Infectious

ch. 52

a/n: from now on, no english will be bolded. if there is any japanese, it will be bolded.

Chapter Fifty Two;;- The Sunrise Over the Place That is Not My Home

Japan was about fourteen hours ahead of [hometown]. The flight had set off mid-afternoon and arrived late at night. Once they landed in [name]'s hometown, they made a beeline to the hotel they were staying at. They had booked adjoined rooms for the sake of simplicity, leaving the connecting door between their rooms open.

[name] sat down on the bed in her room, directly in front of the open door and sighed, glancing at the clock that boasted the too-late-to-be-awake time despite both of their distinct lack of exhaustion. Even Aizawa, who was pretty much always up to sleep, really didn't feel tired enough to want to sleep for the night.

She kicked off her shoes and propped her leg up on the bed, resting her chin on her knee. "I'm guessing there's nothing in particular that you want to do here, huh?" She asked jokingly.

Aizawa, who was sitting on his bed across from the open door, has taken his shoes off at the door to his room. He pulled both his legs up onto the bed and crossed them Indian-style, shrugging. "Not really. To be honest, I'd never even heard of the place until we had to get ready to go here."

"Ha, I don't blame you. It's not big enough to be a tourist attraction but not small enough to be quaint," She chuckled softly. "The only things I know to do are the things I used to when I was a teenager."

He was quiet for a moment, then, "Let's go see those then." When he caught [name]'s look of bewilderment, he continued. "Show me the things you used to do."

[name] was still gaping in surprise. "You really want to?"

"Don't see why not." Aizawa shrugged.

With that kind of half-hearted affirmation, they both pulled on a jacket and put their shoes back on. Together, they wandered into the thin night air, ignoring the puffs of white that appeared every time they exhaled.

The beginning of the walk started out silent. Aizawa was taking in the foreignness of the new environment, gazing around at the trees he didn't see in Japan and the difference in the constellations buried in the stars as [name] immersed herself in the nostalgia. It had been four years since her feet felt at home here, but it took no time at all for them to find all the right paths again.

Soon, they slowed on a large bridge that stretched over a gently moving river. The moon created a silver pathway on the river's slowly ambling waves, the soft rushing of water mixed with the quiet calls of birds. It was strange to hear it without the sound of cicadas, but they had missed that time of year.

[name] stopped entirely at the third pole in, leaning over slightly to run her fingers over the wood, soft from years of being wet. She smiled gently as the tips found the indents she was looking for. Taking Aizawa's hand, she placed his own fingers over where she had touched.

"What is it?" He asked, tracing the lines that had been carved into the wood.

"When I was fifteen I carved my name into the pole," she explained with a chuckle. "I was always expecting to get in trouble or for them to cover it up, but it's still here." [name]'s gaze grew wistful. "Leaving a mark for years and years to come..."

She didn't explain what she meant by the last bit, but Aizawa didn't ask. He withdrew his hand and replaced it in his pocket, looking around at the serene night landscape again. A few silent moments passed before [name] started walking again without saying anything. Aizawa followed in a similar manner.