4.4 A Sweet Message So Hard To Accept

Akiha thought he dreamed the following: Haku at the bubble inside the lake, sitting with one leg to his chest, the other one flat on the ice (literally the only way he deemed acceptable whilst on the floor). Next to him, on the chair, sat a tall, thin foreigner with gentle, sleepy eyes, rimless glasses, and straight, long hair the color of lavender flowers, falling down to his waist, loosely tied into a wolf tail. On him, a style of the sort looked classy. On Akiha, it looked as though he hadn't discovered hairbrushes yet, or civilization.

But he digressed. Back to the dream. "Told you," Haku said, curling his arms around his leg. "It's pointless."

The foreigner was by far the warmest thing in the dream. His eyes, to be specific. They almost mirrored the color of his hair. He had a beauty mark right below the right one, too. Back and forth, back and forth, the chair balanced itself on its hind legs. "I think," he replied, "That I used to feel the same way. 'No point'. But I don't remember why. Something must've happened, but I can't..." The foreigner hunched forward, startling Haku—or, well, the sound of the chair as it creaked did. "Wait! Wait... nope, never mind. Still nothing."

Haku rolled his eyes.

The foreigner had a couple fingers over his mouth, eyes narrowed, until he clapped once. "What if I'm here as punishment for my past life? My 'point' would be to help you. Because the best reason to exist is to help!"

"No," Haku said.

"Yes!" The foreigner stood up. He paced around the room. Haku didn't seem to notice; perhaps he couldn't. "That's it! That's it. If I don't help you in time, then my past will catch up to me. I mean, of course I want to remember, but I don't want to be the old me. Something must've really gone wrong for me to end up here. So! If I prove old me and you wrong, then not only would that get you out of your rut, but I'd be able to like, trascend, or whatever happens after death."

"That's the plot of a series. 'Swords Are Too Cliché'."

"Huh?"

Haku assumed his coccoon stance again. "Perhaps it hadn't been published yet when you died. Akiha claims to like it, but he only read the first eight books." Were there more than eight books? What? "The author returned after a twelve-year hiatus with his ninth entry, but his self-described fans didn't seem to care. In any case, the main antagonist is actually an enchanted sword. That gets revealed in the ninth book. He, who presents himself as a dark lord, cursed himself into inhabiting the sword in hopes a hero would use it for good, thus purifying his soul, but, uh... I think it was in the twelfth book where... I'm digressing, aren't I..."

"Go on," The foreigner told him. Akiha didn't want him to go on. He didn't even know there was a ninth book. Was the dark lord a sword? Really? Didn't Haku claim to hate fiction? Why was he so...

"...all right. The second-to-last book is all about him. What you said about redemption mirrors it perfectly. It's... ugh. I hate talking. I can't get to the point."

And if there was anything Haku claimed to hate more than talking, it was prolonged silence after he finished his thoughts, as evidenced by the way he fidgeted. The foreigner stood, still, staring at the colorful water outside the bubble. Finally, he said, "I remember reading that novel."

"Huh? You do?"

"Yup. The 'point' the dark lord found was that goodness always prevails. He forgot about it because a lot of bad stuff happened to him. You know, villain stuff. So before he became evil evil, he sealed the last good part of him into the world's last sword, which is the one the hero used to kill his husk. And then he died, but happily. What if I'm the author?"

"The author is still alive," Haku said.

"Oh."

"Do you believe you sealed yourself here with your last shred of hope? But I haven't heard of any dark lords nearby... unless you're the spirit of the dead demon king."

The foreigner nodded, with his fingers back on his mouth. More than shocked, or thoughtful, he looked intrigued. "Makes sense."

Again, once Haku's mask slipped off, it really did. He resembled the world outside, with his midnight-black hair and ivory skin, but if he'd been physically able to, he would've gone pale(r). His mouth hung upon for a few seconds. "Y-you... you're... no way. No. Let's not. That series finished six years ago. You died—the demon king died three centuries ago. Let's not indulge in uneducated guesses."

From the way the foreigner giggled—and, yes, giggled was the right term—one would've thought he'd just been told a dirty joke. "It's just a theory, Haku, relax. It's not important."

"How is it not important?"

"I'm not gonna go and do demon king stuff if that's what you're thinking."

"Are you tricking me?"

"What—no." The foreigner's smile thinned. Akiha saw this through the reflection at the edge of the bubble. Haku did not, because he could not. "I'm not... why would I be?"

Besides, even if Haku had been able to, it wouldn't have mattered. "No wonder someone was listening to me, for once. Of course you'd choose the only imbecile who'd engage in dialogue with a wraith."

"I'm not..."

"You are. You are." Haku stood up. His words could be hostile, but neither his tone of voice nor his expression matched this. "And if you're not, how can I believe you?"

The foreigner said nothing.

"Come on. Talk. Anything."

Silence.

And so Haku had time to think, and to relax, and to be mortified at his outburst. He began to toy with his fringe. He might as well have just covered his face and screamed. "...sorry. Please say something."

'Something'.

The foreigner's expression wasn't warm, wasn't cold, neither troubled, nor a mask. "It's so close," he said, at last. "But I can't remember. So close."

"Your past? Didn't you state an aversion towards it earlier?"

His face just was. It said and meant nothing. Was that the foreigner's 'old self'? "Let's meet again tomorrow, under one condition."

"Are you angry?" Haku asked.

"No. Just need some time to think. Here's the condition: talk. Your friends will listen."

"I don't have any—"

"You do."

"—friends. Not for long."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Haku said. "It's—it's dumb. Intuitively, I understand they won't leave. I don't believe Akiha hates me, but I think he dislikes me sometimes. Hua, too. Is she with me out of moral obligation? I know the answer is no. I know. But do I? And to burden them with—"

Akiha woke up.

