literature

manere. | sugawara koushi

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Soulmate!AU where you become a writer and your series of novels become extremely popular, but what they don’t know is that you’re retelling your previous life through dreams where certain circumstances made it so you and your soulmate did not end up together but your soulmate promises to be with you in the next lifetime.

The twist here is it takes a while for the soulmate to remember you, and it takes you a while to remember who your soulmate is, too. But once you’ve remembered who your soulmate is, and once you’re together, the dreams will disappear.




The train gives a honk.

She stands there, perplexed, but then he juts his head out of the window and flashes her a smile. The smile that she will be dreaming about for years afterwards.

“I promise, [Name],” he shouts, despite the winds and the train’s chugging nearly drowning his voice. “I’ll be with you in the next life! So wait for me, and I’ll come looking for you-”



“Are you done?”

The voice nearly makes you jump, mug in hand near spilling the tepid contents of hot cocoa in it onto the keyboard splayed before you. You turn around, eye twitching in annoyance at the disturbance standing beside you, grinning sheepishly. “I don’t fancy seeing you around here, Sugawara, not when I’m in the middle of typing. What’s up with that?”

He rubs his neck and takes a seat across yours, hands propped forward in apology. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just that you’ve been sitting there for three hours without moving so I was worried.” Then he takes a peek at the screen of your laptop. “Is that your new series?”

You promptly close the device, embarrassment burning on your face. “None of your business.”

He lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Right. I won’t disturb you until I’m off the clock. By the way, you need to eat.” And he places a dish of lamb steak before you.

“What?” you start, eyes going wide at the sight of food before you, and you think about turning it down even though your growling stomach speaks another story for you. “But this- this is expensive! How much is it? Please don’t tell me it’s on the house again-”

“Actually, it is,” he replies, trying to avoid your gaping stare. “Don’t worry, it’s on me. You don’t have to pay for anything - the cocoa, too.”

“You can’t do this, Sugawara, you’re doing business here-”

“[Name],” his voice stops you. “For the lady who’s incidentally my best friend and a writer who’d spice things up in my cafe. It’s because of you business has been kind. I’d love to show you my thanks.”

You open your mouth in protest, but he’s already making his way back to the bar, where a customer is openly gaping at the slices of Belgian chocolate cakes displayed on the counter. You watch as he deftly picks one of the slices and packs it up in a fancy box before bringing it to the register, where the customer is waiting.

To have the owner of the cafe, who is your best friend of six years, give you free drinks and food - you can’t describe in words how grateful you are for him, more so when your popularity as a writer starts to become a hindrance between the two of you; yet he still welcomes you with open arms and treats you with your favorite hot cocoa. In a way, since you're now a known author, your frequent visits to his workplace has also become a sensational spot for those who love your works, so you can't really do anything when people starts going to the place more than you do. But Sugawara is Sugawara, and six years of friendship won't let this kind of thing break what you have with him.

You can’t trade the world for someone like him.

But you wish that he knows what you’re actually writing for.



3AM.

You wake up with a start, forehead beading with sweat.

The sudden pounding in your head makes your stomach lurch and your throat clench. You flinch, bowing into your lap as you hold your temple while trying to not vomit all over the sheets.

Even after three years, you’re still not used to the aftermath of the dream that has you shaking to the core. The same dream that has you waking up in the middle of the night, once every week, for three years.

Fumbling in the dark, your hands try to search for the phone stand, eyes barely making out the blinking red dot; and then you’re holding the receiver, fingers dialing a number that you’ve memorized at the back of your mind. You hold it against your ear, heart thrumming in sync with the beeping in the line, before it picks up and a hoarse, sleepy voice answers, “Hello?”

“Su-” your voice catches, and you gulp quickly to settle the lodgings in your uvula. “Koushi, I-I’m so sorry for calling you so late, I-I--“

It’s probably because he hears the tremor in your tone, senses the fear laced in your vocals, or your use of his given name for the first time in a while, whichever it is - his voice is suddenly more alert than seconds ago. “What, what’s wrong? Are you okay? [Name], talk to me-”

“It’s that dream again.”

