NOTE: some OoC, just a little (a lot), but I think it's the logical evolution of my characters in such situation... It's not my best, but I wanted to tell this story.
This is a translation of a fic of my own: Tres tazas de té.
The Spanish version is available at /s/12165907/1/
The picture was made by a92.
English is not my first language, so please, be merciful…
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Skip Beat, much to my regret …
THREE CUPS OF TEA
Neither of them saw that coming...
They just felt the impact, violent and atrocious, and then the darkness devoured them.
Ren was saved by the airbag. When he regained consciousness, his eyes saw, between smoke and rain, the motionless body of his manager. Just in front of him, the terrible drawing of the spider web of broken glass on the windshield. It was then, when he saw his forehead bleeding and believing him dead, when Kuon, that fifteen-year-old Kuon, screamed.
Since that night, his wonderful light faded away and sadness turned his eyes to gray and lifeless. And caught between a present he feared and a past that was repeating, Tsuruga Ren stopped shining.
Kuon was exposed without his mask, cracked and broken, while the remains of Ren muttered the stupid whim of buying a Porsche. Stupid, stupid... If he had bought a Japanese car, with the steering wheel on his right, nothing would have happened to Yashiro. He would have been safe from the misfortune that he carries in his soul. From the blemish that stains everyone close to him... He's cursed.
Yashiro was in a coma for three days. Three long days, three never-ending and endless days, not knowing if the man who had given him his honest friendship would ever wake up. Almost seventy-two hours paying attention to nothing more than the machine that recorded the beating of his heart. And perhaps of his own heart too, pure mirror of despair.
But the efforts of the convalescent Yashiro by repeating it wasn't his fault served for nothing. That traffic accidents just happen, and unfortunately, they always will do. But Ren didn't react. He kept staring at him, really not seeing him, with empty eyes, his chest encasing thousand cries that he gave no voice to, and he let himself be moved everywhere without a protest. Like a sad puppet that they had cut the strings of the will.
Ren locked himself in his apartment and stopped going to work. He stopped short the life that he had been building and for which he had fought against black creatures and demons of regret that only lived in his head. Sebastian or Kyoko bring him food, which they find barely untouched the next day. He hears them coming in, coming closer and talking to him, but Ren struggles to raise higher the walls of indifference. Because Ren —no, Kuon—, because Kuon had decided to save his little world from himself. He turns everything to red, he stains everything, he destroys everything. So he has to protect them... If he persists, if he endures a little more, if he builds higher walls, they will get tired. And then they will forget him and at last they will leave him behind. And finally those he loves will be safe from the monster that only brings blood and death in his hands. They will learn to live without him.
When Sebastian shows up, it's easier to ignore the cold in the soul and the sorrow of his chest. But if it's Kyoko who comes in, he grits his teeth, pierces his palms with his nails and stares at a fixed point on the opposite wall, always avoiding meeting her eyes, her golden and sweet eyes, as long as she sits at his side, talking about what is happening outside his four walls. Ah, because her voice keeps going through his walls, no matter how high they are, filling with warmth this miserable soul unworthy of her kindness. While he's dying of longing for feeling his blood living with the sound of her laughter... But he has to protect her, otherwise he will destroy her as well...
One afternoon, it was Lory who opened his door. He seemed to have aged ten years, worn and tired, as if his true age would finally had caught up with him.
"You're killing yourself, kid…" He said with a rueful sigh, "You leave me no choice. I'm telling her everything," he blurted, with the secret hope of seeing him react. But Kuon just closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Both of them know whom he was referring to. To her. Kyoko... "And then you will have to return to the world of the living, whether to face her contempt or give her your love. What will you do, Kuon?"
Kuon didn't say a word.
Five days went by since that afternoon and Kyoko hadn't returned. All right. Even better for her... Kuon let the days pass wallowing in the miseries of his broken soul, sitting on the floor, sometimes with a glass of whisky, leaning against his sofa, his legs spread out under the table where so many nights he had dinner with Kyoko, when his still 'perfect' mask hid the cracks filled with guilt and remorse. A few times, he manages to walk until his bed, but the morning usually found him lain on the carpet or on the couch. If he had enough strength or will that day, he would somehow stand up to eat some of what they brought, but if not, he would let hours pass watching how the light through the curtains drew straight lines on the walls, while reliving in his mind nights full of nightmares one and again.
