Sometimes, he would dream of him.
He would be looking radiant, youthful. No hint of the illness that took his life. He would smile at him and his brown eyes would sparkle with mirth. He would even laugh and the sound would be boisterous, nothing like the raspy, throaty kind.
Sometimes, he would hear a voice along with the sound of his laughter. Sometimes, the voice would even call him.
Iwa-chan.
That annoying nickname. And it would make him smile. But when he opened his eyes, he would never be there. And the dream would disappear.
//
