TTRIA 35

“What?”

“You seem unsure. Because I always thought you knew everything.”

“Good heavens… Why would you think something so absurd?”

How could I possibly know everything when I’m not a god? Cecil, staring at Jeff’s face tinged with incredulity, answered.

“Because you’ve always taught me something.”

“…”

“What the world outside the mansion is like. What kinds of lives exist.”

Cecil’s blue eyes shimmered like quiet ripples.

“You know, Jeff? All the words and sounds you shared with me carried sensations I couldn’t grasp from mere text. That must have been…”

Jeff, ready to retort with any quip, fell silent and met Cecil’s gaze.

“Your memories and emotions, I think. By sharing them, I could walk the university campus instead of the annex, visit the library, spend time at a café with delicious sandwiches, and stroll by the lake.”

There was a time when Jeff’s piercing gaze frightened him, but it allowed Cecil to confront emotions he’d inwardly shunned.

“That was a lesson no one else ever gave me, Jeff. So I guess I subconsciously thought you knew everything.”

Cecil, continuing softly, touched the blank spaces of the crossword.

“But you asking me for answers, and me giving them to you—it’s fascinating that I could teach you something too. That’s what I meant.”

“…There’s a lot I don’t know.”

Jeff said abruptly.

“I might’ve sounded grandiose in front of you, but honestly, the stories I told weren’t anything special. They’re closer to insignificant, really.”

He let out a light laugh and added.

“I haven’t exactly lived an exciting life. I thought I did my best, but after sharing my stories with you, I started feeling a bit regretful.”

Every time he saw Cecil listening intently with shining eyes, Jeff thought to himself. If only he’d lived a more vibrant life. Then he could’ve shared more stories with him. That was his regret.

“My stories aren’t exactly complete or perfect. Neither am I.”

Jeff, pulling one leg onto the bed, hugged his knee.

“Even if I don’t know everything. Even if I make foolish mistakes and cause you pain. Even if you’re disappointed in me.”

Resting his chin on his knee, Jeff tilted his head to look at Cecil.

“Still, trust me and stay with me, Cecil.”

“…”

“And teach me too.”

Like now. The answer to a word puzzle, your favorite composers, or explanations about music—anything. Let’s narrow the gap between what you know and I don’t, filling in each other’s blank spaces.

“So, speaking of which.”

Pointing to a square on the page, Jeff said.

“A term for a performance by multiple instruments. Nine letters.”

His amber eyes, bathed in morning sunlight, softened.

“What’s the answer?”

A blue speck flickered over the warmly glowing hue. Realizing that trembling color was his own reflection, Cecil, who’d been staring blankly, smiled as if crumbling.

“Orchestra.”

This moment felt like a performance shared with an instrument named Jeff.

As it turned out, this area was a hub for performing arts. Small theaters dotted every street, and even tiny pubs had stages, with posters announcing stand-up comedy shows. Thanks to that, finding theatrical supply stores or costume rentals was easy without much effort.

“Let’s check this place out.”

Jeff said, peering through the dusty window at neatly displayed wigs and makeup tools. Cecil, pressing his nose to the glass to look, nodded.

A metal bell jingled as they opened the door. Along with the lingering sound, the scent of old cosmetics and aged fabric wafted over.

“Welcome.”

The shopkeeper, wearing a worn knit vest and faded tie, poked his head out to greet them. Through smudged glasses, light brown eyes darted busily. The scrutinizing gaze was uncomfortable, but Jeff didn’t let it show.

“Looking for something specific?”

“Wigs, please.”

“New faces. Which troupe are you with?”

“None. We’re travelers.”

“Ah, I thought so.”

The shopkeeper muttered lightly. He had a peculiarly bored yet sharp gaze. Jeff subtly stepped forward, shielding Cecil behind him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Though he aimed for a casual tone, a wary edge slipped out. The shopkeeper replied nonchalantly.

“There’s no actor in this area I don’t know, but you two stand out too much for civilians. Just a guess. Plus, you’re a bit too serious for actors who’d come here.”

“…”

Serious? Did they seem that naive? Unable to hide his embarrassment, Jeff closed his mouth. Cecil, hidden behind him, cautiously took Jeff’s hand. Jeff gripped it tightly and spoke.

