Ouran: Pictures of You
This is my entry for ouran_contest's "author's choice" theme. The theme I chose to write on was "Photographs". This is what I came up with. It's surprisingly sappy for being a fic dealing with memories of Haruhi's late mother.
Pictures of you, pictures of me
Hung upon your wall for the world to see
Pictures of you, pictures of me
Remind us all of what we used to be
The soft rain that falls past the window, coaxing in the spring, provides a soundtrack for his work. Ryouji rubs his hands together and surveys the work that stands before him. When he decided this morning to spend his day off from work organizing the closet full of old photographs into albums and frames, he had forgotten the sheer number of them he would be working with. Now, the task seems daunting, but he refuses to allow the stack of boxes before him to defeat him.
“I’m going shopping, dad,” Haruhi informs him, and as he bends to kiss her cheek, he ruffles her hair. “We’re out of milk and almost everything else.”
“Thank you, Haruhi!” the redhead exclaims, clasping his offspring against his chest for a tight embrace. “I was meaning to go myself, but…”
“It’s fine,” Haruhi assures him. “It’s your day off. I can do it.”
“What a sweet daughter I have! I am so lucky!” he squeezes her tighter, and she lets out a small yelp. He lets go at this cue. “What in the world have I done to deserve such a wonderful child!?”
“Really, it’s fine,” Haruhi seems a bit overwhelmed, but she is used to dealing with him, and adjusts to his energy quickly. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, okay?”
“Alright, have a good time!” the small family’s funds are kept in a steel box beneath his bed, and he guesses that Haruhi has already gotten in and taken the money she will need for shopping as she always does. ‘Such a responsible girl,’ he marvels, and pats her on the back as she exits the room. “When you get home, we can make muffins together!”
“Sure,” Haruhi adjusts the long strap of the small purse she is carrying around her shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
“Goodbye, Haruhi!” Ryouji waves until the apartment’s front door closes and then turns around to face his task for the day. He chooses the top box on the stack and carries it along with the bag of photo albums he purchased earlier into the kitchen, where he prepares tea for himself before he sits down at the table and slowly opens the box. Immediately as the box opens, dust flies into his face. A long sneezing fit gets in the way of his work, and when his sinuses finally calm down, Ryouji carefully brushes the rest of the dust from the top layer of photos and chooses one at random.
The photograph is a lovely one of Kotoko during the first week they met. He took it while she was enjoying the coffee he made for her, and she peers up over the rim of her cup at him. Recalling that early time in their relationship is blissful, calling to mind those days of her watching him suspiciously as he worked behind the counter.
“Isn’t working as a bartender with that face of yours a little bit of a girly job?” she asked him, and immediately his expression turned to one of mock horror.
“Kotoko-san, could it be that you are a sexist!?” he gasped, and immediately she raised her cup back to her mouth so she could avoid answering him.
“Of course not. It’s just that that face of yours… makes anything into a girly job.”
“I see!” he laughed heartily and lifted the camera that he had brought with him to work to take a picture of his boss to show Yuu-chan. Snapping a picture of Kotoko brought him great joy, and as he extended a plate of tea biscuits to her, that smile made him melt.
The next photo Ryouji’s hand reaches is one taken at he and Kotoko’s wedding. Kotoko is squinting into the lens in the bright sunlight and Ryouji’s arm is around her as he laughs deeply at something she said. He can remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.
“Are you sure this dress doesn’t look lumpy?” Kotoko asked, peering at herself in the reflective surface of a vase as they stood a little way away from the guests at the reception, a married couple at last.
“Of course not!” truthfully, the white underskirt did make the effect a little lumpy below the waist, but she was his perfect bride and everything about her was beautiful. There was no part of him that could admit she had any flaws at that moment. “You look gorgeous! You look perfect! You look amazing!”
“Alright, alright!” she said finally, laughing and leaning against him. Her cheek was warm against his chest, and Ryouji’s smile widened at the soft contact. “I love you, Ryouji.”
“I love you too!” he practically shouted, and he was happy she was used to him by now. Those within a ten foot radius jumped in surprise, but Kotoko just smiled and laced her arms around his waist.