For a while, everything is silence.

You swear you can hear his heartbeats even from the other line.

When he speaks, he’s more composed. “Is it… is it a continuation from last week’s?”

You catch yourself when you squeak out a “yes.”

“What’s it about?”

And you tell him.

For three years now, you’ve been dreaming of the same thing, albeit a little differently. Once every week, you’d dream of a scene where you and this man you can’t remember fall in love with each other, then of another when both of you were frolicking in some place you don’t recognize, and then of another where you’re facing the struggles laid in your path as you fight to keep the relationship between you alive.

The only odd thing about the dreams are the fact that both the man and you never end up together, but only held by the promises that both of you will meet again.

You tried to remember bits and pieces of it, those of which you’ve salvaged are now in messily-written notes kept in separate folders lining the shelf on your walls, and in printed words arranged into books and sold in stores, which has skyrocketed your sales and popularity as of recently.

While you’re immensely happy with the way your life has turned, you’re also greatly perturbed by the fact that these dreams would always have a strong effect on you, more so when you’re certain that one of the two main characters in them are you. So in a way, without Sugawara knowing, you're also looking for the person who shares this kind of dream with you. Some soulmates are found in a day, but for you, it's been three years since you've had it, and you wonder if this dream will end with you never finding yours.

“...it’s the train station this time,” you say, one hand on your chest to calm your erratically-beating organ. “I-I don’t know what I was doing there, but it looks like he’s… he’s departing for something, something important. I think it's in a World War Two setting, now that I think about it… he’s in this green uniform getup and he’s got a rifle, some sort of weapon, and he’s saying goodbye and-”

Sugawara doesn’t interject, but his breathing from the other line assures you that he’s there, so you continue: “And he says… he’ll see me in another life, no matter where I am, and he’ll come find me…”

He hums. “You might want to jot all of that down, you know, before you forget it.”

Oh, right! Mumbling a meek ‘sorry’, you fumble in the dark once again to grab the pen and journal placed on the nightstand, before you flip through written pages in search of a blank one and start writing on it, helped by the light of the lamp. Phone propped to your ear by your shoulder, you keep on scribbling until the last word, before you heave a deep sigh and say, “There, all done.”

A snicker from the line. “There you go. Feeling okay, at least?”

You can’t help the smile from blossoming on your lips. “Just a bit, but thank you. And I’m sorry for calling you this late. You have work today, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t open shop until like three in the evening,” he says, then there’s a pause before he continues, “But don’t you have a book signing event today? At [Bookstore’s Name], with that new sci-fi writer I-forgot-his-name?”

You giggle; Sugawara has told you that he doesn’t like this ‘new sci-fi’ writer because to him, that guy is a snob and is far too young to understand the world, hence him dubbing the dude ‘I-forgot-his-name’. Then the reminder jolts you, and by now you think you’ll only be able to catch a few hours of sleep if you’re lucky.

“Oh my god!” you shriek, and then you’re fumbling again, mouth speaking incoherently over the receiver. “Oh god, I totally forgot, I didn’t even pick any outfit for that, oh god, I can’t go there in just jeans and a shirt, can I? Or do I put a jacket on my pajamas? Wait, where’s my lucky pen? I think I put it around here somewhere-”

“[Name].” You stop at the sound of his tone. “Relax. I’ll come and get you ready. Nine o’clock sharp, okay?”

You nod, then realizing that he can’t see you over the phone, you say, “Okay.”

He bids you to go to bed, says goodnight, and promises you that he’ll be there on time; you nod throughout his entire spiel, calmed by the gentleness in his tone and his firm assurance that he’ll be with you soon, before he clicks off the call and you’re left in silence, alone but happy.

The things he’ll do to make sure you’re cared for.

And with that assurance, you lull yourself back to sleep.



“I swear, sometimes you act like my mom or something.”

His shoulders flinch, but he doesn’t comment on it or turn around from the sausages he’s currently frying even when you’re snickering through your second mug of hot cocoa.

