Wings

 

When I was in KAFE, I’d sometimes have this dream where I’d be flying. In front of me would be grandfather, in his blue-black KZ VIII. Every time I have this dream, it’d be a little different visually. But the outcome would always be the same; he’d fly away, slowly—painfully. And I would never catch up to him, no matter how far forward I push the throttle, almost breaking it.

That dream didn’t come this time. Last night… was a good sleep. Even on a couch, and sharing with her. The big puffy blanket I bought after I realised rooms in KAFE practically freeze at night pulls its weight and more. Heh, thinking back on a time before we had this blanket, Hanamura-san and I would huddle together. One of us would wait for the other to doze off so we could snatch the bottom part of that tiny, towel-like blanket to cover our toes.

I don’t know whether it’s also my blanket now, or another magic from the angel. …Or, yesterday was a dream, and I’d died crashing my plane to the meadow, burning some poor farmer’s wheat field in the process. But it’s… warm, bubbly—the feeling of not wanting to get up. Glancing down, I had the blanket from neck to toe, like a baby kangaroo.

…Wait, where is she? Has she… left?

As the thought crosses, there’s a sound of a broom scraping the floor tiles. Reminds me of mum; that’s the sound I’d always wake up to whenever grandfather’s bedtime stories put me to sleep on the couch. I’ve come to expect the scent of baking powder and maple syrup as breakfast rolls in, sunlight basking the living room from the windows, made into patterns from the spoked window frame that I’d trace my finger through. Of course, there’s no breakfast this time, and the warmth comes from the blanket. The sun’s just… there. Chalk white instead of the gold that my silly young eyes saw.

Everyone was here at that time, living under the same roof. I hate that I couldn’t tell that there was one day when it’d be the last time I’d wake up to the sound of broom and the scent of pancakes. I know I could never know about that, but… still…

Well, have to know where that sound comes from.

I sit on the couch and take off the blanket, wearing it instead like a cape. I reach to the almost empty teapot and pour some into my glass.

“…Bleh.”

Lukewarm.

“Oh, you’re awake.” I’ve just realised the scraping has stopped when a voice calls me from behind. She’s there, tilting her body and popping her head out from the corner. The wooden stick jutting out makes her the prime suspect for the noise. “Did you have a good sleep?” she asks.

I give a dismissive nod. “Are you…” I clear my throat to get rid of the rasp in my voice. “Are you cleaning? You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll admit, I… couldn’t help myself.” she smiles. “The whole house is rather dusty, so…”

You know, she doesn’t show a lot of reactions, or emotions. Aside from the occasional smiles and chuckles. I thought angels would be more… grandiose? And loving—do I want her to be more loving towards me? Uhh, no? I guess not? I just thought they’d be constantly spouting sermons and how amazing god is. On one hand, I’m glad she’s not that. But… I think Hanamura-san spoiled me too much when it comes to striking proper conversations and having more faces than normal and smiling.

“It’s been a year and a half, after all.” I shrug. “Alright, if you’re cleaning my house, we’re doing it together.”

“But this is my repayment to-”

“Come on, no buts. Wouldn’t want you stumbling into something I don’t want you to see.” I chuckle.

“R..right… I didn’t consider that. Forgive me.” she sulks—she actually sulks. Hanamura-san would point and laugh if she were to see this. Well, now I’m the bad guy.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. It’s really just… something you’ll need me to tell what you’re seeing.”

“Umm…?”

“You’ll see. Let’s go.”

I get up, and so begins the little spring cleaning. I pluck two strips of disposable masks from the stack of boxes I haven’t unpacked yet and, well, tell her about it as she tries putting it on her hand.

“Come to think of it, you know how to use brooms but not the disposable mask?”

“I’d always observed humans in the past, so I learned about brooms. This… mechanism, I believe, didn’t exist yet back then.”

“Mechanism…? Either way, you put the strings around your ears… Mhmm, just like that.”

“…”

“What’s wrong?”

“My ears are itchy.”

“…You’ll get used to it.”

We finish sweeping the floor, and we continue with a round of mopping. We also clean the rest of the kitchen and dining room—the window sills. No one living in this house for a year and a half has turned it into a seabed of dust, but it also means it’s just dust. …Well, I hope it’s not too early to assume that no mice have made this their nest.

