Chocolate fic for tinyangl, PART 1
To: tinyangl
From: cupid_johnny
Title: Echo
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Horikita Maki • Aiba Masaki/Becky • Ishihara Satomi/Ohno Satoshi • Ishihara Satomi/Matsumoto Jun . . .
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Life is about chances and choices. (For history’s sake, would you please take notice?)
A/N: What can one even say to half of the most fabulous mod team, to whom anonymity rarely exists, except-surprise! ♥♥♥
“Soulmates?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I believe in them?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm, if you’re asking if I believe someone can only find happiness with one other person in the whole entire world…”
“Yeah?”
Five (We Intertwined)
He’s standing at the edge of the ocean-the end of the world-and the water stretches before him in endless silver waves. The horizon rounds in the distance, kissed by a golden sun, fiery tendrils seeping into a colorless sky. He squints his eyes against the light because there’s something there, something important. He’s sure of that much, but can’t remember what or why or how.
When he shouts across the ocean, his voice is swallowed by the tide.
“Aiba-kun.”
The wind is calling back to him, rippling the water and tingling his spine, rushing over his face like a great, reprimanding sigh. But he can’t leave now, not yet, not without knowing what lies on the other side of the ocean.
“Aiba-kun.”
The air smells sweeter. It’s not quite honey-sweet, not really vanilla, not like any kind of fruit he can remember. But it’s a very particular scent, her scent.
“You skipped class again.”
The ocean vanishes, leaving only remnants of the sun burned red between his eyelids. There’s a rustle overhead, a moment, and then the sun, too, disappears.
“So what was it this time?”
He tests his tongue. “Baby rabbits.”
“And?”
“I wanted to make sure the mother would come back.”
“And?”
“She did.”
A great, reprimanding sigh. “I’m glad. But if you miss even one more day of class, they might seriously not allow you to graduate with us.”
“We graduate in three days.”
“That’s three more days of class you could potentially miss. Three more days of class that stand between you and graduation.”
He smiles. “You’re worried.”
“I volunteer once to bring the new transfer student his homework, and I’m stuck babysitting him for the rest of high school. Alas.”
“You would have been lonely in class without me sitting next to you all those days.”
“I’m lonely now.”
His eyes open at that. “No fair,” he chides, but the smile only stretches wider over his lips, “Maki-chan.”
She’s leaning over him, eyes warm but smile smug, bathed in a halo of dappled sunlight. Her school uniform is impeccable, as always, except for a bit of untucked shirt. He reaches up to pick it loose without thinking. “How did you find me?”
“You’re the one who taught me how to track animals. Look for droppings, right?” She holds up a crumpled packet of Gummi Gum, which she quickly folds into his hand. “It’s wrong to litter.”
“Sorry.” Her shirt pulls loose from the hem of her skirt.
“Nino’s the one who wants an apology. He told me not to waste my time looking for you, but you know he’s probably still out there somewhere, calling and cursing your name.”
“Sorry.” Maki raises her eyebrows. “I’ll go to class tomorrow.”
“Good.” She nods, satisfied, and it’s hard not to feel content with her satisfaction. Even though he still has garbage in his hand.
“Should we head back now?”
“In a bit.” She taps at his side until he makes enough room for her, drops her bag against the tree and smooths down her skirt before lying down next to him, crossing her legs at the ankles. She turns her head a touch, resting it against the crook of his arm, and it takes just this small warmth for him to realize how cold it’s become. He shivers and she presses closer, hair curling over his cheek and tickling his nose and he thinks he’s forgetting something, or remembering something, feels something dancing on the tip of his tongue. Something important…
“Hey, Maki-chan…”
The echo of the ocean.
“Hmm?”
A voice swallowed by the tide.
“What…”
His eyes flitter, flutter-
“What shampoo do you use?”
Shut.
He doesn’t hear an answer. When he wakes, there is no sun and the skies are gray and swirling through the leaves. Maki sits against the tree, nose buried in a book. He cranes his neck to get a better view. An English textbook. It’s no great surprise. He flops his head back down and rolls to the side.
Registering that his head is on her lap is a surprise, and the bare skin beneath her skirt is cool against his warming cheeks.
He shoots up, acutely aware of his hands and where-or more importantly, where not to put them. He jams one into the grass and another into his hair on instinct, but when he feels the crumple of cardboard against his head, he thinks he’s made the wrong choice. “Y-you could have woken me.”
She shuts her book and glances at him thoughtfully. “But you looked so peaceful.”
“That didn’t stop you from waking me the first time,” he accuses, but stands and offers her his garbage-free hand. He leads them out of the thicket carefully, parting tree branches with his free hand so that they don’t touch her. When they reach the sidewalk, he shoots the carton of Gummi Gum into the garbage can under the crossing light, but it’s not till they’re at the stairs of the intersection that he realizes they’re still holding hands. He’s still holding her hand.
He releases her, stares at his twitching fingers and is it just his imagination or is his hand tingling? Has it always felt this way, Maki’s hand in his? She doesn’t seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, though, prances ahead and hops the steps two at a time before glancing back at him, hands on her hips.
“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Maki calls, smile wide and brilliant and Aiba suddenly remembers why, on these very stairs two years ago, he made an unwitting confession.
“Maki-chan!”
“Hmm?”
Something cold hits the tip of his nose and he laughs, giddy and explosive. “I think I like you!”
“Eh?! This again? You mean as fr-”
“No, this time I’m sure!” He raises his arms toward the sky. “As members of the opposite sex!”
Maki’s eyebrows disappear into her fringe and her smile fades into a little, puckered ‘o.’ “Aiba-kun,” she says, just as it starts pouring down on them. “You really are the worst at confessing.”
“Does that mean…?”
“It’s a good thing we’re going to the same college!”
“Then no, I don’t believe in soulmates.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I was expecting a different answer.”
“What kind of answer?”
“Ah, well, you know. You’re the resident romance maniac, so I figured you’d like all that stuff. Soulmates. Destiny. Big romancy things like shouting declarations of love from the rooftops.”
“I do love those things, romancy things. But I don’t believe romance leads to love. I think true romance comes from love.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like…true romance is when you do the big romancy things because you are so much in love. Because you are so ridiculously and stupidly and unapologetically smitten with someone that every day you wake up and think, how can I make that person happy today?“
“Right.”
“But the idea of soulmates implies something outside of just two people in love, doesn’t it? Like we have no choice in defining our happiness-and our love-because everything has already been, somehow, without our knowledge, decided for us. It makes it seem less…real, you know?”
“Yeah, I think I get it.”
“But you actually don’t.”
“Yeah, not really.”
“A date at the library again?” Aiba is not whining, and he is most certainly not mustering up his best puppy-dog face of sadness while he’s not at it. Adorable, emotional manipulation at its not finest-Hime and Uran would be proud.
“I-but,” Maki protests, glancing between Aiba and the library before glancing back at him. “Exams.”
“You know I’m just going to spend the entire time looking at you.” He lowers his chin. “I’m telling you the honest truth.” Widens his eyes. “I like looking at you.” And then pouts his lips just a fraction.
She melts. “Ugh. Okay! Stop making Hime-Uran faces at me, I get it! We can get dinner-”
“And watch a movie?”
Maki furrows her eyebrows. “Aiba-kun.” Too far.
“Okay, can we at least watch the last episode of Hana Yori Dango?”
She sighs in defeat. “Okay.”
“Yes!” Aiba whoops, pumping his fist.
“But we’re studying right after-don’t you have a test tomorrow, too?”
“Yes, yes,” he says obligingly, before slinging his arm around Maki’s shoulders and steering her away from the library. “Chinese food?”
“For someone whose parents own an authentic Chinese food restaurant, you sure prefer the cheap American-style takeout.”
“My parents are Japanese, how authentic can their food be?”
“You’re awful,” Maki laughs, swatting him on the shoulder.
“So, General Tso’s chicken and…?”
“Something with vegetables.”
“So, boneless spareribs?”
“Aiba-kun…”
They fall asleep just ten minutes into Hana Yori Dango, but they put up a good fight. Aiba downs his can of soda and half of Maki’s, but somehow can’t stifle his yawns.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Maki murmurs just before her head rolls onto his shoulder, hair brushing up against his cheek.
“You’ve been working hard, Maki-chan,” Aiba whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve a break.”
They’re a tangle of limbs on the floor when his roommate switches on the light and screams. Aiba jerks awake, foot shooting out and sending his laptop careening across the floor, meeting the wall with an unhappy crash.
“O-oi! Good on you man, but give a guy some notice! At least I hang a tie on the doorknob when Eri-”
“We were just sleeping, Yamapi-”
“Ah!” Maki cries, eyes snapping open. “Exams!”
“Okay, let me put it another way. If soulmates do exist, if there is only that one, single person for you who will make you happy, what happens if we don’t meet them? Does it mean I just have to settle for the first guy to splatter his drink on me?”
“…I know I started this conversation, but that’s not really what your boyfriend wants to hear.”