“I mean, you’re even wearing her favorite apron. And you made me hot cocoa. And you’re making breakfast, like a good mom would-”

“[Name], would you shut up and finish your drink and let me finish cooking first before we talk?”

Your laugh is the only answer he gets.

Much to your surprise (and slight annoyance, because you still haven’t bathed and you stink of sleep), Sugawara shows up an hour earlier than anticipated. His promise of getting you ready for the book signing event still stands, even though you doubt he’d do less than what he says he will, given that the event is still two hours away.

In the least, you get an early head start on the day, and with your best friend helping you out, too.

The smell of food makes your stomach grumble in protest, and you’re about to finish your mug when he places a third one along with a plate of your breakfast before you. Hot cocoa again, fried sausages, scrambled eggs and toast. You want to thank whatever great lord is watching you from up there for giving you an angel in disguise who can cook and care for you at the same time, but you don’t have time for prayers because you’re digging your face into the dish, savoring every bite and taste as you hum appreciatively.

He sits across you, delving into his own breakfast and drink and watching you eat with a grin tugging at his lips. “If you don’t slow down, you’re going to choke yourself and end up in the hospital, you know.”

You stop chewing, instinctively gagging on the food that’s stuck in your throat before you take your mug and down its contents in one go, which proves to be bad in its own way because the cocoa is already hot and the food in your mouth is equally so, making for a bad combination. “Do you really have to say it like that? I can’t believe I nearly died because of your food,” you say, a little dramatically, earning a chuckle from the male opposite you.

“Hey, my food isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, yeah. At least we know who’s the better cook here. Can I shower now?”

“Finish your food first,” he says, voice stern. “Then shower. I’ll pick your clothes.”

You nod, stuffing a heap of eggs and sausage bits into your mouth.

The apartment still smells of eggs, sausages and toast by the time you’re about to leave with him, dressed in faded jeans, a white blouse with puffed sleeves and a pendant - an overall simple look that he’s decided would look good on you today. A blue fountain pen dangles from the pocket on your left breast - an item that you considered your lucky charm, given by Sugawara when you first started as an author.

And this is the first time that you’re going to a book signing event - one that is yours no less. You need all the luck in the world to carry you through the day.

“How do I look?”

You’re both in front of [Bookstore’s Name], standing by the arched glass entrance as you fumble around in your briefcase in case you forgot something. You check your reflection on the wall’s glassy surface three times, rethink if you should’ve gone for the pink lipstick instead of coral red, even scrutinizing your outfit of the day to decide if it’s worth it. Sugawara stands beside you, watching with amusement as you try to press on a crease on your blouse that doesn’t seem to exist in his eyes.

“How do I look?” you ask him again when he doesn’t reply. “I mean, do I look okay? Is my makeup alright? I know I should’ve put pink instead of coral today, but don’t you think this color looks off on me? I could go for light blue or some faint orange, or-”

“[Name].” He cuts you off before you could ramble on. “You look amazing, as always.”

You don’t know why this simple comment makes you suddenly self aware, but you find yourself blushing.

It isn’t the first time he’d comment you on your appearance. If anything, it’s bizarre, seeing as how he’s the one who chose your clothes for you this time, but you still find yourself flushing, even more so when you realize that you’re embarrassed about something like this. While you’re not really one who’d care about appearance, you still try to treat your skin and learn the basics of makeup, especially when your fame begins to take hold. Being a renowned author has taught you to take care of yourself in the looks department, which you’re immensely grateful for.

Willing the blush to go away, you turn to the door, not daring to make eye contact with him. “Uhm, thanks. Now, l-let’s go in, shall we?”

You don’t see it, but you can feel his smirk radiating on your back, and you fight back the blush from forming on your skin. “Okay.”

He’s your best friend, nothing more or less, but you wonder how you’re going to go through the day with him at your side, at least for a couple hours.



The clock says twelve in the afternoon.

Your head says ‘I want to go home already’.

