another life. (RHG OC Backstory)

9

Kirisame's POV

I sat on my futon and opened the engraved rococo box next to my phone with the key. It was full of the memories I cherished. Polaroids, letters, gifts. Anything worthy for keeping.

I picked up the picture on the top of the pile. It was a Polaroid camera selfie of me and Denki. His smile was priceless. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, touching the photo.

I met Denki at Kenmei Academy. We were both thirteen at that time. He was my classmate, a member of the Literature Club and one of the quiet boys. Our first time meeting wasn't really great. I accidentally destroyed his project by tripping on him. He got really mad and we got into a fight. Then boom, detention. We were looking daggers at each other the whole time. We both mentally promised not to talk to each other. But there was this assignment in Magic Arts, and we got paired up for it. Forced to interact with each other, we soon got along well. I found that Denki had an eye for details, contrary to my belief that the big picture mattered the most. So on the deadline, we got a nice grade. The rest that followed was the usual love story any couple could have. We bonded over stuff. Eventually we were attracted to each other, and then the confession. We were happy. Even Shizen was happy for us. Oh well.

Memories flashed through my mind. The flowers. The conversations we had. The inside jokes we laughed about. Then that particular one whose afterglow stayed in my head: our first time making out. We were just seventeen. I remember clearly, I was inside him, and he silently indulged in the moment.

"Oi, gikyodai." Wha, who—?

"Ah crap. Shizen," I said, surprised she was behind me. "You a ninja or something?" I took a deep breath and closed the box. It automatically locked.

"Sorry. Kiri, it's almost nine o'clock. You gotta sleep." She rubbed my shoulder. "I have news."

"What news?" I turned to face her.

"Remember four years ago?"

I gulped. Not again. "Shizen, stop. Stop." That one memory was real bad. It was all coming back to my head—

"Look, man. I know this is hard for you to accept, but he's alive. Denki Natsuhana Aoichi, my brother and your boyfriend, is alive. You hear me?"

"Wait, what?" I rubbed my face. "But the explosion—the ashes—he is alive? Impossible." The explosion was the flashback that troubled me the most. I can't stop it scrolling in my mind. And the pain. It's all coming back—!

"Kirisame Etsuko Kumo. Get a hold of yourself, or you're gonna burn this place down."

I screamed in pain. It was like shards of glass being stabbed repeatedly in my skull. The memories the memories the memories the memories the memories the memories the memories the memories the memories the memories the—

"What's going on?" Urusai called out. She peeked in the room.

"It's just a headache," Shizen tried, patting my head.

"He needs Advil?"

"No. He's got his own meds."

"Alright..." And she slipped her head out.

Shizen waited a few moments, then grabbed a paper cup from the chair and filled it with water. I struggled to get up.

"Down, Kiri." She made me sit up, my head propped on a pillow. Then she lifted the cup to my lips. I drank it all. It didn't make the pain disappear, but weakened it enough for me to move again.

"You feel better?" she asked me.

"Yeah." I blinked. "It found its way into my nerves. The memory, I mean."

"Oh no," she replied. "But remember, Denki's alive. Our team found a footage of him shooting Jethro. Apparently he looked blank. Or hypnotized. We know he's opposed to killing."

"Jethro Coraldale? Ga kamiyo." It was hard imagining him holding a gun without shying away from it first. "Denki was a lovely boy. Why?"

"Dunno. But someone did something to him. He looks like a male Yupia."

"Hongjun," I said. "I think it's them. Before Denki's father died, he was CEO of Hongjun and led the first phase of his re-creation. But somebody—" Then I trailed off and shook my head.

"You sure— oh yeah. Right. Them." She inhaled. "I wanna sleep."

"We need to." I rolled onto the futon and curled into a ball. She flopped on hers and stared at the ceiling.

"Gikyodai, if he is really alive, what would you do?"

I thought hard. With PTSD, it was difficult to focus because of the flashbacks. They keep darting around in your head, taunting you with their ominous whispers. If he were really alive and it wasn't a digital hoax, I would hug and kiss him. I would ask many questions. He missed four years.

"I'd do what I gotta do," I replied.