“You know, it’s probably about time that we go and have our first dance. Everyone is waiting,” she told him and Ryouji nodded.
“Of course!” he declared, the volume of his voice peaked by excitement and joy that rushed through his veins at the feeling of her small hand in his own.
Next, Ryouji finds a photo taken of the two of them on the day Kotoko won a large and important case. She looks almost regal with her dark business suit and the smile on her face is slightly exhausted, but genuinely happy. Ryouji, as usual, does not look as suave as she does. His button-up is slightly crooked, but what matters more is the happy smile on his face at simply being near to her.
“Congratulations, darling!” He exclaimed happily as they exited the courthouse hand in hand, Kotoko glowing with exhausted happiness at her victory. “You’ve kept an innocent man from going to jail! Oh, I’m so proud of you!”
In reply, Kotoko merely grinned and brushed back several locks of sweaty hair from her forehead. The sun was bright that afternoon, and she looked radiant with it beaming down on her. Ryouji marveled at the fact that someone so extraordinary could possibly love someone as imperfect as him, and he silently thanked whoever it was up there that made the decisions about fate as he slipped his arm around her waist. Moving farther down the steps, suddenly Ryouji was slightly blinded by flash as someone snapped a picture of them, but he really could not bring himself to mind.
“What a wonderful day! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Kotoko has won the most important case she has ever taken on!” he sang. “What could possibly make this day better!?” But somehow, Kokoto always seemed to know exactly what to say to surpass his expectations for what a wonderful day truly was.
“I’m pregnant,” he said with a small smile, and time seemed to stand still.
Smiling as he slides the three photos into slots in a lavender album, he reaches happily for another. He knows that looking back on memories has the ability to immerse him all day and that finishing his task is unlikely, but he does not mind. The memories make him warm, and that is worth more than anything.
Slowly, Ryouji reaches for another photograph. This one is from the day Haruhi was born. Kotoko is lying in a hospital bed and holding the small, dark-haired baby in her arms and looks absolutely content. Ryouji, who is standing beside her, seems completely oblivious to anything but the child in his wife’s arms.
“This is my daughter?” Ryouji asked, his voice hushed in wonder as he peered down at the small bundle.
“Yes,” Kotoko replied, and Ryouji nearly collapsed. He was at that moment staring at a tiny person he had helped bring into the world. A tiny person that was part of him. This was an overwhelming fact, and it made him want to faint. How could two mere humans possibly be responsible for something so absolutely perfect? “Would you like to hold her?”
“Of course!” Ryouji’s voice was still hushed, and for a moment, he faltered, hesitation holding him still. “But what if I…”
“You won’t hurt her,” Kotoko promised softly, as though she could read his mind. As Ryouji’s tiny daughter was passed into his arms, he could feel a shudder of warmth go through him. This was what being a father felt like.
“Hello there,” he whispered, and large brown eyes looked up at him from within the folds of pink blanket. “I’m your daddy.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence, and Ryouji rocked his daughter in the stillness, hoping that he wouldn’t inadvertently make the infant cry. The world seemed to fall away, leaving behind nothing but the small family in the blindingly sterile hospital room. Ryouji had never felt quite so content as he did at that moment, rocking his newborn daughter and marveling at the fact that she looked exactly like her mother.
“What should we name her?” Kotoko asked, breaking the silence. “I was thinking of maybe Haruhi, after her great aunt.”
“Haruhi is a lovely name,” Ryouji said softly, smiling down at the baby. “I love it.”
“Fujioka Haruhi it is,” the nurse said, marking something down on what Ryouji assumed was a birth certificate.
“Hello, Haruhi,” Ryouji said, trying it out. He could have sworn he saw her smile, though he had been told time and time again that babies could not. “Haruhi, Haruhi, Haruhi. Daddy’s here, Haruhi,” bending down to kiss that tiny forehead, he suddenly wanted to cry. “And he loves you very much.”
Blinking back sentimental tears at that memory, Ryouji slides the photograph lovingly into an empty slot in the album and reaches for another from the box. This one is a photo of he, Kotoko, and Haruhi on vacation in Osaka. They stand in front of USJ, Ryouji holding Haruhi and he and Kotoko beaming at the camera, slightly sunburned, while Haruhi stares at the camera in childlike awe.
