to stop too fearful, and too faint to go; well_ladeedah; G
Title: to stop too fearful, and too faint to go
Author: well_ladeedah
Rating: G
Summary: Time deals all wounds. Himawari learns to live, learns to love, and learns to let go.
The prompt:
Himawari loves Watanuki but refuses to consider being with him, because she knows it would only hurt both of them. She hopes Watanuki will be with Doumeki so at least her two dearest friends can be happy in her stead. Doumeki talks to her about this in an oblique way, as he realizes how much it must hurt her but is selfish enough to want Watanuki for himself.
Prologue
Himawari loved her friends very much. Truly, she did.
Heaven knew she thought the world of Watanuki Kimihiro, with his big sweet smiles and his generous heart, and Doumeki Shizuka, with his tacit understanding and his unflagging loyalty. They were the closest friends she’d ever had, the people she loved the absolute most in the whole world, and she wished them all the happiness that life had to offer.
But the day she realized that they were falling in love, a tight, cold fist clenched at her heart despite her very real joy that her two most important people loved one another in a very special way, no matter that Watanuki didn’t seem to be aware of it and Doumeki seemed content to let him figure it out at his own pace.
Himawari did what she considered her duty as their friend, nudging them ever closer to each other in an effort to expedite the process. Watanuki’s oblivious attitude toward the nature of his relationship with Doumeki made things a little more exasperating than she thought necessary, but Doumeki didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if Himawari didn’t miss her guess, she thought Doumeki enjoyed watching Watanuki slowly put all the pieces together, enjoyed the gradual unfolding of their bond like flower petals uncurling toward the sun. Yuuko rather approved of the whole venture, if her tendency to send the boys off on errands together was any indication. And to be truthful, Himawari was very glad to see how close Watanuki and Doumeki were growing, even if that fist in her heart squeezed tighter and tighter every time she saw them.
When she saw they were becoming more than the friends they denied they were-always so stubborn and backwards, her boys-she beamed and clapped her hands and exclaimed her delight and did everything a friend was supposed to do.
And then she went home and curled up on her bed and cried until she had no more tears left inside her.
* * *
Part One
All her life, Himawari had kept a very specific distance away.
It didn’t matter what she was separating herself from: a person, a place, a thing. She would always remain just the distance away that it would take to reach out and touch, to close the space between herself and anything-everything-else. She existed in solitude, with a vague, polite smile as her shield to ensure that no one got too close.
If her smile was her shield, she often thought as she wove her way through crowds, never letting even a sleeve or a stray curl brush against a stranger’s arm, then her curse was a cage, trapping her in an impossibly small void in the center of the entire world. From childhood, she’d known that to step outside of her cage, to lower her shield, to cross the distance between herself and them, there, that, was breaking a rule, a vital one, an imperative one.
Himawari knew better than to break rules.
For the most part, she didn’t mind being separate, being different. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t live. She had a family, went to school, kept a circle of mutual acquaintances-not friends, never quite that close, of course. But she smiled and laughed with others, and for the most part, this satisfied her. She knew, after all, the reason she couldn’t have more, and she knew it was a matter of safety-not just her own, but that of everyone and everything around her, too. For the most part, she understood and accepted the way things were.
And then she met Watanuki Kimihiro.
It was coincidence, she told herself at that time-before she had learned there was no such thing as coincidence. They’d happened to be on cleaning duty together. She’d seen the boy a few times-from a distance, of course-and more often than not he was alone. She noticed that he seemed to do this on purpose, avoiding their classmates in the halls and on the grounds. There were whispers that he had fits and seizures, yelled at invisible objects, ran from invisible people. She was a little nervous at first, but his quiet, polite demeanor intrigued her, and struck up a casual conversation with him while they performed their after-school chores. She would never forget the stunned expression in his eyes when she spoke to him, and the caution that became pleasure when she listened to his replies. Time seemed to fly as they chatted; he was an interesting person, full of shy smiles and low chuckles. She found out he liked to cook, admitted her love of sweet desserts; they discussed pastries and the best shops in the city for tea and cakes. At the end of the day they parted ways, and she decided he was a nice boy with a good heart. She wondered if she’d get to talk to him again.
To her delight, he brought miniature cream puffs with him to lunch the next day, and offered her a small bag of them. She told him they were the best cream puffs she’d ever had, better even than ones made in professional bakeries. He glowed with pride and promised to make her more snacks in his spare time. When she protested that he didn’t have to do such a thing for her sake, he shook his head with the softest look in his eyes, the sweetest smile, and said, “But Kunogi-san, I like doing this for you.”
And for the first time in her entire life, Himawari wanted something more than she cared about anything else.
She wanted a friend. She wanted Watanuki Kimihiro to be her friend. Not a person-she-knew, not a casual acquaintance, a classmate, a vague face-and-name-a friend. Someone to talk to and laugh with and call in the evenings for help with homework. Someone to meet with on Sundays at a cake shop even if his baked goods tasted better than store-bought ones. Someone to keep her company in her impossibly small void in the center of the entire world.
And just as badly as she wanted, she knew she was forbidden.
Watanuki, however, did not.
He smiled at her when they met, spoke to her when they passed in the hallways. When she couldn’t resist the urge to smile and speak at him in return, it seemed to encourage him: he began to walk beside her from class to class, to share little stories of his day with her, to listen as she volunteered stories of her own. By the time she realized that she’d told him to call her by her given name, by the time she realized that he knew her favorite foods and she knew he liked to sew, by the time she caught herself thinking, Watanuki-kun is always so bright and cheerful when I see him, she had forgotten all about that line she couldn’t cross, that rule she couldn’t break.
She realized she’d already done both.
And for the first time in her entire life, Himawari hated her curse more than she was willing to accept that she couldn’t change it.
Events spiraled out of her control after that moment of crystal-clear realization. Doumeki came into her life as well. He was intimidating at first, strong and silent and ever watchful, but she grew accustomed to his mannerisms as she had Watanuki’s. She was charmed by their oddities; even though they clashed over just about every tiny detail, Doumeki and Watanuki fit in ways that almost made sense, if she didn’t think about it too hard. They became her lifeline to the world she couldn’t touch, and her window to a world she couldn’t see-a world of spirits and strange things, of dangers in disguise and magic around every corner. They were her best friends, even if she couldn’t for the life of her figure out where she fit into their little group.
Even though Watanuki was never very subtle in his eagerness to include her in nearly everything he did, even though Doumeki never voiced any objections to her presence, Himawari still felt like she was the odd one out, like she was standing on the outside line of a circle drawn around the two of them, and couldn’t cross over and let herself be enclosed by their world.
She had to stay away. She had her own circle, and no one was allowed inside with her; how could she, then, include herself in anyone else’s circle?
But somehow, without her paying attention, the two of them drew her inside-or rather, they drew another circle that included her with them, even if they stayed inside their own little ring, apart from her. She didn’t mind that-at least they had brought her as far into their world as was possible. She wouldn’t complain.
God knew she would never complain.
* * *
When Watanuki told her the story of the spirit woman who had, though without malicious intent, drained Watanuki of life energy, Himawari listened without comment. She watched how sad his eyes became when he spoke of the woman and how she’d tried to urge him to stay away from her, and how very lonely she’d seemed to him. She also watched-because when you stood outside the circle, you could watch everything that went on inside-how Doumeki’s eyes became hard golden suns, flashing with the violence of intense emotion before he shut the feelings away somewhere inside himself, and his eyes resumed their normal, deceptive indifference.
