Things I've Forgotten

By: write_error

Warning: End spoilers

Rating: T

Disclaimer: After School Nightmare is owned by Mizushiro Setona and GoComi!, of which I am neither.

.

.

"A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen."

-Edward de Bono

.

.

.

Sou feels a shift in the air - a long exhalation.

For a moment, he feels light-headed, as though he stood up too quickly. He rests his palm on the handrail and pauses, halfway up the stairs. Ahead of him, Fujishima catches herself as well, freezing mid-step.

Sou has the oddest feeling that he was worrying about something, but that thought now eludes him. Pushing his bangs out of his eyes, he continues upward.

The sound of their steps echoes in the empty hallway.

.

.

"One day, you'll graduate, and everyone will forget you... even I'll forget you."

.

.

It's unnaturally quiet in his room, and it feels bigger than normal. The early evening light stretches across the wooden floor.

Today, Sou doesn't bother to hang his uniform - he simply shrugs out of his clothes. They slip to the ground in a heap, the boneless shadow of another person.

The bed seems wider than he remembers, and the silence. . . he appreciates the quiet. He doesn't feel anxious anymore, but he's not exactly sure why. It is a comforting stillness. He feels the seed of peace in his chest - tentative and growing.

The mattress sinks under his body, and he realizes that he is taking up only the left side of the mattress. He centres himself on the bed, but it feels strange, somehow. He punches both pillows into shape beneath his head.

After a few moments of shifting around, he still can't get comfortable.

Eventually, Sou settles on his right side and slings his arm over one of the pillows. He rests his cheek against it, pulling it against him.

Before long, he's asleep.

.

.

"You know, it's possible that I just used you because I wanted to live as a girl."

"Whatever, it's fine." He smiled and slid his palm over the smooth skin of her back. The world seemed to have contracted to a pinpoint - just them, and the warmth that lived in the small space between them.

"What kind of response is that?"

"If that's what I am to you, it's fine with me... but you can't use anyone else."

"Sou!" She looked both scandalized and intrigued.

"Well? How do you plan to use me next?"

At that, she laughed and shoved at his shoulder - but she didn't move away when he kissed her again, and again, and again.

.

.

Still half-dreaming, Sou becomes fully alert as his fingers touch cool brass. His hand is on the doorknob of one of the vacant dorm rooms, and he can't remember how he got there, or why he came. He jerks his fingers away and wonders what he's doing.

It's time for breakfast, and the door before him is nowhere near the cafeteria.

Eyes drifting shut, he rests his temple against the solid wood and stifles a yawn. He must be running late this morning; no one is in the hallway. He hears nothing but his own breathing, but somehow. . .

Sou imagines that he can perceive some kind of echo - faint and far away.

He blinks, and goes to get his morning coffee.

.

.

"I waited. I waited until late last night, and she didn't come back. Even this morning - her room hasn't been slept in."

"What do you think happened? Mashiro-kun is still in the class? He can't still be dreaming!"

"I think it might be my fault."

"What happened? Did... did you say something?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I thought I'd be able to talk to her afterwards. But... if she doesn't come back, I can't explain anything. Damn it!"

"Mizuhashi-"

He kicked at the wall in an explosion of frustration, the thud echoing in the hallway. The smooth plaster remained stubbornly solid. Students nearby watched in apprehension, but all Sou could see was the closed, mocking wall that hid the way down to the infirmary.

.

.

Sou's formless worry solidifies into dread when he pulls out his literature textbook. A torn piece of note-paper falls into his lap with a faint rustle.

No.

Ai doesn't leave notes for him anymore. She isn't watching him.

He opens the folded sheet it with unsteady fingers, distantly aware of Fujishima's sharp gaze from across the classroom. He is distantly aware of the colour leaching from his face, the uncontrollable trembling of his hands. The characters swim before his dizzy eyes before he manages to calm down and focus.

The words spill across the paper in an elegant rush - nothing like Ai's left-handed scrawl. The characters are well-formed and deliberate.

Graceful.

"I know you will notice. Maybe this is just me being selfish again, but I wanted to say goodbye. Don't worry, Sou, you will be fine without me. I know you will. I love you. And you didn't write this, so relax." Sou reads.

And he does. Ai. . . Ai would never say that he would be fine without her.