It was morning. Not like the weather helped discern this well, but clocks did.

Haku wasn't in bed. Usually, Akiha paid this no heed (and not only because it meant he was in Hua's bed), but the dream... 'Dream?'

Wraiths preyed on despair. Unless banished, this one would get worse and worse. Intuitively, Akiha understood 'discontent' could harm them.

If only he hadn't seen that form, that gentle face, those kind eyes... but then again, wasn't luring prey part of hunting? Obviously, the wraith wasn't actually the spirit of the demon king at the center of Shiou, but who was to say he couldn't be the remnant of a maddened mage or something of the sort?

I think he dislikes me sometimes.

Who was to say he—it—couldn't be exploiting Haku's idiosyncracies?

Hua, too.

To what end? To feed? To grow stronger? Strong enough to escape that strange prison and haunt the entire college? He'd mentioned wanting to do the exact opposite, but what meaning did words have when 'I love you' meant fell short against doubt?

"Fuck off," Akiha told Haku's side of the room. "Fuck you. You're such a—fuck you."

It didn't help.

He hurled a pillow at it.

A book.

"You have four people who love you. Isn't that enough? Some people have none. I have none. What—do you think I'm happy trailing behind the two of you all the time? At least your parents tolerate you, for fuck's sake. All mine wants me for is as a servant. And yet you—you complain. You claim I hate you. Fuck off. Fuck you. A-and on top of that you had everything! You had everything and you lost it for no reason! Life is about finding a point, you dullard. I'd kill something to have a family who indulges me in anything, let alone my whims." Fine, maybe he was still crying Akiha. "I profess my love a thousand times and it still wouldn't reach you. How can you want others to listen, if you d—"

Then Haku opened the door.

Akiha didn't even bother hiding his face.

"You're crying," was Haku's greeting. "What is it this time?"

"I love you," Akiha replied.

"Are you drunk?"

"No." Haku had been with 'discontent' this whole time. Why had Akiha been able to see that? Expecting nothing, Akiha asked, "Did you go back to the lake?"

Haku took off his coat. Lately, both of them had been working out—mostly so Haku did anything other than read, mope, and fuck—but while he'd gotten a bit of a build, Akiha hadn't. Never had, never would. Since he'd just spoken out the curse he called love, Akiha stared, in the vain hopes Haku would listen. But of course, he just nodded.

"How are you not scared of it?"

"I pity it."

Akiha blinked. To real questions, he seldom expected sincerity.

"Ask me why." Haku tossed the coat on the floor, even though he quite literally stood next to the hanger, whereupon he sat. On the floor. Same pose as before. "Ask."

"No."

"I don't think it's evil," Haku answered. "We might've misdiagnosed it. What if it's just a wandering spirit?"

"He's a wraith. Plain and simple."

If Haku noticed the 'he', he didn't show it. "If so, it's the sanest wraith in history."

"You seem to trust it quite a lot."

Haku shrugged, though Akiha knew he'd struck a nerve. If there was something Haku liked more than reading, moping, or fucking, it was scowling. "So what were you crying about?"

"You."

"Just tell me."

"You."

"Or don't. I don't care."

"I just did, you dumb fuck." But now Akiha could think again, he realized that confessing his love to someone in a committed relationship was the sort of behavior a demon king would endorse. "You..." Was listening harder than speaking? "You worry me."

"You're crying because I worry you?"

"Yes."

Haku snorted.

"The more I talk to you, the more unreachable you seem." Nope. Not working. Haku's selective nonchalance was back. Akiha shouldn't have, wouldn't have, but... oh, who was he kidding? He said the following out of spite: "I believe you dislike me."

Akiha said it because he knew it'd hurt. "Why would you say that?" Haku replied.

"Your response to me saying 'you worry me so much that I cry' was disdain."

"I—"

"Do you hate me?"

"No?"

"Do you like me?"

"Yes," Haku said. He didn't return the question. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Do you—" No. No. "—love anyone?"

To which, for some reason, Haku raised his eyebrows. He didn't seem too weirded out, so there was that. "I do?"

"Who?"

"I mean. Hua. Mother. Father. You. My grandparents. Did your mother send a letter again?"

"Me? Or someone called Yuu?"

There. The scowl was back. "What do you think, bellend? I hate everyone else. But we're digressing. You're crying because your mother sent you a letter and you're feeling unloved. Let's remedy that."

"Or we could get ready for class."

"Class has no meaning."

"My emotional state has no meaning."

"It does to me," Haku said. The conversation had taken such a surreal turn that Akiha couldn't even begin to assimilate the words. They were letter soup. They were an ugly lie. A beautiful truth. "If I ought to listen to a forty-minute lecture about things I already know, then I will, but just know it brings no benefit to me. Does it bring any benefit to you? The answer is no. All the knowledge in the world won't prevent you from becoming dust at the end of your days, nor will it prevent entropy."

"Noted," Akiha said. "I shall contemplate my future as cosmic dust forevermore."

"...although..."

"Yes?" This was around the same time Akiha remembered the wraith's condition had been to 'talk'.

"I suppose that, for the time being, my reason to exist is to dispel 'discontent'."

"So... a point?"

"More like an excuse."

Haku's clumsy attempts to cheer Akiha up were included, but not limited to: treating him to radish soup for breakfast, lending him a book about the void, telling Hua about the fake letter, and then having her give actual comfort. How? Through a kick. Braiding Akiha's hair. Braiding what she could of Haku's hair while he complained yet didn't resist. All of these things meant the same: I care.

Why was such a sweet message so hard to accept?

Why, Haku?