“It’s been such a lovely day!” Ryouji said, bouncing his daughter a bit. She stared at him questioningly, and he laughed. At the age of three, she was already a smart and rather odd child, whose reactions to things were usually far more deep than his own. “Hasn’t it, Haruhi?”
“Fun,” Haruhi agreed, and he squealed in delight, hugging her tightly.
“Oh, you’re so cute, Haruhi!”
“Don’t crush her,” Kotoko warned, and Ryouji laughed, though he loosened the hug a bit.
“Don’t worry so much, darling!” he said breezily, leaning over to kiss his wife’s cheek. “What could possibly do wrong on such a perfect day!?”
The answer was a sudden drop of rain on his face, and as they ran for shelter, he and Kotoko chuckling heartily, he had to be amazed at how genuinely lucky he was.
The photograph slides easily into the empty album pocket, and when Ryouji’s fingers close around the next one and he stares at it, suddenly a kind of abstract weariness fills him, burning into his stomach like acid. The photograph is of he and Kotoko having just arrived at an onsen they are visiting for a break from everyday life. Ryouji is holding her and leaning in to kiss her just beside the mouth. Both of their eyes are closed in contentment, and he can sense the depth of the love that radiates from the pose even now, nearly ten years later. Kokoto’s dress is a pale pink, sleeveless affair that he cannot stop complimenting her on.
“You look so lovely in that dress, Kotoko!” he exclaimed, and his wife smiled at the compliment.
“Thank you Ryouji, but you don’t really need to say it a thousand times, do you?” she seemed more amused than irritated, however, and she took his hand gently. “Come on, let’s get inside! We need to get this vacation started.”
Ryouji hung back. “Are you sure Haruhi is alright without us!? She’s only five, you know!” he said quickly in one breath, letting out all the worry and concern that had been plaguing him all day.
“My parents adore her,” Kotoko reminds him, smiling in a way that is more comforting than he can ever begin to explain. “She’ll be fine. You know how much she adores spending time with them. Haruhi is a big girl. I’m sure she’s okay away from us for the weekend.”
“Alright,” Ryouji took a deep breath, pushing aside his concern. Leaning over to kiss her, he hears the unmistakable sound of a camera’s shutter, and Mikuru, Ryouji’s friend from work who drove them all the way to the onsen, is grinning at them and holding the camera in his hands.
“Get inside, you lovebirds. I’ll be back on Sunday night,” he says, more than a bit amused at the display. Ryouji smiles at him.
“Thanks for the ride, Mikuru-san. We’ll see you Sunday!” taking Kotoko’s hand again, he led her inside, his heart alight with excitement for the weekend.
Ryouji leans back in his chair, a heaviness filling his chest as he stares at the photograph, and his heart nearly collapses under the weight of it. The day after they returned from their vacation, Kotoko was gone. She had died without a word, without a sound, and left him feeling as though he was lost in the giant expanse of the world forever.
“Kotoko…” he whispers, barely even conscious of the tears that work their way out of his eyes and in hot, damp trails down the skin of his cheeks. After so many years, he had expected himself to feel numb at the memory of losing her, the memory that has been pushed aside for so long. Suddenly this apartment is large, cold, and empty, and he shivers. How many times did he and his precious Kotoko sit at this very same table together, doing crosswords and eating meals, happy in all their togetherness? How many times did she walk across that floor before him to make lunch for the young Haruhi, to grab herself a cup of coffee?
Ryouji is suddenly unsure of what he is doing, and he clutches the photograph to his chest as though it is his life raft. All around him, memories that have lain dormant for so very long swirl, colorful and painful and all too beautiful. He grasps at them, but they are too fast for him and they elude his fingertips, stinging his eyes with more tears he does not want to shed.
“Why did you have to leave?” he whispers, and for a moment he gets lost in the silence, almost expecting an answer. “Why did you have to go and leave us all alone?”