She listened to the story, and she expressed her relief that Watanuki was all right, but she did not say anything about the spirit woman. She did not mention-because she really was glad Watanuki was okay, and she knew how worried Doumeki had been, and she admired the courage it must have taken for Doumeki to make such a choice-that in her heart, her sympathies lay with the spirit woman, who had been drawn to Watanuki out of loneliness, and who had been unable to resist his company despite the threat she posed to his life.
Later on, she would think-after more events spiraled out of her control, and left her position as part-of-but-not-quite-inside-the-circle in a tenuous and uncertain place-that in the deepest part of her soul, she actually felt a sort of connection to the spirit, who had still been chosen by Watanuki even after he found out about the danger he was in; he’d stayed by her side, still wanted to see her and talk to her and keep her company. He’d risked his own safety in order to prevent her loneliness.
Himawari thought that no one, absolutely no one, would be able to turn away that kind of compassion. She certainly hadn’t. She doubted very much that she could, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she never would.
And so, despite understanding Doumeki’s concern and the choice he’d made, she did not, could not, would never blame the spirit woman for wanting to be close to Watanuki.
She, too, knew what it felt like to be forever one step away from what you wanted most.
* * *
And so when Himawari discovered her two best friends in the world were in love, even if they didn’t know it yet, she smiled until she was alone, and then cried until she was empty.
She had thought, on the day she realized she wanted to be friends with Watanuki, she couldn’t hate her curse any more than she already did. But today, lying on her bed and curled up in a tiny ball, with her hair draped over, under, around her like the invisible chains of fate that ensnared her, Himawari hated her curse-hated herself-with a ferocity which would have astounded Watanuki and that made her stomach cramp. She pressed a fist against the ache, bit her lip until she tasted blood, and squeezed her eyes shut tight enough to make her temples throb.
I love my friends, she thought, a sob rising in her throat. I love them. More than anyone or anything else in the world. I’m happy for them. They deserve to be happy with each other. I want them to be happy.
And a tiny, desperate part of Himawari thought, I want to be happy.
Oh God, I want to be happy, too.
She had no more tears left inside her, but she had plenty of hatred, and she hated so viciously that when she drifted into unconsciousness, her fist remained curled against her stomach, and she would wake in the morning with red, crescent-shaped blood blisters on her palm.
* * *
Part Two
With her eyes closed, it seemed to Himawari that the incense in the air was sharper, muskier. It filled her lungs and intensified the insidious ache, made her light-headed so that she drifted in thought. She couldn’t hear any noise from outside; the twittering of birds, the wind rattling the shoji screens, the leaves whispering faintly in the trees-all faded down to a reverent silence that surrounded her the moment she entered Yuu-ko’s shop.
Irony made her lips twist without humor. She still thought of this place as Yuuko’s, after all this time. It was so hard to think of Watanuki, trapped here of his own will, waiting for Yuuko to return. He had changed, her friend, in the year since he’d taken on this responsibility-he had become someone she did not know. He was not the Watanuki of her school days, who had laughed with her over clean-up duty and had made her wonderful treats and had given her her first and longest-lasting friendship. He was the granter of wishes now, but she could not think of him as the keeper of the shop. The idea frightened her in a way she couldn’t describe even to herself: the thought that Watanuki was like Yuuko now, mysterious and powerful and unreachable. She shied away from it, ignored any resemblance between the two and focused instead on the boy she’d loved for so long that she hardly noticed the ache in her heart anymore-unless she let herself miss him. Despite her best efforts, she missed him quite a lot.
Watanuki smiled when he greeted her, but his eyes were sober. Doumeki and Kohane had been invited as well, but Doumeki had an appointment with his university advisor and it was Kohane’s first day of middle school; they would not be present until that evening. Their absence seemed to be a gaping void in the room; though Himawari and Watanuki made small, pleasant talk about various things, the air still felt stifled and heavy. She thought maybe it had something to do with the incense, and maybe something to do with Watanuki’s pipe. She couldn’t even look at the thing, the blatant reminder of who he was now, of the person he was trying to be, the person he was waiting for. To be fair, he’d stopped smoking it when she entered the shop, perhaps sensing her distress over it, but the lingering smell of the tobacco coated the back of her tongue with the metallic tang of regret.
Himawari was not sure where the elaborate English tea service Maru and Moro wheeled in had come from. It was good, though-sweet and calming. Himawari held the cup to her lips, inhaling the fragrant steam, her eyes fluttering closed as she simply breathed in and out, trying to calm the nerves clawing at her stomach.
For his part, Watanuki had fallen silent. Himawari could hear the rustling of the heavy silk kimono the boy-was he still a boy, she wondered-wore as it slid over the upholstery of the chaise lounge. Every so often porcelain would tinkle faintly as Watanuki set his cup down on the tiny plate. Himawari breathed in, counting the seconds-one, two, three, four…-until the scent of the tea and incense and tobacco smothered her and made her want to choke before she let it out again.
It felt like hours had gone by since Himawari had sat down at the table. With no clock in sight, it was impossible to tell, but Himawari doubted it had been more than a few minutes; the tea was still hot.
Eyes still closed, Himawari spoke aloud.
“Is this what you wanted, Watanuki-kun? Is this the outcome you hoped for?” The words were foreign and somehow stark in the silence of the room.
She couldn’t see his reaction, but he replied in a casual voice, “In many cases, want is enough to ensure any outcome, Himawari-chan.” A slight pause, the tinkle of china against china. “In many more, it is not.” The whisper of silk. “As for me, I’m not certain anymore what the outcome will be, even if I know for sure what I want.”
Himawari opened her eyes.
Watanuki was looking at her-looking with knowing, piercing eyes that arrowed straight into her, into that place where the persistent ache in her heart was lodged, and farther down, into parts of herself that Himawari was sure no one but Watanuki-and perhaps Yuuko, if she were here-could see. Himawari looked down at her teacup and stared at the steam rising into the air.
“You don’t understand why I’m doing this,” Watanuki said. “You don’t want me to wait like this for Yuuko-san to return, to grant wishes and stay in the shop. You don’t want me to become like her.”
Himawari felt a chill race over her arms and pressed the warm porcelain against her palms; her left palm stung where the nail-marks still lingered.
“That’s not it,” she whispered. “I-worry about you, Watanuki-kun. I…I miss you.”
He was quiet for a moment before replying. “I miss you as well, Himawari-chan.” The words were soft, musical. Placating, she thought, and put the cup back on the table. Her mouth had gone dry, but she felt she would be sick if she tried to force down more tea. “I haven’t seen you in months. I feel as though I’ve missed out on all the most wonderful parts of your life.”
She wanted to say, You haven’t, Watanuki-kun. The wonderful parts of my life are the rare times I get to see you. But those words didn’t come. Instead, she heard herself say, “Do you really?”
He looked as taken aback by the question as she felt. “Do I really…feel that way? Well, yes. Of course. I’m sure university must be very exciting-”
“Do you really miss me, Watanuki-kun?”
Where were these words coming from? She twisted her hands in her lap, unwilling to open her mouth again for fear of what she might say next.
Watanuki was silent for a long moment. He held her gaze with his; she swallowed hard and looked away from the gold-and-blue eyes behind the familiar glasses. She’d heard from Doumeki that Watanuki had retrieved them from the other place, the between world of dreaming and waking, the same day he’d made the choice to stay here in the shop. She heard a lot from Doumeki about Watanuki, these days.
