Garbage. Garbage human. Human made of garbage.

  Rosie was sitting at the back of a quiet bar listening to music. Or… she was trying to. Her brain was in a loop that she couldn’t break. It was group therapy day, her least favourite part of DBT. Earlier, she had almost skipped it completely. She’d been sprawled on the pearl-glass floor, lost in thought and fantasy.

  “Didn’t you have something important today?” Pixiko said.

  “Yeah… I have a group therapy session.”

  “So… would you like me to help you get ready?”

  Rosie turned her face away. “I don’t know if I want to go today.”

  “Why not?” She didn’t have an answer that she could put into words. Pixiko watched her fondly. “I can come with you, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, sugarbyte! But I know you said magic is unheard of these days, so I can hide in your phone!” Pixiko twirled and poofed away, and suddenly Rosie's phone buzzed and lit up purple. Hello again, sugarbyte! Pixikos greeting popped up in text form on the screen underneath a kawaii avatar of her face. Rosie sputtered a laugh in disbelief. Shall we to therapy?

  So they did. Pixiko chirped affirmations through Rosie’s headphones as the streetcar trundled her along. It got her to the session, but not through it. In response to someone talking about wanting to give up, Rosie said, “Despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt.” …and they told her to go fuck herself.

  She hadn’t meant it to be preachy; it was just something that had saved her once, and she thought in that moment that maybe it could save someone else, too. Now she was stirring her melted daiquiri while trying to sort through difficult emotions that didn’t fit the facts.

  She also felt… lonely. She considered herself a Pastel Princess of sorts; she loved indulgent things and found giving herself permission for that helped her with the participatory aspect of mindfulness, but she only had the confidence to live like that within the walls of her apartment, or online, and now, in the Blush Realm, with Souta. Right now, though, she was sitting in the far back corner of the stage, hoodie pulled up, stirring her thick daiquiri mindlessly while she watched people laughing and swapping stories about their days. She even found herself eavesdropping a bit, just to feel involved. Congrats on the high grade! She thought in response to one table. Well, that customer sounds like they were a dick. She empathised with another.

  …You’re being a fucking creep. Was the care she gave to her own thoughts.

  A new song started, and from the first chord, Rosie couldn’t take it. Something unnamed about it hit her deep, and the hollowness in her chest carved itself deeper, wider. Her vision blurred, dark at the edges from emotional surge, and blurry from tears. She stood quickly, apologising to no one and stumbled towards the back exit. The brick wall behind her was cool, and she tried to ground herself to it. S.T.O.P., she thought to herself.

  Stop. She froze in place.

  Take a breath. She inhaled into the bottom of her ribs, ragged and shaky, but she did it.

  Observe. Flickering street lamp. Overlapping graffiti. Greenery pushing through cracked cement.

  Proceed mindfully. She exhaled a wavering breath and tried to think it through. I’m out here, and I would like to enjoy it. So she took a few more deep breaths and went back inside, right as the beautiful song was ending. She was devastated once again. She couldn’t take it anymore, tried to enjoy music and be crushed, avoided the crush and be gutted. She collected her things and left, like a ghost that had never even been there.

  She was distracted on her walk home, but of course, vigilant. Toronto wasn’t really a place she had chosen; it was a place she had landed and couldn’t get out of. She fantasised about living in a smaller town somewhere in Southern Ontario, but for some reason, the idea of living alone in a small town instead of the city felt terrifying. There were a lot of things about it that she loved, though, and one of them was how many trees it had for a big city. She took them in, allowing their beauty to ground her and carry her away at the same time. Her phone buzzed, and her stomach dropped.

  S:

  Hey, how was group? Proud of you for going

  She didn’t respond; she wanted to shower first… like that might make her feel better. Souta knew that Rosie was poly, but she still felt wrong. When she rounded the corner to her apartment, a smile bloomed across her face. “Hey, Hams!”