“It’s gotten rather hot, isn’t it?” the angel says. I bet it is, given the robe she’s wearing.

“Would you like to borrow some of my clothes?” I say. “They might be a bit big, but it should be light enough.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Umm…”

Then why is she stripping?

“Whew…”

Huh… a camisole and casual bloomers… still all white. This one comes with green ribbons, though. Frilly, as well. Her tummy peeks out as she arches her back to remove her robe. It’s too thick to be underwear. …So does that mean underneath this she’s not wearing…?

“Much better. Shall we continue? …Why are you staring at me?” she asks.

I shake my head. “N-no. …Angels nowadays are modern, huh?”

“How do you mean?” she raises her brow.

“I thought angels wear those elegant one-piece dresses; the kind you’d see during summer vacation.” I say.

“I do have that as well, but since we always wear our robe when we go out, what we wear underneath it matters not. I simply prefer wearing this over the dress.” she tugs at the fabric of her camisole.

“Well, then. Where to, now?” she continues. “I believe next is upstairs?”

“That’s right. And that’s where you’ll need me to explain the things you’re about to see.”

“Really, now?” she puts her hand to her chin. “That does pique my interest.”

We go up, taking the cleaning tools with us and sweeping the stairs as we climb. Ahead of us is…

Damn… this L-shaped corridor. How long has it been…? It’s as if I’ve gone back in time. Not to one and a half years ago—no. Way back. Little ol’ me was making plane sounds as she turned right with her arms stretched wide. Oh, not little ol’ me, it’s codename ‘Stargirl’. She was piloting her Spitfire, and AWACS had given her one mission and one only: manoeuvre through the narrow canyon to stay undetected from the enemy radar and seize the dining table and neutralise her lunch. She went too fast and hit the wall. One of the framed pictures depicting planes and runways fell. The shattering glass surprised her and she couldn’t stop shaking because of the shock, much more so when father was all panicking, telling her not to move an inch, else she’d step on glass and hurt her foot. I walk, almost a tip-toe; don’t want to make a sound that would alert the little me piloting her small, arm-winged plane.

I trace my fingers on the wall, the dust piling on them. Heh… if I were to stretch my arms now, they’d just hit the wall. Turning left, a big window frame blushes with sunlight as morning transitions to daytime, decorated by flowerpots on its sills—just the pots. No plants. We uprooted them when father and mother moved out. Mother would shove some of the pots and sit here at night to gaze at the moon. She’d let me sit on her lap and read my favourite picture book until I fell asleep whenever grandfather’s not around. Opposite the window is grandfather’s… uhh, grandfather clock. It doesn’t move anymore, to no surprise. No one’s winding it since we’d long since transitioned to the more convenient table clock. I once said I’d keep it wound, but ever since grandfather died, I kept forgetting to do it because I was too busy with flying courses.

I remember that I kept hating the fact that I was too busy with flying courses.

“Are you okay?” she taps my shoulder. “You were spacing out.” right, I was supposed to be showing her around.

“Sorry.” I say. “Well, that room is my parents’.” I point towards the different doors. “That’s mine, over there’s my brother’s, and finally…”

“Finally?” she asks.

“Grandfather’s.” I gaze at the farthest room, darkened by the corridor walls as the floor scrolls away from the sunlight.

I sit on the window sill as she walks through the corridor, looking at the framed pictures. “These are… your family?” I realise she stops to look at the big frame.

I get up. “Right. Do we look alike?”

“Quite.” she chuckles. “Is that you?”

“Yeah. I think I was… seven? When they painted this.”

“You looked cute.”

“Wh- huh?!” wh- huh?!

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” y-yeah, what is wrong w-w-with being called c-cute?!

“N-nothing!” my hands flail around. “It’s just that… I… well, no one’s ever called me cute in a long time, okay?!”

“Really?” she ponders, glancing back and forth between me and the painting. “I think you’re really cute, both in this painting and now-”

“Aaaahh! okay, okay! I get it!” I tug at her shoulders. My ears feel hot… “Let’s continue cleaning!”

