fanfic; the first miracle; part 5

[acperience]

▶ Part 4

—

“See you, Minato,” Yukari says, waving her hand. Minato nods, waving back.

“Be safe on the way back,” he says. “I’ve heard reports about purse-snatchers…”

Yukari smiles. “Hey, if anyone tries to mug me, I’ll make them regret it.”

“… I can see that.”

Letting out a light laugh, Yukari waves again, before walking off. Minato watches her back for a while, before turning around.

An event yesterday had dictated the need to go shopping, and rather than go out by himself when he didn’t have to, he asked Yukari if she’d like to come. It belatedly occurred to Minato that it could be interpreted as asking her out—and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea—but luckily, she seemed to realize that he was just asking as a friend.

It might’ve been awkward, but spending time with Yukari was always nice, and so Minato didn’t think much of it beyond that. He didn’t failed to notice Yukari’s occasional discomfort, which in turn made him feel somewhat guilty, but he hopes that she enjoyed herself, nevertheless. Her smile, at the very least, seemed genuine.

After turning on his MP3 player and placing his headphones over his ears, Minato begins walking home, shopping bag in hand. He felt awake while with Yukari, but now, tiredness is starting to take a hold of him once more. He can only hope that the music at least keeps him awake.

“I will burn my dread…”

Caught up in listening to the song, Minato spaces out for a few moments. Unfortunately, he’s apparently not the only one, as he walks right into someone else on the sidewalk, coming in from the opposite direction. Stumbling backwards, he loses his balance, falling back. Sharp pain rings through his body as his head hits the ground, before dulling into a throb. The headphones slip off his ears, but the faint music coming from them tells Minato that they aren’t broken.

“Ow, ow, ow…” a voice says from near him. As the pain subsides, Minato sits up, propping himself up with his elbows, as he looks at the person he crashed into. It’s a boy—around his age, maybe, but taller—with black hair and dark eyes, rubbing the back of his head. He returns Minato’s gaze, before standing up, brushing the dirt off his clothes.

“Ah, sorry about that,” he says, his tone perhaps a bit too casual for someone apologizing. However, Minato can barely hear his voice as he almost blacks out (a delayed reaction from the impact? Strange, though—it wasn’t that bad, in hindsight). Exhaustion almost causes his elbows to give out underneath from his weight, as he struggles to focus on the boy’s face.

Amidst the sudden wave of fatigue, though, he feels it—this is someone he knows.

This is someone he knows.

This is someone he knows.

But—Minato doesn’t remember meeting him before at all.

“Hey,” the boy says, managing to bring Minato back to reality as alertness creeps back on him. “I get being tired and all, but it’d be kind of troublesome to pass out in the middle of the sidewalk.”

“… Right,” Minato says, weakly standing up and picking up his fallen bag. The other boy stares at him for a few moments with a look not of concern, but of something akin to curiosity. There are a few seconds of silence, before he finally speaks, asking the question that’s on Minato’s mind as well.

“… Have we met?” he asks. Minato blinks.

Yes? No? He’s not sure which is the correct answer. In the end, he goes with—

“I don’t think so…” At the very least, if he can’t recall any previous encounters, then there doesn’t seem to be much of a point in saying yes.

The black-haired boy shrugs. “I see. Well, for some reason, I just thought I knew you, but I guess I was wrong. Ah, well.”

He leans to the side, looking past Minato before waving lightly with an impatient air. Minato looks over his shoulder, noticing a girl and boy at the end of the sidewalk, waving—the boy’s friends?

“Well, if you’re okay, I’m going,” the boy says, as he begins to walk past Minato. Minato nods.

“I am. I’m sorry about this, though...”

“Whatever.”

With that, the boy moves forward, joining up with the boy and girl. Minato watches them for a few moments, before he as well resumes walking.

Still, even if he can’t remember meeting him, he can’t shake off the feeling that he knows him from somewhere.

He...

It started the day before.

“Why not just dump salt over yourself?” Guriko asks, sprawled across the couch. Shirley laughs weakly.

“That… might be a bit messy.”

It’s been a week since Walter’s incident. Guriko, Shirley, and Minato have all asked for details, but as usual, Walter remains tight-lipped. Fortunately, he seemed to be fine in the days after, and so the subject was dropped. Currently, Walter stands in the corner of the room, watching over the scene—watching over Shirley—with a hint of weakness still in his posture. However, Minato knows better than to ask now. With suck a weak hint, Walter won’t say any more than he already has (that is, not much).

Walter catches Minato’s gaze, and with a sharp look, glances away. Still, he seems to be watching Shirley out of the corner of his eye.

Frankly, this situation is because of Walter’s protectiveness to begin with.

As Shirley explained, her family was thinking of going to the beach soon, to which Walter had protested. One of the symptoms of Shirley’s illness was a peculiar reaction to salt—namely in that it burned her skin. As a result, because of her sickness, the beach was generally not an ideal place to go for her. Now, though, things might be different. At the very least, Shirley wants to confirm herself. Walter, on the other hand, would apparently rather that she not take the risk. Unfortunately for him, as her servant, he doesn’t exactly hold authority over her.

And so, despite Walter’s protests and Guriko’s opinion that Shirley should just pour salt over herself, it seems they’re going to the beach. As a courtesy, Shirley extended the invitation to Walter and his family—that is, Guriko and Minato, who accepted. The costs will be covered by Shirley’s family, which is likely for the best, as Minato can’t imagine that their parents would appreciate the expense. It’s a rather kind gesture from Shirley’s family, which Guriko had inquired about suspiciously. To that, according to Shirley, they’d simply said, “Because it’s Walter.”

“Well, he is very hardworking,” she added. “We all appreciate what he does for us very much.”

Regardless, Minato figures Walter might’ve stalked Shirley to the beach even if he hadn’t been invited.

Don’t.

Having bought a swimsuit, Minato is, for the most part, prepared. Still, the encounter from earlier today is on his mind, as he tries to recall when he might’ve met the other boy. Nothing comes to mind.

There’s a whirlpool of emotions in him that he can’t explain. His mind feels disconnected from his body as he counts imaginary sheep on the ceiling and ignores the sensations—something that’s surprisingly easy to do, in spite of their magnitude.

“Seventy-one sheep, seventy-two sheep…”

Despite his exhaustion earlier that day, Minato’s unable to sleep. Instead, he lies still on his bed, wide awake.

Sleep.

The next morning, he wakes up with no memory of having ever gone to sleep.