  A weathered face turned to her from underneath a frayed hood, and a full smile emerged. “Bagel!” they exclaimed, making room beside them, and Rosie sat.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while; you worried me.” She said, folding her bag onto her lap.

  She laughed. “I’m unsinkable, you know that!” Rosie smiled, but Hams furrowed her brow and pointed to Rosie’s eyes. “What's this, Bagel? Who I gotta beat up?”

  “No one ever, please.” Her smile was full of genuine concern. “Just a rough day.” Then she dug into her purse and produced a green card with white text, making sure only Hams could see it. Her face immediately lit up, but she protested.

  “Don’t do that. Bagel.” She shook her head almost violently. “That’s the kind of stuff that’s going to land you out here with us, again.”

  Rosie refused. “I do what I want, Hams.” She placed the card down in their upside-down hat amidst the small collection of coins. “Remember, it activates once you use it, then it’s good until 3am the next day; okay?”

  Hams nodded, her eyes shining with tears. “I miss the scratchies.” She said.

  Rosie sighed. “Yeah, me too.” She smiled and looked up. “So, you must have some stories, it’s been two weeks!”

  “Just tryin’ to do by my Littlest Hobo philosophy, but I still think it would be easier if I were actually a dog,” she smiled at her, “no one wants help from a creepy beggar.”

  “You’re not creepy, Hams, you’re an eccentric, like me!”

  Hams raised a finger suddenly. “Oh! I did help a kid who was lost!”

  “Oh, that’s beautiful! Good for you!”

  “Thank you!” She looked a little pained, and Rosie figured there was more to the story, but left it as is. “What about your Nina philosophy?” Hams added.

  Rosie smiled gently and didn’t correct her. “Well, not too good, honestly. I tried it today, it makes people angry.”

  “People get angry when you try to share their feelings?” She just nodded, so Hams went on. “Well, that's what you always say, ‘sounds like a them problem!’”

  Her smile deepened. “You know what? You’re right. Thank you, Hams.”

  People passed them by like they weren’t even scenery as Rosie listened to the heartfelt tales of her sometimes neighbour.

  ?

  “Auuuugh!” Hiro had his hands over his ears and was pretending to be in pain while Souta sang along to the radio. “Make him stop, Ken-nii!”

  Kenji couldn’t stop giggling, and Souta sang louder, watching them in the rear-view mirror.

  They were so close to home, but Souta was taking the long way, and Kenji hadn’t even had to ask. But they were stuck in traffic right next to the reason Kenji liked taking the long way in the first place… the bridge.

  It stretched out to their left, and Kenji was doing his best not to pay attention and keep his mind here in the car, with his goofy dad and his playful brother.

  Flashing amber lights passed by them, and Souta's singing slowed to a stop. An emergency Turn Here sign was being set up, redirecting traffic to cross the river. “Kenji…” Souta started, but he looked in the mirror to see his son's chest already starting to rise and fall too quickly. He reached his hand back and touched his knee. “It’s okay, it will be short. Do you have your headphones?”

  Kenji nodded and dug through his backpack, producing over-ear headphones that he put on diligently. They were waved forward, and Souta turned the radio down as they started to cross. It was quiet, and Souta had to work hard to keep his eyes on the road instead of the mirror. Kenji's hands were clutching the sides of the headphones, and the closer they got to the centre of the bridge, the more he started rocking back and forth. Souta squeezed Kenji's knee, but he was starting to panic himself.

  Souta flicked his eyes to the mirror just as Hiro reached over and tapped his brother's shoulder. Kenji looked over, and Hiro jutted his jaw forward, crossing his eyes, and slowly Kenji started to giggle again. Souta's eyes burned, and he smiled with shaky lips.

  Hiro pulled another face, and both Kenji and Souta burst into laughter.

  They crossed the bridge under a pink-orange sky, radiating laughter into the evening air.

  ?

  “Are you sure this isn’t too much extra work for you?” Rosie asked nervously.

  “I mean, it is, but magic,” Souta replied.

  “That’s the least articulate you’ve ever been.”

