(no subject)
Guys, who thought that a simple show about cards and boys and cards and stupid games would make me have so many feelings. How. I don't know either, but Chihayafuru is drowning me in a sea of emotions and I just can't help myself. I blame all of you for this. Expect blackmail.
behind the edges; there are times where she will still get them mixed up- karuta and a boy, karuta and her best friend, karuta and the memory of three kids getting some playing cards wet with their tears. chihayafuru. chihaya/arata, chihaya/taichi. 2190 words. g.
He touches the first card, his fingers drifting over the edges and spilling into empty air. His grasp has gotten weaker, he almost thinks.
There’s a hesitation somewhere, and it’s ridiculous, how blunt these edges have gotten over the past years. Arata sees the dust collect over his karuta box on the top shelf of his room and looks away.
The day Chihaya wins the quarterfinals of the Class A tournament is the last day of second year. These hiragana symbols have become natural to her. Rinse lather and repeat: the speaker opens his mouth, and the words are just syllables- pick one out, and the next thing you know, the card is on the other side of the room. By the time she grabs the last card, she’s almost disappointed with herself. This should have been harder.
Queen, Arata told her once. You can be Queen, and I’ll be King.
“You were really focused on that last one,” Taichi says, handing her the soda can. Chihaya’s fingers curl around the cold metal and she bites her lip. Next to her, the trophy shines and glints hint of orange and yellow on the ceiling. She wishes that it wasn’t so big.
“I was too fast,” she replies, and Taichi sits down besides her, shaking his head. “The opponent clearly wasn’t into this game at all.”
She catches Taichi smirking, and offers a slight smile herself. It’s all for karuta, in the end. The track, the endless hand exercises, and the club- it’s all for a boy in glasses somewhere. She’s not sure. Sometimes she gets them mixed up- karuta and a boy, karuta and Taichi, karuta and the memory of three kids getting some playing cards wet with their tears.
Her hands catch the top of the can as she finishes it in one last gulp. Her eyes do not stray toward Taichi, but she can hear his sigh, see the look in his face. He’s not happy.
“Are you jealous that you didn’t get to the semis like I did?” She pulls back her hair and smiles at him. Lighten up, she thinks. This is just a game. This is what life has been for her, ever since then. Chihaya feels like her entire life has been set through the rules of competition; the clothes and the photo shoots and the awards that are plastered to her walls in her room. It has been about battles and prizes. Taichi has known this too, she thinks. So has her sister, so did Arata, at one point. It’s just time for her to attain that goal too.
"No," he replies stubbornly, his mouth firming into a thin line. "It's just...." he drifts off, staring at her can.
Her mind is still frozen on Arata though. That’s a lie, she tells herself. Arata had a dream- he still does. Some part of her still sees him riding that bike and wonders about how he, in that moment, was the one trying to catch up to them. The thought scares her, and she turns back to sipping her soda, her eyes drifting on Taichi.
He's been staring at her. “So you….still miss him, then.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s obvious, you moron.” Taichi shakes his head a little and leans forward. The light from the ceiling dances over his hair, shrouding the front part of his face in darkness. She can't see his eyes. Maybe she doesn't want to.
“You’re overdoing it,” and he begins to twirl his hair, letting the strands catch around his fingertips.
“Don’t,” she suddenly startles herself. Something has ripped, and Taichi finally leans out of the light. He looks taken back. “Just…stop. It’s not like that. I thought I told you.”
He turns away, and he almost looks like he’s in pain. Chihaya doesn’t apologize. It’s become that sort of relationship where there’s no room for apologies, she thinks.
They sit like that for a while, sipping on soda and watching other contestants in the room. There is a lot of noise here, but she prefers it that way. There is too much going on in her head right now. She doesn't know where to start-Taichi, Karuta, Arata, Taichi, Karuta,Arata....it's a continuous circle, one she's becoming increasingly wrapped up in.
“He’ll come back, Chihaya,” he suddenly says then, and there’s something about his voice that makes Chihaya tightens her grip on the can a little. It’s still cold. "He will, because he's your only constant- and you can't lose sight of him, right?"