“If only actors can buy here, we’ll leave.”

“No need. Anyone can be an actor.”

The cryptic remark made Jeff realize something. The shopkeeper knew. He knew they were fugitives. That they needed disguises.

“…Guess people wanting to be actors come here often.”

“Exactly.”

The shopkeeper nodded lightly and added.

“So no need to be so guarded. It’s pretty common in this business. Feel free to browse. We’ve got everything from formal wigs to long ones for period dramas.”

“…Jeff.”

Cecil leaned close and whispered.

“Should we leave?”

“…No, it’s probably fine.”

It seemed like he’d just deduced their situation, not that he knew specifics about them. Besides, Jeff had a hunch other places would be similar.

“Show us the most natural-looking ones.”

So Jeff made his request casually. The shop’s timeworn interior suggested it had been here for ages. Many must’ve passed through, including dangerous types. Yet the shopkeeper’s demeanor proved why it had endured so long.

“You’re aware high-quality wigs are pricey, right?”

“Cost doesn’t matter.”

If they could conceal their appearance, it was worth any price.

“This way, then.”

Leading them deep into the shop, the shopkeeper opened a display drawer. After inspecting a few boxes, he presented a neatly trimmed light brown wig.

“This should work naturally for everyday use.”

Jeff took the wig. The well-groomed strands felt like real hair.

“Is this made from actual human hair?”

“Of course. Nothing like cheap synthetic fibers.”

“I see. Definitely… Can we see others? Different colors and styles, if possible.”

The shopkeeper nodded and showed another wig, this one black with natural curls.

“You can try them on. I’ll step away if you want privacy.”

“Thank you.”

Once the shopkeeper left, leaving them alone, Cecil spoke.

“…He said it’s real human hair. Does that mean it’s from a dead person?”

“Well, it’s possible, but… usually, it’s made from hair grown and cut specifically for this. Hair can be valuable.”

“Oh, I see. Grown hair…”

Cecil looked somewhat relieved. It must’ve felt a bit eerie. Jeff chuckled lightly and handed him the light brown wig.

“Since we’re changing colors, you should try this one.”

“Okay.”

Cecil removed his glasses and cap and put on the wig. Carefully adjusting it in the mirror to hide his black hair, he turned around. Jeff, seeing the transformed Cecil, was impressed.

“How’s it look?”

“…You really can pull off anything.”

Though starkly different from his natural color, it blended as if it had always been his.

“Does it suit me?”

“Yeah, it does. The color softens your vibe too.”

“Really?”

Cecil glanced back and spoke softly.

“You try one too, Aiden.”

Pfft, Jeff burst out laughing and quickly covered his mouth. Cecil stepped closer, as if pointing at Jeff, and whispered.

“Don’t give us away, Jeff.”

“…Not bad.”

Jeff lightly tapped Cecil’s shoulder, barely stifling his laughter. He put on the black wig and checked the mirror. Unlike Cecil, who looked natural, the reflection showed a complete fool. Jeff’s brow furrowed deeply.

“…This is awful.”

“Let me see.”

“No, wait, don’t come over.”

Cecil, eyes sparkling, approached. Jeff hurriedly covered his face and backed away. Trying to remove the wig before Cecil saw, his hair got tangled in the inner clips. Yanking it carelessly, strands of his hair ripped out. Worse, the misaligned wig slid over his eyes.

“Ugh…!”

Jeff lost his balance. His left foot, still tender, couldn’t support him. As he felt himself falling backward helplessly…

“Jeff.”

A firm arm wrapped around his waist in an instant, a hand supporting his neck to keep it from snapping back.

“You okay?”

Cecil’s worried face peeked through the disheveled wig.

“Be careful.”

You could’ve gotten hurt with all these cluttered displays, Cecil added with concern. Jeff nodded stiffly.

“Yeah…”

The slight movement made the wig cover his eyes again. With a faint chuckle, the hand on his waist tightened, steadying Jeff’s body. The hand supporting his neck reached up to fix the messy wig. The hand at his waist stayed in place.

“Can you see now?”

“…Yeah.”

“Good. I can see too.”

“…See what…”

Before Jeff could ask what he meant, he realized. He was wearing the wig that made him look like a fool. Perfectly adjusted by Cecil’s hands, no less.

