3A/N: I've been having fun writing these one-shots where I lend to and borrow from the stories as I please, so here's another one. I hope you stick around as I go down the object pronoun list :)
As always, thank you for reading, and feel free to let me know your thoughts on this story!
A yellow-line bus drops me off in a quiet neighborhood and I don't have to walk very far until I find the double doors which lead me into a small foyer with checkered tiles. I wait in line fidgety, then awkwardly purchase a single ticket – the nice kid on the other side of the booth looks at me with pity even after I assure him I have friends waiting for me inside.
Had I not run away yesterday, I would have met Shimako-san at the train station, we would have walked hand-in hand to the bus stop and I would have made sure her fingers remained laced in mine until we boarded the bus. Then, she would have carried the conversation with the ticket kid, allowing me to avoid this clumsy interaction altogether.
But I did run away, so I can only blame myself for the consequences of being a coward – hard-to-swallow exchanges with random people and all.
I walk into the exhibit with the checkered tiles following me. In my heart of hearts I wonder if they're a sign from the universe, pressing me against an imaginary wall I've created and reminding me that I have no gray area to stand on, that I have to decide whether I say something or just go through the motions, lying to her, lying to myself, until she decides she's really better off gone.
I don't have to question my ability to distinguish between loving her as a friend and being in love with each line that comprises her face, each strand of her hair, with each word which ever so softly leaves her lips.
"Onee-sama, you're the one I love," I confess out loud at last, only to myself, however. Only as a whisper to my own ears, because I'm afraid that these words, if spoken out lout, would change everything, making things more difficult for her.
The last thing I want is to make her waver. When I promised her I'd stick around until her graduation, I wanted with all of my heart to alleviate the burden she carried alone all this time. It's true, though, that by accepting her rosary, I was placing a target on my own back, exposing myself and my ignorance of Lillian traditions to anyone with eyes to see – though at the end of the day, if my being around allowed Shimako-san to see the world open up to her, then I had done my job as a petite soeur, as a friend, as someone who loved her dearly. It's overwhelming; however, to feel that while she started to understand the universe around her, and accept that in her hands she could hold on to me, her friends, and entire world, I, more and more, just wanted the warmth of her fingers intertwined in mine.
Shimako-san, Onee-sama, how did we get here? How did I let us go this far?
"No-ri-ko-chin," Sei-sama calls out, and casually strolls toward me. I reckon that must be the speed of brokenness, the slow and steady steps of someone whose heart has been shattered and sprinkled across Tokyo.
I know her story. I know it from her own mouth. And deep inside I know the reason behind her wanting to tell me – even though she never explained why she thought I needed to know. But, Sei-sama sees things many don't, and I know she saw my heart's yearning – not that I was hiding it anyway, but she saw it early enough that her, "You love Shimako," caught me off guard, making my head spin in a whirlwind of cherry blossom petals. "I do," I responded earnestly; nonetheless, trusting that she'd understand, hoping that that alone would bring me solace. That was also the first time she and I found ourselves sitting across from each other without Shimako-san to mediate. That was the first time she felt the need to tell me that girls like Shiori-san – girls like Shimako-san – carry a burden that girls like Sei-sama –girls like me – cannot fathom.
"Gokigenyou, Sei-sama," I greet her.
My heart has never been broken before, I must admit. But I feel it crack every once in a while when I think of Shimako-san and what will be of me when she leaves for the Cloister. I feel my heart swell up, pressing against my ribcage in a desperate attempt to get to her. I would be lying if I say that this fear of losing what I've never really had doesn't baffle the living shit out of me.
But, Shimako-san is my best friend – I try to justify in this trial I conduct in my head. If I tell her how I really feel, then everything changes, and I don't know if I can ever live with the responsibility of being the one who shook up our lives. We're good right now. I'm content, she's content –or at least I thought we were less than 24 hours ago.
Can things be better than good, though? Aren't I allowed to wish for extraordinary? Incredible? Amazing? We are the only ones who can give ourselves permission, anyway.
"Sup," Sei says, and I joke back with, "The ceiling." Then she laughs a hearty laugh, and I chuckle along.
I ask her if she has seen anyone else.
"Pretty sure everybody is here."
"Did you get to speak with Tsutako-sama?"
"Just a quick hi, lots of people wanting to talk to her tonight."
"That's just fair. These pictures are incredible," I boast, looking around. To which Sei-sama responds with a "She deserves the attention."