She turns away, saying nothing; this conversation doesn’t have an end. It never did. Taichi will let his head cool for a little while, and then his hand spread across her back, and they will sit there until the soda can warms up to her fingers and her eyes grow a little heavy and nothing will really change.
His first New Year's card to her is his last. Chihaya turns the card around, fumbling to find an edge she can hold on to. The writing is small, the letters unmistakably in his style. There's a small address near the top left of the envelope; she cuts her finger trying to find it.
Come find me, the print speaks. Come find me.
When her sister gets an actual front page, her mother brings a large cake home, with chocolate toppings and strawberries on the top. Chihaya is fifteen. Her sister takes the large knife and cuts it into small pieces before sharing the first bite with her executive manager. Chihaya is the third person to get a slice; when she does, her sister smiles.
“My greatest fan,” she says, giving her the rest of her cake. “I don’t know what I would do without you."
Something twists inside her guts that night, and Chihaya still doesn’t tell her parents that the thumps in the house at two in the morning aren’t because of the heater in the attic. She turns away, gritting her teeth, her fist clenched. Inside her pocket is her cell phone, and inside her cell phone there are two numbers; one she doesn’t dare call, and the other, one she calls too much. Tonight however, she leaves the cell phone alone.
That’s when she starts writing the letters.
Arata,
Fukui doesn’t sound like such a bad place at times. At least, not when I see you there, playing and realizing your dream-
He knocks at her door the day after the competition. At first, she doesn't know what to say. Welcome back? It's good to see you again, Arata? They all ring in her mind.
"I'm glad to see you Wataya-kun," she tries smiling as she opens the door to let him in. Her mouth had tried to say Arata. Something holds her back. It might be the years, it might be the memories- if that's what she can still call them.
He doesn't reply, but only takes his shoes off.
"The train here is longer than I thought it would be." Arata turns around, looking at her flat. "Still, I managed to get here in time."
"For what?"
"For congratulating you," he shrugs. "For thanking you. I didn't mean for you to..." he turns away, the shadows covering his eyes. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."
and then I realize that compared to you, my life is so much easier. So thank you-
"For what?" she repeats again, and her arm finds its way into the groove of his. This, this is normal, or what she thinks is normal, at least for what she thinks should be between them. Arata stiffens a little, the creases of his shirt brushing softly against her skin.
"Nothing," he mutters, and she playfully pushes him upstairs. "You're still the same as ever, Chihaya."
They settle in her room. She still hasn't contacted Taichi about Arata visiting. It's better this way, at least for the time being. Part of her is selfish and wants to understand these reasons for him being here. It's natural, she argues. Wanting to be here. Wanting him to be here.
She's not sure if they're the same thing, though.
"So...you're Class A now." He says it like it's not a huge accomplishment. Something tugs a little at the edges of her mouth.
"I expect to see you at the finals," she leans back, her back curving into the chair. Arata almost gives a smile. "All that talent couldn't have gone to waste."
"I'm not so sure myself." His voice is smooth and dark, the one that crawls over her skin and glazes her senses. She bites her lip, not knowing where to go.
"I touched them, the cards, when you left," he continues, now staring attentively at Chihaya. "I tried playing, even. It took me time to find the tapes. It seems like I'm still a bit rusty."
There's a large silence, then. Arata sighs and a moment becomes two, and then four, and then she really begins to wonder how much has changed between them.
“So you’ve been running away, then.”
Arata’s eyes widen a little and she wonders if she’s stepped over the line. But he smiles sadly, his glasses sloping lopsidedly. “That’s right,” he says quietly. “I ran away.”
Chihaya can't figure him out. There should be rules to this sort of thing. There are rules that apply to everything, and yet he is the exact anomaly in her life; the one who leaves and comes, the one who breaks and forms. She wonders if that's a pattern too. His face is sad though; she can't quite put it, but there is something lonely in the way he hunches forward, something lackluster in the shine of his eyes.