  “Yeah!” He said with a silly smile, then he held Rosie's notebook in front of him. “We only have a few hours until Emi and the boys come back from the movies.” He blushed as he read her poem aloud:

  My winter songbird

  I long for night to meet day.

  With the Spear of Lu

  Pierce the blush-stained sky between

  Lost mornings and cold evenings

  Pixiko clapped, and Rosie cringed. “First of all, I love it. Second of all, I don’t think that’s the point. I suspect you wrote it with enough passion to make this.” and Souta gestured to her shimmering pink world surrounding them.

  “Thank you. It’s just… hard to hear my poetry read aloud.”

  “I heard it in the In Between and just had to meet you; it was so good!” Said Pixiko.

  “Is that really how it works?” Rosie asked.

  “Well, no, but it’s a nice thought!”

  “I mean this with respect, but what are you, Pixi-chan?” Souta asked.

  “I’m pure energy from the In Between! Or, the space between the Material where you cuties live, and the Beyond. My form is manifested as a compliment to our sweet Siren.”

  “You are definitely pure energy,” Souta confirmed with a fond smile, and 8-bit blush marks were rendered on her little face. “What is the ‘In Between’?”

  “It’s where we are right now! It’s a sort of meeting place or bridge between the Beyond and the Material.” She looked at them as if they should know what she was talking about. She sighed. “The Material, or the Mortal Realm, if where you two cuties live. The In Between is where Rosies’ pocket dimension came into being last week, and the Beyond… is like… you know…” and she dragged a tiny finger across her throat, sticking out a pixelated tongue.

  “Oh, my.” Rosie raised her eyebrows.

  “Yaba,” Souta said, and Rosie looked at him expectantly. “Yikes.” He translated.

  She nodded. “Big yaba.”

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  “So,” he refocused, “if we treat it like utamakura, then the name is desire, and the spot is you.”

  “Us.” She corrected, hopefully.

  Souta winced. “It would be better for you to own this.” He saw her wilt, and added, “Not because I don’t enjoy sharing it, I do. But, you have a power that you don’t see, and I want you to see it.” She blushed, and he went on. “Just for the sake of ease, let’s call the Material ‘Kai 1’, the In Between ‘Kai 2’, and the Beyond ‘Kai 3’.” He finished writing and looked back at a very confused Siren. “‘Plane’ is hard for me to say.”

  She nodded, then saluted, “You got it. So, your theory is… Realms like mine that exist inside Kai 2 are created by combining material and intent? Emotion? Thought?”

  Souta nodded. “Maybe as ‘Material’ can mean place and people, magic covers a range of other cognitive and emotional functions.”

  Rosie wiggled. “Pixi? Does any of this sound right?”

  “I don’t know,” Pixiko said without fanfare.

  Rosie was confused. “What? I thought your job was to help me?”

  “It is! That doesn’t mean I know the physics of magic. I do wish I could be more help, though. There used to be so many magical mortals, and mortals used to interact with the In Between and the Beyond more, or sorry, I guess you’re calling those ones, Kai 2 and Kai 3,” Pixiko said, looking smugly unimpressed, and Rosie couldn’t help but giggle.

  Souta blushed in defence. “It keeps it straightforward!” They held their gaze, and his blush deepened. “Okay, I know this is fantastic, and honestly, kind of scary. We’re just floating in something we didn’t even know was there. I’m trying to keep us steady.”

  “Do you think we’re gonna bump into Azathoth? Explode the everything?”

  Souta shook his head. “Dōshite kimi wa hontō ni sonzai shiteru no?”

  Rosie didn’t miss a beat. “Alright then, keep your secrets.” She said, and he just looked at her in dopey disbelief. Rosie didn’t notice and went on. “Okay, my brain is melting but let’s see; some places have power, some words have power, but, I’m a people, so, people can also have magic,” She was drowning, and looked up at Souta. “Help me out, School.”

  “Perhaps anything physical is considered ‘Material’? In Shinto, some say that objects over a hundred years old can have spirits of their own.”