“Ah, I didn’t mean that I actually think of it as settling. But that’s why I know what I have with you is real. Because the happiness we have together wasn’t determined by anyone or anything else. We’re happy, together, because we chose to be.”
“Hmm.”
“But, oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to go on and on like that. Why did you-you don’t…d-do you believe in soulmates?”
“I…no. I guess I don’t, either.”
“Oh, whew.”
“I heard that.”
“Ahem, so you also don’t believe in soulmates. Go on.”
“Well, I didn’t really think it out as much as you seem to have, but…the idea that a person only has one chance at happiness seems too sad.”
“Mm.”
“Still. I imagine it would be harder with other people.”
“What do you mean harder?”
“Like, I’d have to try harder with other people.”
“So you don’t try at all with me?”
“Exactly!”
“…That’s not really what your girlfriend wants to hear.”
“You know what I mean.”
“…”
“And then Maki-chan forced me to stay up with her aaaaall night to study,” Aiba complains, picking unenthusiastically at his salad.
“Is that why you look so dull today?”
“No, I’m dull because you got me a salad.”
“Just following your mom’s orders,” Sakamoto says around a huge, fleshy mouthful of cheeseburger. Meat juice runs down the sides of his mouth, and Aiba bristles with envy. “So, how did the test go?”
“Um.” Aiba stuffs his mouth with greens and motions an inability to talk with his hands.
“Aiba?”
He crams a tomato quarter in there and shrugs.
“Aiba.”
He nearly chokes in an attempt to swallow the mouthful whole, gags and beats at his chest with his hand after taking a large sip of water. Sakamoto stares relentlessly. “Okay, you caught me. I…may have fallen back asleep after Maki-chan left.”
Sakamoto shakes his head. “Oh, Aiba…”
“I already asked the professor for a retest!”
“And?”
“He said no…”
“Aiba,” Sakamoto sighs. “Just how long are you going to float aimlessly around like this?”
“What do you-”
“You’re a math major, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Because…?”
“What do you mean because?”
“Why are you a math major?”
“Because I’m good at math.”
“And?”
Aiba frowns impatiently. “And what?”
“What do you want to do with a math major? What kind of future are you thinking of?”
“Um.”
“What did you write for that career worksheet back in high school?”
He chokes on an olive.
“Man, your mom really won’t be happy to hear this.”
“You don’t actually have to report everything to her, you know,” Aiba grumbles, back to picking at his salad.
Sakamoto smiles tiredly, reaches across the table and ruffles Aiba’s hair with his hand. “I know you’re just a freshman, and it feels like you have all the time in the world, and yes, you still do have lots of time, but if you’re not thinking even a little about your future, you should at least think about what you want to do while you’re here. For instance, have you considered studying abroad?”
“Studying abroad where?”
“You tell me,” Sakamoto shoots back, finishing his burger in two bites. “I went to London in my sophomore year…and it was a pretty amazing experience. I think that’s really where I really fell in love with musical theater. And that’s what’s so great about studying abroad. You can meet new people who can change your perspective on life-even if you’re the type firmly rooted in his own ideas, like I was. And maybe you’ll even find that thing you can be passionate about. So just think about it, okay? If not, you might be left behind…”
Silence.
“Aiba?”
Continued silence.
“Aiba!”
Aiba blinks widely. “Oh, sorry, did you say something? I just got a text from my roommate-apparently he’s the new Hercules in this year’s play because the lead came down with mono.”
Sakamoto frowns.
“Um, what?”
“I just imparted some profound words of wisdom, and you’re ignoring me for Yamapunk in a toga?!”
“Wha-no. Not ignoring. Just. You know. Anyway, about that fascinating thing you just said that I was totally listening to…what was it again, exactly?”
Sakamoto wrinkles his nose. “Uh, uh. No time for that.” He wipes his hands on a napkin and slaps a few bills onto the table. “Gotta run!”
“Where are you going?!”
“Leaving you behind.” Sakamoto grins and sends him a thumbs-up. “I’ve got a date with a goddess named Desire.”
“That’s not even how you say her name!” Aiba shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And she’s too young for you!”
Sakamoto just laughs, waves at him over his shoulder without looking back.
“Aren’t great loves supposed to be hard?”
“Back to the romance fanatic are you.”
“Love means staying together through the good and the bad. But it’s the bad stuff that builds character, that brings people closer together, that makes you sure that the other person is in it for the long haul.”
“That’s why I-that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Well…”
“If you don’t believe in soulmates, then what about me?”
“You what?”
Maki blinks at him like she’s surprised he’s reacting to the nuclear bomb she just exploded on his heart. “I got accepted to study abroad in America.”
“America!” Aiba repeats, possibly shouts, before being shushed from all directions of the library.
“Isn’t it great?” She smiles brightly before planting her face back into her books.
“Why didn’t you-”
“SHHHH.”
Aiba clamps his hands over his mouth, bows several times over to a group of particularly murderous girls, before flipping open his notebook and scribbling: Why didn’t you tell me? He shoves it over Maki’s textbook and taps the end of his pen on it. Maki tilts her head to the side to read it, taps her pencil against her chin before writing a reply and sliding the notebook back over.
I did.
And back to her books. Aiba makes a motion of frustration before taking up his pen.
When?!
At the start of term. We were walking through the student center and there were flyers for different study abroad programs pasted everywhere. I said I was going to apply to a study abroad program in America. You said you wanted a sandwich.
Aiba vaguely remembers a desire for sandwiches, but that proves nothing. Doesn’t this kind of thing require more time, more actual conversation, consideration? Something? Anything?
So that’s it?
What do you mean that’s it? Maki is looking at him helplessly, and he knows it’s because she wants to get back to her studies, because there are always exams and reports and everything else that is more important than him. She wants to study and study and become really smart and successful and leave him behind for America.
How long will you be gone?
I’m not leaving until the second term of next year. And I’ll only be gone a year from then. Less than a year, even.
When he doesn’t reply, Maki places her hand over his and gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s comforting, but it’s also Maki. The same Maki who brought him his homework so many years ago, who smiled and said she’d like to see him back in school again, that she’d be waiting for his return. Maki, who somewhere along the way carved a permanent place in his life. If there was one thing he thought he could depend on, it was that Maki would always be there, shooting ahead of him, but always, always stopping to glance back and yell, “Hurry up, slowpoke!”
Didn’t you say you could never do long distance relationships?
Maki finally looks at him, really looks at him, mouth parted and eyebrows knit. She drops her pencil onto the table. “Aiba-kun…”
“You have no intention of not going, right?”
“I…” She frowns, shaking her head. “I can’t not go. Let’s talk later-”
“Okay,” he says, pushing his chair back with a rattling screech.
“SHH-”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters, standing and throwing his things into his backpack, knocking his chair backwards in an attempt to leave.
“SHHHHH-”
“I’m going, all right?!” he snaps, storming down the hall despite Maki calling after him. He doesn’t know when he starts running, but doesn’t ever stop, runs and runs until his legs ache and he’s breathless and throwing open the door to his room, catapulting himself onto his bed.
His sheets smell like her.
Everything smells like her.
“Aiba? What’s up?”
Aiba stiffens. Of all the times for Yamapi to actually be in the room.
“Aiba-kun, are you ok?” Erika asks softly, piteously, and Aiba bites his bottom lip because he really doesn’t want to be seen like this, especially not by his roommate and his roommate’s girlfriend.
“Everything’s O.K.!” Aiba replies, trying to sound cheerful. “Just tired. Yawn! Good night!” He stuffs his face further into his pillow, but all he can think of is that sweet, not-quite-honey, not-quite-vanilla, no-fruit-on-earth-could-ever-compare scent seeped into his sheets.
“Aiba,” Yamapi tries again, this time prying at his shoulder, and suddenly Aiba is too sad and too tired to fight him, lets Yamapi roll him over to face the ceiling. “A-are you crying?”
“Did something happen?” Erika tries again, placing her hand over his. And he knows he’s being childish, he knows, but he can’t help it. He shakes off Erika’s hand, snuffles loudly, and manages to mutter, “I just need to be alone for a bit,” before shuffling out of the room.
Only he doesn’t know where to go to be alone. He doesn’t know where to go that won’t remind him of her. His favorite convenience store is their favorite meeting place on Tuesdays, when they have a rare matching hour break between classes. They’ve tried every restaurant and café in a three-mile radius on their Friday night food excursions, so those are out, too. He doesn’t even have his wallet, so traveling is out of the question unless he wants to slink back to Yamapi’s and Erika’s twin looks of pity.
He settles for the small courtyard enclosed by the mathematics department. It’s hard to find, and math has nothing to do with her, so when he finally lies down under the lone tree and closes his eyes, he’s too sad and too tired to do anything but fall asleep.
It’s dark by the time he wakes, and it feels like an eternity has passed, like there is nothing left except the scattering of silver stars above. He reaches for them, imagines plucking one loose from the sky, until a movement catches his attention and his hands drop. Maki sits across from him, against the building, eyelids puffy, red, closed.