"I didn't mean that," she says hurriedly, walking over to him. "You had every reason to quit. I just meant to say that.....well, I missed you. We both did. I think I missed you more than Taichi, but that's because he's a sore loser and-"
She doesn't want to finish that statement. Ther is something that is stopping her, and she doesn't know what, but it doesn't matter because at that moment Arata tilts his head up and looks at the ceiling. She waits for him to speak. She always has.
"I missed you too," he finally says, and his voice is open and raw and suddenly there are a thousand needles prickling her eyes. He's your only constant, she remembers Taichi saying with stunning clarity. You just can't lose sight of him, can you?
Her mouth cracks.
There's that one time she loses against Taichi- it's that one time where he takes the Chihayafuru card and she won't let go because it's her card but he takes it anyway and he pushes her over and falls on her and they're both burning, bright bodies amongst scattered cards in an empty room. It's around fall at that time; she remembers Taichi being warm and smelling warm, like fresh leaves on a fall day.
Later on, he will give her back the card, but his face won't stop flushing until they reach home.
-Arata. I'll keep waiting.
Chihaya cries first. That's the normal part. But when Arata pauses, giving her a little time, only to end up wrapping his arms around her, that's when things become uncertain. His arms are bigger than she thought they would be, just like his torso. Everything has become larger here, she thinks, and tries to breathe against his large sweatshirt. It's too hard.
She closes her eyes, expecting him to fall away, just like the rest of her dreams. People change, they twist and turn into shadows and the only thing that remains are a pack of cards and syllables. Chihaya tries to remember this, and opens her eyes.
But he’s still there. He doesn’t leave.
And that’s really all that matters, in the end. The symbols, the vowels and cards and letters and trains and all of that, it collapses like a game of cards, around him. She breathes him in; he’s real, he’s here. God does not take flesh and body, her mother once told her. There is something real and substantial here; she does’t know what to call it, this thing. It’s not like Taichi. Her cheeks grow warm and her heartbeat skips a little.
Slowly, quietly, he lets go of her, his fingers catching the knots in her hair. Outside, the sky is slowly dimming to a bright orange-red. It's getting late.
“Come on,” he says, his breath forming little smoke in the air. His fingers curve gently into her palms. She doesn’t look up- she doesn’t want to. She’s not ready for that yet. Maybe one day she will be. “I’ll play you."
behind the edges; there are times where she will still get them mixed up- karuta and a boy, karuta and her best friend, karuta and the memory of three kids getting some playing cards wet with their tears. chihayafuru. chihaya/arata, chihaya/taichi. 2190 words. g.
He touches the first card, his fingers drifting over the edges and spilling into empty air. His grasp has gotten weaker, he almost thinks.
There’s a hesitation somewhere, and it’s ridiculous, how blunt these edges have gotten over the past years. Arata sees the dust collect over his karuta box on the top shelf of his room and looks away.
The day Chihaya wins the quarterfinals of the Class A tournament is the last day of second year. These hiragana symbols have become natural to her. Rinse lather and repeat: the speaker opens his mouth, and the words are just syllables- pick one out, and the next thing you know, the card is on the other side of the room. By the time she grabs the last card, she’s almost disappointed with herself. This should have been harder.
Queen, Arata told her once. You can be Queen, and I’ll be King.
“You were really focused on that last one,” Taichi says, handing her the soda can. Chihaya’s fingers curl around the cold metal and she bites her lip. Next to her, the trophy shines and glints hint of orange and yellow on the ceiling. She wishes that it wasn’t so big.
“I was too fast,” she replies, and Taichi sits down besides her, shaking his head. “The opponent clearly wasn’t into this game at all.”
She catches Taichi smirking, and offers a slight smile herself. It’s all for karuta, in the end. The track, the endless hand exercises, and the club- it’s all for a boy in glasses somewhere. She’s not sure. Sometimes she gets them mixed up- karuta and a boy, karuta and Taichi, karuta and the memory of three kids getting some playing cards wet with their tears.
Her hands catch the top of the can as she finishes it in one last gulp. Her eyes do not stray toward Taichi, but she can hear his sigh, see the look in his face. He’s not happy.
