- June 18th, 2012
During the time when Sana was trapped inside the burning building for the shoot of Mizu no Yakata, she had a strange vision whilst passed out.
When she was flat on the ground, having fainted, when the smoke started to seep into the hallway, she heard Hayama's voice. He just murmured a hushed Hey to her as he nudged her cheek. He told her that she had to wake up. She could tell he was panicked, by the shake of his hand and the urgency in his voice. But she didn't really hear what he was saying to her anymore. It was beginning to get really hot all around her, and Hayama's fingers were cool, and she didn't want to move away from them. She didn't stir. She wanted his hands on her heated skin. It was a great comfort to her. The smoke was nulling her senses, and Hayama's words became muffled, as if Sana was hearing him speak through water. He shook her with one hand by her arm, but she couldn't find the energy or will to move any more. And she had an aching feeling that Hayama would disappear from her if she moved.
Truth be told, she would've been content dying that way, with Hayama panicked over her and with his hand on her cheek. She would've kept still until she died. Everything that was life around her had been dulled and numbed. Even Hayama. The sharp clarity of reality she'd normally feel around him, the jittery pain she knew she'd have to experience as soon as she saw his face in school again, had vaporized. And now he was here, speaking to her about things she couldn't really understand right now, but which sounded fretted and caring and worrisome and rushed all at once. And everything felt fine. It was as if the presence, the entity, of Fuka has disappeared from his mind and she was all that mattered. If there had been a spot in his mind reserved for Fuka, it had dissolved in Sana's consuming it. Everything felt restored to the way it was in middle school, before growing up. Sana liked it. Sana liked feeling like she mattered so much to him, him above anyone else. It made dying so much easier now that he was here, touching her, feeling over her.
When she never budged, Hayama brought his face down to hers, his eyelashes faintly tingling her forehead, his nose brushing hers. He leaned forward and whispered something to her she couldn't make sense of, but his lips on her ear seemed to mumble something short and sweet. His face tickled against hers. Something tiny, warm and wet plopped down on her arm. As much as she didn't want to see him cry, his compassion and sorrows reassured and soothed her. It was such an easy way to go out.
Well, it would have been, if not for the fact that the tiny warmth on her arm began to burn. And she was snapped away from it all.
Just a little something I wrote up.
I honestly cannot stop thinking about this headcanon. In my mind, sometimes Hayama carries Sana out too, and she's comforted when she's hauled on his back.