“Maki-chan,” he calls, reaching for her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
She wakes with a start, eyes widening and then clouding over. “Aiba-kun-”
“How did you find me?” he asks, shaking his head, unable to keep this strange half-smile from curling over his lips. “How do you always find me?”
“It wasn’t easy,” she admits, and it’s the first time she’s ever sounded as lost as he’s felt. They see each other every day, but it’s not the same, not quite, not anymore, and possibly not ever again. Their lives are so much wider than they use to be, so full of things that are just his or just hers and no longer theirs.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted to be woken.” She smiles, tiny and heartbreaking. “I’m sorry. Aiba-kun, I’m so sorry.”
“No fair, Maki-chan.” Aiba covers his eyes with his hands because they feel wet and he so stupid and immature and still so very sad. “You’re not allowed to apologize first.”
“But I should have talked it out with you more, I should have-”
“No, no, stop.” Aiba slumps down against the wall next to her and takes her hand in his. “I’m the one who got upset even though I never listen. I just-I’m going to miss you so much.”
She squeezes his hand and moves her head just a touch, resting it against his shoulder. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I know.” He smiles, tries to smile, leans his head over hers. But somehow he already misses her.
You are the lighthouse, the seamark
The tempests created this tide…
Four (The Artist)
London is everything and nothing Satomi could have imagined. She misses the familiarity of Japan sometimes-dreadfully, awfully misses it sometimes-but carefully seals away her longing when she can help it. How can she miss Japan when she’s living the life so many people could only dream about? An amazing city, a scholarship to one of the greatest ballet schools in the world, yet she still wishes the weather could be a little less gloomy. How selfish!
If she could wish for something, though, on a shooting star or a genie’s lamp, she wishes she wasn’t so late for class. Ms. Esumi will have her head if she’s tardy again, so Satomi races down the streets in rain boots still a size too big because, despite her mother’s faith, she never quite grew into them. She turns the corner and jetés right over a major puddle to avoid it, only to barrel straight into…into a what?
The impact knocks the wind out of her and she skids across the street before landing on her knees. She barely has time to hiss before something cold drops onto the tip of her nose. When she opens her eyes she can spot her yellow umbrella lying next to an overturned wooden easel and a large beige canvas face-down on the streets.
“Ah-sorry. So very, very sorry!” Satomi blubbers as best she can, in still-broken English, bowing several times while trying inconspicuously to gather her umbrella, lest she get drenched in the coming downpour. Only rain never comes. And when she turns to face the offended artist, who has just replaced the canvas over his easel, she’s looking into the pale face of a young man who looks maybe…
“Japanese?” Satomi starts to ask, means to ask, but before she can really open her mouth he is peering down at her with unblinking brown eyes.
“Hold still,” he whispers in a sweetly familiar tongue, hand warm and rough against her shoulder. Satomi stills, doesn’t even breathe, doesn’t even think as he leans close, closer, so close, before lifting a brush and gently dabbing at her nose.
“That’s just what I needed.”
Satomi blinks, rubs at her nose with the back of her hand, and finds it splotched with gray. He’s already returned to his canvas, and when Satomi peers over his shoulder, she gasps. What was gray on her hand turns into winking silver stars over an indigo sky. Satomi has never seen anything so beautiful.
“What is it?” she breathes, so ensnared with the painting that she doesn’t notice, not for a few minutes, that he is completely ignoring her.
“Um?” She tries again, tapping him on the shoulder, wondering if he might be willing to sell it to her. “Hello?”
He carefully dots one more star on the canvas before glancing back at her. “Andromeda.”
“Huh?”
“You asked what it was. It’s Andromeda. Cassiopeia. Cepheus. Pegasus.” He looks at her expectantly. “Do you see?”
Satomi squints her eyes, but doesn’t quite. “N-no. I’m sorry.”
He blinks, lifts the back end of his paintbrush and traces a ‘V’ in the air above a cluster of stars in the center of the canvas. “Andromeda. She was the beautiful daughter of Queen Cassiopeia and King Cepheus.” He traces a ‘W’ and a then crooked diamond above. “Because Cassiopeia claimed that Andromeda was even more beautiful than the sea nymphs, the slighted nymphs forced Neptune to send a great sea monster after their kingdom.” He trails a jagged path at the bottom of the canvas. “Cetus. Cepheus and Cassiopeia learned that the only way to stop the monster’s rampage was to sacrifice their daughter, to deliver Andromeda up for Cetus to devour whole. See?”
Satomi squints her eyes trying to see what he sees, trying to paint the vivid scene in her head, but she can see nothing of princesses and monsters. “I don’t see it,” she says at last, sadly. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m hungry,” he replies without missing a beat, although it isn’t quite a reply. He packs up his paints and brushes into a burlap sack, folds up his wooden easel, and sticks the canvas under his arm without looking at her. And then, finally, as an afterthought, adds, “Want to get something to eat?”
“E-excuse me?”
“Food.” He blinks at her. “You eat, right?” His hand catches her wrist, and he measures it with his thumb and forefinger. There’s a sizable gap between the two. “You should eat more-you’re so thin.”
Satomi sniffs, unsure whether to feel affronted or…no, perhaps just affronted. But then sudden globs of water pool at the corners of her eyes because she is starving and lonely and so very tired, worn to the bone, and now her knees ache and she’s missed breakfast and food with a stranger from Japan sounds almost too wonderful.
He doesn’t say much else, doesn’t look back even once to make sure she is following him, simply maneuvers his way through several winding alleyways and a shortcut through the back of a fruit and vegetable stand. He does this with a sort of graceless ease, despite all of his cumbersome belongings. She trails after him, hiccupping and brushing at her eyes with her sleeves. Eventually they spill out onto a main street bustling with pedestrians and the smell of something delicious wafting in the air. He stops under the faded awning of what looks like a broken down pub, but before she can decide that maybe food with a stranger-even one from Japan-may not have been her brightest idea, it begins to pour.
“It’s a good thing we got here so soon.” He peers up at the sky. “We mostly missed the rain.” He takes a handkerchief from his pocket-dusty, wrinkled, slightly off-colored-and presses it into her hands. “It got you a bit, though.”
Satomi sniffs. It’s the nicest thing someone has ever done for her and perhaps this alone is what beckons her through the door. The waitress at the front seems to recognize him, because she doesn’t even bat an eyelash as he walks to the far side of the dining area, next to a window that almost measures the floor to the ceiling. The skies outside are swirling masses of gray broken up by thin slivers of silver. It suits him, this mysterious artist.
He orders without looking at the menu and Satomi orders the same because her head hurts too much to think and the smell from the kitchen is tantalizing.
“A-ah!” Satomi says, suddenly aware that it is just the two of them, just her and him, in a booth alone. Together. And she doesn’t even know his name. “Satomi. My name is Ishihara Satomi. And you are?”
It takes him a while, but eventually his eyes stop roaming the skies to land back on her face. “Ohno Satoshi.”
“Oh! Our names match,” she blurts out, before fanning her fingers in front of her mouth. “Ah. I didn’t-I mean.”
Ohno smiles. “I guess our names do match.”
And that’s the end of the conversation. He begins doodling on a napkin with a pen left by the waitress, while Satomi fidgets in her seat. She shouldn’t be here. But the food smells so delicious. Boys bring her nothing but trouble. But he doesn’t seem like the other boys. Her internal battle ends with the decision to politely thank him, but mention that she best be on her way and hope she makes it to class in time for Ms. Esumi to chew her out only a little. But then the waitress drops a giant flaky pie that smells like magic in front of her and hunger wins over reason. She devours every last bite and doesn’t care that some is left on her face. She can wipe it when she’s done.
“Good?” Ohno asks while she’s licking her fork clean of gravy and she nods, content.
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Ah, but the bill?” Satomi says, fumbling for her wallet. He smiles wider and shakes his head.
“It’s already taken care of.”
The sun begins shining anew just as they exit the restaurant, leaving behind two clean bowls and a sea of blue clouds sketched on a napkin.
“Say, what happens? At the end of the story, I mean. Andromeda’s story.”
“Hmm? Oh. Perseus came riding on his winged horse, Pegasus, and saved her.” He turns to her and smiles. “He fell in love with her at first sight.”
“It’s really unfair to turn it around on me when you don’t believe in soulmates, either.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Okay, all right, fine. I don’t believe in soulmates, but…”
“But?”
“But to me, you’re…”
“I’m…?”
“A pretty good fit?”
“Hey!”
Satomi wakes to the smell of freshly baked bread and feels giddy with happiness. She steps out of bed gingerly, feeling with her feet for her slippers, before making her way into the kitchen. There is butter and jelly laid out with the still steaming loaf, as well as a jar of Gohan Desuyo Ohno once procured from who knows where. It reminded him of home, he’d said at the time, but he never opened it in all the days that followed.
