#tshu

I've been trying to organize my thoughts for three weeks, life got busy, but finally I'm done lol

One of my biggest fears about adaptations of series I love is that the people responsible for them will use too much creative freedom - and as a result, stray too far from the spirit of the original. When I heard about the anime adaptation of The Summer Hikaru Died, I dreamed that the whole thing would be adapted as closely as possible to what was in the manga. The manga is perfect. However, after the first episode, I decided that the manga works perfectly as it is, but the anime can work better. By changing the order slightly, informing the audience about certain things earlier than in the manga, or even adding scenes that only enhance the worldbuilding and the characters. At first I was unsure whether changing the order in which certain elements are revealed to the viewer was a good idea. Now I can honestly say that it was a great idea. It only fuels the desire to seek answers, making you realize that the mystery has deep roots in something that will be slowly revealed. The anime doesn't waste any time and introducing us to the main characters' “enemies,” making it clear early on that the potential threat here is not only the thing that has replaced Hikaru, but also an external human force that chases anything that exists beyond our world - namely, "Hikaru" himself. This sense of danger, even though Yoshiki and "Hikaru" are not yet aware of it, adds tension to the story. Something I could only really feel from the second volume of the manga. Besides, I really love Tanaka and Kurebayashi, and I'm glad I can see them in animation from the very beginning <3

Now look, I'm not picky when it comes to style and animation. If I don't like the style of a comic, after reading two pages it stops bothering me. If the series draws me in with its plot and characters, I can watch it as a slideshow in 240p. I turn a blind eye to a lot of flaws. That's why I don't consider myself a big authority on style, animation fluidity, framing, etc. I can only say that I find the character designs really successful, so pretty, so good; the backgrounds are beautiful, and the mood - whether it's a lazy village vibe, a dark, disturbing woods, or a suffocating moment alone with with deep, painful thoughts - it all has been rendered with the utmost justice. And I consider some of the choices to be truly creative. With special mention going to:

-The use of 3D models (probably?) for impurities, which gave them a disturbing vibe that didn't fit "our" world, thus they are exceptionally unpleasant and interesting to watch. -Yoshiki's POVs, covered by his overly long bangs. Just wonderful. -All the close-ups of Hikaru's eyes are beautiful and disturbing. I would die for his red pupil. -Sequences depicting Yoshiki and “Hikaru's” racing thoughts, the panic, despair, and detachment from reality. The grain effect and glitches make it look like the image is distorting and breaking down, just like their minds. They are wonderful - confusing, overwhelming, bitter, and piercing. -All the symbolism, especially the cicadas, which are ubiquitous in the manga, but in the anime they are somehow even MORE ubiquitous, also leaves an impression on me. The transfer of frames from the manga directly to the anime also works very well. Never stop. -The use of real photos or recordings. Something so unexpected in an animated production that its appearance hits you the way it was meant to - evoking disgust or nostalgia, a longing for what once felt so real.

Watching The Summer Hikaru Died, I felt emotions and tension similar to what I felt when reading the manga, but STRONGER - because the images moved, the colors flashed, and the voices, sound and music shook my body, coming together to form a perfect whole. It was as if the anime was trying to capture every one of my senses and use them to make me FEEL the scene. The way it perfectly captures the emotions of the moment; the way I watch the most idyllic, charming slice of life and then am immediately thrown into a young mind twisted by grief, terror, and confusion, is incredible; it was incredible in the manga, but in the anime it's just overwhelming. I devour this shit up, watching each episode at least three times. And my sister is legally prohibited from skipping the opening. I also quietly hope that the little extra stories at the end of each volume will somehow make it into the anime. I love them with all my heart. The team seems to know what they're doing, and I feel like this series is safe in their hands <3

However, it wasn't without flaws, and the biggest one, which I barely survived, was that in the Polish subtitles, Mince the cat is called, well, Mince. In the manga translation, he is called "Grubas" or 'Tłuścioch" (fatty/squab). I will mourn this loss for the next 30 years (I just love calling out fat animals, affectionately). The loss of Hikaru Goku's dead pose is also something I will never get over.

That's probably all. I don't think I plan on writing my thoughts on every episode, because, like, I know all the important events by heart lol. I've read the manga about five times so far. Maybe if something really appeals to me or disappoints me greatly (please, never let that happen). For now, I'm enjoying every Saturday with a new episode, my sister hooked on the story, (she knows NOTHING), and the fact that the characters and the story are being done justice. Really, it's a great time to be alive (all I need is the release date for Go For It, Nakamura!! Where is my pathetic gay boyfailure, hallo??)

If he drives straight back to the flat, he could be in bed by midnight, but he doesn’t. Harry backs his car out of the garage bay, sits there with it still in reverse and watches as the door is slowly lowered until it’s fully closed. Even then, he doesn’t head down the drive toward the road for another minute or two, and when he eventually leaves, he turns right instead of left and wanders around aimlessly, driving until he’s low on gas before he goes home. 