  “Like trees!” Rosie said with childlike wonder,s and Souta couldn’t help but smile at her.

  “Yes, like trees. Okay. We have a good starting point with the Kai. What about your Siren research?”

  “Oh! Yeah! I’ve been focusing on myths where the behaviour is there and less the creature idea, you know? I don’t think Sirens are creatures like I used to believe; I think it’s a title, and a revered one!”

  Souta agreed. “Same as courtesans, Geisha, or Ganika!”

  “Yeah! Or companions from Firefly!”

  Souta swallowed. “You’re a magical Inara?”

  “Are you dead?”

  “Don’t.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I know you wrote a paper comparing it to Cowboy Bebop.”

  “Focus, you.” He said, but started to blush.

  “Shall we discuss the cultural blend in scholarly terms?” He tried to ignore her, hiding behind her notebook, and she scooched up towards him as his ears turned red. “I’m incredibly thankful you’re nothing like Mal, you know.” He laughed, gently, so she added coyly “,but I don’t think Inara ever fucked Wash.”

  That got him. He laughed so hard he dropped his pencil. It rolled across the conjured pearl-glass floor. He started to get up, but she was faster, and she twirled it between her fingers before handing it back with a smirk. Then, still exhaling from laughter:

  “Domo, Natchi.”

  The petals froze midair.

  Souta looked up, eyes wide, face pale. His mouth opened, then closed. He gripped the pencil tighter. “Rosie—I didn’t— I—”

  “I know,” she said, smiling so earnestly it gutted him.

  He exhaled a shaking breath and covered his mouth like it might keep the feeling in. But it didn’t. Couldn’t. “Gomen, hontō ni, gomen,” His voice cracked, and he started panting. “I didn’t mean to say—”

  “But you did! And it’s fine!” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and she knelt down beside him. “You don’t have to apologise, Souta.”

  Her empathy just made it worse somehow. “I didn’t know it was still there,” he said. “I thought I was past it.”

  Then Rosie's gaze went stern.

  “What? Why?” she asked. “Why would you ever want to get past it?”

  He blinked at her.

  “It’s such bullshit,” she continued. “When people say time heals all wounds. Some wounds don’t close. They just become part of us. Some things we carry forever. And, I think we should.” She reached up and touched his face. “Don’t you ever forget her, Souta. Especially not for me. Please.”

  He stared at her like she’d cracked open his chest with her bare hands and laid his heart down gently on the floor. He wasn’t comforted. He was unravelling. “Chigau, kore wa,” He stumbled over the words. His fingers trembled. His breath caught halfway up his throat—choked on grief, guilt, and unbearable grace. “No, no—don’t—don’t say that,” he rasped. “I can’t,” He scrambled to his feet. The Realm chilled, mist curling away from him like a cold front. The petals froze, turned to frost, and softly drifted to the floor.

  “Souta-” Rosie stood slowly, reaching out, but it was too late.

  The light pulsed, his image flickered. He looked at her, panicked, then “Wh-?” And he was gone.

  “Souta!?”

  “Don’t worry!” Pixiko reassured her. “He’s safe! He just… couldn't be here anymore. The Realm only holds those who want to be held by it, remember? He probably couldn’t handle the guilt.”

  Rosie's vision blurred, and the mists around her started to vibrate.

  Pixiko looked concerned. “Rosie?” Unable to respond, Rosie turned away, and the realm started to turn the grey of overcast. Pixiko darted towards her mistress. “Oh no… is this one of those waves?!”

  Rosie put her head in her hands and fell to her knees. “I’m just, I’m…” The realms' sky grew more and more grey until it became almost thunderous. Fuck! Rosie thought. Of course, this affects my magic!

  She fumbled for the notebook.