Shaking himself out of the sudden wave of self-pity, Ryouji sets the photograph on the table and takes a long, cleansing sip of his tea. “You can’t afford to get caught up in misery,” he reminds himself. It was Kotoko who taught him that life is far too short for that. He has to remain sunny and positive in the face of any obstacle… despite how lonely and lost he feels at this moment. Despite the pain that dwells somewhere in his chest as though a knife sticks between his ribs. Ryouji leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling.
Click says the latch on the door after Haruhi comes through it, and Ryouji sits up quickly, sipping his tea nonchalantly as his daughter comes into the room with a bag of groceries and a worried expression on her face.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and for a moment Ryouji is amazed at both how she can read him so easily and at how much she looks like her mother. She has the same eyes, the same short brown hair, and the same curious expression as she regards him in silence, waiting for his answer.
“Fine, fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, a sour taste in his mouth despite the sweetness of his tea. In an instant he knows she does not believe him, though she nods dimly and turns to pour a cup of tea for herself. She is not one to pry, and for this he is grateful. Ryouji waits as she finishes preparing her tea and sits down at the table beside him.
“So, what are you doing?” she asks, and Ryouji does not choke on his tea.
“Organizing these old photos,” he replies, and Haruhi nods sagely.
“Want me to help?”
“Yes, please,” Ryouji does not want to buried in memories alone any longer, but there is something refreshing about the thought of doing so with the girl who so long ago stared up at him with those huge brown eyes for the very first time and made his life whole. The two sit together, working through the innumerable photographs, sometimes sitting in a comfortable silence and sometimes making conversation. The little family sits around that old kitchen table and works on the task together, and somehow Ryouji can’t help but realize that Kotoko is here as the rain hits the windows and morning stretches into afternoon. She is here in the photographs, but more importantly in the memories and in every beat of her family’s hearts.
This is something that not even death can change. He can imagine that she can still see with some amusement him completing this mundane task, and he smiles.
‘Isn’t this a little bit of a girly job for you, Ryouji?’
‘I love you, Kotoko. We both do.’
Ryouji is not exactly sure if it is his imagination or something that he really hears, but he knows he hears it somehow, and it brings a smile to his face as it did so many times in the past, filling his heart with a sense of warm contentment.
“I love you too.”
Pictures of you, pictures of me
Hung upon your wall for the world to see
Pictures of you, pictures of me
Remind us all of what we used to be
The soft rain that falls past the window, coaxing in the spring, provides a soundtrack for his work. Ryouji rubs his hands together and surveys the work that stands before him. When he decided this morning to spend his day off from work organizing the closet full of old photographs into albums and frames, he had forgotten the sheer number of them he would be working with. Now, the task seems daunting, but he refuses to allow the stack of boxes before him to defeat him.
“I’m going shopping, dad,” Haruhi informs him, and as he bends to kiss her cheek, he ruffles her hair. “We’re out of milk and almost everything else.”
“Thank you, Haruhi!” the redhead exclaims, clasping his offspring against his chest for a tight embrace. “I was meaning to go myself, but…”
“It’s fine,” Haruhi assures him. “It’s your day off. I can do it.”
“What a sweet daughter I have! I am so lucky!” he squeezes her tighter, and she lets out a small yelp. He lets go at this cue. “What in the world have I done to deserve such a wonderful child!?”
“Really, it’s fine,” Haruhi seems a bit overwhelmed, but she is used to dealing with him, and adjusts to his energy quickly. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, okay?”
“Alright, have a good time!” the small family’s funds are kept in a steel box beneath his bed, and he guesses that Haruhi has already gotten in and taken the money she will need for shopping as she always does. ‘Such a responsible girl,’ he marvels, and pats her on the back as she exits the room. “When you get home, we can make muffins together!”
“Sure,” Haruhi adjusts the long strap of the small purse she is carrying around her shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
“Goodbye, Haruhi!” Ryouji waves until the apartment’s front door closes and then turns around to face his task for the day. He chooses the top box on the stack and carries it along with the bag of photo albums he purchased earlier into the kitchen, where he prepares tea for himself before he sits down at the table and slowly opens the box. Immediately as the box opens, dust flies into his face. A long sneezing fit gets in the way of his work, and when his sinuses finally calm down, Ryouji carefully brushes the rest of the dust from the top layer of photos and chooses one at random.