We speak for a while, nothing too deep or incriminating. Then she offers me a glass of champagne with the excuse that she's old enough to supervise my underage drinking. I humor her, sipping on the semi-sweet rosé which bubbles tickle my nose before touching my lips.
Not long after that Youko-sama joins us, wrapping an arm around Sei-sama's waist as if they were more than the good friends Sei-sama alleges they are. Though I see the slightest of hesitance in Youko-sama's moves, leading me to think that her jokes about loving Sei-sama have strong undertones of truth.
One day I hope Youko-sama can be strong enough for both of them. People like Youko-sama, people like Sei-sama, they deserve a break once in a while –they deserve the right to love and adore someone who loves and adores them back.
I leave the two of them to fend for themselves, hoping Rosa Chinensis will soon find the strength to set Sei-sama's heart ablaze again.
Stopping in front of a photograph of Lillian's path covered in snow I bring the rosé to my lips once more, the alcohol gives me clarity: look at me, idealizing Sei-sama and Youko-sama's relationship, pretending I am entitled to have an opinion in people's clusterfucks when I'm sitting atop of one myself, scared shitless of making the wrong move. Cowardly hiding all of these feelings inside my chest.
I place the empty glass of champagne on the bar counter only to pick up another one from a waiter who couldn't care less whether I am a minor or not.
Then, amongst so many pictures, one in a corner catches my attention, Training is its title; a black and white still of two girls, both dressed in the traditional Lillian High School division uniform, the taller diligently tending to the scarf pressed against the shorter girl's chest. And though I've seen this picture numerous times in both Yumi's and Sachiko's bedrooms, there's something about it which makes it stand out tonight; something which transcends the longing that the monochromatic shot brings forth.
Maybe it's just me… romanticizing a fluke of a moment that completely changed two lives forever.
Or maybe my heart is absolutely right to feel this sweet uneasiness, because right next to Training, there's another picture titled Request, which captures the moment Sachiko-sama asked Yumi-sama to marry her – both of them enveloped in a tunnel of cherry blossoms.
Maybe love remains the strongest force around us, after all.
"Noriko-san…" Touko-san calls behind me, "Have you seen Kanako?" she asks and I answer by shaking my head no, wondering if she even realizes that she has called me Noriko-san but left the honorific out of Kanako-san's name.
She doesn't seem to have caught on her gaffe and I pretend nothing out of the ordinary has happened. We carry a lacking conversation until she says, more to herself than to me, "I'm going to tell her tonight," then she smiles at me with the conviction only found in Matsudaira Touko's heart, and I smile back at her, knowing exactly what she means – she's my best friend, after all. "You got this!" I say, before she excuses herself.
I lose Touko amongst the raft of people packing this small venue, only then I proceed to turn the corner into a different section of the exhibit.
As I step deeper into the gallery I see a picture of Rei-sama and Yoshino-sama, they're both wearing their kendogi, Rei-sama is handing Yoshino-sama a mask.
I press on, wading through a group of Lillian alumna. I stop and speak with Shouko-san, I wave at Yumi-sama and Sachiko-sama from across the room, then I find myself in a corner I haven't been yet. There, I stand a few meters away from a picture of two girls; they're laughing, and even with so much grief in my heart, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips at the sight of someone else admiring the same photo from the other side of the room. Much like me, the girl can't hold back a grin.
Out of all of the incredible photographs around us, nothing is more enchanting than the Maria-sama across the room– sorry to dis your work, Tsutako-sama. And I watch her bring a wine glass to her lips, taking a long, methodical sip. I had no idea she drank, I think to myself while holding on to my own glass of alcohol – turns out I didn't know I drank either.
How many other things I still don't know about her, though?
She looks incredible in this navy, A-line dress, her hair draping over both her shoulders, making me wonder how in the world she manages to effortlessly look incredible in anything. And though I still think she looks best in her Lillian uniform, I can't help but wonder what lies beneath whatever clads her skin.
Is that too much? Am I crossing the line?
It's a bit surprising that she hasn't realized I'm here yet, because she has this incredible ability to find me anywhere. In the middle of hundreds of girls clad in the same uniform, she knows where I am, always, as If the red string of fate pulls her close to me incessantly.
Over and over again I daydream of the first day we met. Shimako-san might as well had been a constellation that morning; the only light I was able to see in the darkness I had become lost in. And though I was the one who first saw her under that blooming cherry blossom tree, I felt as if the million pieces of me which had only orbited near one another –since that winter storm in Kyoto– had come together at last when she looked at me. That morning I thought I was the astronomer at first, but in all truthfulness, I was the one who was discovered.