“Okay…”

The wooden flooring, along with each frame and the big window and its sill—we clean them all. I wind the grandfather clock again, its pendulum mechanism still in good shape. As for the rooms, they need a change of air. We open them one by one. Mother and father cleared out their room years ago, so did my brother when he moved out at the same time I transferred to KAFE. Their rooms are just blank spaces with empty wardrobes and bed frames. Mother and father’s has darker-coloured patterns on the wall, while Brother’s have tape marks left from his posters.

We clean the floor and move to… the next room…

“Oh.” the angel notices. “There’s a sign on this one.” a pink one with yellow and white stars. “You mentioned this is your room?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.” I say. “Can you read it?”

“Hmmm…” she takes a while before…

“…Hotarun.”

“…Mhmm. That’s me.”

“Hotaru, to be exact.” I chuckle. “The ‘n’ is just a nickname from my family.”

“Hotaru.” she calls again. “…Right, I haven’t asked your name all this time. That was improper. Forgive me.”

“R..right… I haven’t asked yours, too.” my finger scratching my cheek. “What’s your name?”

“Angels… don’t really have names.” she says.

“Huh? So how would they call each other?”

“We use telepathy so that we know when someone is trying to talk to us.”

“…Uhh, let’s say I get that.”

“Some angels get their names from humans.” she continues. “So if you’d like to, you can give me a name.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Sounds like a big deal.”

“I don’t mind.” she smiles. “Whatever name you settle with, it’s better than having no name to call me by, right?”

“I guess so.” I mumble. “Well, then…”

“I hope this isn’t weird, but since your clothes are all white… can I call you Shiro?”

“Sure. It’s not weird by any means.”

“Okay, then… Shiro.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, you’ve gotten used to it already.”

“No…” she pauses, a chuckle. “Not quite.” a chuckle that turns to a laugh. …It’s the first time she laughs this heartedly.

“W..what? Tell me…!” I join her in laughing and pinch her arm. “Is it weird, after all?”

“Oh, no.” she waves her hands. “It’s just that…”

“Being given a name… is a nice feeling.”

“…I see. Should’ve given you one yesterday.”

“Alright. We’re not going to finish before the evening if we keep at it.” I pat her shoulder and turn the doorknob to my room. “My room will take a while to dust off.”

Toy planes, dolls, a star-shaped cushion, a big, fading-white dresser with all the plane models too large for me to bring to KAFE, pink-yellow wall patterns, picture books haphazardly shelved on that short bookshelf… The birch wardrobe, the dark blue curtain, the circular carpet… even though it’s obvious, to think they’re all still here, like they’re waiting for me to come back. …Right. This is my room—my home.

“You left many things here.” Shiro says.

“Yeah, I didn’t bring a lot of stuff when I moved to my KAFE dorm.” I say.

“Let me know what not to touch, okay?” she picks up the broom.

“Ehh, it’s my room—no bans on that.” I shrug. “Counting on you.”

Shiro does most of the work, as I get caught up on re-reading the picture books and being overly-meticulous when cleaning the plane models. We roll up the carpet and bring the mattress out. We also return most of my things from the boxes to my room.

And with that, we’re in front of the last room…

“This is… your grandfather’s.” Shiro says.

“…Yeah.”

“Is everything okay?” …I know she’d ask that. “…Oh… is he…?”

I nod.

“I’m sorry… Do you… want to skip cleaning this room?”

“It’s okay. I can’t sulk every time there’s any mention of grandfather.” I force a chuckle. “But, well, maybe this time, let’s not touch anything. We’ll just sweep the floor and clean of the dust.”

“I agree.” she nods.

It’s a simple room, as grandfather was always the outdoor type. A couple of jackets on the hanger, as well as equipment even I have no idea what for. Aside from that, it’s a normal beige room. I didn’t go here a lot; there’s no reason to when he was always downstairs reading newspaper and inspecting his planes.

Though, something catches both our attention. A set of hanging shelves on an otherwise vacant wall, chock full of photo frames. It’s all him, and his compatriots and planes. Apparently, not only from his fighter pilot and aerobatic flying days. Ah, there’s this photo of him and the maintenance crew spraying water at each other with the hoses as they were cleaning his plane. …How old was he here?