The line awaiting your booth is, to say in one word, astounding. You haven’t anticipated this many guests on your first time at your own book signing event, and to say you’re excited is beyond it. You get to meet people who are appreciative of your works, fans who adored the characters in your books, even reporters who want to put your stories in their articles for tomorrow’s newspapers. Critiques, suggestions - you welcome them all with open arms, accept invitations to take pictures together, present free copies of your latest work to happy and unsuspecting fans.

You are beyond exhilarated, but like other normal people, your energy runs on a limit.

Which is no surprise when the host of the event says that they’ll be taking a break for half an hour, which you take as your cue to leave the booth and rest on the backstage with Sugawara handing you refreshments.

You take a sip from the bottle for the third time, annoyed that half of it isn’t able to quench the thirst that’s conquering you. You lost count on how many books you’ve signed today, how many hands you’ve shaken, how many have taken pictures of and with you. Your head hurts like hell, but you’re in no position to complain. Curse public image for making you do something like this.

“Feeling alright?” you hear him say, and even through closed eyes you can feel him settling beside you. “You did good out there, though I’m surprised you didn’t bail out on them when they’re trying to take a group photo with you.”

You let out a suppressed laugh, then a groan. “If I have the will to do that, I’d be on the streets by now.” Then you let silence envelop you before you continue, “But seriously, Suga, you should be out there at the booth with me. You helped me out, after all.”

You feel him shrug. “I’m not cut out for this sort of thing,” he says. “Popularity’s not for me.”

“Aw, come on, give it a shot,” you tease, nudging him with your arm and hearing his protest. “You helped me out on that manuscript, too. It’s unfair that I’m claiming all the work by myself. Maybe we should’ve collaborated on a story, what do you say?”

He laughs. “I’m gonna have to pass on that. The cafe needs me, anyway. I can’t just do two work at the same time.”

You pout. “You’re no fun.”

“[Name], your time’s up!”

You flinch, a grimace finding its way on your face as you stand up. Sugawara follows you suit, then he checks his watch and suddenly makes to leave. “Suga? Where are you going?”

“Oh, uh, I got a reservation today, so I have to open up early,” he says, before making his way to the entrance, turning to address you before he leaves. “See you after this? Dinner on me.”

You fake another pout, but then you’re waving him off with a snort. “This time I’ll be sure to pay, mark my words.”

“As if I’ll let you.”

“Hey, that’s-” but he’s already disappeared from sight.

You sigh, then make your way to the booth that’s already lining with excited guests, when the manager suddenly waves you from the other side of the area, prompting you to go to her side. “What’s up?” you say.

“You got a gift from someone,” she replies, handing you a thick, rectangular shape wrapped in glossy paper. “Says he’s your fan. Didn’t tell me his name.”

“Oh?” you take the present, scrutinizing the shape for any sort of clue. “Do you know who he is? Or at least remember how he looks like? Did he leave a phone number or some form of contact?”

The manager shrugs. “Not that I know of. He said to give this to you and told us he’s your fan, then he left. Let’s hope that it’s not dangerous or anything.”

You nod. You’ve been told that there are some people who’d do something like this anonymously, and those people usually hope for nothing in return. You to make to leave for your booth, but then the manager stops you again and you turn to address her. “Yes?”

“Come to think of it,” she says, now darting her sights to the entrance. “I think I saw him leaving seconds ago. Right before you come out from that same door you’re in.”

Somehow you think you know who this person is, but choose not to make any assumptions.

You’ll find out sooner or later.



3AM.

You lay in bed, wide awake, sweat beading on your forehead as you try to calm your breathing.

The rectangular gift sits on your stand tonight, plaguing you with the dream that has previously woken you.

You’ve visited Sugawara’s cafe earlier, the event ending quite later than the normal schedule. True to his words, the dinner that night was on him, even though you insisted on paying everything he’s made for you so far. In the end, you’ve slipped a couple of notes into his clenched palm and forced him to take the money, which he hesitantly took, but so far you’re convinced that you’ve acted quite normally.