“You…”

Jeff glared, scrunching his face. Cecil’s clear blue eyes, sparkling under the light, met his gaze. Facing that innocent expression, Jeff’s tension melted away. Since Cecil had already seen it, might as well let it be.

“Fine. Look all you want.”

“It’s interesting. A wig changes your whole vibe.”

“…How’s it different?”

To me, I look like a fool. But maybe others see it differently? Curiosity crept in, and Jeff asked quietly. Cecil, staring intently, spoke.

“A little…”

“A little?”

“Foolish, Jeff.”

“…What?”

A laugh like rolling glass beads rang out. Cecil’s trembling shoulders and clear, joyful face made Jeff relax his furrowed brow. Despite being teased, it didn’t feel bad at all. Instead, laughter bubbled up too.

“Hey, you think you can humiliate me and get away with it?”

Jeff playfully pinched Cecil’s pale cheek and said roguishly. Meeting Cecil’s twinkling amber eyes, Cecil mumbled with a smile. It was revenge for the snoring joke.

Jeff felt his chest swell immensely. It tickled like a cough was coming, yet it surged uncontrollably. Since being alone, had he ever bantered so meaninglessly with someone? He’d thought it was a waste of time. To think it could bring such joy. To think he’d forgotten that.

Cecil.

Jeff’s lips moved silently. Cecil, watching his mouth, tilted his head curiously.

“Hm?”

“You look good when you smile.”

Feeling a slight thrill, Jeff said.

“Keep smiling like that.”

You belong out here. Butterflies need to be free.

“Alright, time to settle up?”

Jeff pulled the cap over the light brown wig and grinned. A soft laugh came from Cecil, head bowed. Satisfied with the foolish yet joyful moment, Jeff adjusted his cap too.

“Ready to check out?”

The shopkeeper, peeking from the back, asked just then.

“Yes. We’ll wear them out.”

“Very well.”

Jeff headed to the counter, preparing the quoted amount. The shopkeeper, opening the ledger, whistled upon seeing them.

“Unrecognizable.”

“I trust you’ll only remember us as we are now.”

“Of course.”

Shrugging lightly, the shopkeeper counted the money on the counter.

“I’ll get your change. One moment.”

He deftly grabbed the cash and opened the metal coin box. Clink. Coins rattled as they collided. While Jeff and Cecil examined items on the counter, the shopkeeper, inspecting the coin box, clicked his tongue.

“Damn, short on change.”

“How much?”

“Ridiculously so.”

The shopkeeper sighed deeply and shook his head.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll borrow some from the shop next door.”

“Wait, how can you trust us? What if we steal something?”

Jeff let out a hollow laugh, and the shopkeeper shrugged.

“What can I do?”

“…Let’s go together, then. I don’t want any misunderstandings later.”

“Good idea.”

“…”

What a strange guy. Another hollow laugh escaped Jeff.

“Alan, about that beard you promised last time…”

A figure burst through the shop door and froze.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you had customers…”

“Perfect timing, Johnny. Got any change?”

“What? Again? How do you run a business if you’re too lazy to go to the bank?”

The freckled young man wrinkled his nose and shook his head. Digging through his baggy pockets, he approached but suddenly stopped. His face, upon seeing the counter, lit up with shock.

“…Jeff?”

The young man, rigid as a statue, rushed forward. Damn it, Jeff swallowed a curse, lowered his head, and spoke to the shopkeeper.

“Keep the change.”

He grabbed Cecil’s hand, aiming to leave quickly, but the young man was faster. Blocking Jeff’s path, he tried to confirm his face with urgent eyes.

“Hold on, it’s you, right? Jeff Lowell!”

“You’ve got the wrong person.”

The young man flinched at Jeff’s cold tone. Ignoring his persistent stare, Jeff opened the shop door. The bell jingled, overlapping with the young man’s cry of “Wait, just a second…!” Hurried footsteps followed.

“Hey! Wait, just a moment…!”

Jeff strode forward, eyes fixed ahead. Cecil, glancing back in his place, checked behind them. The young man, unable to match their pace, was running, panting heavily. Cecil, pressing closer, said.

“He’s still following.”

Jeff sighed in response.

“I know.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to run and lose him?”