There are also pictures of him and his… mountaineering buddies? And fishing…? Huh… maybe he slipped one of those stories in while I was already fast asleep.

“Can you tell which one’s my grandfather?” I grin towards Shiro. Her-

Her eyes lock into the photos. Her lips parted. She stands there, unmoving. It’s like she’s having an epiphany—she’s in a trance. I’ve always joked about being too afraid to ask whenever she brings up another one of her weird angel antics, but this time, I might actually be afraid—no, scared to ask;

What did grandfather do to make an angel look at his photos with this expression…?

Gently, gently, I tug her hand. “Shiro…?” I call out. She flinches and turns to look at me. “Are you okay?” almost a whisper. If words can tip-toe, mine are doing it now.

“Your grandfather…” she says. I was praying that she’d answer that she’s fine and that it’s the jetlag that’s beginning to take effect after coming down to Earth.

But no.

“May I… know his name?”

“Umm…” I gulp. “Akito.”

“Akito…” she repeats it as soon as possible, as if to echo it in her mind—have her lips memorise the syllables.

“Hmmm…” I turn some of the frames to look at the back. “Oh, found it. Here.” I hand it to her. “That’s his name. It’s in kanji, though. Can you read it?”

“Kumosaki…”

“…”

“Kumosaki Akito…”

“…Mhmm. The one and only.”

“So that makes you… Kumosaki Hotaru.”

“Ah…”

Hearing my full name… sure does bring back bad memories.

“…Yeah. But you can keep calling me Hotaru.”

“Right… Hotaru…”

She flips the photo frame again, gazing at grandfather. It’s a picture of him and his squad mates. Looking at the photo, it looks like it’s taken some time after that one battle grandfather said he was injured. It’s true; half of his head was bandaged in this photo. Looks like an awful wound…

Then, a thumb obscures his face, before it slowly rubs across the photo, as if to caress grandfather. It’s Shiro’s thumb. …Wait, she knows which one’s grandfather? Even though he’s all bandaged here?

“…Shiro?” my eyes trail up to her face.

She’s smiling.

It’s a different kind of smile. Her eyelids lower, and her eyes themselves reflect the photo frame, like tears are about to fall. She doesn’t look around to the other things in the photo as well—her sight is only to grandfather.

As if finally realising my glare, she looks at me. It takes a while for her to say something. “Oh, forgive me. This must be confusing to look at.” she hands the frame back to me.”

“It’s alright.” I put the frame back to its place. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Oh, it’s not what you think.” she says. “Your grandfather reminds me when I first descended from heaven many years ago.”

“Come on, Hotaru. As you said, we have not all day.” she smiles. …Somehow, her voice sounds… clear? That’s a weird thing to say; her voice is always clear. Just that… before just now, there was some kind of… barrier? Keeping her from letting her voice flow, like a valve that hadn’t been turned all the way open. I only realise this after she starts sounding different.

“R..right…” I tilt my head for a bit before we resume cleaning.

I wonder what that’s about…? It might be my imagination, but I can’t help but wonder what happened during her first descend. Did she get hurt? Or maybe she met someone who got hurt and saved them? I’d ask her, but from her look, it might be something hard to talk about. I’ll refrain for now, but I’ll definitely ask her if she goes like that again. …If I have the courage. I’m worried, but… you know…

We finish tidying up grandfather’s room and head outside. It’s a bit hot, but there’s plenty of wind; perfect for drying mattresses. I roll up my sleeves, preparing myself to lift the mattress along with Shiro, but since she lifts it with one hand, I take up on her offer to also bring the couch outside for a more thorough washing. We head to the hangar for some shade. I break out the water hose and we scrub all the grime off the springy mattress and spongy couch. This one, even Shiro can’t provide any shortcut.

“Whew…” I sit on the concrete floor. “Ugh… my hands feel like they could fall off any moment…”

“T-that’s terrible! I don’t know if I can heal such a horrible-!”

“It’s hyperbole, Shiro. I’m okay.”

