“Your journey didn’t turn out as long as I’d imagined. I thought you’d take eternity.”
“Yeah. Sorry,” said Fuuka. “I knew it’d make things easier for my brother if I said the words I remembered, but I couldn’t.”
Clinging to Fuuka, Sora could sense his brother’s unwavering resolve through his fingertips. But he couldn’t feel the heartbeat he’d often listened for anymore. He couldn’t find his pulse. Warmth was dissipating from Fuuka’s body. Perhaps this signified that the burden Fuuka had carried as his sheath was being relieved.
“Sora, you don’t have to think about me anymore. I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”
“Well then, shall we?” Miroku-bosatsu called to Fuuka.
“Yes, please,” Fuuka answered.
If Fuuka had been created against the laws of life, the burden placed upon him should have been Sora’s from the beginning. For a long, long time, Fuuka had walked on their journey carrying a heavy, painful load for Sora. As he said, he was going to take away all the hatred and sorrow with him—which meant he had been carrying the weight that should have been Sora’s to bear for 1,200 years.
When they’d left the house that night, Sora had brought him here because he wanted to liberate Fuuka from his curse. He had to free his precious little brother.
“…Sora?”
He knew that letting him go was the right thing to do, but he wrapped his arms around Fuuka from behind in spite of himself.
“My little brother, Fuuka. That’s your name.”
An unfamiliar sensation slid down his cheek and dripped onto his toes.
“You want to stay with me, don’t you, Fuuka?”
He felt something wet trail down his skin for the first time in his life.
“You like your big brother, right, Fuuka? I love you, Fuuka. I can’t—”
When he realized he was crying, he got a lump in his throat, and his legs turned weak as his embrace tightened.
“You don’t want to go anywhere, do you, Fuuka? You’re my little brother.”
“…Sora.”
Fuuka lingered, turning around to touch Sora’s tears.
“It’s the first time you’ve ever cried.” His voice grew teary, too. “It’s because you’re sad, right? I’ll take away everything with me, all the sadness and tears.”
“What kind of person doesn’t have any sadness or tears?” Tamuramaro interrupted, breaking his silence.
“Tamuramaro. Look after Sora—”
“Ramen!” Tamuramaro yelled out a single word that was completely out of place.
“Ramen?” Fuuka asked with a bewildered look as Sora still held him in a tight embrace, unable to speak.
“You haven’t had ramen before, Fuuka.”
“Yes, I have. I made that authentic-style ramen with fresh noodles. We just had it today.”
“That was an authentic-style ramen. But not the real deal.”
“Huh?” Fuuka let out a little gasp in pure surprise. He’d made ramen often because he liked it so much.
“You’ve never had it at a ramen shop, have you? Let me tell you, the stuff at a ramen shop is, in fact, at least twenty times more amazing than your homemade authentic-style.”
“You’re exaggerating…”
“No, I’m not. Especially in Ichirou and Tarou in the Shizukuishi shopping street. They take a huge stockpot and make broth from the bones of ten chickens at once, stewing it for half a day. They’re extra careful scooping out the scum, and the soup turns golden, with big, clear rings of fat from the chicken.”
Just listening to Tamuramaro made Fuuka’s mouth water. Even Sora’s stomach nearly growled, though it was no time to be thinking about food.
“In the pot next to it, they stew the char siu. A huge block of juicy, fatty pork meat, tied up tight all around with a string. They told me the other day that they stew it in sake, soy sauce, and raw sugar. That meat’s so melty you can easily tear it apart with chopsticks. They lay the slices on top of translucent, curly noodles freshly made by hand.”
“It sounds so…out-of-this-world yummy…”
“Well? You’ll regret never tasting it if you leave now! Your brother and I have been going there to eat in secret!!” Tamuramaro proclaimed as Fuuka’s stomach finally growled.
“What?! How could you, Sora?!” Fuuka cried at Sora clinging to him.
“I know, I’m awful… But letting you have ramen someday was my…my…dream.” Sora managed to squeeze out the words and buried his face in Fuuka’s chest.
“You know, all you people bring up ramen at times like this. It must be quite a delight.” Miroku-bosatsu sighed dreamily, wishing they could have a taste, too.
“I wanna eat that ramen. I wanna have it with you, Sora.”
Sora’s tears were soaking through Fuuka’s shirt, and as the heat in those tears finally reached him, he wrapped his arms around Sora in a tight embrace.
Now Sora could hear his heartbeat again. He pressed his ear close against where Fuuka’s heart would be to make sure the pulse was really his.
“’Cause I love you, Sora. It makes me happy when I eat yummy food with you.”
Blood rushed back through Fuuka’s veins, and warmth returned to his body.
“You’re Sora’s little brother, Fuuka, right?” Sora asked one more time, gazing straight into eyes as blue and deep as a lake. Those eyes gazed back at him, too.
“I don’t know. It’s not for me to say.”
Even so, Sora knew for certain now that Fuuka wished for his own happiness as well as Sora’s.
“Stay with me, Fuuka. If you weren’t my little brother anymore, I’d be—”
Perhaps it was time for Fuuka to set down the heavy burden he’d been carrying for a long time.
“I’d be devasted, lonely, and heartbroken.”
Sora knew he was making it hard for Fuuka, but he followed his heart. He allowed himself to express what he felt, which was unending love for his brother.
“Sora. I can stay with you?”
“How many times do I have to say it?”
But Sora was ready to say it as many times as it took—that even if Fuuka hadn’t been a human being in the beginning, he was undoubtedly his dearest brother now, and Sora would never let him disappear.