Taking a step closer to the picture, I lean on a pillar wondering why Tsutako-sama named this particular shot: Reflector.
I finish my rosé. Not used to drinking, I take a deep breath, my face tingles ever so slightly and I am fighting the urge to flee before she sees me, before she speaks with me, before my heart escapes from my chest through my mouth.
I'll see her on Monday. I'll spend the entire Sunday trying to swallow my heart back into my chest, and then I'll put on a face of make-up the next day to hide the dark circles around my eyes from not sleeping well, thinking about her, about how fucking craven I am. I'll see her on Monday, in my favorite dress, which hugs the best of her curves, driving me out of my mind with want, but I'll call her Onee-sama, and I'll pretend I'm happy to be by her side, when standing there only makes me think of the day that I'll be left to fend for myself.
All I can do right now is lower my head in hopes nobody sees the tears which stubbornly roll down my face. I stare at the checkered tiles under my feet while the champagne glass dangles to my side, and whatever I left in it is now dripping down my sneakers.
A long time passes before I make up my mind – I'll leave now.
But then as I lift my eyes from my feet, there she is, with the blue dress and the hazelnut hair, and the gray eyes, and the soft voice which pierces through my core like a hot knife on butter, "Noriko?" she says, and I can hear the concern coating the words as thick as it can. "You've been standing here for an awful-long while…"
"Shimako…"
"—"
"–san… Onee-sama…" I say before I lose it, and another torrent of tears comes crashing down.
So, she reaches for my hand and holds on tight to it, making my heart melt in the process, making the words disappear from my head, making things so much more difficult for me.
Then, somehow she pulls me to the side, dragging me across the exhibit, through a kitchen, and out into the cold evening. The streetlights are on and a misty –but persistent – rain falls on us.
"Noriko…" she says again, lifting my chin up with the tip of her fingers, "Is this because of what happened yesterday?"
"…"
"Because if it is, then, please, forget about it… Forget about it at once."
I can't answer her. I open my mouth to reply but I choke. How do I tell her I don't want to forget anything? How do I tell her that I want her more than anything in this world?
"If you can't forget, then please, forgive me, Noriko. Forgive me for being inconsequent, for assuming—" she trails off without finishing her sentence.
I won't forget.
It doesn't matter what comes out of this anymore, I won't forget her words and the sweetness in which they were said yesterday. She had been terribly quiet in the afternoon, and even her "thank you" when I served her tea had been softer than usual. I was worried I had done something wrong, or said something stupid, especially when she asked me for a second alone when we were done with our daily duties at the Rose Mansion. "Noriko," she said gently, and even still I felt her voice reverberate in my bones like the loudest of sounds. "You spoke with Yumi-san this morning, right?" she asked, to which I nodded a anxious yes before my eyes grew larger and I started to ask a panicked, "Did Yumi-sama come to y—?" only to stop on my tracks. Yumi-sama would have never disclosed a word of that conversation we had, even to Shimako-san – Yumi-sama believes in trust, in honesty, in love. "Onee-sama… then… you were the one who left the front door open…"
I watched her explain quietly that she had run out once she realized she had accidentally heard a portion of my conversation with Yumi-sama, to which I lowered my eyes to the floor in response, warmth flushing my cheeks like never before.
"Noriko…" she tried to get my attention from my indoor shoes back to her, though I only looked at her when she asked, "Why didn't you come to me?"
"What good would that have done?" I asked.
"I'm your Onee-sama. You should be able to confide in me," she explained, then I saw a smile tug at her lips but never reach her eyes. But even surrounded by darkness, Shimako-san managed to look at ease, and I felt terribly selfish for wanting her to hurt as much as I did.
"You wouldn't understand…"
"I wouldn't understand, Noriko? I wouldn't understand the fact that you like someone?"
"Someone…" I snickered incredulously.
"At some point I hope you can tell me who this person is."
"Who this per—" I started, but stopped when I heard a quiet whimper. Head down, hands clasped together, her shoulders shook, and in a panic, I ran to her, "Shimako-sama?!" I asked, "Onee-sama, do you feel ill?!"
She looked up, two pools of gray greeting me with terrible sadness, making me immediately regret wishing she would hurt, because though I could bear my own pain, seeing her cry, seeing her heart ache, was unbearable.
I cried with her.
"Noriko…"
"I'm sorry, Onee-sama…" I apologized awkwardly.
