( The ache over Wakaba never really left in the first place, but it goes from a scream to a whisper, from the rush of a waterfall to a babbling brook as time passes on. He learns to live with it, for Futaba's sake he does all he can to carry on.

But that ache is always there. Some days - like the anniversary of her death - it comes back stronger, with that echo in his head:

I think I might die.

He'd ignored it. Ignored her. Because that's just silly talk, a joke made by an incredibly intelligent, independent and unique woman. How could it be anything else? If he'd only listened to her properly, perhaps she'd still be alive and Futaba would still have her mother. That thought played in his head so much that the words blurred into nothingness.

But today they're back, achingly strong. Painfully loud. Pushing at every corner of his mind as he tries to make it through a day in this ridiculous city. He double takes at every flutter of black that crosses the corner of his vision, thinking it might be a sleek bob and a sharp eyed lady.

After all, people do say the dead can come here. Even if that makes about as much sense as the rest of this place. )

Wh--

( It's one flicker of black near the shore, one that really is a bob. A dress he knows all too well. A face that's featured in decades of his life and years of his dreams. )

Wakaba?

( He can't let her get away. Not without talking to her. )

( Hit me with one of the other prompts, if you like! )