“You’re angry with me,” he said at last, his voice soft.
“No,” she denied, but it was weak, and it was a lie.
“You are.” He studied her; she could feel his thoughtful stare even though she kept her own on her white knuckles. “I didn’t realize until now, but you are very unhappy with me, Himawari-chan.”
“I miss you,” she said again, and they both heard the waver in her voice.
“And I miss you.” Another pause, followed by the soft brush of silk on skin. “You don’t believe me.”
“I-” She inhaled. “I don’t know.”
The silence was becoming unbearable, choking her like the incense, the pipe smoke, the words she wanted to say but couldn’t. Her hands trembled from the force of her grip. She separated her fingers, then linked them again.
“Watanuki-kun,” she began.
“I don’t think you should come here anymore,” he said.
* * *
When she was very young, Himawari had once let go of a balloon her father had given her. She watched with wide eyes as the red orb floated higher and higher out of her grasp, disappearing into a tiny speck in the sky.
She asked her mother later where the balloon went, and whether it would keep going until it reached the stars.
“No, dear,” said her mother. “It can’t just keep going higher. Sooner or later, it will pop and fall back down to earth.” At Himawari’s wondrous expression, she went on, “Everything has to stop going at some point, Himawari-chan.”
“Everything, Mama?”
Her mother had given her an absent, indulgent smile.
“Yes, dear.”
Four years old and not really aware yet of what road lay before her, Himawari looked at the sky and thought about a day when everything in the whole world would just stop like a toy whose batteries had died, like a clock whose hands were still forever, out of time.
* * *
Part Three
“Hey.”
She lifted her chin from her knees. Through the tumbling mass of curls hanging over her face, she could just see Doumeki’s tall form. Beside him was Kohane in her new school uniform.
“Oh.” Himawari sat straight up and forced a smile. “Hello, Doumeki-kun, Kohane-chan.”
Golden eyes narrowed on her face, searching. Seeing. She thought that sometimes Doumeki could see as well as Watanuki or Yuuko, when it came to the important things, the secret things. She was careful to avoid his gaze, instead focusing on Kohane.
The girl had grown taller since the last time they’d seen one another, before Himawari had left for Fukushima to attend university. Now on the cusp of thirteen, Kohane was beginning to develop soft curves and lose the childish roundness in her face. Already a lovely child, she was fast becoming a beautiful young woman.
Himawari’s lips curved upward as she also took in Doumeki’s protective stance beside the girl. Just as he used to, and still did, whenever she was around Watanuki, he had adopted the habit of placing himself just a little nearer to Himawari than Kohane was, standing between the two girls as a kind of human shield. Oh, but wouldn’t it be fun to see Doumeki playing the fierce, disapproving big brother during Kohane’s teenage years, when boys would without a doubt be following her around like lost puppies?
The way Watanuki followed me once upon a time. But those days were long gone. Just thinking about it made her heart hurt, so she said, “How was your first day of seventh grade, Kohane-chan?”
Kohane’s guardian, the old fortune teller, had enrolled Kohane in Tsuji Academy with her mother’s consent. The private school, with its serene campus and small student body, seemed perfect for Kohane, who had never received schooling outside her home and had been nervous about starting an institutionalized education.
“It’s very interesting,” said Kohane with a small smile. “I’ve never been around so many people my age.”
“Do they still give you a hard time?” asked Himawari, worried.
“No.” Something in Kohane’s face shifted, but it passed out of her expression too fast for Himawari to analyze. “Since Yuuko-san erased the rumors about me, I haven’t had any trouble. A few of my classmates asked me questions about my abilities, but most of them left me alone.”
“Well, that’s good,” Himawari began, at the same time Doumeki said, “Were they ignoring you?”
Kohane smiled up at him. “No, Shizuka-kun,” she said. “It’s all right, they’re really very nice.”
He looked mollified. Himawari’s lips quirked. Oh, Doumeki-kun.
“I’m glad you like your school,” she said. “Are you planning on joining any clubs?”
“I don’t know yet. There is the archery club, I suppose,” said Kohane with a sidelong glance at Doumeki, and to her further amusement Himawari caught the slightest traces of shyness in the girl’s eyes. It was fleeting, but the look spoke volumes about Kohane’s adulation of her big brother figure. “I might enjoy that, even though I can’t exorcise spirits anymore…”
“Archery doesn’t have to be about exorcism,” said Doumeki. “It’s about learning patience and precision. You focus on a single goal, blocking out all other distractions. At the same time you take in your surroundings and become one with them. It’s a balance between mind, spirit, and body.”
“It sounds like Grandmother’s lessons on meditation,” said Kohane.
“Some of the same principles apply,” Doumeki told her. “If you join the archery club, I’ll help you practice at the temple.”
“That would be lovely, Shizuka-kun,” said Kohane, eyes bright.
Himawari, watching them, had the familiar sensation of being included, but still standing outside a separate circle where she did not belong. She swallowed and made sure her face revealed nothing of her thoughts when the other two turned back to her.
“And what about you, Himawari-san? How is your university?” asked Kohane.
“It’s all right,” Himawari said. “I’m studying liberal arts. My classes are difficult, but they’re not so bad.”
“Shizuka-kun says that you take evening classes because you’re working part-time now?”
“Oh.” Himawari blinked up at Doumeki. She hadn’t realized that he ever discussed her with anyone besides Watanuki. “Well. Yes, I’m a waitress at a small coffee shop.”
Kohane tilted her head to the side. “Is that all right for you?”
Himawari laughed a little. “Nothing bad has happened yet. I’m hoping it stays that way.”
She was praying it did. Her job barely managed to pay for her tiny apartment while her parents’ savings were taking care of her school fees; if she started affecting the customers at the coffee shop, the guilt would force her to quit even if she desperately needed the money. There were many days when she skipped meals to make her groceries last until her next paycheck, days when she dreamed of Watanuki’s exquisite meals and wished she could have risked attending a university closer to home.
As if reading her mind, Kohane said, “You’re taking care of yourself, aren’t you, Himawari-san? You’re eating all right?”
Thrown off balance by the anxiety in Kohane’s voice, Himawari said, “Oh, well, I-” Feeling Doumeki’s penetrating gaze on her, she pasted a smile on her face and said, “Of course, Kohane-chan. I’m doing just fine.”
Now both of them were looking at her. It made her nervous. She went on, trying to distract them. “University life is very different from anything else. I’m sure Doumeki-kun would agree. You’d think you have more free time, but that’s not always the case. Still, it’s quite an experience.”
Doumeki was still looking at her, his golden eyes narrow and too knowing. Kohane was looking at her too, and the combined force of their gazes made her want to look away, to bury her face in her knees again and release the terrible tension that had been building since she stepped foot in the shop.
“So you’re enjoying it, then,” said Kohane after a moment.
“Very much,” said Himawari.
She hated it. Hated being so far from home, from her family, from her friends, from everything she loved most. Hated being so alone. Hated not having anyone to talk to except Doumeki, over the phone. Hated her acute longing for days past. Hated her curse for keeping her separate, always separate, always different.
After another small pause, Kohane glanced at Doumeki, then said, “Even if I don’t join the archery club, maybe there’s a home economics club or a cooking club at my school.”
Himawari smiled, relieved and grateful for the deliberate change of subject. “You still love to cook, then?”