She puts on water for tea before buttering a slice of bread and biting into it. It tastes heavenly, and Satomi’s eyes close on instinct, allowing the crusty, flaky goodness to roll over her senses. She polishes off the rest of the slice and starts to butter a second when she pauses in mid-chew, listening. It’s rare that she’s awake before Ohno leaves, so she takes her plate and pads over to the door of the second bedroom. The second bedroom serves as Ohno’s studio, and seems to grow smaller with every passing day. He only ever paints the stars or the skies, and canvases line every inch of the walls, creating a panorama of the heavens. The remaining canvasses are stacked in horizontal rows on the floor. Someday, Satomi thinks, there may be no space at all for his easel, his burlap sack of supplies, and Ohno himself.
“Ohno-san?”
He turns to her and smiles. “Ah, good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replies, and feels her cheeks warm under his gaze. He spends so much time lost in his own thoughts that when he looks at her, really looks at her, his focused attention is almost too much to handle.
“Was the bread okay?”
“Delicious,” she says, popping the last bite into her mouth with a content smile.
“Good.” He makes his way towards her and leans down, lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. “You left some crumbs.”
“Ah!” Satomi squeaks, so surprised that she’s alone in the room before she realizes it. She follows after him and catches him just as he’s putting on his shoes in the foyer. “I don’t have any classes today-only a meeting with my instructor. We should grab some lunch. Where will you be?”
“I don’t know,” Ohno replies, shrugging his sack over his shoulder. “Some place with a nice view.”
“Ohno-san, you’re too mysterious sometimes. How about-”
The teakettle screeches for attention, and Satomi jumps, hurries back into the kitchen to turn off the stove. When she returns, Ohno is already gone, and she’s suddenly not in the mood for tea. “But I wanted to spend my free day with you…”
“Aha! You’re laughing! Stop pouting-you can’t be mad if you’re laughing!”
“I’m not laughing! I’m coughing!”
“That’s a weird cough!”
“That’s a weird thing to say to your girlfriend!”
“It was just a joke to lighten the mood!”
“So I’m not even a pretty good fit?!”
“No, you are!”
“So I’m just a pretty good fit?!”
“…I can’t win this either way, can I?”
“No, you can’t!”
“At least let me try to explain my original point.”
“No!”
“You’ve been gaining weight,” Ms. Esumi announces, taking her by the wrist and pinching the skin around it, searching for bones.
“S-sorry, Ms. Esumi.”
Ms. Esumi glances down from her nose at her and Satomi withers on the inside, resolves to have no dinner tonight. Maybe just a little salad. No bread. She’ll tell Ohno she had a big breakfast. And a big lunch since she surely won’t be able to find him, no matter how many times she combs the streets of Covent Garden.
“You may sit,” Ms. Esumi continues in her clipped tone, and Satomi obliges at once. “Satomi,” Ms. Esumi says again so suddenly that she almost springs right back out of her chair. “Do you want this?”
“P-pardon?”
Ms. Esumi sighs deeply, shaking her head. “Satomi-chan,” she says instead, suddenly switching to Japanese. Ms. Esumi’s Japanese intonation is softer, less forced, almost kinder. She’s never spoken to Satomi like this, not in the entire three years she’s taught her. “Do you really want to be a professional ballerina?”
“I-”
“Do you want to attend this school and move on to a career in classical ballet?”
Satomi pauses. “Yes, of course.”
Ms. Esumi tuts. “Do you think just anyone can attend the Royal Ballet School, Satomi-chan?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Only those with true potential are allowed into this school, and to this day I still remember your audition tape. We don’t admit just anyone, you know that, right? We have instructed only a few students from Japan, so I was thrilled when I saw your tape. I saw something the other instructors didn’t, and I fought hard for your acceptance to this school. You were far from perfect, this we all agreed on, but I saw that look in your eyes. The look of someone deeply in love with the dance.”
“I…”
“Satomi-chan,” Ms. Esumi says at last. “I know you love ballet, I’ve known it since your very first day, but somewhere along the way, that spark disappeared. Being in a new country is scary, but you’ve been here for three years already. Nothing should be holding you back. You should know beyond the shadow of a doubt, without waiting, without wavering, whether you truly want this or not. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Esumi-san.”
Ms. Esumi smiles a little. “I’ve arranged for an audition with the Royal Ballet Company for you next week.”
“Wh-what?!”
“They are short a few dancers this year and wanted to scout some talent early. They asked me for a recommendation and I gave them your name. This Saturday at noon.” Ms. Esumi glances at her pointedly. “I expect you’ll be on time.”
When Satomi doesn’t reply, she adds, “That is all.”
The shock of Ms. Esumi’s news still hasn’t worn off by the time Satomi returns home. She’s shocked, but happy, she thinks. This is what she always wanted, after all, this is her chance to be a ballerina. It would be selfish to not be happy, right? She sighs, turns the key in the lock and expects to be greeted by an empty room. Maybe she’ll have tea for dinner before Ohno gets back, or maybe she’ll just go straight to sleep, but maybe doesn’t happen because she notices Ohno’s shoes in the foyer.
“Ohno-san?” she calls, slipping off her shoes and entering the apartment. The apartment is dark except for the light from his studio door, so she walks over and knocks hesitantly on the door. “Ohno-san?”
She pushes the door open and gasps.
The room is completely empty save for Ohno, his easel, a wooden stool, and his burlap sack. He is painting in pastels right now, a blur of oranges and pinks on the edges of the canvas. Satomi taps him on the shoulder, alarmed.”Ohno-san? Ohno-san, what happened?! Where are all-”
“I got an offer to paint in Rome.”
She almost falls flat on her face. “H-huh?”
“Rome. I leave tomorrow.”
“O-oh.” Satomi knows she shouldn’t be surprised, knows he’s a roaming artist who never stays in the same country for more than a few years at a time-a few years at most. They started living together because he turned to her one morning and said it would be nice to wake up to her every day, but that never meant he wanted to wake up to her every day forever. But still she thought, she hoped, at least…
“Come with me?”
“What I mean is-if two people really love each other, should it be that hard? No matter what problems we face or arguments we have, it doesn’t feel like I’m trying. I don’t have to try. I want to do everything to make sure you’re happy with me because, well, life is just better with you in it. So it doesn’t feel like I’m trying when it’s something I want to do.”
“Hmm.”
“Like, waking up every morning and thinking, how can I make you happy today.”
“Hmm…”
“So, did I pass?”
“…”
“A kiss means I’ve passed, right?”
“Oh, hush. And keep your eyes on the road!”
“Is this even a decision?”
“What do you mean?”
“Satomi-chan, ballet has been your life since we were kids. Attending the Royal Ballet School-becoming a ballerina-isn’t that what you always wanted?”
“I-maybe there’s more to what I want.”
“Like?”
“Um…”
“More than the thing you’ve been doing since you were, what, five?”
Satomi holds her tongue. She knows she’s being ridiculous, she knows what she would be giving up, what’s at stake, but Ohno is…he’s…
A dramatic sigh. “Miitan.”
“It’s been a while since you called me that,” Satomi whispers, a small smile blooming on her lips.
“It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you. And just after saying hello you drop this bomb on me,” Masami mutters.
Tears are pooling in the corners of her eyes again. For so many months she felt like she was barely hanging on before she could talk to Masami on the phone, and she wonders when it was that weekly phone conversations became monthly phone conversations became complicated arrangements always ruined by time zone differences. How did they grow up and grow apart so fast?
“You’ve decided already, haven’t you.”
“N-no. Not yet.”
“Well,” Masami huffs. “I was going to go to visit London with a friend this summer, but since you may be leaving tomorrow, I’ll think about planning a vacation to Rome.”
“I didn’t make my decision yet,” Satomi murmurs softly, but she’s not sure she believes herself.
“Satomi-chan?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever you decide, just be happy.”
“I’ll try.”
Satomi hangs up after an extended goodbye, and then walks back to Ohno’s studio. His former studio. The bare walls are unbearably white, clean, as if they hadn’t housed all the stars in the heavens just mere hours ago. Ohno sits, still at work on his last canvas, just beyond her reach.
“Ohno-san?” Satomi calls, wondering if he can hear her, wondering if she has an answer for him. He doesn’t answer, so she walks across the distance toward him, means to tap him on the shoulder, but her hand drops as she catches sight of his painting. He’s still putting the finishing touches on it-a blush of pink on rounded cheeks, the reflection of gold on dark, sweeping curls-but there’s no doubt that Satomi’s own face glows back at her. She doesn’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful.
“Do you like it?” Ohno asks, and Satomi is so startled she almost falls over, but he catches her by the wrist and seats her neatly on top of his lap. “I thought I should paint you at least once, if it’s the only chance I get.”
“I…”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” she says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeves. “I love it.”
“Is it raining again?” he asks, and Satomi thinks of Andromeda, of Perseus, and knows she’s made her decision. She winds her arms around his neck and watches as he gets drawn into his own world again. She’s nodding off against his shoulder before she realizes what time it is.
“Ohno-san?”
He’s lost to her, for now, but she knows he’ll be back.
She uncurls her arms from his neck and kisses him on the corner of his mouth before heading to bed.