  Magic = emotional alchemy

  “Fuck! Okay,” She tried to ground herself. “Feel it, let it go,” The sky continued to swirl, until suddenly the air snapped, like a livewire being cut, and a stillness rippled through the realm that Rosie could tell was not coming from her. Pixiko's twin buns glitched in alarm, and before them, a plume of gold and red smoke materialised from nowhere, and Rosie’s blood went cold as the smoke unfurled and expanded, glitching and phasing at the edges, and a figure appeared, silhouetted by swirling sigils the likes of which Rosie had never seen.

  An impossibly lithe man emerged, all lean muscle wrapped around something wild.

  Bare feet landed silently on the pearlglass floor and stepped forward as casually as he did fluidly. He was beautiful. His coat hung open and low at the hips, pushed back by hands that hung loosely in his pockets. His hair was a riot of copper curls pulled loose at the ears and falling down his back, tousled like he’d been running or fighting or fucking, or maybe all three. His eyes weren’t natural. Green shot through with shimmers of gold, ever shifting, and piercing.

  And his face…

  Sharp. Handsome.

  …Smirking.

  Pixiko surged forward. “Unauthorised!”

  Without effort, the figure raised a hand, moved two fingers through the air, and Pixiko stuttered and vanished, turning the mists around him to steam.

  “Where is she? What did you do?”

  “Relax, little thorn, your sprite’s fine. I just thought we could use the privacy.” He said, and the audacity of it made Rosie even angrier, but the lilt of his speech made her stomach dance.

  “Presumptuous.” She narrowed her eyes at him and took a nervous step back, and he swaggered forward.

  “Confident.” He corrected, and she swallowed hard.

  “Who are you?” She asked.

  He turned and sauntered a few feet away. “Names are such tricky little things, but Tadhg works.” Then, turning back to her, he added. “I’m a Siren like you- well, nothing like you, really. I just had to see for myself what was causing all the new signal buzz.” He walked towards her, and Rosie could feel the heat of his magic. “And honestly?” He said, stopping just outside of her space. “Disappointing.” Rosie flared with anger, but he went on. “Our magic isn’t about analysing, it’s about feeling, being. In the moment, in your body, and in your passion.” He turned away again. “The professors’ got you analysing what came from you. Cute to watch you, little mortals scramble about in the dark, honestly.”

  The word sat sticky in Rosie's ribs; mortal. “What… what are you?”

  He rolled his shoulders idly. “Fairest of the fair-folk, you might say.”

  She couldn’t help but beam beyond the fear she felt. “A Sidhe? A real Sidhe?!”

  He cocked his head. “Fascinating. You’re not afraid?”

  “Well, honestly, yes, a little bit.” She stepped forward without realising it. “Should I be?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, but otherwise, he was completely still. After a moment, he said in a tone that rattled his ribs. “Yes.” She froze in place, and his grin deepened as he straightened. “I saved you this time, but who knows how I’ll feel the next time you lose control, yeah?”

  He drew symbols of light in the air, and a portal opened up behind him,and he was gone before Rosie could say anything else.

  Rosie stood trembling. “Pixi?!” She shouted.

  Pixiko reappeared, her little hands already curled into tiny fists. “Rude!” She exclaimed. “Where is he?!”

  “He’s gone. Pixi, what was that?! I thought I was the one who did the summoning?”

  “Well, you are, but there are other magic users out there, and some are more powerful than others, and some,” then she looked around and shouted into the air, “are rude!”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Oh, he's still listening.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Pixi.”

  “But he might be.” Pixiko was scanning the pink skies with skewed eyes.

  Rosie grabbed her phone to text Souta. He had been calling and texting apologies, and Rosie almost forgot why.

  Rosie:

  It’s okay… but something else happened…

  ?

  The laptop's glow illuminated the dark room where Souta sat hunched like an oversized gremlin, eyes flicking between three different tabs. Different articles about the Spear of Lu. Rosie had alluded to it in her waka, explaining to him that she chose it because it was said to never miss its mark, and now that her realm had been infiltrated by an Irish spirit… It seemed like a solid lead to follow. Rosie had recounted it to him with sparkling eyes, like she was in one of their favourite stories, but for Souta… it was just scary.