He heard the door. It was her. He didn't answer to her almost whispered Tadaima, he never did... Without a move, because he couldn't show any signs of interest (even though his heart began to beat a little faster), he felt her walking behind him on her way to the kitchen and soon the sounds of her from there. Then he closed his eyes and for the last time he allowed himself the useless fantasy to imagine her to be his, his girlfriend, his wife, his lover, his children's mother... Nonsense, illusions, chimeras that could never be... Then the gentle brush of her feet warns she's approaching. She comes with a tray with a tea service (which it wasn't his) and she sits beside him on the couch. Kuon repeats the usual ritual to ignore her and to drive her away out of his life. He pretends she's not there and stares at the wall, and once again, he pretends Kyoko doesn't exist. And with every lie, his heart breaks a bit more but the wall to leave her out, to save her, grows higher. And that's all that matters.
"Do you know, Tsuruga-san, that the other day I learned an interesting thing in my class?" Kyoko said, putting in front of them two glass cups with golden filigrees. "You see... It happens that the Tuareg, I don't know if you know they are a nomadic people of the Sahara Desert, there in Africa... Oh, by the way, they're called the Blue Men or the Blue People, because the fabrics that they use to protect themselves from the sands stain their skin." She kept talking, but not really waiting for an answer. "Well, as I was saying, Tsuruga-san, the Tuareg have their own tea tradition. Oh, no, nothing so complicated and ceremonious as the Japanese, but truth be told, it has a beautiful symbolism," Kyoko talked and talked, telling her story, as if she were actually having a conversation with him. "You see, they always drink three cups of tea. They pour it into small glass cups, similar to these, and they also garnish it with leaves of mint or spearmint. And sure you say that what's so strange about that," he didn't say anything, of course. He didn't even move. Kyoko looked at him, but she kept talking, as if she hadn't noticed. "Well, here comes the interesting part: none of those teacups is the same as the other ones...
She poured the tea, steaming and aromatic, into both cups. Against his will, his nostrils flared, filled with the fresh smell of green.
"The first one is bitter like death..." Kyoko said. She sits up straight, with respectful attitude, and she placed her hands on her lap. "Drink with me, Tsuruga-san, drink to honor your deceased ones and not to forget..." Then she added softly, "Drink to the friend who gave his life so that you could live yours. Respect his memory honoring his friendship."
Kuon closed his eyes and refused to listen anything more. No, no, no... The walls, the damned walls were cracking with the sound of her voice, Kyoko's, and her voice seeped through the cracks, bringing pain and shame to him. Bringing Rick back...
"The second one is bittersweet, like life," she continued, ignoring his pain and hers. "We grit our teeth, we clench our fists, we break down, we whistle, we sing, we cry, we laugh... There will be awful days, there will be days of light..." Kyoko keeps silent, perhaps lost in the memory of her own days. "But we learn from our mistakes, from our own pain, and we live our lives, day after day. Sometimes better, sometimes not... We fall again and again. But we stand back up. A little step every time, even though it hurts." She sighs, a deep breath, coming from the depths of her chest. "We just live..."
He is silent, still with his eyes closed and he turns his head away —yes, he moves— in a vain attempt to make her voice doesn't reach him. But she sees it. She knows.
"The third one, Tsuruga-san, is sweet like love," she said, and then Kyoko laughed. A burst of laughter mingled with sadness. Kuon opened his eyes. "Ah, I know what you're going to say. That someone just like me, talks about the sweetness of love. Yes, Tsuruga-san, because love, if it's accepted unconditionally, if you give it freely, will always be sweet.
She quiets for a moment, perhaps looking for ways to express herself well. She lets another sigh out and continues.
"I've learned to see it, and I've learned to accept it. Oh, no, don't be surprised... It took me a long time." —her voice is tinged with self-reproach— "Years of denial and blindness to all that could endanger my heart, but today I am another, Tsuruga-san. An older and wiser me, indeed." She laughed again. "I've learned that there are many kinds of love and all are beautiful and they should be treasured." Kuon, reluctantly, he turned his head and met her eyes. Damn the time when he did it because he became prisoner of her golden eyes, drowning in them. An abrupt gasp escaped from his lips. Kyoko didn't look away and she chained the undisguised green to her. "We can't live without love, without giving or taking love... We need it like breathing, I know that now... You can name it with other names, you can call it as you want, but it's still love..."
Kyoko leaned toward him, getting closer, and Kuon could feel —yes, feel— how his body betrayed him moving back to her in turn. His blood, numbed for so long, is awaking next to her, making his hands tingling.
He wanted to touch her.
He could almost feel her, almost.
He looked away and leaned backward.