The photograph is a lovely one of Kotoko during the first week they met. He took it while she was enjoying the coffee he made for her, and she peers up over the rim of her cup at him. Recalling that early time in their relationship is blissful, calling to mind those days of her watching him suspiciously as he worked behind the counter.
“Isn’t working as a bartender with that face of yours a little bit of a girly job?” she asked him, and immediately his expression turned to one of mock horror.
“Kotoko-san, could it be that you are a sexist!?” he gasped, and immediately she raised her cup back to her mouth so she could avoid answering him.
“Of course not. It’s just that that face of yours… makes anything into a girly job.”
“I see!” he laughed heartily and lifted the camera that he had brought with him to work to take a picture of his boss to show Yuu-chan. Snapping a picture of Kotoko brought him great joy, and as he extended a plate of tea biscuits to her, that smile made him melt.
The next photo Ryouji’s hand reaches is one taken at he and Kotoko’s wedding. Kotoko is squinting into the lens in the bright sunlight and Ryouji’s arm is around her as he laughs deeply at something she said. He can remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.
“Are you sure this dress doesn’t look lumpy?” Kotoko asked, peering at herself in the reflective surface of a vase as they stood a little way away from the guests at the reception, a married couple at last.
“Of course not!” truthfully, the white underskirt did make the effect a little lumpy below the waist, but she was his perfect bride and everything about her was beautiful. There was no part of him that could admit she had any flaws at that moment. “You look gorgeous! You look perfect! You look amazing!”
“Alright, alright!” she said finally, laughing and leaning against him. Her cheek was warm against his chest, and Ryouji’s smile widened at the soft contact. “I love you, Ryouji.”
“I love you too!” he practically shouted, and he was happy she was used to him by now. Those within a ten foot radius jumped in surprise, but Kotoko just smiled and laced her arms around his waist.
“You know, it’s probably about time that we go and have our first dance. Everyone is waiting,” she told him and Ryouji nodded.
“Of course!” he declared, the volume of his voice peaked by excitement and joy that rushed through his veins at the feeling of her small hand in his own.
Next, Ryouji finds a photo taken of the two of them on the day Kotoko won a large and important case. She looks almost regal with her dark business suit and the smile on her face is slightly exhausted, but genuinely happy. Ryouji, as usual, does not look as suave as she does. His button-up is slightly crooked, but what matters more is the happy smile on his face at simply being near to her.
“Congratulations, darling!” He exclaimed happily as they exited the courthouse hand in hand, Kotoko glowing with exhausted happiness at her victory. “You’ve kept an innocent man from going to jail! Oh, I’m so proud of you!”
In reply, Kotoko merely grinned and brushed back several locks of sweaty hair from her forehead. The sun was bright that afternoon, and she looked radiant with it beaming down on her. Ryouji marveled at the fact that someone so extraordinary could possibly love someone as imperfect as him, and he silently thanked whoever it was up there that made the decisions about fate as he slipped his arm around her waist. Moving farther down the steps, suddenly Ryouji was slightly blinded by flash as someone snapped a picture of them, but he really could not bring himself to mind.
“What a wonderful day! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and Kotoko has won the most important case she has ever taken on!” he sang. “What could possibly make this day better!?” But somehow, Kokoto always seemed to know exactly what to say to surpass his expectations for what a wonderful day truly was.
“I’m pregnant,” he said with a small smile, and time seemed to stand still.
Smiling as he slides the three photos into slots in a lavender album, he reaches happily for another. He knows that looking back on memories has the ability to immerse him all day and that finishing his task is unlikely, but he does not mind. The memories make him warm, and that is worth more than anything.
Slowly, Ryouji reaches for another photograph. This one is from the day Haruhi was born. Kotoko is lying in a hospital bed and holding the small, dark-haired baby in her arms and looks absolutely content. Ryouji, who is standing beside her, seems completely oblivious to anything but the child in his wife’s arms.
“This is my daughter?” Ryouji asked, his voice hushed in wonder as he peered down at the small bundle.
