ACT I: The Remodeler

Nowadays the concept of Déjà vu for me has lost all its meaning.

Not because I've said it so many times to the point where it means nothing but rather because of what I've experienced over the past few weeks now.

At first, all evidence pointed to me, Souma Ikeda, crossing the threshold into crazy.

Then the girl at the rooftop happened.

We both had something going on.

Could there be strength in numbers?

I wouldn't say so in this case, considering I don't feel strong.

I know she doesn't either especially when—

“Souma-kun, you've stopped writing.”

A beat.

Indeed I have.

I was in the middle of copying down her entry when I paused to think about how this even got to this point in the first place.

“Well?” She looked at me with an eye closed, her head tilted and her tongue poking out.

“Sorry. I was looking for the right words.”

I peered over at her open notebook again.

"Ichishima Kotomi, you sure draw weird pictures.”

“I prefer the term ‘archival graphics’, an important one at that,” she said playing with her bow.

“Why on earth did the universe decide we're the only ones allowed to see through its tricks?” I said scratching the back of my neck.

“I don't know but lunch is almost over and I need to get you up to speed on this one entry.”

The cornerstone entry.

She had written about how one day it was facing the outside to where you could see the lettering from the street.

The next day up until now it's been facing the school.

To make matters worse, when we brought it up, the faculty gave us an incredulous look that Kotomi insisted we include as a graphic.

I started copying again.

“We're reconvening at my place again, okay?”

I nodded, glancing over at her quickly.

“Same time?”

“Yes.”

There goes my evening.

That was mean-spirited.

I said that like someone with someplace to be.

I had nowhere to be.

***

Six o'clock at night.

Most people have dinner.

Kotomi and I were currently going over our entries.

She talks a lot and tires herself out easily.

I had figured this out by our 3rd time meeting.

Naturally, I developed the habit to allot some time to stop by the FamilyMart and pick up a couple of Pocari Sweat bottles.

For hydration or whatever it is those drinks are for.

She would pat my head each time I came through with them.

Does that make me a dog?

Some would say, her dog.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Kotomi lay down on her bedroom floor.

I sat cross legged looking down at her.

“Are you keeping vigilant?”

“What could go wrong on a trip from FamilyMart to here?”

“Tons.”

“Right, well, hopefully nothing leaps out at me while I use your bathroom. May I?”

Kotomi excused me and gestured vaguely to the door.

What I saw next was a hallway I don't remember seeing last time I was here.

I had just stepped out and padded my way down when it occurred to me.

I called out for her.

“Did your parents remodel recently?”

“What? No, how could they—”

A beat.

“Oh.”

A door down a corridor that tried its best to blend in and pretend it has always been there.

The seam was visible though.

“So you see it too?”

“Sketch it, quick! Snap a pic!”

And so we did.

Another entry.

Dangerously personal this time.

It didn't sit right with me.