  The light turned on suddenly, and he was blinded. “Smells like coffee and hyperfixation in here.”

  He refocused his eyes to see his niece Emi standing in the doorway with her backpack slung over one shoulder, face warm with love and slight concern.

  “Hey… Hi. Emi…” He rubbed his face.

  She sighed fondly. “Have you been glued to that thing since we left?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah… No, I’ve had breaks.” He closed the laptop and stood with a stiff smile. “Shall we?” He gestured to the kitchen-living room behind her. She squinted her eyes at him suspiciously before turning and walking to the table. He glanced back at the laptop one last time before following after her.

  Kenji was playing video games on the TV, and Hiro was sitting upside down on the couch watching. When Souta walked in, he scrambled up. “Papa! Your move, your move!” Hiro slid up to the board and looked on expectantly. Souta looked at Hiro; he seemed to think he’d already won, and his heart cracked. He was so much like…

  He swallowed hard, another casual placement, a ruffle of Hiro's hair and a kiss on the head, and Hiro threw his head back in an agonised wail before crumbling. “You’re a witch!” He exclaimed from the floor.

  Souta and Emi laughed. Emi emptied her bag, and Souta spread the forms out in front of them, neat rows of kanji swimming into each other like a tide he couldn’t quite push back. University brochures fanned out in carefully organised piles—local, national, public, private. Before long, Kenji and Hiro found themselves gravitating toward and intrigued by the casual discussion of their cousins’ future.

  “You can’t go to Tokyo!” Hiro exclaimed. “It’s too far!”

  “Hiroyuki,” Souta warned.

  Emi smiled. “You don’t want an excuse to come to Tokyo?”

  Hiro gasped like he hadn’t thought of that.

  “I don’t see any Music School applications.” Kenji’s voice was sudden and wistful.

  “Well,” Emi replied carefully, “I don’t need to go to school to keep playing, right, Kenji-kun?”

  He nodded slowly. “I hope so.”

  Soutas’ throat went tight, and he looked over at Emi, who seemed very determined not to look at anyone. He had been just nineteen when she was born, and Saki even younger… Souta had been there for her first word and her first heartbreak, had filmed her first piano recital through blurry eyes, and now here she was, staring down her future with a determination on her face that made him worry. He couldn’t help but notice that not only was Kenji right, but none of the programs she’d circled really felt like her. He shifted. “There’s always the Music Department at Niigata University.”

  Emi looked at her uncle gently. “I know. I’m just trying to be well-rounded, you know? Versatile.” Souta was about to push a bit more when she went on. “Do I have to write my personal essay by hand? No… right?”

  “No, Emi, we’re not that archaic. You can type it.”

  “Great, and then I just email it?”

  “Oh…” Souta rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… no. You have to mail it in.”

  “Mail?” She giggled. “You’re right, Souta-san, you university people are way ahead of our time.”

  He shook his head before getting up. “Okay, you get started writing, I’ll start making dinner, you two leave your cousin in peace.”

  The clatter of keys filled the space on and off, and Souta tried to be present, but his mind kept drifting back to his room, to the laptop and the unanswered questions he’d left there. Who is this Sidhe? What do they want with Rosie?

  “Ojichan!”

  Emis’s shout startled him and brought him back just as the water overflowed on the stove. He turned the heat off quickly and fanned the foaming water down with an oven mitt. “Gomen.” He said quickly over his shoulder.

  “Are you alright?” She asked.

  “Yeah, it didn’t splash or anything.”

  “No…” She nearly facepalmed. “I mean, are you okay? You’re super distracted. Like, more than usual.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Emi. Just… super busy, so super distracted. First week of the new semester and everything.” He was already facing the stove again, trying to salvage their dinner, and Emi watched him carefully while she continued working. Souta might have known Emi well, but she knew him just as closely, and she saw fear in him from the moment she caught him hunched over his laptop in the dark that she knew was about more than just her University applications.

  Even in this moment, he was thinking about golden eyes watching what he couldn’t protect.