“Yes.” Kohane’s simple reply belied the quiet glow effusing her face. “It’s something I’ve loved ever since Kimihiro-kun first taught me how to make tamago.”
“I’m flattered.”
Himawari couldn’t help it: she stiffened ever so slightly at the sound of Watanuki’s voice behind her. She half turned to see the boy-Not a boy, she reminded herself. Not anymore-in the doorway, the heavy kimono immaculate around him.
“Welcome, Kohane-chan,” he said, and the pleasure was evident in his tone, in his eyes, in every single aspect of him-not the formal, careful way he’d greeted Himawari upon her arrival, but something freer, more genuine. He didn’t have to worry about Kohane inadvertently cursing his customers, or bringing bad luck to him or the shop. He was just happy to see her.
Himawari stood up and smoothed down her skirt, letting her hair cover her face as she brushed imaginary away with trembling fingers.
“Happy birthday, Kimihiro-kun,” said Kohane, bowing. “How are you?”
They exchanged pleasantries, and Watanuki then traded customary barbs with Doumeki. Himawari did not comment on how close they were; she’d have bitten off her tongue before ever saying those words again. She made herself appear smiling and interested in the conversation that followed: Watanuki asked Kohane the same questions about her first day of school and expressed approval of her consideration over archery club before insisting they all go into the sitting room.
“In a minute,” said Doumeki. His tone brooked no argument. His eyes were on Himawari.
Watanuki glanced between them, his eyes also lingering on Himawari, before nodding once and ushering Kohane inside. The girl threw Doumeki and Himawari an inscrutable look over her shoulder before letting herself be herded through the doorway.
Awkward silence fell after the door slid closed. Himawari linked her hands together in front of her and waited for Doumeki to speak. She studied the floorboards on the engawa, tracing the grooves in the wood with her eyes, willing her mind and her expression to stay blank.
“What happened?”
That was Doumeki, she thought with a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. To the point, no nonsense.
“Nothing,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “We had tea when I got here, and talked about the things we’ve been doing. Then I waited for you and Kohane-chan on the porch while Watanuki-kun made dinner.”
She could feel his stare like a physical weight on her shoulders. It made her want to hunch her shoulders like a child being scolded. She tightened her fingers.
“It takes him hours to cook on days like these,” said Doumeki. “He gets obsessed with making everything perfect. You’ve been sitting out here all afternoon?”
She said nothing. What could she say that he wouldn’t already know for truth or lie?
“What has he done now?”
It was a matter-of-fact question, devoid of any inflection. It broke her heart. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want Doumeki to witness her sadness and shame. But if not Doumeki, perhaps the only real friend she had left whom she could trust, rely on, turn to when the sky was falling-if not him, then she’d be alone. She had no one else anymore.
“He said I shouldn’t come back here,” she said in a whisper that broke halfway. “He said-he said it’s too dangerous. It’s not safe for me, or for the customers. When it was Yuuko-san in charge of the shop, I could come here every so often, when she decided it was all right, because her power kept everyone safe. But now that it’s him, I-he-” She rubbed at her arms. “I know he’s only thinking of what’s best for everyone,” she rushed on. “He would never do something like this to be cruel. He just wants to-”
To do his job. To stay in this wretched place and wait for someone who might never return. To place everything else in his life aside, no matter how it cut at her to be relegated to other, to expendable, to unnecessary.
Part of her knew she wasn’t being fair. She knew Watanuki didn’t think of her as unnecessary at all. She was still his friend, and he hers. However, the fact was that once upon a time he had danced with joy for a single kind word from her, and now he was turning her away and looking beyond her, to things she couldn’t see and couldn’t understand. She hadn’t felt this devastated-this alone-since the day she’d cried over the realization that her best friends would always be connected in a way she could not share with them, or with anyone.
Doumeki regarded her for another moment, then did something she’d never seen him do in the years they’d been friends: he heaved a sigh and rubbed at one of his temples.
“He’s an idiot.” His voice was gruff.
Himawari closed her eyes.
“Yes,” she said. “He is.”
* * *
They sat side by side on the engawa in silence. It had been nearly half an hour since Watanuki and Kohane had gone into the shop; they were, in all likelihood, finishing up the cooking and setting out the meal. Doumeki had not pressed her for more information, and she had not volunteered any. Both of them sat, lost in thought. Or perhaps only she felt lost; it was difficult to tell anything that went on in Doumeki’s mind.
Weak glimmers of sunlight speckled her lap. She danced her fingers across them slowly in a waltz. One, two, three, one, two three.
“What did you say to him?”
She started. “I-what?”
“When he told you not to come back,” Doumeki elaborated with his customary bluntness. “What did you say?”
Himawari scratched at the wood of the engawa with a too-long fingernail.
“I didn’t say anything. I came and sat outside.” She picked at the tiny particles of wood under her nail. “I don’t know that there’s anything that can be said. He seems set on this course.” Her fingertips rubbed together. “He did say maybe he could arrange for a visit on his next birthday, and maybe he’d have enough power by then to hold the wards against me.” The vague promise was all he could offer her, and like a drowning man, she was desperate enough to take anything he was willing to throw her way.
“And you’re going to go along with it?” Golden eyes stared unblinking at her, questioning, assessing.
She sighed. “Of course.” She had nothing else, after all.
They lapsed back into silence for a while before she ventured, “You still come here a lot, don’t you, Doumeki-kun?”
“Yeah.”
She knew that. Even if Watanuki was different now, Doumeki would stay by his side no matter the circumstances. Watanuki might complain and curse him, but he never sent Doumeki away. He’d stopped trying that long ago.
She thought about how to word the question delicately before deciding that delicacy was wasted on Doumeki Shizuka. “Do you think he’s right?” Do you think I should leave and only come back when he says I’m allowed? Has everything changed that much? Am I losing you both?
He didn’t answer for a long time.
“Yes,” he said at last, and her eyes closed.
“I see.”
There were birds singing somewhere nearby. The wind rustled tree leaves and scattered them through the air. Himawari focused hard on these things because her heart was breaking, and she was trying so hard not to cry, and she needed something to think about that wouldn’t hurt so terribly.
“Himawari.”
She was fighting back tears, and at first didn’t notice the use of her given name. When it dawned on her, she looked up at him, misery swimming in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Doumeki said.
She couldn’t remember him ever apologizing to her before.
“Doumeki-kun,” she whispered. “Shizuka.” She let the tears fall. I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be alone again.
He didn’t put an arm around her when she buried her face in her knees. He didn’t murmur soothing platitudes while she stifled sobs in the fabric of her skirt. He didn’t try to explain why it was best that she leave, didn’t make excuses or promises to make her feel better. He only offered a single apology for loving the person she loved-for loving him more than he loved her, and for being loved more than she was.
When the worst of the crying jag was over, she sat up, wiping at her face and looking up at him. He hadn’t gone, she thought. He’d sat with her while she cried. He hadn’t left her alone.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Doumeki-kun.” She didn’t use his given name again. It was important, after all, to keep her distance.
He gazed at her. She thought she saw true regret in his eyes. He lifted a hand and made as if to brush her curls away from her face, though he didn’t touch her.
“You’ll come back,” he said, half-question.
She felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a shadow of a smile. She thought of circles, of being inside and still outside, and that small space she could never occupy. She thought of a balloon rising higher and higher towards the sun.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll come back.”