Your solid stage is so necessary to save
all those who have strayed…
PART 2
From: cupid_johnny
Title: Echo
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Horikita Maki • Aiba Masaki/Becky • Ishihara Satomi/Ohno Satoshi • Ishihara Satomi/Matsumoto Jun . . .
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Life is about chances and choices. (For history’s sake, would you please take notice?)
A/N: What can one even say to half of the most fabulous mod team, to whom anonymity rarely exists, except-surprise! ♥♥♥
“Soulmates?”
“Yeah.”
“Do I believe in them?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm, if you’re asking if I believe someone can only find happiness with one other person in the whole entire world…”
“Yeah?”
Five (We Intertwined)
He’s standing at the edge of the ocean-the end of the world-and the water stretches before him in endless silver waves. The horizon rounds in the distance, kissed by a golden sun, fiery tendrils seeping into a colorless sky. He squints his eyes against the light because there’s something there, something important. He’s sure of that much, but can’t remember what or why or how.
When he shouts across the ocean, his voice is swallowed by the tide.
“Aiba-kun.”
The wind is calling back to him, rippling the water and tingling his spine, rushing over his face like a great, reprimanding sigh. But he can’t leave now, not yet, not without knowing what lies on the other side of the ocean.
“Aiba-kun.”
The air smells sweeter. It’s not quite honey-sweet, not really vanilla, not like any kind of fruit he can remember. But it’s a very particular scent, her scent.
“You skipped class again.”
The ocean vanishes, leaving only remnants of the sun burned red between his eyelids. There’s a rustle overhead, a moment, and then the sun, too, disappears.
“So what was it this time?”
He tests his tongue. “Baby rabbits.”
“And?”
“I wanted to make sure the mother would come back.”
“And?”
“She did.”
A great, reprimanding sigh. “I’m glad. But if you miss even one more day of class, they might seriously not allow you to graduate with us.”
“We graduate in three days.”
“That’s three more days of class you could potentially miss. Three more days of class that stand between you and graduation.”
He smiles. “You’re worried.”
“I volunteer once to bring the new transfer student his homework, and I’m stuck babysitting him for the rest of high school. Alas.”
“You would have been lonely in class without me sitting next to you all those days.”
“I’m lonely now.”
His eyes open at that. “No fair,” he chides, but the smile only stretches wider over his lips, “Maki-chan.”
She’s leaning over him, eyes warm but smile smug, bathed in a halo of dappled sunlight. Her school uniform is impeccable, as always, except for a bit of untucked shirt. He reaches up to pick it loose without thinking. “How did you find me?”
“You’re the one who taught me how to track animals. Look for droppings, right?” She holds up a crumpled packet of Gummi Gum, which she quickly folds into his hand. “It’s wrong to litter.”
“Sorry.” Her shirt pulls loose from the hem of her skirt.
“Nino’s the one who wants an apology. He told me not to waste my time looking for you, but you know he’s probably still out there somewhere, calling and cursing your name.”
“Sorry.” Maki raises her eyebrows. “I’ll go to class tomorrow.”
“Good.” She nods, satisfied, and it’s hard not to feel content with her satisfaction. Even though he still has garbage in his hand.
“Should we head back now?”
“In a bit.” She taps at his side until he makes enough room for her, drops her bag against the tree and smooths down her skirt before lying down next to him, crossing her legs at the ankles. She turns her head a touch, resting it against the crook of his arm, and it takes just this small warmth for him to realize how cold it’s become. He shivers and she presses closer, hair curling over his cheek and tickling his nose and he thinks he’s forgetting something, or remembering something, feels something dancing on the tip of his tongue. Something important…
“Hey, Maki-chan…”
The echo of the ocean.
“Hmm?”
A voice swallowed by the tide.
“What…”
His eyes flitter, flutter-
“What shampoo do you use?”
Shut.
He doesn’t hear an answer. When he wakes, there is no sun and the skies are gray and swirling through the leaves. Maki sits against the tree, nose buried in a book. He cranes his neck to get a better view. An English textbook. It’s no great surprise. He flops his head back down and rolls to the side.
Registering that his head is on her lap is a surprise, and the bare skin beneath her skirt is cool against his warming cheeks.
He shoots up, acutely aware of his hands and where-or more importantly, where not to put them. He jams one into the grass and another into his hair on instinct, but when he feels the crumple of cardboard against his head, he thinks he’s made the wrong choice. “Y-you could have woken me.”
She shuts her book and glances at him thoughtfully. “But you looked so peaceful.”
“That didn’t stop you from waking me the first time,” he accuses, but stands and offers her his garbage-free hand. He leads them out of the thicket carefully, parting tree branches with his free hand so that they don’t touch her. When they reach the sidewalk, he shoots the carton of Gummi Gum into the garbage can under the crossing light, but it’s not till they’re at the stairs of the intersection that he realizes they’re still holding hands. He’s still holding her hand.
He releases her, stares at his twitching fingers and is it just his imagination or is his hand tingling? Has it always felt this way, Maki’s hand in his? She doesn’t seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, though, prances ahead and hops the steps two at a time before glancing back at him, hands on her hips.
“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Maki calls, smile wide and brilliant and Aiba suddenly remembers why, on these very stairs two years ago, he made an unwitting confession.
“Maki-chan!”
“Hmm?”
Something cold hits the tip of his nose and he laughs, giddy and explosive. “I think I like you!”
“Eh?! This again? You mean as fr-”
“No, this time I’m sure!” He raises his arms toward the sky. “As members of the opposite sex!”
Maki’s eyebrows disappear into her fringe and her smile fades into a little, puckered ‘o.’ “Aiba-kun,” she says, just as it starts pouring down on them. “You really are the worst at confessing.”
“Does that mean…?”
“It’s a good thing we’re going to the same college!”
“Then no, I don’t believe in soulmates.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I was expecting a different answer.”
“What kind of answer?”
“Ah, well, you know. You’re the resident romance maniac, so I figured you’d like all that stuff. Soulmates. Destiny. Big romancy things like shouting declarations of love from the rooftops.”
“I do love those things, romancy things. But I don’t believe romance leads to love. I think true romance comes from love.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like…true romance is when you do the big romancy things because you are so much in love. Because you are so ridiculously and stupidly and unapologetically smitten with someone that every day you wake up and think, how can I make that person happy today?“
“Right.”
“But the idea of soulmates implies something outside of just two people in love, doesn’t it? Like we have no choice in defining our happiness-and our love-because everything has already been, somehow, without our knowledge, decided for us. It makes it seem less…real, you know?”
“Yeah, I think I get it.”
“But you actually don’t.”
“Yeah, not really.”
“A date at the library again?” Aiba is not whining, and he is most certainly not mustering up his best puppy-dog face of sadness while he’s not at it. Adorable, emotional manipulation at its not finest-Hime and Uran would be proud.
“I-but,” Maki protests, glancing between Aiba and the library before glancing back at him. “Exams.”
“You know I’m just going to spend the entire time looking at you.” He lowers his chin. “I’m telling you the honest truth.” Widens his eyes. “I like looking at you.” And then pouts his lips just a fraction.
She melts. “Ugh. Okay! Stop making Hime-Uran faces at me, I get it! We can get dinner-”
“And watch a movie?”
Maki furrows her eyebrows. “Aiba-kun.” Too far.
“Okay, can we at least watch the last episode of Hana Yori Dango?”
She sighs in defeat. “Okay.”
“Yes!” Aiba whoops, pumping his fist.
“But we’re studying right after-don’t you have a test tomorrow, too?”
“Yes, yes,” he says obligingly, before slinging his arm around Maki’s shoulders and steering her away from the library. “Chinese food?”
“For someone whose parents own an authentic Chinese food restaurant, you sure prefer the cheap American-style takeout.”
“My parents are Japanese, how authentic can their food be?”
“You’re awful,” Maki laughs, swatting him on the shoulder.
“So, General Tso’s chicken and…?”
“Something with vegetables.”
“So, boneless spareribs?”
“Aiba-kun…”
They fall asleep just ten minutes into Hana Yori Dango, but they put up a good fight. Aiba downs his can of soda and half of Maki’s, but somehow can’t stifle his yawns.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Maki murmurs just before her head rolls onto his shoulder, hair brushing up against his cheek.
“You’ve been working hard, Maki-chan,” Aiba whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve a break.”
They’re a tangle of limbs on the floor when his roommate switches on the light and screams. Aiba jerks awake, foot shooting out and sending his laptop careening across the floor, meeting the wall with an unhappy crash.
“O-oi! Good on you man, but give a guy some notice! At least I hang a tie on the doorknob when Eri-”
“We were just sleeping, Yamapi-”
“Ah!” Maki cries, eyes snapping open. “Exams!”
“Okay, let me put it another way. If soulmates do exist, if there is only that one, single person for you who will make you happy, what happens if we don’t meet them? Does it mean I just have to settle for the first guy to splatter his drink on me?”
“…I know I started this conversation, but that’s not really what your boyfriend wants to hear.”
