Who Do You Remember?

Chapter 7: Winter Blues

Winter had settled over Fukui, blanketing the city in a chill that was hard to shake off. Haruto hated winter. He hated the dreariness in the sky. He hated having to wear a lot of layers. He hated how dead everything was.

Most of all, he hated how utterly lethargic he always felt this time of year, especially since he was on break and he was supposed to be enjoying it. During spring and summer breaks, he always milked every drop of fun out of them with his typical vibrancy. But on days like these, when the mornings were so dark, he slept in late and couldn't drag himself out of his room for hours once he did wake up. Even his friends noticed how grumpy he was.

Still. He thought this year might be different. When they'd switched to their winter uniforms, Keiji had been refreshingly straightforward that whole day, free of the sarcasm he usually dripped with. After a bit of coercing, he'd revealed that he, in fact, loved winter. It was essentially the first time he'd openly claimed to love anything. He made his preferences known, but this was different. Haruto had hoped that Keiji's uncharacteristic optimism would carry him through the dreadful season.

And yet... he was ghosting him. After the day they spent showing off their favorite media to each other when Keiji abruptly decided to leave, he'd pretty much– pun intended– iced him out until break started. He was even avoiding texts and calls; Haruto suspected that would make him more comfortable, but apparently not. Which was all bullshit, especially considering how forcefully Keiji had insisted that he hadn't done anything to offend him. Typically, this would make Haruto unbearably sad, but right now, he was just fed up. He felt like a little kid whose big brother was ignoring him in public. It was stupidly embarrassing.

He checked the time on his phone– it was eleven in the morning– and extracted himself from bed with a whine. Hygiene be damned, he went straight to his workshop, not bothering with anything. Bedhead, morning breath, pajamas, no breakfast, he really couldn't care less. His apron was going to cover most of him anyway. He thought about what to make and settled on a mug. He wanted straightforward throwing, but decided he could do some intricate carving and glazing. Time to get to work. A handful of measured porcelain clay in hand, he buckled down. The rhythmic wedging process felt satisfying, and the coning exerted just enough physical strength to make him feel a little less sluggish. A sigh escaped his lips. This really did always regulate his mood, even if it was only for a little while.

In order to carve, the clay would need to be leather hard, which would take a few days. He supposed he could make this into a set. And so, he repeated the whole ordeal several times. When he was about to begin his fifth or sixth go around, however, his eyes landed on a pair of bespectacled eyes. "Oh. Dad. Sorry, how long have you been here?"

"Not terribly long. Just a few minutes. I didn't mean to interrupt your flow, but I felt it was important to remind you to eat."

The instant he was prompted to think about anything other than his projects, he finally noticed just how hungry he was. "Okay. I'll wash up."

"Actually, kiddo... would you want to go out for brunch with me? I think it'd do you a world of good to get some fresh air and different scenery today."

He wanted to object– that would be a whole lot of effort– but surrendered when his father gave him an affectionate hair ruffle. "Sure." But I'm not gonna shower today. "Thanks for caring about me, Dad."

"Always and forever, sweetheart."

Now that he'd finished working on his craft, Bisque lost all sense of bodily harmony, which made getting ready a pain. He nearly fell over himself while trying to put on jeans. But after brushing his teeth and hair, he was finally presentable, and his father escorted him into the car, humming a tune to himself. Bisque expected a relatively quiet drive, but Arata had other plans. He turned it to the corniest pop station he could find and blasted it, singing his lungs out. Bisque cackled, starting small and eventually falling into such hysterics that tears gathered in his eyes. Once he finally regained his composure, he tried to sing along, but kept getting swept up in fits of giggles.