“Are you jealous that you didn’t get to the semis like I did?” She pulls back her hair and smiles at him. Lighten up, she thinks. This is just a game. This is what life has been for her, ever since then. Chihaya feels like her entire life has been set through the rules of competition; the clothes and the photo shoots and the awards that are plastered to her walls in her room. It has been about battles and prizes. Taichi has known this too, she thinks. So has her sister, so did Arata, at one point. It’s just time for her to attain that goal too.
"No," he replies stubbornly, his mouth firming into a thin line. "It's just...." he drifts off, staring at her can.
Her mind is still frozen on Arata though. That’s a lie, she tells herself. Arata had a dream- he still does. Some part of her still sees him riding that bike and wonders about how he, in that moment, was the one trying to catch up to them. The thought scares her, and she turns back to sipping her soda, her eyes drifting on Taichi.
He's been staring at her. “So you….still miss him, then.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s obvious, you moron.” Taichi shakes his head a little and leans forward. The light from the ceiling dances over his hair, shrouding the front part of his face in darkness. She can't see his eyes. Maybe she doesn't want to.
“You’re overdoing it,” and he begins to twirl his hair, letting the strands catch around his fingertips.
“Don’t,” she suddenly startles herself. Something has ripped, and Taichi finally leans out of the light. He looks taken back. “Just…stop. It’s not like that. I thought I told you.”
He turns away, and he almost looks like he’s in pain. Chihaya doesn’t apologize. It’s become that sort of relationship where there’s no room for apologies, she thinks.
They sit like that for a while, sipping on soda and watching other contestants in the room. There is a lot of noise here, but she prefers it that way. There is too much going on in her head right now. She doesn't know where to start-Taichi, Karuta, Arata, Taichi, Karuta,Arata....it's a continuous circle, one she's becoming increasingly wrapped up in.
“He’ll come back, Chihaya,” he suddenly says then, and there’s something about his voice that makes Chihaya tightens her grip on the can a little. It’s still cold. "He will, because he's your only constant- and you can't lose sight of him, right?"
She turns away, saying nothing; this conversation doesn’t have an end. It never did. Taichi will let his head cool for a little while, and then his hand spread across her back, and they will sit there until the soda can warms up to her fingers and her eyes grow a little heavy and nothing will really change.
His first New Year's card to her is his last. Chihaya turns the card around, fumbling to find an edge she can hold on to. The writing is small, the letters unmistakably in his style. There's a small address near the top left of the envelope; she cuts her finger trying to find it.
Come find me, the print speaks. Come find me.
When her sister gets an actual front page, her mother brings a large cake home, with chocolate toppings and strawberries on the top. Chihaya is fifteen. Her sister takes the large knife and cuts it into small pieces before sharing the first bite with her executive manager. Chihaya is the third person to get a slice; when she does, her sister smiles.
“My greatest fan,” she says, giving her the rest of her cake. “I don’t know what I would do without you."
Something twists inside her guts that night, and Chihaya still doesn’t tell her parents that the thumps in the house at two in the morning aren’t because of the heater in the attic. She turns away, gritting her teeth, her fist clenched. Inside her pocket is her cell phone, and inside her cell phone there are two numbers; one she doesn’t dare call, and the other, one she calls too much. Tonight however, she leaves the cell phone alone.
That’s when she starts writing the letters.
Arata,
Fukui doesn’t sound like such a bad place at times. At least, not when I see you there, playing and realizing your dream-
He knocks at her door the day after the competition. At first, she doesn't know what to say. Welcome back? It's good to see you again, Arata? They all ring in her mind.
"I'm glad to see you Wataya-kun," she tries smiling as she opens the door to let him in. Her mouth had tried to say Arata. Something holds her back. It might be the years, it might be the memories- if that's what she can still call them.
He doesn't reply, but only takes his shoes off.
"The train here is longer than I thought it would be." Arata turns around, looking at her flat. "Still, I managed to get here in time."
"For what?"
"For congratulating you," he shrugs. "For thanking you. I didn't mean for you to..." he turns away, the shadows covering his eyes. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."
and then I realize that compared to you, my life is so much easier. So thank you-
"For what?" she repeats again, and her arm finds its way into the groove of his. This, this is normal, or what she thinks is normal, at least for what she thinks should be between them. Arata stiffens a little, the creases of his shirt brushing softly against her skin.