“Ah, I didn’t mean that I actually think of it as settling. But that’s why I know what I have with you is real. Because the happiness we have together wasn’t determined by anyone or anything else. We’re happy, together, because we chose to be.”
“Hmm.”
“But, oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to go on and on like that. Why did you-you don’t…d-do you believe in soulmates?”
“I…no. I guess I don’t, either.”
“Oh, whew.”
“I heard that.”
“Ahem, so you also don’t believe in soulmates. Go on.”
“Well, I didn’t really think it out as much as you seem to have, but…the idea that a person only has one chance at happiness seems too sad.”
“Mm.”
“Still. I imagine it would be harder with other people.”
“What do you mean harder?”
“Like, I’d have to try harder with other people.”
“So you don’t try at all with me?”
“Exactly!”
“…That’s not really what your girlfriend wants to hear.”
“You know what I mean.”
“…”
“And then Maki-chan forced me to stay up with her aaaaall night to study,” Aiba complains, picking unenthusiastically at his salad.
“Is that why you look so dull today?”
“No, I’m dull because you got me a salad.”
“Just following your mom’s orders,” Sakamoto says around a huge, fleshy mouthful of cheeseburger. Meat juice runs down the sides of his mouth, and Aiba bristles with envy. “So, how did the test go?”
“Um.” Aiba stuffs his mouth with greens and motions an inability to talk with his hands.
“Aiba?”
He crams a tomato quarter in there and shrugs.
“Aiba.”
He nearly chokes in an attempt to swallow the mouthful whole, gags and beats at his chest with his hand after taking a large sip of water. Sakamoto stares relentlessly. “Okay, you caught me. I…may have fallen back asleep after Maki-chan left.”
Sakamoto shakes his head. “Oh, Aiba…”
“I already asked the professor for a retest!”
“And?”
“He said no…”
“Aiba,” Sakamoto sighs. “Just how long are you going to float aimlessly around like this?”
“What do you-”
“You’re a math major, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Because…?”
“What do you mean because?”
“Why are you a math major?”
“Because I’m good at math.”
“And?”
Aiba frowns impatiently. “And what?”
“What do you want to do with a math major? What kind of future are you thinking of?”
“Um.”
“What did you write for that career worksheet back in high school?”
He chokes on an olive.
“Man, your mom really won’t be happy to hear this.”
“You don’t actually have to report everything to her, you know,” Aiba grumbles, back to picking at his salad.
Sakamoto smiles tiredly, reaches across the table and ruffles Aiba’s hair with his hand. “I know you’re just a freshman, and it feels like you have all the time in the world, and yes, you still do have lots of time, but if you’re not thinking even a little about your future, you should at least think about what you want to do while you’re here. For instance, have you considered studying abroad?”
“Studying abroad where?”
“You tell me,” Sakamoto shoots back, finishing his burger in two bites. “I went to London in my sophomore year…and it was a pretty amazing experience. I think that’s really where I really fell in love with musical theater. And that’s what’s so great about studying abroad. You can meet new people who can change your perspective on life-even if you’re the type firmly rooted in his own ideas, like I was. And maybe you’ll even find that thing you can be passionate about. So just think about it, okay? If not, you might be left behind…”
Silence.
“Aiba?”
Continued silence.
“Aiba!”
Aiba blinks widely. “Oh, sorry, did you say something? I just got a text from my roommate-apparently he’s the new Hercules in this year’s play because the lead came down with mono.”
Sakamoto frowns.
“Um, what?”
“I just imparted some profound words of wisdom, and you’re ignoring me for Yamapunk in a toga?!”
“Wha-no. Not ignoring. Just. You know. Anyway, about that fascinating thing you just said that I was totally listening to…what was it again, exactly?”
Sakamoto wrinkles his nose. “Uh, uh. No time for that.” He wipes his hands on a napkin and slaps a few bills onto the table. “Gotta run!”
“Where are you going?!”
“Leaving you behind.” Sakamoto grins and sends him a thumbs-up. “I’ve got a date with a goddess named Desire.”
“That’s not even how you say her name!” Aiba shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And she’s too young for you!”
Sakamoto just laughs, waves at him over his shoulder without looking back.
“Aren’t great loves supposed to be hard?”
“Back to the romance fanatic are you.”
“Love means staying together through the good and the bad. But it’s the bad stuff that builds character, that brings people closer together, that makes you sure that the other person is in it for the long haul.”
“That’s why I-that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Well…”
“If you don’t believe in soulmates, then what about me?”
“You what?”
Maki blinks at him like she’s surprised he’s reacting to the nuclear bomb she just exploded on his heart. “I got accepted to study abroad in America.”
“America!” Aiba repeats, possibly shouts, before being shushed from all directions of the library.
“Isn’t it great?” She smiles brightly before planting her face back into her books.
“Why didn’t you-”
“SHHHH.”
Aiba clamps his hands over his mouth, bows several times over to a group of particularly murderous girls, before flipping open his notebook and scribbling: Why didn’t you tell me? He shoves it over Maki’s textbook and taps the end of his pen on it. Maki tilts her head to the side to read it, taps her pencil against her chin before writing a reply and sliding the notebook back over.
I did.
And back to her books. Aiba makes a motion of frustration before taking up his pen.
When?!
At the start of term. We were walking through the student center and there were flyers for different study abroad programs pasted everywhere. I said I was going to apply to a study abroad program in America. You said you wanted a sandwich.
Aiba vaguely remembers a desire for sandwiches, but that proves nothing. Doesn’t this kind of thing require more time, more actual conversation, consideration? Something? Anything?
So that’s it?
What do you mean that’s it? Maki is looking at him helplessly, and he knows it’s because she wants to get back to her studies, because there are always exams and reports and everything else that is more important than him. She wants to study and study and become really smart and successful and leave him behind for America.
How long will you be gone?
I’m not leaving until the second term of next year. And I’ll only be gone a year from then. Less than a year, even.
When he doesn’t reply, Maki places her hand over his and gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s comforting, but it’s also Maki. The same Maki who brought him his homework so many years ago, who smiled and said she’d like to see him back in school again, that she’d be waiting for his return. Maki, who somewhere along the way carved a permanent place in his life. If there was one thing he thought he could depend on, it was that Maki would always be there, shooting ahead of him, but always, always stopping to glance back and yell, “Hurry up, slowpoke!”
Didn’t you say you could never do long distance relationships?
Maki finally looks at him, really looks at him, mouth parted and eyebrows knit. She drops her pencil onto the table. “Aiba-kun…”
“You have no intention of not going, right?”
“I…” She frowns, shaking her head. “I can’t not go. Let’s talk later-”
“Okay,” he says, pushing his chair back with a rattling screech.
“SHH-”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters, standing and throwing his things into his backpack, knocking his chair backwards in an attempt to leave.
“SHHHHH-”
“I’m going, all right?!” he snaps, storming down the hall despite Maki calling after him. He doesn’t know when he starts running, but doesn’t ever stop, runs and runs until his legs ache and he’s breathless and throwing open the door to his room, catapulting himself onto his bed.
His sheets smell like her.
Everything smells like her.
“Aiba? What’s up?”
Aiba stiffens. Of all the times for Yamapi to actually be in the room.
“Aiba-kun, are you ok?” Erika asks softly, piteously, and Aiba bites his bottom lip because he really doesn’t want to be seen like this, especially not by his roommate and his roommate’s girlfriend.
“Everything’s O.K.!” Aiba replies, trying to sound cheerful. “Just tired. Yawn! Good night!” He stuffs his face further into his pillow, but all he can think of is that sweet, not-quite-honey, not-quite-vanilla, no-fruit-on-earth-could-ever-compare scent seeped into his sheets.
“Aiba,” Yamapi tries again, this time prying at his shoulder, and suddenly Aiba is too sad and too tired to fight him, lets Yamapi roll him over to face the ceiling. “A-are you crying?”
“Did something happen?” Erika tries again, placing her hand over his. And he knows he’s being childish, he knows, but he can’t help it. He shakes off Erika’s hand, snuffles loudly, and manages to mutter, “I just need to be alone for a bit,” before shuffling out of the room.
Only he doesn’t know where to go to be alone. He doesn’t know where to go that won’t remind him of her. His favorite convenience store is their favorite meeting place on Tuesdays, when they have a rare matching hour break between classes. They’ve tried every restaurant and café in a three-mile radius on their Friday night food excursions, so those are out, too. He doesn’t even have his wallet, so traveling is out of the question unless he wants to slink back to Yamapi’s and Erika’s twin looks of pity.
He settles for the small courtyard enclosed by the mathematics department. It’s hard to find, and math has nothing to do with her, so when he finally lies down under the lone tree and closes his eyes, he’s too sad and too tired to do anything but fall asleep.
It’s dark by the time he wakes, and it feels like an eternity has passed, like there is nothing left except the scattering of silver stars above. He reaches for them, imagines plucking one loose from the sky, until a movement catches his attention and his hands drop. Maki sits across from him, against the building, eyelids puffy, red, closed.
