(1)
He leans against the porch frame, thinking about the war. He feels... wrong now that it's ended; like a void has opened up in his heart, trapping him inside it... it scares him, more than the hand that engulfs his; more than the strange feeling he gets when he's alone.
Memories were always lost - he knew that, at least - but finding them wasn't as easy as he'd thought. Trembling in the heat of summer that dizzies and intoxicates him, he barely listens as Namazuo calls his name; barely hears as Midare jokes about catfish yet again; barely hangs on as he tries to stop the memories that flood his mind, because they aren't his - he can't figure out which are real, or which are fake, and they didn't belong to him - he didn't know the person in the memories; who could smile and laugh so easily-
He can't remember anything clearly, just flashes that make him question what he sees - Namazuo trying to play in the stables with him, the blinding sky that he never escapes from, not even with his eyes closed (he feels like some creature of the dark; is he the enemy now? Yet Namazuo's still by his side, and all that he knows is the black-haired idiot that he's always known, tying him down to warm summer days and colder nights, and the friends he'd appreciated but never thanked, and the reality of it all chooses to crash into him right then - and it leaves him breathless as the still afternoon sky, not a cloud to be seen, too bright to escape from.
(2)
He feels alone, now that the war has ended - a cold sort of feeling, like water dripping down his spine; cool and unwelcoming... kind of like himself. He's leaning against the frame of the porch, and Namazuo's hand is in his, but listening to the clock tick in the empty room behind him, and the steady dripping of water from leaves after a dizzyingly light drizzle - it feels like a part of his heart has collapsed into itself (like he feels like doing, now) and he feels alone, though he really isn't.
Finding his memories, no matter how much he wishes was easy, was, honestly, harder for him than losing them. Namazuo calls his name (Ho-ne-ba-miiiiii) somewhere faraway from him and his thoughts, while Midare jokes faintly about the catfish in the pond. Honebami tries to stop his thoughts, but he can't - he's not strong enough - and bites his lip to stop himself crying out in frustration, so hard it nearly bleeds. But they keep burning in his mind - ashes that sweep by him, flickering, haunting images of somebody with bone white hair laughing at his brother - yet he's sure it isn't him, because he feels like he hasn't smiled in a lifetime.
Running away was the safer option - the one he always chose. And yet he can't stop the flames as they taunt him, dragging him - Namazuo forces him to help scare someone and they're hiding in the stables, too close for comfort - deeper and deeper - the skylight in the sides of the big stable lets in the sun, which hits his eyes and leaves no room for escape - and the summer doesn't help, with the buzzing of cicadas and the repetitive crying of birds that spiralled with his heated, dizzy mind, down into the chaos that filled his thoughts... was he trying hard enough? He'd tried so hard to remember, and now forget... He barely suppressed a bitter laugh as he stared up at the bright summer sky of years ago, eyes tight shut.