But me, not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care,
Impell'd with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
from “The Traveller” by Oliver Goldsmith
Author: well_ladeedah
Rating: G
Summary: Time deals all wounds. Himawari learns to live, learns to love, and learns to let go.
The prompt:
Himawari loves Watanuki but refuses to consider being with him, because she knows it would only hurt both of them. She hopes Watanuki will be with Doumeki so at least her two dearest friends can be happy in her stead. Doumeki talks to her about this in an oblique way, as he realizes how much it must hurt her but is selfish enough to want Watanuki for himself.
Prologue
Himawari loved her friends very much. Truly, she did.
Heaven knew she thought the world of Watanuki Kimihiro, with his big sweet smiles and his generous heart, and Doumeki Shizuka, with his tacit understanding and his unflagging loyalty. They were the closest friends she’d ever had, the people she loved the absolute most in the whole world, and she wished them all the happiness that life had to offer.
But the day she realized that they were falling in love, a tight, cold fist clenched at her heart despite her very real joy that her two most important people loved one another in a very special way, no matter that Watanuki didn’t seem to be aware of it and Doumeki seemed content to let him figure it out at his own pace.
Himawari did what she considered her duty as their friend, nudging them ever closer to each other in an effort to expedite the process. Watanuki’s oblivious attitude toward the nature of his relationship with Doumeki made things a little more exasperating than she thought necessary, but Doumeki didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if Himawari didn’t miss her guess, she thought Doumeki enjoyed watching Watanuki slowly put all the pieces together, enjoyed the gradual unfolding of their bond like flower petals uncurling toward the sun. Yuuko rather approved of the whole venture, if her tendency to send the boys off on errands together was any indication. And to be truthful, Himawari was very glad to see how close Watanuki and Doumeki were growing, even if that fist in her heart squeezed tighter and tighter every time she saw them.
When she saw they were becoming more than the friends they denied they were-always so stubborn and backwards, her boys-she beamed and clapped her hands and exclaimed her delight and did everything a friend was supposed to do.
And then she went home and curled up on her bed and cried until she had no more tears left inside her.
* * *
Part One
All her life, Himawari had kept a very specific distance away.
It didn’t matter what she was separating herself from: a person, a place, a thing. She would always remain just the distance away that it would take to reach out and touch, to close the space between herself and anything-everything-else. She existed in solitude, with a vague, polite smile as her shield to ensure that no one got too close.
If her smile was her shield, she often thought as she wove her way through crowds, never letting even a sleeve or a stray curl brush against a stranger’s arm, then her curse was a cage, trapping her in an impossibly small void in the center of the entire world. From childhood, she’d known that to step outside of her cage, to lower her shield, to cross the distance between herself and them, there, that, was breaking a rule, a vital one, an imperative one.
Himawari knew better than to break rules.
For the most part, she didn’t mind being separate, being different. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t live. She had a family, went to school, kept a circle of mutual acquaintances-not friends, never quite that close, of course. But she smiled and laughed with others, and for the most part, this satisfied her. She knew, after all, the reason she couldn’t have more, and she knew it was a matter of safety-not just her own, but that of everyone and everything around her, too. For the most part, she understood and accepted the way things were.
And then she met Watanuki Kimihiro.
It was coincidence, she told herself at that time-before she had learned there was no such thing as coincidence. They’d happened to be on cleaning duty together. She’d seen the boy a few times-from a distance, of course-and more often than not he was alone. She noticed that he seemed to do this on purpose, avoiding their classmates in the halls and on the grounds. There were whispers that he had fits and seizures, yelled at invisible objects, ran from invisible people. She was a little nervous at first, but his quiet, polite demeanor intrigued her, and struck up a casual conversation with him while they performed their after-school chores. She would never forget the stunned expression in his eyes when she spoke to him, and the caution that became pleasure when she listened to his replies. Time seemed to fly as they chatted; he was an interesting person, full of shy smiles and low chuckles. She found out he liked to cook, admitted her love of sweet desserts; they discussed pastries and the best shops in the city for tea and cakes. At the end of the day they parted ways, and she decided he was a nice boy with a good heart. She wondered if she’d get to talk to him again.
To her delight, he brought miniature cream puffs with him to lunch the next day, and offered her a small bag of them. She told him they were the best cream puffs she’d ever had, better even than ones made in professional bakeries. He glowed with pride and promised to make her more snacks in his spare time. When she protested that he didn’t have to do such a thing for her sake, he shook his head with the softest look in his eyes, the sweetest smile, and said, “But Kunogi-san, I like doing this for you.”
And for the first time in her entire life, Himawari wanted something more than she cared about anything else.
She wanted a friend. She wanted Watanuki Kimihiro to be her friend. Not a person-she-knew, not a casual acquaintance, a classmate, a vague face-and-name-a friend. Someone to talk to and laugh with and call in the evenings for help with homework. Someone to meet with on Sundays at a cake shop even if his baked goods tasted better than store-bought ones. Someone to keep her company in her impossibly small void in the center of the entire world.
And just as badly as she wanted, she knew she was forbidden.
Watanuki, however, did not.
He smiled at her when they met, spoke to her when they passed in the hallways. When she couldn’t resist the urge to smile and speak at him in return, it seemed to encourage him: he began to walk beside her from class to class, to share little stories of his day with her, to listen as she volunteered stories of her own. By the time she realized that she’d told him to call her by her given name, by the time she realized that he knew her favorite foods and she knew he liked to sew, by the time she caught herself thinking, Watanuki-kun is always so bright and cheerful when I see him, she had forgotten all about that line she couldn’t cross, that rule she couldn’t break.
She realized she’d already done both.
And for the first time in her entire life, Himawari hated her curse more than she was willing to accept that she couldn’t change it.
Events spiraled out of her control after that moment of crystal-clear realization. Doumeki came into her life as well. He was intimidating at first, strong and silent and ever watchful, but she grew accustomed to his mannerisms as she had Watanuki’s. She was charmed by their oddities; even though they clashed over just about every tiny detail, Doumeki and Watanuki fit in ways that almost made sense, if she didn’t think about it too hard. They became her lifeline to the world she couldn’t touch, and her window to a world she couldn’t see-a world of spirits and strange things, of dangers in disguise and magic around every corner. They were her best friends, even if she couldn’t for the life of her figure out where she fit into their little group.
Even though Watanuki was never very subtle in his eagerness to include her in nearly everything he did, even though Doumeki never voiced any objections to her presence, Himawari still felt like she was the odd one out, like she was standing on the outside line of a circle drawn around the two of them, and couldn’t cross over and let herself be enclosed by their world.
She had to stay away. She had her own circle, and no one was allowed inside with her; how could she, then, include herself in anyone else’s circle?
But somehow, without her paying attention, the two of them drew her inside-or rather, they drew another circle that included her with them, even if they stayed inside their own little ring, apart from her. She didn’t mind that-at least they had brought her as far into their world as was possible. She wouldn’t complain.
God knew she would never complain.
* * *
When Watanuki told her the story of the spirit woman who had, though without malicious intent, drained Watanuki of life energy, Himawari listened without comment. She watched how sad his eyes became when he spoke of the woman and how she’d tried to urge him to stay away from her, and how very lonely she’d seemed to him. She also watched-because when you stood outside the circle, you could watch everything that went on inside-how Doumeki’s eyes became hard golden suns, flashing with the violence of intense emotion before he shut the feelings away somewhere inside himself, and his eyes resumed their normal, deceptive indifference.