“Yes,” Kotoko replied, and Ryouji nearly collapsed. He was at that moment staring at a tiny person he had helped bring into the world. A tiny person that was part of him. This was an overwhelming fact, and it made him want to faint. How could two mere humans possibly be responsible for something so absolutely perfect? “Would you like to hold her?”
“Of course!” Ryouji’s voice was still hushed, and for a moment, he faltered, hesitation holding him still. “But what if I…”
“You won’t hurt her,” Kotoko promised softly, as though she could read his mind. As Ryouji’s tiny daughter was passed into his arms, he could feel a shudder of warmth go through him. This was what being a father felt like.
“Hello there,” he whispered, and large brown eyes looked up at him from within the folds of pink blanket. “I’m your daddy.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence, and Ryouji rocked his daughter in the stillness, hoping that he wouldn’t inadvertently make the infant cry. The world seemed to fall away, leaving behind nothing but the small family in the blindingly sterile hospital room. Ryouji had never felt quite so content as he did at that moment, rocking his newborn daughter and marveling at the fact that she looked exactly like her mother.
“What should we name her?” Kotoko asked, breaking the silence. “I was thinking of maybe Haruhi, after her great aunt.”
“Haruhi is a lovely name,” Ryouji said softly, smiling down at the baby. “I love it.”
“Fujioka Haruhi it is,” the nurse said, marking something down on what Ryouji assumed was a birth certificate.
“Hello, Haruhi,” Ryouji said, trying it out. He could have sworn he saw her smile, though he had been told time and time again that babies could not. “Haruhi, Haruhi, Haruhi. Daddy’s here, Haruhi,” bending down to kiss that tiny forehead, he suddenly wanted to cry. “And he loves you very much.”
Blinking back sentimental tears at that memory, Ryouji slides the photograph lovingly into an empty slot in the album and reaches for another from the box. This one is a photo of he, Kotoko, and Haruhi on vacation in Osaka. They stand in front of USJ, Ryouji holding Haruhi and he and Kotoko beaming at the camera, slightly sunburned, while Haruhi stares at the camera in childlike awe.
“It’s been such a lovely day!” Ryouji said, bouncing his daughter a bit. She stared at him questioningly, and he laughed. At the age of three, she was already a smart and rather odd child, whose reactions to things were usually far more deep than his own. “Hasn’t it, Haruhi?”
“Fun,” Haruhi agreed, and he squealed in delight, hugging her tightly.
“Oh, you’re so cute, Haruhi!”
“Don’t crush her,” Kotoko warned, and Ryouji laughed, though he loosened the hug a bit.
“Don’t worry so much, darling!” he said breezily, leaning over to kiss his wife’s cheek. “What could possibly do wrong on such a perfect day!?”
The answer was a sudden drop of rain on his face, and as they ran for shelter, he and Kotoko chuckling heartily, he had to be amazed at how genuinely lucky he was.
The photograph slides easily into the empty album pocket, and when Ryouji’s fingers close around the next one and he stares at it, suddenly a kind of abstract weariness fills him, burning into his stomach like acid. The photograph is of he and Kotoko having just arrived at an onsen they are visiting for a break from everyday life. Ryouji is holding her and leaning in to kiss her just beside the mouth. Both of their eyes are closed in contentment, and he can sense the depth of the love that radiates from the pose even now, nearly ten years later. Kokoto’s dress is a pale pink, sleeveless affair that he cannot stop complimenting her on.
“You look so lovely in that dress, Kotoko!” he exclaimed, and his wife smiled at the compliment.
“Thank you Ryouji, but you don’t really need to say it a thousand times, do you?” she seemed more amused than irritated, however, and she took his hand gently. “Come on, let’s get inside! We need to get this vacation started.”
Ryouji hung back. “Are you sure Haruhi is alright without us!? She’s only five, you know!” he said quickly in one breath, letting out all the worry and concern that had been plaguing him all day.
“My parents adore her,” Kotoko reminds him, smiling in a way that is more comforting than he can ever begin to explain. “She’ll be fine. You know how much she adores spending time with them. Haruhi is a big girl. I’m sure she’s okay away from us for the weekend.”