No way in hell are you going to admit that you’ve got his present. You still don’t know the motive behind this, or if he’s the one who actually delivered the gift to you.

Your fingers trace the edges of the rectangle absentmindedly, admiring the glossy surface. It helps calm the erratic beating of your heart, and for a second you think of calling Sugawara, to tell him of the dream you’ve had just minutes ago, like you usually would.

Three years, once a week, without fail, you’d call him to tell about the dreams you’ve had. Even when he’s got urgent work that needed his attention in the morning, he’d spare some time to answer your calls and listen to you ramble about them, not to forget that he’s also the one who first gave you the suggestion of writing about your dreams in a journal.

Tonight, though, you’re deciding against that. This is the first time that the dream has occurred to you twice in a week, and you have an inkling as to why it happens.

You reach out for the shape, and find yourself ripping through the wrapper, praying to all heavens above that it’s what you think it is.



You stare into the mug, its contents long gone.

But you can’t find it in yourself to do anything else.

From the peripheral vision of your eyes, you make out Sugawara’s figure darting back and forth between the bar and the tables, trying his best to accommodate his customers. While it’s not a particularly busy day, visitors have been pouring in ever since lunch period comes, so he has no time to attend to you. For now.

For now, you’ll content yourself by watching him from where you are.

Time seems to fly by so quickly, and before you know it, he’s ringing up the last customer and is already fumbling to clean up the cafe before he closes it. “Hey, sorry for making you wait, just a bit more and I’ll be done here,” he says, both hands occupied by a pail and a mop.

You immediately rush forward to help. “I’ll do this. You go wrap up the register.”

“Eh? But-”

“Koushi,” you stop him before he can go on. “I need to talk to you.”

He’s confused, but your look stops him from prodding further, so he simply nods his assent as he hands you the mop.

Minutes pass as you finish up cleaning while he clears the cash register for the day. You put the mop and the pail in the back of the store, only to come out front to see him already waiting for you with two mugs of hot cocoa and two slices of Belgian chocolate cake on the table.

You take your seat across his. “You don’t have to do this.”

He simply shrugs. “You said you need to talk. And it’s still early. But let’s have these while we chat, that okay with you?”

“How long have you known?”

He’s about to reach for his mug, but stops when you shoot him the question. “What?”

“How long have you known?” you repeat, fingers fiddling with the handle of the mug. Suddenly you find yourself wanting to run, not wanting this conversation to happen, but somehow you need to find out. “I mean, this isn’t the first time, is it?”

He doesn’t answer at first, but takes his time in sipping his drink, which you follow suit. The hot cocoa he made today is a little too sweet, which you notice, so you furrow your brows at him, and he shoots you a sheepish grin.

“Too much sugar, huh?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

That takes him by surprise. “Does it matter?” he finds himself saying.

You find yourself filled with fury at his words. “Does it- of course it does!” you say, trying to keep your voice down despite the rising octave in your tone. “How do you think I feel- actually, let me just show it to you.”

You fish through the briefcase you’ve incidentally brought with you today, and slam a thick, hardcover book right before him, careful not to topple the mug and the plates of cake off the table.

For a while, both of you stare at the book, its title staring back at you in bold white words:

ex tempore.

“Your first book,” he says, voice lower than a whisper as he fingers the cover. “The manuscript was wonderful. It almost reminds me of-”

He catches himself before he finishes, and he stares at his own mug, shame and regret and guilt lacing his expressions.

You decide to take matters into your own hands.

“’I’ll find you, even if it takes me a thousand lifetimes to go through’. That’s what the note in this book says. And I’m not that stupid to forget how your handwriting looks like, Koushi,” you say, tone near snapping at the edges. “Remember that manuscript for this book? It was after that first dream. You remember how it is?”

He chuckles. “How could I not? You sounded so scared, you thought the dream was going to eat you alive.”

“Yeah, but then you told me to write about it in a journal,” you reply, taking your hand off the book. “I’ve been writing about it ever since it happened, which was about every week, actually.”