"You've done nothing wrong. I should be the one to blame here. I should have done something earlier. I should have come to you months ago. I should have made things clearer…"
"…"
"But now…"
"Now?"
"Now, your heart is theirs…"
"My… heart?" I asked with confusion – she clearly didn't hear the entire conversation I had with Yumi-sama.
"For a while now I've been meaning to come clean…" she started, "I've been meaning to ask you for things that will make me come across as terribly selfish."
"Onee-sama… I don't think I follow—"
"I know your promise ends when I graduate…" she began, her voice but a whisper, "but for a while now I had been wondering if we could negotiate an extension. One with a longer expiration date…"
I gasped. Standing there, stiff, like a fucking asshole, because if I moved, if words came out of my mouth, my bones would shatter.
For the past several months I had been preparing myself for the latter part of our relationship, the last six months of her being in Tokyo. I was preparing my heart for the goodbyes that would follow her graduation. I could have never come to her, spewing this childish desire of having her all to myself when I knew she belonged to someone else. She was the one who loved someone else. But then, out of a sudden, here comes Shimako-san, throwing me for a loop with the gentlest of the declarations – clearly rehearsed numerous times before performed in front of me with such conviction, it took the air right out of my lungs –"But I was way off, weren't I?" she asked because of my silence. Shimako-san wasn't a coward like me. A year ago she wouldn't have even thought of expressing her feelings so openly, but this Shimako-san, Rosa Gigantea, my Onee-sama, has the strength of a thousand hearts, "I'm not the one you want by your side, right?" she asked.
That question reverberated in my chest, and though I wanted to tell her how wrong she was, I couldn't, for the simple fact that in a way she was indeed right, because forever by her side was not enough for me. I wanted so much more than companionship; I wanted her, every inch of her: I wanted her bare skin against mine, her mouth, panting, pressed on my mouth. How could I have told her that? How could I have explained to her that I only wanted her if it was all of her? "Here, tell your God, the one you have loved for so long, that you are renouncing the promise you made him because this Buddhist child, who knows nothing about real life, said she loves you." Things weren't that easy…
My feet moved on their own accord, and before I realized I had sprinted down the stairs, out the door, across the courtyard, into Lillian University.
Sei-sama – I needed Sei-sama.
A stronger wind brings me back to the present, she's still waiting on me, patiently, like always, and I blink hard trying to bring her face back into focus. The rain has soaked her, I am soaked as well, then the breeze picks up and I wonder if she is freezing out here in her thin, sleeveless dress.
"I won't forget," I manage to say through clenched teeth, because she needs to know, I reason. Because if I don't say how I feel right at this moment, then I am better off silencing myself forever.
"No-riko…"
"How can you ask me to forget, when you're the one I love?!" I scream. "You're the one I love, Shimako-san!" I repeat even louder the second time around because the sound of my heart thumping against my chest masks the sounds around me. I bite down, grinding my molars, "You're the one. You're my one!" I finish my tantrum, reaching for her free hand so I can hold both of them in mine; "I love you so much it scares me! But… I can't live with the burden of being the one standing between you and the Cloister. I can't fight against your religion! Shimako-san, look at what declaring that war did to Sei-sa—"
"Noriko!" She raises her voice and I swallow the rest of my sentence.
"I… am not Shiori-san," she explains quietly.
"…"
"You were the one who once told me that the world isn't composed by only the two of us… Aren't you a bit greedy for thinking that my decision would be based solely on the fact that I am in love with you?" She smiles at the end of that question, making my heart swell up, and I can feel the butterflies go wild inside my chest– she loves me. She is in love with me.
Then she continues, "I cannot help the fact that I, too, am greedy – my decision is grounded on my inability to let go of what I have in my hands and in my heart: Sei, Yumi, Yoshino, Sachiko, Rei, the temple... I am also of the conceited opinion that you need me, which makes my decision all the more final."
"You're—"
"I am staying for myself, for them, for you… I'm staying so I can love you the way you should be loved: without expiration dates, without the constant war against the clock. And by staying I get to tell you everyday I am –I have been – in love with you and your smile, and your voice, and the softness of your hands, and your willingness to fight for me, to love me even when I can't find the strength to love mys—"
I silence her by pressing my lips against hers tenderly, trying to convey my understanding of how she feels. Trying to tell her, without saying a word, that she has saved my heart, my faith in love, my life.
She's staying – for her, for what is important in her life, for love. She's staying all right.
How strange. I'm soaking wet, and yet, I don't feel cold at all.
