AN: This is a really experimental fic. I haven't written in a while so I'm sorry if some of the sentences are a little awkward. Again, femslash warning and a canonical character death ahead.
You are twenty-four when realize things are truly over between the two of you.
In retrospect, things had 'been over' for quite some time, but you, headstrong, fierce, and only of twenty-four, have never been particularly good at letting go. You are good at leaving, but you are just as good at coming back. And in the twenty-four years you've had, and the myriad love affairs since then, you can't quite remember one as spectacular as the one you two shared. You want to tell her this, but you discover that in your ever-growing list of shortcomings, 'bad with words' is at the top. And besides, Saki's glow, when she tells you that she's pregnant, is enough to stifle any fits of righteous anger. You know you don't have the right to be angry. Because, in the time you have spent leaving, Saki has grown up. She has grown up into a woman with a husband...and a soon to be a child. She has grown up, you realize, without you. Because you are still so ready to take on the world with only 5,000 yen in your back pocket, and a van full of rowdy musicians. You are still so ready to drink until 2 am and then nurse your hangover with the sweet lull of a melancholy piano the next morning. But Saki doesn't want that life anymore. You wonder if Saki ever wanted that life. You had always been the wilder of the two. But if she never did, then she did it for you. And so, you take two steps forward.
"That's wonderful Saki. How far along?"
You stay in Japan for 5 years. And in those years, Kousei Arima is born. You don't want to hold him at first. He is everything that you never were: he is Saki's sole affection. Eventually, Saki's pestering grows on you and you cave. You find you can't bring yourself to resent the boy. He is so much like his mother in every way. Those same gentle blue eyes peeping at you in curiosity as you play. He has an innocence about him that Saki never had, yet a softness to his voice that she had always had.
In those five years, you too have settled down. You meet Chiharu Seto, and although he is not the love of your life, he is a dear friend. And that will do. It must do. But as much as you try, you simply cannot be attracted to him in the way that good wives must. In the way that Saki is to her husband. And so, Chiharu grows bitter. He feels it is a personal failure of his, and you don't have the energy to correct him.
It is by surprise, that Kousei learns the song you ideally composed; 'Idiot Idiot Husband," and you are even more surprised that he is good at it.
"You have to teach him to play," you suggest to Saki one afternoon afterward. She purses her lips.
"Oh, I don't know" and you can see the worry on her face.
The life of a musician was hard. You know she sometimes feels guilty for not always being able to be there for Kousei.
And Kousei is lonely sometimes; he is even more lonely underneath the ever-looming presence of an absent father.
Takahiko's trips take him for months on end. Saki has complained that he barely cares to write anymore when he sends his monthly cheques in the mail. And you know that now is an opportune time to try and regain what you two once had. And you could do it too. Saki was easily swept off her feet. But twenty-four had come and gone. You wouldn't dare. Not now, with a child, and a career on the line.
But the absence of Takahiko has stirred something inside you.
Much like you remember when you were nineteen. Saki used to love to steal you away to broom closets after rehearsal. And you complied, only because the thought of knowing that if you were caught, your careers would be over (and yourself, possibly arrested) was exhilarating.
"Best not be caught then" she would giggle excitedly.
In the end, it wasn't Chiharu's shortcomings but yours that ended the marriage when he comes home one night to find the bed sheets don't smell like him. You are twenty-nine when he realizes the true nature of your 'affliction.' He packs his bags silently, the shadows in the room concealing his pained expression. He faxes the divorce papers two weeks later. To his credit, he claims he never told anyone. And yet the papers run more than rumors the following week.
You need to get out of Japan.
It turns out, that you are good for something after all when word of a school in France wants you to come to teach. You tell Saki of your intentions to leave Japan once you have made a plan. The expressions that form on her sweet face are almost more than you can bear, but the flight has already been booked.
"Cheer up, it'll only be for a little while," you say gently, and you can see the inner turmoil on her face. She knows this is good for you. By God, she knows you need this. But Saki Arima has always been a special kind of selfish. A kind that caresses your ego even before the two and a half glasses it takes to get you drunk. She holds her pride close to her heart and spills it close to yours when she wants something.
"Come on" she tries "it'll be like old times. You can move in. Kousei''ll have two moms then."
That was a low blow. You know, that she knows, that you still care for her. And even more so because things were never the same. Not since twenty-four. And so, you take two steps backward.
You are thirty-three when you get the call. Saki's voice is weak. And so is your resolve.
You fly home the next day.
She is so much different than you remember, it is almost hard to look at her. She has always been two years older than you but now, more than ever, the difference is showing. She is sick, she tells you. Her voice is coarse, but her hands are soft from the lack of practice.
She is sicker than she lets on, you realize one day, as she collapsed while bringing in the groceries.
Kousei is different too. He has always been a quiet boy, but now, of only nine years of age, he seems quieter than ever. Nine, you know, is supposed to be a rowdy year. But between Saki's tempestuous moods and her healthcare, there is little time to unravel the mystery of Kousei Arima.