Hanamura-san’s a bad influence at times. Or is it Shiro who’s too innocent? Heheh… that side of her is really cute, though…

…Huh? Did I just think she’s cute…? As in, really cute…?! W-wait, wait! Uhh… umm…! Right! It’s just when she said I’m c-c-cute! There’s absolutely no weird meaning behind that! J-just two girls calling each other… c..cute…? I think?! Right, Hanamura-san always tells me to always let her know of whatever I’m feeling to get it off my chest. If I just tell her that she’s cute, maybe I can stop this weird meandering! And I get to get back at her for calling me cute earlier! Heh! Win-win!

“S..shiro! You’re really-! Wha-!” a spray of cold water hits me on my face. “H-hey! Geez, what’s that about?”

“F-forgive me!” there’s a hint of playfulness that turns into dread. She’s thinking she’s given me a fright. “You were spacing out and your ears and cheeks were red. I thought you were feeling hot… B-but I didn’t mean to hit your face! Truly! I was aiming at your shoulders, but the water came out so quickly…”

T-this girl…!

“Heheh… so we’re doing this, huh…?” I rise and grip my own hose.

“Time… for a little payback!”

“Whoa-! Ahahah! W-wait! I really didn’t mean it! Here, to your shoulders…”

“Wah-! Hey, now you’re just doing it on purpose!”

“Ah, you noticed?”

“Of course I do when you’ve been grinning from the start! Take this!”

“Waaah…! Ahahahaha!”

Between all the fooling around and actually washing the couch, we spend the rest of the afternoon under the hangar. Before I realise, it’s already sundown as we sit side by side on the ground, next to my 182, overlooking the meadows and windmills. The mattress and couch we put under the sun earlier are already drying. Our hair and clothes are also drying, but it might be a good idea to take a shower as soon as possible. …Though, I get the feeling that Shiro wants to stay here for longer. Oh well, at the very least, if she can’t heal me out of a cold, I don’t have anything to do for a while.

“…It’s been a while.” I bring my knees together and rest my chin on them.

“It’s been a while since…?” she wonders.

“Since the last time I had this much, umm… fun.” I say. “Let alone playing with water.” I chuckle.

“Right.” she smiles. “I always wanted to try it.”

It was also sundown of yesterday that I first talked to her. Back then, she seemed like she’d just been born, having questions about everything. Now, she feels… like a faraway sibling coming to visit, weird as that sounds; not close, but we hit it off.

…But… yeah… it is weird… I mean, she’s not staying here. I just happened to save her and dragged her along my little spring cleaning. I wonder how she feels about that. Maybe it’s better if I don’t keep her around… she might have other things to do now that she’s on Earth.

“Hey…” I call. My arms wrapping my knees together tighten. “About your plan to go away. …I..I mean, as in, travelling around Earth…”

“What about it?” her head tilts to me. Her eyes are closed, yet she has a faint smile, listening close.

“Oh, you know…” my fingers twiddle each other. I… I’m acting weird again… “I just want to remind you that it’s already, uhh… sundown, again. I told about how dangerous night time is, so… maybe… it can wait until tomorrow morning before you set out…?”

“Mhmm…” she nods, a sleepy exhale. “I get the sense that you have more to say.”

“Well, I do…!” Ugh… I’m practically an open book now… “Umm, sorry for keeping you here. I know you realise that.”

“I don’t mind, Hotaru.” she says. “I had fun being with you.”

“Really?” holding back a gasp. “Me too…”

“Oh, well… I’ll let you go by tomorrow morning.” I continue. “I’ll make you tons of food, but make sure you find a sustainable source of it out there, okay?”

“Oh, and, I’ll look around the basement for a camping set as well. I’ll teach you how to set one up tonight.”

“Hotaru?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to be fine. I mean, you’re an angel, with blessings and magic and all. But be careful with people. Some- no, most of them are bad, okay? They’ll try to manipulate or bribe you into doing something bad, so stay away until you know you can trust them.”

“Hotaru…”

“A..and if things aren’t going smoothly, you can always come back here. I’ll cook you another hotpot and tea. Though, if you want something else, I’ll make sure to learn-”

“Hey…”

Shiro’s hand holds me by the arm. Her eyes look straight at me. I avert her gaze at first, but I know I’d regret it later if I don’t look at her as well in this moment.