It’s a little after one in the morning when Harry finally gets the key to turn in the lock and he stumbles inside the empty flat, but he isn’t tired, or is too keyed up to sleep, probably. Still, he walks back to the bedroom, pulling his clothes off on his way through the dark flat. Harry feels around on the top of his dresser and finds his laptop, settles onto the bed with it, figuring he’ll distract himself for the next little bit before two o’clock. He just wants to stay awake until Louis leaves, as if his being awake and aware makes a difference. As if he’ll feel Louis’ absence more acutely once he’s no longer in this time.

He opens Netflix, but ignores it in favor of checking his email. There’s a short message from Zayn, telling Harry to keep in touch, and reassuring him that Louis will make it to 2023 just fine. Which he can’t know, and Zayn admits as much, but he says he has a good feeling about it. Harry’ll reply to Zayn’s email later, maybe in the morning or maybe in a few days. When he’s not feeling as raw as he is tonight. 

Harry clicks over to Netflix and watches the pilot episode of Friends, something he’s seen dozens of times and doesn’t have to focus on or keep up with, something he can pretend to watch while he zones out and thinks of Louis and watches the minutes pass on the digital clock in the bottom right corner of his laptop screen. At one fifty-nine, Harry closes out Netflix and stares at the clock. His heartbeat gets incrementally faster, and when the numbers change to read two o’clock, Harry gasps involuntarily and his stomach flips almost violently as he thinks of Louis being taken away from him. Because that’s how he sees it, even if it’s nowhere near the truth. For the next few minutes, Harry continues to watch the clock, and when it’s five after two, he bites his lip and closes his eyes, letting the few tears he has left roll down his cheeks. 

Blinking to clear his vision, Harry stretches his fingers, then opens a new email message. 

To: futurelou

Subject: hi

You’re probably in 2023 already, which is totally fucking with my head. I miss you so much and you just left a few minutes ago. I hope the trip wasn’t bad or uncomfortable…….. Sounds like you’re on a train or something instead of traveling through a wormhole into the future. Idk why I’m emailing you other than I thought of you (haven’t stopped thinking of you, actually) and wanted to talk to you, so here I am. Now that you’re not here to distract me, I’m going to buckle down and figure out what I’m going to do at uni. Eventually. I love you. 

Always yours,

Harry

————

“It’s fucking raining. Shocking, I know,” Harry says, phone wedges between his ear and his shoulder, fiddling with the key in the door, and finally locking it through sheer force of will. At least that’s something he won’t have to deal with in London—wishing for Louis to be there every single time he tries to lock or unlock the goddamn flat. 

Harry hurries to his car and slides behind the wheel, but rushing doesn’t do a damn thing because he’s absolutely soaked. The ends of his hair are dripping rainwater onto his already wet clothes. He wipes his phone dry on the upholstery of the passenger seat, pulls his hair aside with one hand and squeezes some of the water out before twisting it up into a bun and asking, “How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn answers quietly. “It’s not like we talk. He comes to work, he stays late, we avoid each other, and repeat.”

Harry sighs. “I just miss him.”

“I know, mate. I, um… I do too. It’s weird. Listen, when you have time, I want to talk to you about the stabilization of the wormhole.”

“What about?”

“Nothing now. And no big rush. Just when you get settled with your sister, give me a ring?”

“Not sure what you think I can help with. I mean, I’ve got Louis’ notes, but…”

Zayn clicks his tongue and Harry rolls his eyes, knowing what comes next. “It’s nothing to do with Louis’ notes. Want to bounce some ideas around in that curly head of yours. And, Harry, please think it over. You’d be such an asset. You already are.”

Harry scoffs. “I’m not even starting uni until September, if then, and I told you I’m not strong in maths. I don’t see the point in studying physics if I can’t handle—”

“I might know a guy who can tutor you. Just think about it. And let’s Skype soon. Yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” Harry looks at their old flat through the rain battering the windshield, turns on the wipers and watches them swish back and forth. He mutters, “Wish you could give him my love or something.”

Zayn laughs and says, “He’d kick my arse. How about… send me some of his tea. I’ll sneak it into the break room. It’ll be like a secret gift from you to him.”

Harry smiles, but then his eyes begin to water and he bites his lip and nods, even though Zayn can’t see him. He takes a breath and tries to keep his voice steady. “Thanks, Z. Get some sleep. It’s late there.”

“I’m off tomorrow, so no worries. Safe travels, mate. Anything I can do, just let me know.”

Harry hangs up and sets his phone in the cup holder, rubs his eyes with the cuff of his flannel shirt, and checks the rearview mirror before backing into the road and taking off. It’s still dark out, the sun won’t be up for a few hours, and the roads in Donny are dead quiet. A stark difference from what he knows he’ll find in London, especially since he’s due to arrive at his sister’s sometime around half-nine. 

The repetitive whirring sound of his tires spinning on the street is almost hypnotizing, so Harry clicks on his radio and flips to his most recently made and most listened to playlist and sings along to all of the sad songs that somehow seem to lessen the ache of missing Louis. 

If he drives straight back to the flat, he could be in bed by midnight, but he doesn’t. Harry backs his car out of the garage bay, sits there with it still in reverse and watches as the door is slowly lowered until it’s fully closed. Even then, he doesn’t head down the drive toward the road for another minute or two, and when he eventually leaves, he turns right instead of left and wanders around aimlessly, driving until he’s low on gas before he goes home.

