hoping for clarification. Withdrawing her hand, she waddled on her haunches to crouch in front of his balled-up body, her arms placed across her knees and her head resting upon them to angle her face up toward where his hid. "One time, I saw a painting with such a powerful presence that I thought a ghost must have embedded itself inside. But when I spoke to it, nothing answered... I never learned where the presence came from. Years later, I still wonder about it..."

Still, she giggled, realizing it wasn't quite how Reier pronounced her name,

Her giggles subsiding, she pressed her hands together on her chest.

He blew a sigh of a man who carried the weight of the world.

The man's bulking figure caught her eye, initially inviting the endearing thought that the stout little Kai she remembered would have surely grown into a body-type similar to the man's by now, but his dour body language held her gaze. Her slight smile faded as the condition of the person in front of her took precedence over her daydream, and she gently, quietly, placed her hands on the back of the chair next to him, attempting to join him without encroaching too far into his space.

He knew he was not the same man that arrived three years ago. Friends, experiences, and observations fashioned his new perception. He vaguely remembered the heavy bleakness that guided his actions, the unwavering pessimism that clouded his viewpoint. While those moments occasionally crept back in, overall he felt more in control of his life. So, what was his outline, if his environment filled everything else in?

Her gentle touch tore him from his contemplations and he allowed those thoughts to settle underneath the sandy landscape of his mind to be dug out again in night's stillness. He followed her caress and willingly turned his hand over. She didn't pry, she knew she didn't need to, and Zhang San refused to offer her a clue. He accepted she doesn't remember him, but denied that it was her choice. That wasn't Reier.

"Not an easy question to answer," he replied earnestly. His chin tilted upward and he watched the white, fluffy clouds drift slowly across the vast blue sky. "It's like asking the weather if it'll be sunny all the time. There's not a chance that will happen. Rain will pour, sometimes the wind will wreak destruction, and if lucky there won't be a cloud in the sky." Zhang San's brows perked once he saw the shape of a dog catching a frisbee in the clouds. "I am what I am. Today, it's a bit cloudy in me, but tomorrow, it could be sunny or rainy. I guess, it's not for current me to worry about the future, only accept how I am now." He watched the dog-cloud stretch further, and he smiled, "But I am a bit talkative, so partly cloudy."

Closing her eyes, she held her cloud-shapes in her mind--a loping fox, fleet of foot, pushing a snowball through the blue winter hills.

"This place was built in hopes that more people would come and give offerings to the spirits here." There was also hope that spirits from other worlds could find their way here as well.

"Watanahabi..." Distracted, she muttered what she thought she heard, then realized how terribly she butchered the poor woman's name. "Uh!" She threw her hands up next to her head as if caught in the middle of a crime.

Memories are important to her, and unreliable.

Yuuji's eyes flickered to the instant camera that hung at her side.

That camera is meant to keep those memories safe, huh? She's smart, and really nice.

"Hm, I get you," he replied earnestly, eyes following the round, black patches of the bird's eyes until he stared at it dead on.

"I'm Itadori Yuuji--don't name it after me," he muttered, "he looks like gramps, especially with that saggy neck." Yuuji smiled, remembering when he was toddler and liked to play with grandpa's sagging neck. He wore several welts that summer.

"Oh, no big deal." He stood up straight, letting her come to terms with her environment on her own accord. In the moments he waited, he reflected upon on her words. His eyes drawn to the helpless pigeon in the glass cage. "Makes memories all the more important." When she appeared ready to endure the trilling sounds, he began the rounds.

The first two attempts were unsuccessful due to the bird's weak neck not allowing purchase. So, Yuuji changed his tactic and began bumping the bird's rotund bum with the claw tips, nudging it instead of capturing it. After a nearly an hour, and an absurd amount of money wasted, the bird inelegantly plopped into the prize hole. He rewarded himself with a tiny fist pump for victory.

The tedious time it took to secure the toy gave her the opportunity to not only observe how to operate the machine, but to learn about the boy. His hands in particular told her more than any words he would be willing to offer, and from his missing fingers to the calloused curves of his skin she traced the pain he weathered during his short life. But more than that, she saw the hands of a hard worker--someone whose kindness grew not in spite of hardships, but because of them.