“It’s okay.” her arm wraps around mine. She shoves closer and rests her head on my shoulder. …She’s… close… her breathing is slow and long, as if she’s telling me to do the same. This… is much worse than being called cute… isn’t it…? But why am I… not getting all flustered like before… All I feel… is the warmth from yesterday when she healed my palm… and a little drowsy. I wonder if this is… another of her magic…

“I know that’s not what you want to say.” almost a whisper between the whistling breeze. “Don’t worry. Take deep breaths, and tell me slowly.”

“Ah…”

Hanamura-san always tells me to always let her know of whatever I’m feeling to get it off my chest.

I take two, three deep breaths, just like she said. And…

“I’ve been thinking of the days to come. And… they’re going to be lonely without you.”

“Mhmm…?”

“This will sound selfish, but… right now, I… want you to stay here, Shiro. Please…”

It’s like a weight off my chest; just telling it makes me lose strength. Before I know it, I’m resting my cheek on her head. …Oh, dear. The sheer embarrassment of this position is setting in…

But… well… it’s nice, I guess… being like this from time to time.

“Me too, Hotaru.” she says. “I want to stay with you as well.”

“In fact,” she continues. “I already decided that I want to stay here.”

“Really?” I lift my head and turn to look at her. She raises hers as well to meet my eyes. “For how long?” she remains silent for a bit before smiling.

“Until… you don’t want me around anymore…?”

“That’s… I’ll never, Shiro.”

“Hehe… that means for a lifetime, then?”

“…Yeah. Promise.”

“U..umm…” I’m… getting conscious… I avert my eyes from her. Averting to…

To my 182, parked in the hangar.

Hmmm…

“Hey,” I call her. “We can do both, you know? Staying with me and travel the world.” she tilts her head, two blinks.

“It’s not quite the same, but I’ll become your wings.” I continue, turning my body towards her and grasping her hands.

“Umm…” her brows raise. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“The same pair of wings I used to save you.” I say, our eyes trail to the plane beside us. “I’ll take you anywhere you like, Shiro. I promise.”

“That’s…” she lets out a small gasp.

“…Are you okay with that?”

“I am.”

“You’re not doing this because you still feel guilty about my wings, are you?”

“No. You said you wanted to see the world, so let’s see it together.”

“Hotaru…”

“This is…” she chuckles. “A lot of heavy promises to keep, you know?”

“I know…”

Dear grandfather,

I hope you’re doing well up there. Last I saw you, you looked like you grew wings, taking off from the meadows. So how does the white-gold-sometimes-pink compare to the blue you used to soar in? Knowing you, I bet you want to come back down here and fly your KZ VIII again. I’ve been keeping it clean for you, you know? Well, with a little help from a certain… angel, that I, uhh… almost killed myself to save. It’s a long story, okay?

I still haven’t found the blue that struck your eyes, filling them with stars. Frankly, I feel like I’m getting farther from it. I wonder if I’ll actually get the chance to see it before I meet you. Though, there’s this little me I sometimes see when I close my eyes. In this dark, dim-lit space, I see her clasping her hands together, praying—hoping that one day, her future self is going to see the blue, no matter how bad things seem to be right now.

Funnily enough, even during this tumultuous time… that tiny hope has been growing. This angel I’m with lost her wings, so I promised her that I’ll take her to anywhere she wants. Who knows, maybe I get to see the blue while I’m taking her to see the world. You said the blue takes on different forms depending on the person who sees it, so I’ll get to the blue, and when I meet you later, I’ll tell you all about it, so we can trade stories instead of you one-sidedly babbling me to sleep.

So…

“…I wouldn’t break those promises for the world, Shiro.”

“…! …Thank you. Just for saying those words, thank you, Hotaru.”

“I’ll prove you they’re not just words…!” both of us smile, as the breeze blows past our hair. Past our dried clothes, my 182. Past the runway and hangar, towards the swaying meadow of grass, spinning the windmills, pirouetting in front of the sunset, and eventually taking to the sky, becoming part of the blue I’m yet to see—the blue I’m certain to see, one day.

Together. With Shiro.

It’ll only be a little while longer, grandfather.

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