She listened to the story, and she expressed her relief that Watanuki was all right, but she did not say anything about the spirit woman. She did not mention-because she really was glad Watanuki was okay, and she knew how worried Doumeki had been, and she admired the courage it must have taken for Doumeki to make such a choice-that in her heart, her sympathies lay with the spirit woman, who had been drawn to Watanuki out of loneliness, and who had been unable to resist his company despite the threat she posed to his life.
Later on, she would think-after more events spiraled out of her control, and left her position as part-of-but-not-quite-inside-the-circle in a tenuous and uncertain place-that in the deepest part of her soul, she actually felt a sort of connection to the spirit, who had still been chosen by Watanuki even after he found out about the danger he was in; he’d stayed by her side, still wanted to see her and talk to her and keep her company. He’d risked his own safety in order to prevent her loneliness.
Himawari thought that no one, absolutely no one, would be able to turn away that kind of compassion. She certainly hadn’t. She doubted very much that she could, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she never would.
And so, despite understanding Doumeki’s concern and the choice he’d made, she did not, could not, would never blame the spirit woman for wanting to be close to Watanuki.
She, too, knew what it felt like to be forever one step away from what you wanted most.
* * *
And so when Himawari discovered her two best friends in the world were in love, even if they didn’t know it yet, she smiled until she was alone, and then cried until she was empty.
She had thought, on the day she realized she wanted to be friends with Watanuki, she couldn’t hate her curse any more than she already did. But today, lying on her bed and curled up in a tiny ball, with her hair draped over, under, around her like the invisible chains of fate that ensnared her, Himawari hated her curse-hated herself-with a ferocity which would have astounded Watanuki and that made her stomach cramp. She pressed a fist against the ache, bit her lip until she tasted blood, and squeezed her eyes shut tight enough to make her temples throb.
I love my friends, she thought, a sob rising in her throat. I love them. More than anyone or anything else in the world. I’m happy for them. They deserve to be happy with each other. I want them to be happy.
And a tiny, desperate part of Himawari thought, I want to be happy.
Oh God, I want to be happy, too.
She had no more tears left inside her, but she had plenty of hatred, and she hated so viciously that when she drifted into unconsciousness, her fist remained curled against her stomach, and she would wake in the morning with red, crescent-shaped blood blisters on her palm.
* * *
Part Two
With her eyes closed, it seemed to Himawari that the incense in the air was sharper, muskier. It filled her lungs and intensified the insidious ache, made her light-headed so that she drifted in thought. She couldn’t hear any noise from outside; the twittering of birds, the wind rattling the shoji screens, the leaves whispering faintly in the trees-all faded down to a reverent silence that surrounded her the moment she entered Yuu-ko’s shop.
Irony made her lips twist without humor. She still thought of this place as Yuuko’s, after all this time. It was so hard to think of Watanuki, trapped here of his own will, waiting for Yuuko to return. He had changed, her friend, in the year since he’d taken on this responsibility-he had become someone she did not know. He was not the Watanuki of her school days, who had laughed with her over clean-up duty and had made her wonderful treats and had given her her first and longest-lasting friendship. He was the granter of wishes now, but she could not think of him as the keeper of the shop. The idea frightened her in a way she couldn’t describe even to herself: the thought that Watanuki was like Yuuko now, mysterious and powerful and unreachable. She shied away from it, ignored any resemblance between the two and focused instead on the boy she’d loved for so long that she hardly noticed the ache in her heart anymore-unless she let herself miss him. Despite her best efforts, she missed him quite a lot.
Watanuki smiled when he greeted her, but his eyes were sober. Doumeki and Kohane had been invited as well, but Doumeki had an appointment with his university advisor and it was Kohane’s first day of middle school; they would not be present until that evening. Their absence seemed to be a gaping void in the room; though Himawari and Watanuki made small, pleasant talk about various things, the air still felt stifled and heavy. She thought maybe it had something to do with the incense, and maybe something to do with Watanuki’s pipe. She couldn’t even look at the thing, the blatant reminder of who he was now, of the person he was trying to be, the person he was waiting for. To be fair, he’d stopped smoking it when she entered the shop, perhaps sensing her distress over it, but the lingering smell of the tobacco coated the back of her tongue with the metallic tang of regret.
Himawari was not sure where the elaborate English tea service Maru and Moro wheeled in had come from. It was good, though-sweet and calming. Himawari held the cup to her lips, inhaling the fragrant steam, her eyes fluttering closed as she simply breathed in and out, trying to calm the nerves clawing at her stomach.
For his part, Watanuki had fallen silent. Himawari could hear the rustling of the heavy silk kimono the boy-was he still a boy, she wondered-wore as it slid over the upholstery of the chaise lounge. Every so often porcelain would tinkle faintly as Watanuki set his cup down on the tiny plate. Himawari breathed in, counting the seconds-one, two, three, four…-until the scent of the tea and incense and tobacco smothered her and made her want to choke before she let it out again.
It felt like hours had gone by since Himawari had sat down at the table. With no clock in sight, it was impossible to tell, but Himawari doubted it had been more than a few minutes; the tea was still hot.
Eyes still closed, Himawari spoke aloud.
“Is this what you wanted, Watanuki-kun? Is this the outcome you hoped for?” The words were foreign and somehow stark in the silence of the room.
She couldn’t see his reaction, but he replied in a casual voice, “In many cases, want is enough to ensure any outcome, Himawari-chan.” A slight pause, the tinkle of china against china. “In many more, it is not.” The whisper of silk. “As for me, I’m not certain anymore what the outcome will be, even if I know for sure what I want.”
Himawari opened her eyes.
Watanuki was looking at her-looking with knowing, piercing eyes that arrowed straight into her, into that place where the persistent ache in her heart was lodged, and farther down, into parts of herself that Himawari was sure no one but Watanuki-and perhaps Yuuko, if she were here-could see. Himawari looked down at her teacup and stared at the steam rising into the air.
“You don’t understand why I’m doing this,” Watanuki said. “You don’t want me to wait like this for Yuuko-san to return, to grant wishes and stay in the shop. You don’t want me to become like her.”
Himawari felt a chill race over her arms and pressed the warm porcelain against her palms; her left palm stung where the nail-marks still lingered.
“That’s not it,” she whispered. “I-worry about you, Watanuki-kun. I…I miss you.”
He was quiet for a moment before replying. “I miss you as well, Himawari-chan.” The words were soft, musical. Placating, she thought, and put the cup back on the table. Her mouth had gone dry, but she felt she would be sick if she tried to force down more tea. “I haven’t seen you in months. I feel as though I’ve missed out on all the most wonderful parts of your life.”
She wanted to say, You haven’t, Watanuki-kun. The wonderful parts of my life are the rare times I get to see you. But those words didn’t come. Instead, she heard herself say, “Do you really?”
He looked as taken aback by the question as she felt. “Do I really…feel that way? Well, yes. Of course. I’m sure university must be very exciting-”
“Do you really miss me, Watanuki-kun?”
Where were these words coming from? She twisted her hands in her lap, unwilling to open her mouth again for fear of what she might say next.
Watanuki was silent for a long moment. He held her gaze with his; she swallowed hard and looked away from the gold-and-blue eyes behind the familiar glasses. She’d heard from Doumeki that Watanuki had retrieved them from the other place, the between world of dreaming and waking, the same day he’d made the choice to stay here in the shop. She heard a lot from Doumeki about Watanuki, these days.