“You’d call me around 3AM,” he continues. “You’d always sound so scared and surprised. The dreams kept continuing from where it ended. Every week. Once a night. You never fail to call me.”

“I had the same dream last night.”

He shoots his gaze to you, surprised.

“I saw his face,” you say. “After three years of dreaming the same man, I finally saw his face. And I finally remember how it looks like. And I finally remember what it is.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I wrote this book,” you go on, thinking he won’t reply any time soon. “Based on the dreams you’ve told me to write in my journal. I didn't let you know, but I wanted to find my soulmate through that." You stop, watching his face for any reaction; he seems to be deep in thought, though he's paying you his full attention, and you don't miss the slight shock that mars his face. "The first story, I emailed you the manuscript, didn’t I?”

He gulps. “The main male character looks somewhat like me. That’s how you’ve described it in your book.”

You smile; he’s finally responding. “You told me that, after you’ve sent it to me, corrections and all.”

“The story is about how the two main characters overcome time and dimension in order to be together, only that in each timeline, both of them never did end up together.”

You want to burst, right then and there. “I never fail to call you, once a week, at 3AM, even though you know you have work later, you still answer my calls.”

He doesn’t say anything, again.

“How long have you known?”

He’s still quiet.

“Suga-”

“My mom,” he finally says, breaking you off. “She told me something about it, about how my father and her met the first time. It wasn’t really a rough ride, but…”

You sit down, listening.

“She said-” he gulps, trying to clear his throat. “She said that… every time she dreams, it’s about the same man that she kept falling in love with. Every time, in different times. Different eras. Victorian, the First World War, Pearl Harbor, World War Two… One time she dreamt she was a maid and my father was the lord she’s serving.” He chuckles, but his voice is low and solemn. “She’s had the same dream every night ever since she turned eighteen, and she met my father through some friend who told him about them.”

He goes on, “He’s had a deja vu, saying that he’s experienced the same dreams like she did, and then they’re met, and just like that they recognized each other, they remembered, they stopped dreaming.”

He stops for a moment, then says, “Do you remember, three years ago, the first time you’ve had that dream?”

You find yourself catching your voice. “Yeah.”

“The man got shot in the chest, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“And he told you he’ll find you in the next lifetimes, no matter what it takes.”

“Yeah.”

He’s quiet for another moment. “Do you remember his face?”

You find yourself gulping nervously. “I didn’t,” you say. “But I do now.”

He smiles.

“So do I,” he says.

You find yourself at a loss for words. “We’ve been friends for six years,” you say. “How…?”

“How, you ask me,” he sighs, leaning against the chair he’s sitting on. “Imagine my surprise when I first find out that the woman in my dreams looked exactly like you.”

You want to cry.

“Koushi…”

“[Name],” he leans forward; before you know it, he’s at your side, lips hovering above yours. “Pearl Harbor, World War Two, through the Nagasaki bombings… I promised that I’ll keep finding you no matter what, didn’t I?”

You can’t say a word; too busy with trying to hold back your tears.

“We couldn't be together in the past, but we can do it now, can’t we?”

You nod, tears flooding your eyes and spilling onto your cheeks.

"Three years," you rasp, leaning closer to thin the gap between you. "I waited for you, three years long."

He smiles. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You won't go away this time, will you?"

"No, that I promise."

"Will the dreams ever stop, if it's not you?"

He leans closer yet, his lips fanning over yours. You smell cocoa in his breath.

“Let’s make them stop, then.”



The dreams do stop.

But your love never will.
tbh im not satisfied with this bc i rly dont think this is good bc its all over the place and doesnt make sense to me lmao
also special thanks to soorumi for proofreading :'D

Sugawara Koushi and Haikyuu!! © Haruichi Furudate
Story © me
© 2016 - 2024 patcherinko
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lunasilvia's avatar
lunasilvia
That was amazing! I love the whole idea with the two people dreaming the same things and the "I'll find you again." It is all over the place, but it's a good all over the place.