“Alright,” Ryouji took a deep breath, pushing aside his concern. Leaning over to kiss her, he hears the unmistakable sound of a camera’s shutter, and Mikuru, Ryouji’s friend from work who drove them all the way to the onsen, is grinning at them and holding the camera in his hands.
“Get inside, you lovebirds. I’ll be back on Sunday night,” he says, more than a bit amused at the display. Ryouji smiles at him.
“Thanks for the ride, Mikuru-san. We’ll see you Sunday!” taking Kotoko’s hand again, he led her inside, his heart alight with excitement for the weekend.
Ryouji leans back in his chair, a heaviness filling his chest as he stares at the photograph, and his heart nearly collapses under the weight of it. The day after they returned from their vacation, Kotoko was gone. She had died without a word, without a sound, and left him feeling as though he was lost in the giant expanse of the world forever.
“Kotoko…” he whispers, barely even conscious of the tears that work their way out of his eyes and in hot, damp trails down the skin of his cheeks. After so many years, he had expected himself to feel numb at the memory of losing her, the memory that has been pushed aside for so long. Suddenly this apartment is large, cold, and empty, and he shivers. How many times did he and his precious Kotoko sit at this very same table together, doing crosswords and eating meals, happy in all their togetherness? How many times did she walk across that floor before him to make lunch for the young Haruhi, to grab herself a cup of coffee?
Ryouji is suddenly unsure of what he is doing, and he clutches the photograph to his chest as though it is his life raft. All around him, memories that have lain dormant for so very long swirl, colorful and painful and all too beautiful. He grasps at them, but they are too fast for him and they elude his fingertips, stinging his eyes with more tears he does not want to shed.
“Why did you have to leave?” he whispers, and for a moment he gets lost in the silence, almost expecting an answer. “Why did you have to go and leave us all alone?”
Shaking himself out of the sudden wave of self-pity, Ryouji sets the photograph on the table and takes a long, cleansing sip of his tea. “You can’t afford to get caught up in misery,” he reminds himself. It was Kotoko who taught him that life is far too short for that. He has to remain sunny and positive in the face of any obstacle… despite how lonely and lost he feels at this moment. Despite the pain that dwells somewhere in his chest as though a knife sticks between his ribs. Ryouji leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling.
Click says the latch on the door after Haruhi comes through it, and Ryouji sits up quickly, sipping his tea nonchalantly as his daughter comes into the room with a bag of groceries and a worried expression on her face.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and for a moment Ryouji is amazed at both how she can read him so easily and at how much she looks like her mother. She has the same eyes, the same short brown hair, and the same curious expression as she regards him in silence, waiting for his answer.
“Fine, fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, a sour taste in his mouth despite the sweetness of his tea. In an instant he knows she does not believe him, though she nods dimly and turns to pour a cup of tea for herself. She is not one to pry, and for this he is grateful. Ryouji waits as she finishes preparing her tea and sits down at the table beside him.
“So, what are you doing?” she asks, and Ryouji does not choke on his tea.
“Organizing these old photos,” he replies, and Haruhi nods sagely.
“Want me to help?”
“Yes, please,” Ryouji does not want to buried in memories alone any longer, but there is something refreshing about the thought of doing so with the girl who so long ago stared up at him with those huge brown eyes for the very first time and made his life whole. The two sit together, working through the innumerable photographs, sometimes sitting in a comfortable silence and sometimes making conversation. The little family sits around that old kitchen table and works on the task together, and somehow Ryouji can’t help but realize that Kotoko is here as the rain hits the windows and morning stretches into afternoon. She is here in the photographs, but more importantly in the memories and in every beat of her family’s hearts.
This is something that not even death can change. He can imagine that she can still see with some amusement him completing this mundane task, and he smiles.
‘Isn’t this a little bit of a girly job for you, Ryouji?’
‘I love you, Kotoko. We both do.’
Ryouji is not exactly sure if it is his imagination or something that he really hears, but he knows he hears it somehow, and it brings a smile to his face as it did so many times in the past, filling his heart with a sense of warm contentment.
“I love you too.”