It’s a little after one in the morning when Harry finally gets the key to turn in the lock and he stumbles inside the empty flat, but he isn’t tired, or is too keyed up to sleep, probably. Still, he walks back to the bedroom, pulling his clothes off on his way through the dark flat. Harry feels around on the top of his dresser and finds his laptop, settles onto the bed with it, figuring he’ll distract himself for the next little bit before two o’clock. He just wants to stay awake until Louis leaves, as if his being awake and aware makes a difference. As if he’ll feel Louis’ absence more acutely once he’s no longer in this time.

He opens Netflix, but ignores it in favor of checking his email. There’s a short message from Zayn, telling Harry to keep in touch, and reassuring him that Louis will make it to 2023 just fine. Which he can’t know, and Zayn admits as much, but he says he has a good feeling about it. Harry’ll reply to Zayn’s email later, maybe in the morning or maybe in a few days. When he’s not feeling as raw as he is tonight.

Harry clicks over to Netflix and watches the pilot episode of Friends, something he’s seen dozens of times and doesn’t have to focus on or keep up with, something he can pretend to watch while he zones out and thinks of Louis and watches the minutes pass on the digital clock in the bottom right corner of his laptop screen. At one fifty-nine, Harry closes out Netflix and stares at the clock. His heartbeat gets incrementally faster, and when the numbers change to read two o’clock, Harry gasps involuntarily and his stomach flips almost violently as he thinks of Louis being taken away from him. Because that’s how he sees it, even if it’s nowhere near the truth. For the next few minutes, Harry continues to watch the clock, and when it’s five after two, he bites his lip and closes his eyes, letting the few tears he has left roll down his cheeks.

Blinking to clear his vision, Harry stretches his fingers, then opens a new email message.

To: futurelou

Subject: hi

You’re probably in 2023 already, which is totally fucking with my head. I miss you so much and you just left a few minutes ago. I hope the trip wasn’t bad or uncomfortable…….. Sounds like you’re on a train or something instead of traveling through a wormhole into the future. Idk why I’m emailing you other than I thought of you (haven’t stopped thinking of you, actually) and wanted to talk to you, so here I am. Now that you’re not here to distract me, I’m going to buckle down and figure out what I’m going to do at uni. Eventually. I love you.

Always yours,

Harry

————————————————

“It’s fucking raining. Shocking, I know,” Harry says, phone wedges between his ear and his shoulder, fiddling with the key in the door, and finally locking it through sheer force of will. At least that’s something he won’t have to deal with in London—wishing for Louis to be there every single time he tries to lock or unlock the goddamn flat.

Harry hurries to his car and slides behind the wheel, but rushing doesn’t do a damn thing because he’s absolutely soaked. The ends of his hair are dripping rainwater onto his already wet clothes. He wipes his phone dry on the upholstery of the passenger seat, pulls his hair aside with one hand and squeezes some of the water out before twisting it up into a bun and asking, “How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn answers quietly. “It’s not like we talk. He comes to work, he stays late, we avoid each other, and repeat.”

Harry sighs. “I just miss him.”

“I know, mate. I, um… I do too. It’s weird. Listen, when you have time, I want to talk to you about the stabilization of the wormhole.”

“What about?”

“Nothing now. And no big rush. Just when you get settled with your sister, give me a ring?”

“Not sure what you think I can help with. I mean, I’ve got Louis’ notes, but…”

Zayn clicks his tongue and Harry rolls his eyes, knowing what comes next. “It’s nothing to do with Louis’ notes. Want to bounce some ideas around in that curly head of yours. And, Harry, please think it over. You’d be such an asset. You already are.”

Harry scoffs. “I’m not even starting uni until September, if then, and I told you I’m not strong in maths. I don’t see the point in studying physics if I can’t handle—”

“I might know a guy who can tutor you. Just think about it. And let’s Skype soon. Yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” Harry looks at their old flat through the rain battering the windshield, turns on the wipers and watches them swish back and forth. He mutters, “Wish you could give him my love or something.”

Zayn laughs and says, “He’d kick my arse. How about… send me some of his tea. I’ll sneak it into the break room. It’ll be like a secret gift from you to him.”

Harry smiles, but then his eyes begin to water and he bites his lip and nods, even though Zayn can’t see him. He takes a breath and tries to keep his voice steady. “Thanks, Z. Get some sleep. It’s late there.”

“I’m off tomorrow, so no worries. Safe travels, mate. Anything I can do, just let me know.”

Harry hangs up and sets his phone in the cup holder, rubs his eyes with the cuff of his flannel shirt, and checks the rearview mirror before backing into the road and taking off. It’s still dark out, the sun won’t be up for a few hours, and the roads in Donny are dead quiet. A stark difference from what he knows he’ll find in London, especially since he’s due to arrive at his sister’s sometime around half-nine.

The repetitive whirring sound of his tires spinning on the street is almost hypnotizing, so Harry clicks on his radio and flips to his most recently made and most listened to playlist and sings along to all of the sad songs that somehow seem to lessen the ache of missing Louis.