What light, from sullen windows shake? Was it the darkened dawn, so pining and lucid, that touches his pale arms and urges him to wake?
Tachibana wakes up restlessly and walks and walks, his feet never leaving marks on the tatami. He’s as much of a shadow as the rest of the house, all dark and beautiful and flawless. You can try asking him about it, if you’d like, but his eyes will roll right past you and out the window again. Because right now he’s pacing and that’s the only nervous habit he has. Hana is lying awake in the next room and she can feel it, feel his silent footsteps as he finally goes towards the window. She can feel his black coffee eyes stare straight through the pane and at the quiet road, how his arms fold perfectly like a prince and he won’t restlessly run his hand through his hair or make some sort of exasperated sigh. No, he will just press his fingers to the glass and his breath will slowly fog it like a ghost.
He wants to run away. He wants to sleep forever. But he couldn’t leave; somehow or another, he loves this little home and the souls inside it. They are all brilliant lights and he is fine being their accompanying shadow.
Hana hears through the wall, his covers sliding mutely back into place over his slender figure. He closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.