“You’re angry with me,” he said at last, his voice soft.
“No,” she denied, but it was weak, and it was a lie.
“You are.” He studied her; she could feel his thoughtful stare even though she kept her own on her white knuckles. “I didn’t realize until now, but you are very unhappy with me, Himawari-chan.”
“I miss you,” she said again, and they both heard the waver in her voice.
“And I miss you.” Another pause, followed by the soft brush of silk on skin. “You don’t believe me.”
“I-” She inhaled. “I don’t know.”
The silence was becoming unbearable, choking her like the incense, the pipe smoke, the words she wanted to say but couldn’t. Her hands trembled from the force of her grip. She separated her fingers, then linked them again.
“Watanuki-kun,” she began.
“I don’t think you should come here anymore,” he said.
* * *
When she was very young, Himawari had once let go of a balloon her father had given her. She watched with wide eyes as the red orb floated higher and higher out of her grasp, disappearing into a tiny speck in the sky.
She asked her mother later where the balloon went, and whether it would keep going until it reached the stars.
“No, dear,” said her mother. “It can’t just keep going higher. Sooner or later, it will pop and fall back down to earth.” At Himawari’s wondrous expression, she went on, “Everything has to stop going at some point, Himawari-chan.”
“Everything, Mama?”
Her mother had given her an absent, indulgent smile.
“Yes, dear.”
Four years old and not really aware yet of what road lay before her, Himawari looked at the sky and thought about a day when everything in the whole world would just stop like a toy whose batteries had died, like a clock whose hands were still forever, out of time.
* * *
Part Three
“Hey.”
She lifted her chin from her knees. Through the tumbling mass of curls hanging over her face, she could just see Doumeki’s tall form. Beside him was Kohane in her new school uniform.
“Oh.” Himawari sat straight up and forced a smile. “Hello, Doumeki-kun, Kohane-chan.”
Golden eyes narrowed on her face, searching. Seeing. She thought that sometimes Doumeki could see as well as Watanuki or Yuuko, when it came to the important things, the secret things. She was careful to avoid his gaze, instead focusing on Kohane.
The girl had grown taller since the last time they’d seen one another, before Himawari had left for Fukushima to attend university. Now on the cusp of thirteen, Kohane was beginning to develop soft curves and lose the childish roundness in her face. Already a lovely child, she was fast becoming a beautiful young woman.
Himawari’s lips curved upward as she also took in Doumeki’s protective stance beside the girl. Just as he used to, and still did, whenever she was around Watanuki, he had adopted the habit of placing himself just a little nearer to Himawari than Kohane was, standing between the two girls as a kind of human shield. Oh, but wouldn’t it be fun to see Doumeki playing the fierce, disapproving big brother during Kohane’s teenage years, when boys would without a doubt be following her around like lost puppies?
The way Watanuki followed me once upon a time. But those days were long gone. Just thinking about it made her heart hurt, so she said, “How was your first day of seventh grade, Kohane-chan?”
Kohane’s guardian, the old fortune teller, had enrolled Kohane in Tsuji Academy with her mother’s consent. The private school, with its serene campus and small student body, seemed perfect for Kohane, who had never received schooling outside her home and had been nervous about starting an institutionalized education.
“It’s very interesting,” said Kohane with a small smile. “I’ve never been around so many people my age.”
“Do they still give you a hard time?” asked Himawari, worried.
“No.” Something in Kohane’s face shifted, but it passed out of her expression too fast for Himawari to analyze. “Since Yuuko-san erased the rumors about me, I haven’t had any trouble. A few of my classmates asked me questions about my abilities, but most of them left me alone.”
“Well, that’s good,” Himawari began, at the same time Doumeki said, “Were they ignoring you?”
Kohane smiled up at him. “No, Shizuka-kun,” she said. “It’s all right, they’re really very nice.”
He looked mollified. Himawari’s lips quirked. Oh, Doumeki-kun.
“I’m glad you like your school,” she said. “Are you planning on joining any clubs?”
“I don’t know yet. There is the archery club, I suppose,” said Kohane with a sidelong glance at Doumeki, and to her further amusement Himawari caught the slightest traces of shyness in the girl’s eyes. It was fleeting, but the look spoke volumes about Kohane’s adulation of her big brother figure. “I might enjoy that, even though I can’t exorcise spirits anymore…”
“Archery doesn’t have to be about exorcism,” said Doumeki. “It’s about learning patience and precision. You focus on a single goal, blocking out all other distractions. At the same time you take in your surroundings and become one with them. It’s a balance between mind, spirit, and body.”
“It sounds like Grandmother’s lessons on meditation,” said Kohane.
“Some of the same principles apply,” Doumeki told her. “If you join the archery club, I’ll help you practice at the temple.”
“That would be lovely, Shizuka-kun,” said Kohane, eyes bright.
Himawari, watching them, had the familiar sensation of being included, but still standing outside a separate circle where she did not belong. She swallowed and made sure her face revealed nothing of her thoughts when the other two turned back to her.
“And what about you, Himawari-san? How is your university?” asked Kohane.
“It’s all right,” Himawari said. “I’m studying liberal arts. My classes are difficult, but they’re not so bad.”
“Shizuka-kun says that you take evening classes because you’re working part-time now?”
“Oh.” Himawari blinked up at Doumeki. She hadn’t realized that he ever discussed her with anyone besides Watanuki. “Well. Yes, I’m a waitress at a small coffee shop.”
Kohane tilted her head to the side. “Is that all right for you?”
Himawari laughed a little. “Nothing bad has happened yet. I’m hoping it stays that way.”
She was praying it did. Her job barely managed to pay for her tiny apartment while her parents’ savings were taking care of her school fees; if she started affecting the customers at the coffee shop, the guilt would force her to quit even if she desperately needed the money. There were many days when she skipped meals to make her groceries last until her next paycheck, days when she dreamed of Watanuki’s exquisite meals and wished she could have risked attending a university closer to home.
As if reading her mind, Kohane said, “You’re taking care of yourself, aren’t you, Himawari-san? You’re eating all right?”
Thrown off balance by the anxiety in Kohane’s voice, Himawari said, “Oh, well, I-” Feeling Doumeki’s penetrating gaze on her, she pasted a smile on her face and said, “Of course, Kohane-chan. I’m doing just fine.”
Now both of them were looking at her. It made her nervous. She went on, trying to distract them. “University life is very different from anything else. I’m sure Doumeki-kun would agree. You’d think you have more free time, but that’s not always the case. Still, it’s quite an experience.”
Doumeki was still looking at her, his golden eyes narrow and too knowing. Kohane was looking at her too, and the combined force of their gazes made her want to look away, to bury her face in her knees again and release the terrible tension that had been building since she stepped foot in the shop.
“So you’re enjoying it, then,” said Kohane after a moment.
“Very much,” said Himawari.
She hated it. Hated being so far from home, from her family, from her friends, from everything she loved most. Hated being so alone. Hated not having anyone to talk to except Doumeki, over the phone. Hated her acute longing for days past. Hated her curse for keeping her separate, always separate, always different.
After another small pause, Kohane glanced at Doumeki, then said, “Even if I don’t join the archery club, maybe there’s a home economics club or a cooking club at my school.”
Himawari smiled, relieved and grateful for the deliberate change of subject. “You still love to cook, then?”