Still lost in thought, she gently cupped the pigeon in her palm and squeezed it. "I had no memories of a place like this. The closest I could relate it to was a festival... but even that was a stretch. Still, I couldn't think about it beyond what I already knew. Same with this toy. But... instead of remembering all of this based on things that already happened, I'd like to remember it for how it is. So..." As she spoke, she kneaded the fluff back into the pigeon's neck, then held it up next to her face, its wide eyes level with the boy's.

"Geh."

"Gah!"

Pressing her face back against the machine, she pointed her eyes down at plush pigeon with a floppy neck and an overstuffed rump. The toy looked so undesirable, it encouraged a dash of humility into her.

"Hey auntie, you're scaring the children," Yuuji tactlessly pointed to the sprinting children.

Hanabi is a respectful distance away while the lady pays her respect. The spirits appreciates the visit and Hanabi pays her own, silently.

It's what the lady says lastly that Hanabi's own prayer follows. Whoever this woman is paying her respect to, hanabi wishes the best for them as well.

"I had to." She spoke into the shrine, head still bowed. "When I felt them... I had to." Turning partly, she offered the other woman a tired but content smile.

Zhang San whipped his head around, expecting the relive the scene that rolled on repeat for the last three years. He saw her, but not her. The maternal warmth missing, and only a girl ten years his junior waved him over. She mirrored the gentle garden.

He stood there frozen, unsure how to respond. Reier was here again, and like yesterday, she failed to recognize him. He clenched his hands into tight fists; his nails pricked his palms and left imprints. The pain kept him tied to reality. He took a step forward, digging his fingernails further into his palm. Then, he took a step back.

Wouldn't it be easier if we never met? It'd save me a whole lot of heart ache if I just left now. You'd understand, wouldn't you, Reier? Sometimes, it's just easier to not be seen. Like your ghosts.

The Reier he knew laughed across his mindscape. The Reier he knew would never turn a ghost away, including those who shared corporal form.

Zhang San regained his lost step and cowered by her side. The bitterness inside encouraged him to tell her that his name wasn't you. Though, the warmth that she bestowed upon him fought the battle and won.

"A kind stranger like you is just as rare and full of good luck. Probably." Zhang San turned his gaze to meet her youthful, radiant eyes. He wanted to cry. He blinked the tears away and smiled.

"Yeah, it's something like that. Y'know, no matter where you are in the world the sunsets will look different. The Pacific sunsets are pinker and the Northern Sea sunsets are redder. Kinda crazy, isn't it?"

Zhang San relaxed and unclenched his palms. He wiped the accumulating sweat on knee and reached a hand out, hoping she'd missed the dimples. "Zhang San. You can call me San."

Now closer to him, her gaze did not return to the flowers, rather remained upon him in search of any smaller signs of discomfort. She noticed the shining tear-lines collected in his eyes, but before his hurt could swell, he spoke with a fondness that squeezed her heart with compassion. She couldn't know how such care emerged from that private pain-- but she felt its essence regardless, so genuine it was, and the honesty relaxed her.

"If it means a lot to you, then it really is lucky." Her cheeks warming, she returned her eyes to the flowers, seeing in them the skies he spoke of. "My sunsets are orange, but I also remember pink ones, and... too many others to speak of. Sometimes, night wouldn't come at all..." Her words tapered to a distracted silence, her thoughts snagging on the sense that she spoke of someone else. Unsure how to correct her line of thinking, she felt glad for the chance to ground herself with his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his, feeling his clammy, nervous warmth, and squeezed.

In Hanabi's peripheral, she spots someone running then collapsing onto their knees and Hanabi rushes over to her side

They're safe. They're happy.

The woman says with tears having welled up. Hanabi looks to her, a hand hovered just above her shoulder while her other hand is resting against her own knee.

"You..." can see them?

The question is left unasked and instead she looks to the spirits.

"Yes! Yes, I would." Exhaling her fatigue with a puff, she pushed herself to her feet and wobbled toward the shrine, her eyes lingering upward at the unfamiliar architecture as she approached, then dropping to the canopied prayer site in front of her. Her gratitude overflowing, she didn't pause to wonder if the temple received only certain schools of reverence; she simply closed her eyes, pressed her hands together, and offered prayer in the only way she knew how.