“Maki-chan,” he calls, reaching for her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
She wakes with a start, eyes widening and then clouding over. “Aiba-kun-”
“How did you find me?” he asks, shaking his head, unable to keep this strange half-smile from curling over his lips. “How do you always find me?”
“It wasn’t easy,” she admits, and it’s the first time she’s ever sounded as lost as he’s felt. They see each other every day, but it’s not the same, not quite, not anymore, and possibly not ever again. Their lives are so much wider than they use to be, so full of things that are just his or just hers and no longer theirs.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted to be woken.” She smiles, tiny and heartbreaking. “I’m sorry. Aiba-kun, I’m so sorry.”
“No fair, Maki-chan.” Aiba covers his eyes with his hands because they feel wet and he so stupid and immature and still so very sad. “You’re not allowed to apologize first.”
“But I should have talked it out with you more, I should have-”
“No, no, stop.” Aiba slumps down against the wall next to her and takes her hand in his. “I’m the one who got upset even though I never listen. I just-I’m going to miss you so much.”
She squeezes his hand and moves her head just a touch, resting it against his shoulder. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I know.” He smiles, tries to smile, leans his head over hers. But somehow he already misses her.
You are the lighthouse, the seamark
The tempests created this tide…
Four (The Artist)
London is everything and nothing Satomi could have imagined. She misses the familiarity of Japan sometimes-dreadfully, awfully misses it sometimes-but carefully seals away her longing when she can help it. How can she miss Japan when she’s living the life so many people could only dream about? An amazing city, a scholarship to one of the greatest ballet schools in the world, yet she still wishes the weather could be a little less gloomy. How selfish!
If she could wish for something, though, on a shooting star or a genie’s lamp, she wishes she wasn’t so late for class. Ms. Esumi will have her head if she’s tardy again, so Satomi races down the streets in rain boots still a size too big because, despite her mother’s faith, she never quite grew into them. She turns the corner and jetés right over a major puddle to avoid it, only to barrel straight into…into a what?
The impact knocks the wind out of her and she skids across the street before landing on her knees. She barely has time to hiss before something cold drops onto the tip of her nose. When she opens her eyes she can spot her yellow umbrella lying next to an overturned wooden easel and a large beige canvas face-down on the streets.
“Ah-sorry. So very, very sorry!” Satomi blubbers as best she can, in still-broken English, bowing several times while trying inconspicuously to gather her umbrella, lest she get drenched in the coming downpour. Only rain never comes. And when she turns to face the offended artist, who has just replaced the canvas over his easel, she’s looking into the pale face of a young man who looks maybe…
“Japanese?” Satomi starts to ask, means to ask, but before she can really open her mouth he is peering down at her with unblinking brown eyes.
“Hold still,” he whispers in a sweetly familiar tongue, hand warm and rough against her shoulder. Satomi stills, doesn’t even breathe, doesn’t even think as he leans close, closer, so close, before lifting a brush and gently dabbing at her nose.
“That’s just what I needed.”
Satomi blinks, rubs at her nose with the back of her hand, and finds it splotched with gray. He’s already returned to his canvas, and when Satomi peers over his shoulder, she gasps. What was gray on her hand turns into winking silver stars over an indigo sky. Satomi has never seen anything so beautiful.
“What is it?” she breathes, so ensnared with the painting that she doesn’t notice, not for a few minutes, that he is completely ignoring her.
“Um?” She tries again, tapping him on the shoulder, wondering if he might be willing to sell it to her. “Hello?”
He carefully dots one more star on the canvas before glancing back at her. “Andromeda.”
“Huh?”
“You asked what it was. It’s Andromeda. Cassiopeia. Cepheus. Pegasus.” He looks at her expectantly. “Do you see?”
Satomi squints her eyes, but doesn’t quite. “N-no. I’m sorry.”
He blinks, lifts the back end of his paintbrush and traces a ‘V’ in the air above a cluster of stars in the center of the canvas. “Andromeda. She was the beautiful daughter of Queen Cassiopeia and King Cepheus.” He traces a ‘W’ and a then crooked diamond above. “Because Cassiopeia claimed that Andromeda was even more beautiful than the sea nymphs, the slighted nymphs forced Neptune to send a great sea monster after their kingdom.” He trails a jagged path at the bottom of the canvas. “Cetus. Cepheus and Cassiopeia learned that the only way to stop the monster’s rampage was to sacrifice their daughter, to deliver Andromeda up for Cetus to devour whole. See?”
Satomi squints her eyes trying to see what he sees, trying to paint the vivid scene in her head, but she can see nothing of princesses and monsters. “I don’t see it,” she says at last, sadly. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m hungry,” he replies without missing a beat, although it isn’t quite a reply. He packs up his paints and brushes into a burlap sack, folds up his wooden easel, and sticks the canvas under his arm without looking at her. And then, finally, as an afterthought, adds, “Want to get something to eat?”
“E-excuse me?”
“Food.” He blinks at her. “You eat, right?” His hand catches her wrist, and he measures it with his thumb and forefinger. There’s a sizable gap between the two. “You should eat more-you’re so thin.”
Satomi sniffs, unsure whether to feel affronted or…no, perhaps just affronted. But then sudden globs of water pool at the corners of her eyes because she is starving and lonely and so very tired, worn to the bone, and now her knees ache and she’s missed breakfast and food with a stranger from Japan sounds almost too wonderful.
He doesn’t say much else, doesn’t look back even once to make sure she is following him, simply maneuvers his way through several winding alleyways and a shortcut through the back of a fruit and vegetable stand. He does this with a sort of graceless ease, despite all of his cumbersome belongings. She trails after him, hiccupping and brushing at her eyes with her sleeves. Eventually they spill out onto a main street bustling with pedestrians and the smell of something delicious wafting in the air. He stops under the faded awning of what looks like a broken down pub, but before she can decide that maybe food with a stranger-even one from Japan-may not have been her brightest idea, it begins to pour.
“It’s a good thing we got here so soon.” He peers up at the sky. “We mostly missed the rain.” He takes a handkerchief from his pocket-dusty, wrinkled, slightly off-colored-and presses it into her hands. “It got you a bit, though.”
Satomi sniffs. It’s the nicest thing someone has ever done for her and perhaps this alone is what beckons her through the door. The waitress at the front seems to recognize him, because she doesn’t even bat an eyelash as he walks to the far side of the dining area, next to a window that almost measures the floor to the ceiling. The skies outside are swirling masses of gray broken up by thin slivers of silver. It suits him, this mysterious artist.
He orders without looking at the menu and Satomi orders the same because her head hurts too much to think and the smell from the kitchen is tantalizing.
“A-ah!” Satomi says, suddenly aware that it is just the two of them, just her and him, in a booth alone. Together. And she doesn’t even know his name. “Satomi. My name is Ishihara Satomi. And you are?”
It takes him a while, but eventually his eyes stop roaming the skies to land back on her face. “Ohno Satoshi.”
“Oh! Our names match,” she blurts out, before fanning her fingers in front of her mouth. “Ah. I didn’t-I mean.”
Ohno smiles. “I guess our names do match.”
And that’s the end of the conversation. He begins doodling on a napkin with a pen left by the waitress, while Satomi fidgets in her seat. She shouldn’t be here. But the food smells so delicious. Boys bring her nothing but trouble. But he doesn’t seem like the other boys. Her internal battle ends with the decision to politely thank him, but mention that she best be on her way and hope she makes it to class in time for Ms. Esumi to chew her out only a little. But then the waitress drops a giant flaky pie that smells like magic in front of her and hunger wins over reason. She devours every last bite and doesn’t care that some is left on her face. She can wipe it when she’s done.
“Good?” Ohno asks while she’s licking her fork clean of gravy and she nods, content.
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Ah, but the bill?” Satomi says, fumbling for her wallet. He smiles wider and shakes his head.
“It’s already taken care of.”
The sun begins shining anew just as they exit the restaurant, leaving behind two clean bowls and a sea of blue clouds sketched on a napkin.
“Say, what happens? At the end of the story, I mean. Andromeda’s story.”
“Hmm? Oh. Perseus came riding on his winged horse, Pegasus, and saved her.” He turns to her and smiles. “He fell in love with her at first sight.”
“It’s really unfair to turn it around on me when you don’t believe in soulmates, either.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Okay, all right, fine. I don’t believe in soulmates, but…”
“But?”
“But to me, you’re…”
“I’m…?”
“A pretty good fit?”
“Hey!”
Satomi wakes to the smell of freshly baked bread and feels giddy with happiness. She steps out of bed gingerly, feeling with her feet for her slippers, before making her way into the kitchen. There is butter and jelly laid out with the still steaming loaf, as well as a jar of Gohan Desuyo Ohno once procured from who knows where. It reminded him of home, he’d said at the time, but he never opened it in all the days that followed.