It's someone else, someone real - a person with beautiful handwriting. Someone who didn't sign it, because he wouldn't remember the name anyway.

The tightness in his limbs dissipates. Sou feels a warmth in his chest, and the hollow knot that has been burning at the back of his throat for days seems to throb. He looks up, gives Fujishima a tense smile. He hopes it's reassuring.

The fact that nothing is making sense. . . well, it suddenly makes sense.

Fujishima gives him a questioning stare. He nods, and slips out of class at the first opportunity.

.

.

"You know, the whole time you were gone, the dog was watching the path to school and worrying. He seemed to be waiting for you."

"Really?"

Sou cleared his throat, looked away. He hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt, but at least she wasn't looking. "The dog... the dog wasn't the only one wai-"

"That's so adorable!" The dog wagged its tail and barked as she flung her arms around its furry body. "I love you so much! Good boy!"

Sou watched. He felt awkwardly - unreasonably - jealous as she showered a dog with affection.

"Hey. I was - hey! Ichijou, listen to me for a second..."

.

.

The collie perks up, sniffing the air as Sou approaches. When he passes by, it lowers its head back to its paws with a quiet whine.

Without realizing it, his pace quickens with each step until he's running - up the stairs, down the hallway.

Back to that room.

He doesn't remember which it is - not the room number, or even which it might be among all the other blank doors. However, if he lets conscious thought wash away and just runs, his mind slackens its hold on his course. His feet lead him there.

He needs to. . . do something.

He doesn't know what he hopes to find.

When Sou enters the room, he shivers. A cold breeze is blowing in from the open window. The walls are bare, and everything is bleached white in the afternoon sunlight.

The only sign that anyone has ever used the room is the notebook on the mattress. It's one of Sou's, with one of his chewed-up pens caught between the pages. Somehow, this fails to surprise him. When he flips it open, he sees that a corner has been torn off the last page.

The note rests atop a neatly folded t-shirt. This also belongs to him - it's too small, and he can't remember the last time he wore it. For some reason, it's covered in dog-hair.

Without knowing why, Sou feels a laugh bubble out of him. His fingers curl into the cotton.

His vision swims, starting to go grey around the edges. Grasping blindly at the edge of the mattress, he sits down before his legs give out. Suddenly, it's hard to breathe, and the worn fabric between his fingers feels like it's the only thing anchoring him here.

Sou thinks this feeling could be heart-break. It could be happiness, or grief, or relief. Like the shirt, Sou's body suddenly feels as though it is two sizes too small. . . like he might burst at the seams. He wonders if this sensation - like his heart is being drawn out of him - could be some kind of acute medical episode.

He forces himself to inhale, and then exhale. Deeply. Slowly.

He has lost something. In a rare moment of mercy, the universe is not going to force him to remember the details.

All he needs to know is that he was able to love someone. He was loved too, and he has been allowed to learn that much. It's more than enough - more than he had before.

Sou closes the door quietly behind him.

.

.

"One day, you'll graduate, and everyone will forget you. Even me - even I'll forget you."

Ichijou's eyes were wide and confused, hands trembling on the door of the emptied locker. "'Even' you? Why would you say that?"

Sou looked at Ichijou directly. His voice was free of the stifling weight of his secrets, betraying none of the ugliness inside him. When he replied, it sounded casual and matter-of-fact - scrubbed clean of the desperation and fear that he could feel twisting under his skin.

"Because I love you."

It was terror and acceptance. Sou exhaled, and let his fingers slip off the cliff's edge.

.

.

That night, watching the sky from his bed, Sou is filled with a curious stillness. The seams of his world are apparent, now. The walls feel more like constraint than a shelter.

The tension isn't unpleasant. He is anticipating something, and it's neither good nor bad.

It's just the part that comes next.

When the moon turns black, he smiles. Sou is ready, and he is not afraid to dream.

.

AN - So. I have been trying to write this for ages now, but I had a hard time working what I had into something that was coherent (but not too coherent). Atmosphere is one of the most important things about the series, so I hope I did it justice.

Comments and criticism are always welcome. Thanks for reading.

May 23 2012 - I have edited this because there were so many places where I thought my prose was awkward. Appreciation to Tophrocker for helpful observations! Hopefully this has improved. Also, I have tried to format the story a bit better to give the lines more room to breathe. This site really does not like whitespace, does it?