"Nothing," he mutters, and she playfully pushes him upstairs. "You're still the same as ever, Chihaya."
They settle in her room. She still hasn't contacted Taichi about Arata visiting. It's better this way, at least for the time being. Part of her is selfish and wants to understand these reasons for him being here. It's natural, she argues. Wanting to be here. Wanting him to be here.
She's not sure if they're the same thing, though.
"So...you're Class A now." He says it like it's not a huge accomplishment. Something tugs a little at the edges of her mouth.
"I expect to see you at the finals," she leans back, her back curving into the chair. Arata almost gives a smile. "All that talent couldn't have gone to waste."
"I'm not so sure myself." His voice is smooth and dark, the one that crawls over her skin and glazes her senses. She bites her lip, not knowing where to go.
"I touched them, the cards, when you left," he continues, now staring attentively at Chihaya. "I tried playing, even. It took me time to find the tapes. It seems like I'm still a bit rusty."
There's a large silence, then. Arata sighs and a moment becomes two, and then four, and then she really begins to wonder how much has changed between them.
“So you’ve been running away, then.”
Arata’s eyes widen a little and she wonders if she’s stepped over the line. But he smiles sadly, his glasses sloping lopsidedly. “That’s right,” he says quietly. “I ran away.”
Chihaya can't figure him out. There should be rules to this sort of thing. There are rules that apply to everything, and yet he is the exact anomaly in her life; the one who leaves and comes, the one who breaks and forms. She wonders if that's a pattern too. His face is sad though; she can't quite put it, but there is something lonely in the way he hunches forward, something lackluster in the shine of his eyes.
"I didn't mean that," she says hurriedly, walking over to him. "You had every reason to quit. I just meant to say that.....well, I missed you. We both did. I think I missed you more than Taichi, but that's because he's a sore loser and-"
She doesn't want to finish that statement. Ther is something that is stopping her, and she doesn't know what, but it doesn't matter because at that moment Arata tilts his head up and looks at the ceiling. She waits for him to speak. She always has.
"I missed you too," he finally says, and his voice is open and raw and suddenly there are a thousand needles prickling her eyes. He's your only constant, she remembers Taichi saying with stunning clarity. You just can't lose sight of him, can you?
Her mouth cracks.
There's that one time she loses against Taichi- it's that one time where he takes the Chihayafuru card and she won't let go because it's her card but he takes it anyway and he pushes her over and falls on her and they're both burning, bright bodies amongst scattered cards in an empty room. It's around fall at that time; she remembers Taichi being warm and smelling warm, like fresh leaves on a fall day.
Later on, he will give her back the card, but his face won't stop flushing until they reach home.
-Arata. I'll keep waiting.
Chihaya cries first. That's the normal part. But when Arata pauses, giving her a little time, only to end up wrapping his arms around her, that's when things become uncertain. His arms are bigger than she thought they would be, just like his torso. Everything has become larger here, she thinks, and tries to breathe against his large sweatshirt. It's too hard.
She closes her eyes, expecting him to fall away, just like the rest of her dreams. People change, they twist and turn into shadows and the only thing that remains are a pack of cards and syllables. Chihaya tries to remember this, and opens her eyes.
But he’s still there. He doesn’t leave.
And that’s really all that matters, in the end. The symbols, the vowels and cards and letters and trains and all of that, it collapses like a game of cards, around him. She breathes him in; he’s real, he’s here. God does not take flesh and body, her mother once told her. There is something real and substantial here; she does’t know what to call it, this thing. It’s not like Taichi. Her cheeks grow warm and her heartbeat skips a little.
Slowly, quietly, he lets go of her, his fingers catching the knots in her hair. Outside, the sky is slowly dimming to a bright orange-red. It's getting late.
“Come on,” he says, his breath forming little smoke in the air. His fingers curve gently into her palms. She doesn’t look up- she doesn’t want to. She’s not ready for that yet. Maybe one day she will be. “I’ll play you."