She puts on water for tea before buttering a slice of bread and biting into it. It tastes heavenly, and Satomi’s eyes close on instinct, allowing the crusty, flaky goodness to roll over her senses. She polishes off the rest of the slice and starts to butter a second when she pauses in mid-chew, listening. It’s rare that she’s awake before Ohno leaves, so she takes her plate and pads over to the door of the second bedroom. The second bedroom serves as Ohno’s studio, and seems to grow smaller with every passing day. He only ever paints the stars or the skies, and canvases line every inch of the walls, creating a panorama of the heavens. The remaining canvasses are stacked in horizontal rows on the floor. Someday, Satomi thinks, there may be no space at all for his easel, his burlap sack of supplies, and Ohno himself.
“Ohno-san?”
He turns to her and smiles. “Ah, good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replies, and feels her cheeks warm under his gaze. He spends so much time lost in his own thoughts that when he looks at her, really looks at her, his focused attention is almost too much to handle.
“Was the bread okay?”
“Delicious,” she says, popping the last bite into her mouth with a content smile.
“Good.” He makes his way towards her and leans down, lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. “You left some crumbs.”
“Ah!” Satomi squeaks, so surprised that she’s alone in the room before she realizes it. She follows after him and catches him just as he’s putting on his shoes in the foyer. “I don’t have any classes today-only a meeting with my instructor. We should grab some lunch. Where will you be?”
“I don’t know,” Ohno replies, shrugging his sack over his shoulder. “Some place with a nice view.”
“Ohno-san, you’re too mysterious sometimes. How about-”
The teakettle screeches for attention, and Satomi jumps, hurries back into the kitchen to turn off the stove. When she returns, Ohno is already gone, and she’s suddenly not in the mood for tea. “But I wanted to spend my free day with you…”
“Aha! You’re laughing! Stop pouting-you can’t be mad if you’re laughing!”
“I’m not laughing! I’m coughing!”
“That’s a weird cough!”
“That’s a weird thing to say to your girlfriend!”
“It was just a joke to lighten the mood!”
“So I’m not even a pretty good fit?!”
“No, you are!”
“So I’m just a pretty good fit?!”
“…I can’t win this either way, can I?”
“No, you can’t!”
“At least let me try to explain my original point.”
“No!”
“You’ve been gaining weight,” Ms. Esumi announces, taking her by the wrist and pinching the skin around it, searching for bones.
“S-sorry, Ms. Esumi.”
Ms. Esumi glances down from her nose at her and Satomi withers on the inside, resolves to have no dinner tonight. Maybe just a little salad. No bread. She’ll tell Ohno she had a big breakfast. And a big lunch since she surely won’t be able to find him, no matter how many times she combs the streets of Covent Garden.
“You may sit,” Ms. Esumi continues in her clipped tone, and Satomi obliges at once. “Satomi,” Ms. Esumi says again so suddenly that she almost springs right back out of her chair. “Do you want this?”
“P-pardon?”
Ms. Esumi sighs deeply, shaking her head. “Satomi-chan,” she says instead, suddenly switching to Japanese. Ms. Esumi’s Japanese intonation is softer, less forced, almost kinder. She’s never spoken to Satomi like this, not in the entire three years she’s taught her. “Do you really want to be a professional ballerina?”
“I-”
“Do you want to attend this school and move on to a career in classical ballet?”
Satomi pauses. “Yes, of course.”
Ms. Esumi tuts. “Do you think just anyone can attend the Royal Ballet School, Satomi-chan?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Only those with true potential are allowed into this school, and to this day I still remember your audition tape. We don’t admit just anyone, you know that, right? We have instructed only a few students from Japan, so I was thrilled when I saw your tape. I saw something the other instructors didn’t, and I fought hard for your acceptance to this school. You were far from perfect, this we all agreed on, but I saw that look in your eyes. The look of someone deeply in love with the dance.”
“I…”
“Satomi-chan,” Ms. Esumi says at last. “I know you love ballet, I’ve known it since your very first day, but somewhere along the way, that spark disappeared. Being in a new country is scary, but you’ve been here for three years already. Nothing should be holding you back. You should know beyond the shadow of a doubt, without waiting, without wavering, whether you truly want this or not. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Esumi-san.”
Ms. Esumi smiles a little. “I’ve arranged for an audition with the Royal Ballet Company for you next week.”
“Wh-what?!”
“They are short a few dancers this year and wanted to scout some talent early. They asked me for a recommendation and I gave them your name. This Saturday at noon.” Ms. Esumi glances at her pointedly. “I expect you’ll be on time.”
When Satomi doesn’t reply, she adds, “That is all.”
The shock of Ms. Esumi’s news still hasn’t worn off by the time Satomi returns home. She’s shocked, but happy, she thinks. This is what she always wanted, after all, this is her chance to be a ballerina. It would be selfish to not be happy, right? She sighs, turns the key in the lock and expects to be greeted by an empty room. Maybe she’ll have tea for dinner before Ohno gets back, or maybe she’ll just go straight to sleep, but maybe doesn’t happen because she notices Ohno’s shoes in the foyer.
“Ohno-san?” she calls, slipping off her shoes and entering the apartment. The apartment is dark except for the light from his studio door, so she walks over and knocks hesitantly on the door. “Ohno-san?”
She pushes the door open and gasps.
The room is completely empty save for Ohno, his easel, a wooden stool, and his burlap sack. He is painting in pastels right now, a blur of oranges and pinks on the edges of the canvas. Satomi taps him on the shoulder, alarmed.”Ohno-san? Ohno-san, what happened?! Where are all-”
“I got an offer to paint in Rome.”
She almost falls flat on her face. “H-huh?”
“Rome. I leave tomorrow.”
“O-oh.” Satomi knows she shouldn’t be surprised, knows he’s a roaming artist who never stays in the same country for more than a few years at a time-a few years at most. They started living together because he turned to her one morning and said it would be nice to wake up to her every day, but that never meant he wanted to wake up to her every day forever. But still she thought, she hoped, at least…
“Come with me?”
“What I mean is-if two people really love each other, should it be that hard? No matter what problems we face or arguments we have, it doesn’t feel like I’m trying. I don’t have to try. I want to do everything to make sure you’re happy with me because, well, life is just better with you in it. So it doesn’t feel like I’m trying when it’s something I want to do.”
“Hmm.”
“Like, waking up every morning and thinking, how can I make you happy today.”
“Hmm…”
“So, did I pass?”
“…”
“A kiss means I’ve passed, right?”
“Oh, hush. And keep your eyes on the road!”
“Is this even a decision?”
“What do you mean?”
“Satomi-chan, ballet has been your life since we were kids. Attending the Royal Ballet School-becoming a ballerina-isn’t that what you always wanted?”
“I-maybe there’s more to what I want.”
“Like?”
“Um…”
“More than the thing you’ve been doing since you were, what, five?”
Satomi holds her tongue. She knows she’s being ridiculous, she knows what she would be giving up, what’s at stake, but Ohno is…he’s…
A dramatic sigh. “Miitan.”
“It’s been a while since you called me that,” Satomi whispers, a small smile blooming on her lips.
“It’s been a while since I’ve talked to you. And just after saying hello you drop this bomb on me,” Masami mutters.
Tears are pooling in the corners of her eyes again. For so many months she felt like she was barely hanging on before she could talk to Masami on the phone, and she wonders when it was that weekly phone conversations became monthly phone conversations became complicated arrangements always ruined by time zone differences. How did they grow up and grow apart so fast?
“You’ve decided already, haven’t you.”
“N-no. Not yet.”
“Well,” Masami huffs. “I was going to go to visit London with a friend this summer, but since you may be leaving tomorrow, I’ll think about planning a vacation to Rome.”
“I didn’t make my decision yet,” Satomi murmurs softly, but she’s not sure she believes herself.
“Satomi-chan?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever you decide, just be happy.”
“I’ll try.”
Satomi hangs up after an extended goodbye, and then walks back to Ohno’s studio. His former studio. The bare walls are unbearably white, clean, as if they hadn’t housed all the stars in the heavens just mere hours ago. Ohno sits, still at work on his last canvas, just beyond her reach.
“Ohno-san?” Satomi calls, wondering if he can hear her, wondering if she has an answer for him. He doesn’t answer, so she walks across the distance toward him, means to tap him on the shoulder, but her hand drops as she catches sight of his painting. He’s still putting the finishing touches on it-a blush of pink on rounded cheeks, the reflection of gold on dark, sweeping curls-but there’s no doubt that Satomi’s own face glows back at her. She doesn’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful.
“Do you like it?” Ohno asks, and Satomi is so startled she almost falls over, but he catches her by the wrist and seats her neatly on top of his lap. “I thought I should paint you at least once, if it’s the only chance I get.”
“I…”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” she says, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeves. “I love it.”
“Is it raining again?” he asks, and Satomi thinks of Andromeda, of Perseus, and knows she’s made her decision. She winds her arms around his neck and watches as he gets drawn into his own world again. She’s nodding off against his shoulder before she realizes what time it is.
“Ohno-san?”
He’s lost to her, for now, but she knows he’ll be back.
She uncurls her arms from his neck and kisses him on the corner of his mouth before heading to bed.
Your solid stage is so necessary to save
all those who have strayed…
PART 2