It is six months into their arrangement when you notice the bruises on Kousei's arms. You are furious at Saki. The screaming match you two have is a personal record. You storm out in a rage, throwing her medication on the ground before leaving. You come home, late in the hours of the morning to find Kousei huddling next to the bathroom toilet.
"I'm sorry" you whisper to empty air.
He doesn't answer.
And so things continue, albeit, exceedingly more stale. You have not forgiven Saki and she will not change. In her sickness, she has grown bitter, and much like with Chiharu, you feel constrained. But you know she cannot continue to hold such an amount of resentment in her heart for long. So you stay. It is only after the debacle with Kousei's last concert, where Saki beats him in public, that she seems to crumble.
"I'm sorry" she whispers afterward, in a hospital bed. Nurses had to sedate her to get her to calm down. You tug at the edge of her blankets.
"I'm not the one you need to apologize to."
"I know," she responds quietly. "But you have always been so easy to talk to." She swallows dryly, reaching for your hand. Despite yourself, you comply, taking her brittle fingers between your own.
"Thank you" She murmurs hoarsely. "For being with me. For putting up with me. God, I have so many regrets but I swear you're not one of them."
At that moment, you hate that her eyes are so sincere, but you've always loved how expressive they were.
"You're not-" you inhale quickly "one of mine either."
You find that she isn't. Because you don't regret the time you spent with really. You regret the last few months, estranged and angry, but for all they were worth, you had been there. You had shown up where Takahiko had not. And Saki knows that. She brings your hand up to her lips and kisses your palm. It is quiet and intimate and it hurts more than it should. You free your hand as gently as possible.
"Don't," you whisper quietly. "Don't tempt me."
"What if I want to tempt you?"
And her words were so honest that you feel you must look at her. Any assumptions you may have had about the way you would reconcile are mistaken. In the too-bright glow of the fluorescent lights above you, she is pale and colorless. Her cheeks are sunken and the bags around her eyes, you feel, do not give her tired bones justice. But when she kisses you, you remember everything that she once was. Her lips were dry and chapped and tasted of stale saliva. But you remember her joy, her pride, the reverence in her eyes whenever a piano would come into the conversation.
"This is the worst idea." She croaks out, breaking your embrace to hack dryly into her hands. "If we're found out…." But even as she says that you feel a finger ghost over the hem of your shirt. You pull her close, feeling her heartbeat beneath your palm.
"Best not get caught then" you reply roughly.
Two months later she passes.
At first, you attempt to maintain normalcy with Kousei. Takahiko is suspicious. After all, why would you hang around? You were Saki's friend, not Kousei's. But he is more often gone than not and slowly the suspicion fades away. Kousei has faded too and you wish you could help him, but how is a drowning person supposed to toss another one the rope?
Eventually, you distance yourself, finding, between gigs, pockets of warmth at bars to keep you company. It is your fifth month without Saki when you make a mistake. You tried so hard to forget about missing her that you jump into the arms of someone who you'd sworn you never would again: a man. It is nearly a month later that you become aware of this mistake. The irony is not lost on you. The only thing Chiharu had wanted badly was a child. That was a month the long list of things that her artificial love for him could never produce.
You are good at leaving. This time, you don't know if you'll ever come back.
You are thirty-seven when your daughter asks about the woman whose picture you still carry. And you smile because you love your daughter. Weeks before birthing her you realize what Saki had meant by 'the magic of a child.' Koharu is beautiful and you could not love her more. She makes your world brighter than it has been in a long time.
"She was a good friend of mine. Saki Arima. She lives back in Japan."
"Can we go visit her?" Koharu eyes are innocently inquisitive.
You smile "No honey, but we can go visit her son."
And so, you book tickets back to Japan-back home.
Japan has always felt like home to you, but you are good running away (and even better at coming back.)
Kousei, much like his mother has grown up without you. He has grown into a gentle and shy young man and you could not be more proud than you already are. But he is stuck, much like you were three years ago before leaving Japan. And you feel guilty because you are partially responsible for this mess (more so than his ever-absent father.) And it isn't about the fact that you had persuaded Saki into molding him into a prodigy. It is more about the fact that you left. And you feel terrible for it.
You thank whatever god might exist that Kousei has found good friends.
The spring with Kaori Miyazono has come and gone. You expect a storm. But Kousei has grown stronger and has rid himself of the ghosts that plagued the both of them for far too long. Instead of a storm, you get a rainbow as he turns to smile at you, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Despite this, he smiles brightly.
"I'm okay Hiroko," he says. "I'm okay."
You pull him into a rare affectionate hug.
"I'm glad kiddo."
You are forty when you realize that things had never been over between the two of you. In time, things had changed, and grown, much without you noticing. But things had never ended. Even now, Saki Arima lives on in Kousei. And you are reminded of this every day by his continuance to surprise you with new feats, kind eyes, and a reverence about him whenever a piano is near. He has forgiven her, and he has forgiven you.
And so, you take two steps forward.
Fin