NOSTALGIA

Summary: Six months after the Carnival, Nao left Fuuka and embarked on a journey to Tokyo.

-1- It's best to read Superstar before this piece even though it's a prequel to it.

-2- It's recommended to skip this piece if you have read Superstar and wish to keep all your own interpretations open.

Note: thank you Whistler-chan for editing this chap

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Prologue

An aging, plump American droned the heartbreaking tune of 'Crying' on the tiny, round stage, the band pooled by the dimming blue light from the spotlights above. His voice was reminiscence of Roy Orbison's soft and charming one, but with a rougher edge that came with his age. The overhead, green, rusty fan whirled ever so slowly, almost dripping and dragging with the pace of the music. In his brown, old suit, he paid no attention to the heat, leaving the beads of sweat on his forehead untouched, a dull handkerchief was clutched in his trembling fist.

Oh, you wished me well, you couldn't tell
That I've been crying over you.

Excluding the Indian waiters, all of the customers remained still, mesmerized, traumatized by the sung tragedy that might have mirrored their own. From the forlorn look on their faces, some must have missed it even.

Then you said 'So long', left me standing all alone.
Alone and crying.

In this little pub we found along the crowded street in Chanakyapuri, foreigners of many nationalities merged in this fleeting night for a couple of drinks. Some were here, already with a few companions. Some sought company in this unknown town, where nobody knew of their past. We were all faceless. Complete strangers. Strangely contented.

It's hard to understand, but the touch of your hand can start me crying.
I thought I was over you, but it's true, so true
I love you even more than I did before, but, darling, what can I do?

Thousands of miles away from home, and here I was, still with the familiar face I never grew tired of watching.

Fujino Shizuru was occupying the wooden stool next to mine. We sat close to each other, so close that I could lean my head comfortably on her shoulder, her nearest arm wrapping around my waist. Her touches were often complimentary; they came so easy that they hardly held any meaning, but I savored each and every one of them tonight. The strands of her chestnut tresses nuzzled around my neck. Her mildly damped cheek rested against my forehead. The scent of her cheap perfume—her very presence—felt mandatory.

For you don't love me.
And I'll always be crying over you.

As the singer's voice ascended to the ending notes, my hand acquired a heart of its own and reached to hold Shizuru's tightly. And, as always, she clutched my hand back.

The rounds of applauses and whistles thundered throughout the pub as soon as the singer perked his chin up high and his hand sharply lowered the mike down, ending the heart wrenching tale.

"Bravo!" Shizuru laughed heartily, clinking her glass against mine a little too merrily that she spilled her drink a bit.

A wide smile on my face, she couldn't tell that I was crying over her. I straightened myself up, but just enough to still feel her body heat, and clank the glass back in equal enthusiasm. Our gazes fixing on each other, we washed our drinks down in one smooth gulp.

And from this moment on, I'll be crying.
Crying. Crying. Crying…