“Yes.” Kohane’s simple reply belied the quiet glow effusing her face. “It’s something I’ve loved ever since Kimihiro-kun first taught me how to make tamago.”
“I’m flattered.”
Himawari couldn’t help it: she stiffened ever so slightly at the sound of Watanuki’s voice behind her. She half turned to see the boy-Not a boy, she reminded herself. Not anymore-in the doorway, the heavy kimono immaculate around him.
“Welcome, Kohane-chan,” he said, and the pleasure was evident in his tone, in his eyes, in every single aspect of him-not the formal, careful way he’d greeted Himawari upon her arrival, but something freer, more genuine. He didn’t have to worry about Kohane inadvertently cursing his customers, or bringing bad luck to him or the shop. He was just happy to see her.
Himawari stood up and smoothed down her skirt, letting her hair cover her face as she brushed imaginary away with trembling fingers.
“Happy birthday, Kimihiro-kun,” said Kohane, bowing. “How are you?”
They exchanged pleasantries, and Watanuki then traded customary barbs with Doumeki. Himawari did not comment on how close they were; she’d have bitten off her tongue before ever saying those words again. She made herself appear smiling and interested in the conversation that followed: Watanuki asked Kohane the same questions about her first day of school and expressed approval of her consideration over archery club before insisting they all go into the sitting room.
“In a minute,” said Doumeki. His tone brooked no argument. His eyes were on Himawari.
Watanuki glanced between them, his eyes also lingering on Himawari, before nodding once and ushering Kohane inside. The girl threw Doumeki and Himawari an inscrutable look over her shoulder before letting herself be herded through the doorway.
Awkward silence fell after the door slid closed. Himawari linked her hands together in front of her and waited for Doumeki to speak. She studied the floorboards on the engawa, tracing the grooves in the wood with her eyes, willing her mind and her expression to stay blank.
“What happened?”
That was Doumeki, she thought with a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. To the point, no nonsense.
“Nothing,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “We had tea when I got here, and talked about the things we’ve been doing. Then I waited for you and Kohane-chan on the porch while Watanuki-kun made dinner.”
She could feel his stare like a physical weight on her shoulders. It made her want to hunch her shoulders like a child being scolded. She tightened her fingers.
“It takes him hours to cook on days like these,” said Doumeki. “He gets obsessed with making everything perfect. You’ve been sitting out here all afternoon?”
She said nothing. What could she say that he wouldn’t already know for truth or lie?
“What has he done now?”
It was a matter-of-fact question, devoid of any inflection. It broke her heart. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want Doumeki to witness her sadness and shame. But if not Doumeki, perhaps the only real friend she had left whom she could trust, rely on, turn to when the sky was falling-if not him, then she’d be alone. She had no one else anymore.
“He said I shouldn’t come back here,” she said in a whisper that broke halfway. “He said-he said it’s too dangerous. It’s not safe for me, or for the customers. When it was Yuuko-san in charge of the shop, I could come here every so often, when she decided it was all right, because her power kept everyone safe. But now that it’s him, I-he-” She rubbed at her arms. “I know he’s only thinking of what’s best for everyone,” she rushed on. “He would never do something like this to be cruel. He just wants to-”
To do his job. To stay in this wretched place and wait for someone who might never return. To place everything else in his life aside, no matter how it cut at her to be relegated to other, to expendable, to unnecessary.
Part of her knew she wasn’t being fair. She knew Watanuki didn’t think of her as unnecessary at all. She was still his friend, and he hers. However, the fact was that once upon a time he had danced with joy for a single kind word from her, and now he was turning her away and looking beyond her, to things she couldn’t see and couldn’t understand. She hadn’t felt this devastated-this alone-since the day she’d cried over the realization that her best friends would always be connected in a way she could not share with them, or with anyone.
Doumeki regarded her for another moment, then did something she’d never seen him do in the years they’d been friends: he heaved a sigh and rubbed at one of his temples.
“He’s an idiot.” His voice was gruff.
Himawari closed her eyes.
“Yes,” she said. “He is.”
* * *
They sat side by side on the engawa in silence. It had been nearly half an hour since Watanuki and Kohane had gone into the shop; they were, in all likelihood, finishing up the cooking and setting out the meal. Doumeki had not pressed her for more information, and she had not volunteered any. Both of them sat, lost in thought. Or perhaps only she felt lost; it was difficult to tell anything that went on in Doumeki’s mind.
Weak glimmers of sunlight speckled her lap. She danced her fingers across them slowly in a waltz. One, two, three, one, two three.
“What did you say to him?”
She started. “I-what?”
“When he told you not to come back,” Doumeki elaborated with his customary bluntness. “What did you say?”
Himawari scratched at the wood of the engawa with a too-long fingernail.
“I didn’t say anything. I came and sat outside.” She picked at the tiny particles of wood under her nail. “I don’t know that there’s anything that can be said. He seems set on this course.” Her fingertips rubbed together. “He did say maybe he could arrange for a visit on his next birthday, and maybe he’d have enough power by then to hold the wards against me.” The vague promise was all he could offer her, and like a drowning man, she was desperate enough to take anything he was willing to throw her way.
“And you’re going to go along with it?” Golden eyes stared unblinking at her, questioning, assessing.
She sighed. “Of course.” She had nothing else, after all.
They lapsed back into silence for a while before she ventured, “You still come here a lot, don’t you, Doumeki-kun?”
“Yeah.”
She knew that. Even if Watanuki was different now, Doumeki would stay by his side no matter the circumstances. Watanuki might complain and curse him, but he never sent Doumeki away. He’d stopped trying that long ago.
She thought about how to word the question delicately before deciding that delicacy was wasted on Doumeki Shizuka. “Do you think he’s right?” Do you think I should leave and only come back when he says I’m allowed? Has everything changed that much? Am I losing you both?
He didn’t answer for a long time.
“Yes,” he said at last, and her eyes closed.
“I see.”
There were birds singing somewhere nearby. The wind rustled tree leaves and scattered them through the air. Himawari focused hard on these things because her heart was breaking, and she was trying so hard not to cry, and she needed something to think about that wouldn’t hurt so terribly.
“Himawari.”
She was fighting back tears, and at first didn’t notice the use of her given name. When it dawned on her, she looked up at him, misery swimming in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Doumeki said.
She couldn’t remember him ever apologizing to her before.
“Doumeki-kun,” she whispered. “Shizuka.” She let the tears fall. I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be alone again.
He didn’t put an arm around her when she buried her face in her knees. He didn’t murmur soothing platitudes while she stifled sobs in the fabric of her skirt. He didn’t try to explain why it was best that she leave, didn’t make excuses or promises to make her feel better. He only offered a single apology for loving the person she loved-for loving him more than he loved her, and for being loved more than she was.
When the worst of the crying jag was over, she sat up, wiping at her face and looking up at him. He hadn’t gone, she thought. He’d sat with her while she cried. He hadn’t left her alone.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Doumeki-kun.” She didn’t use his given name again. It was important, after all, to keep her distance.
He gazed at her. She thought she saw true regret in his eyes. He lifted a hand and made as if to brush her curls away from her face, though he didn’t touch her.
“You’ll come back,” he said, half-question.
She felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a shadow of a smile. She thought of circles, of being inside and still outside, and that small space she could never occupy. She thought of a balloon rising higher and higher towards the sun.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll come back.”
But me, not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care,
Impell'd with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
from “The Traveller” by Oliver Goldsmith