"There is your first and oldest love, Tsuruga-san," she said with a sigh. Kuon was fighting and he just slipped through her fingers. "You put your heart into acting and Japan loves you for it; and then comes Rick, your friend Rick, who loved you beyond his own life... Never forget that it was his decision, not yours; and also your parents, who love you so much that they've silenced the cries of their heart only to respect yours; then there's your family at LME, Maria-chan, Takarada-san, Yashiro-san, who are devastated by not knowing how to help you; and then there's me, who I just love you..." Kuon did listen, yes. His posture didn't change, but his eyes moved, quick, and he saw her hands on her cheeks, trying to hide her blush. "You see, your life is full of love, even though you keep denying yourself," she said with a tiny and shy smile. "But if I've learned something in my life it's that the path of love should never be walked alone." She tilts her head, staring at his tormented profile and she sees his doubts, his conflict, his pain... But she shouldn't stop now. She should persevere until the end. "The love freely taken is freely given, Tsuruga-san, and if you don't treasure this love, if you don't cherish it, giving it back bigger and stronger to the world, we become the aberrant creatures we once were, you and me, do you remember?" Kyoko sighed, emptying the bitter memory out of her chest. "You can't keep us out of your heart... All of us love you and we are waiting for you, Tsuruga-san..." She takes a deep breath, drawing some strength for what she's about to say. "And so am I... I don't have much to offer, but if you wanted, I'd walk that path with you...
Nothing.
Nothing happened.
He didn't look at her again, he didn't move. He pretended not to hear a single thing.
He rejected her.
Although it was late for that. Kyoko saw the troubled brow, his eyebrows arched in confusion, and his tight lips, fighting against himself. She saw the white knuckles of his clasped hands and the tension in his posture, in all different from that one listless and apathetic from the early days.
So Kyoko didn't let herself be fooled, not anymore... She kept talking, deliberately ignoring the silence of his answer.
"So for the Tuareg," she said, back to the starting point of her solo speech, "having tea is a social event, certainly, but it's a symbol too, a reminder. They drink to remember. To keep in mind that in life there are always three cups of tea.
Kyoko paused and sighed again. This time in her sigh there was a touch of weariness. She really knew it wasn't going to be easy, of course, but...
She shook her head, getting rid of such negative thoughts and leaning toward the table. With two fingers, she moved the tiny glass cup of tea closer, almost already cold, and she continued. She wouldn't give up. Not on him. Never.
"Will you drink three cups of tea with me, Tsuruga-san?" she asked. "Will you give the love you've been blessed with back to the world? Will you forgive your past and will you give your future a chance?" Kyoko looked down, suddenly bashful, her fingers fiddling nervously with each other. "Will you give me a chance?"
Once to this point, Kuon grasped his hands, wringing so hard that Kyoko heard the sound of his knuckles cracking. The forehead, beaded with a light sweat, gave evidence of his inner struggle. He leaned over the table, but then he moved back violently crashing his back against the couch. Just when Kyoko thought she had lost him forever, his right arm shot forward, and stood still in the air, not deciding which path to choose yet.
His arm was followed by his torso and then his head fell helplessly onto his chest. Kyoko didn't need to see his eyes to know he was crying. His shoulders were shaking and his hair fell over his face hiding his green eyes.
But his hand moved again. He took the glass cup with so tight fingers that Kyoko came to think that the glass would shatter in his hand.
And finally he drank the first cup. The bitter one. Kyoko drank with him. And then Kuon stopped pretending, stopped hiding, he stopped keeping her outside his walls. He cried for Rick and Kuon. He cried for both who died that black night and for the three lives that were broken.
Kyoko put her left arm around his shoulders and pulled him gently toward her. And he buried his face in her neck, letting himself be embraced closer and breaking apart like an old toy in her arms. Letting Kyoko-chan give comfort to Corn for once. Although it took almost fifteen years for this moment.
When his tears turned into faltering breathy sighs, Kyoko pulled him back a little, making him sit upright, and then she took his face in her hands, with her little fingers drying the tears of Corn. Her own eyes were in tears too.
Then she placed the sugar bowl closer, just in front of him. Kuon took the spoon with his trembling hand and he put a tip of sugar in each cup. He drank the second one too. He closed his eyes and let the pain and the anguish of his soul take shape into his chest and later, they left out turned into a deep sigh. He let himself be surrounded by them and then he breathed them in again, transforming, assimilating them. Making them part of him. But not all of him. They mingled themselves with his happy memories, with the summer laughter in that stream, with his games with Maria-chan, with the loving touch of his parents, with the gold of Kyoko's eyes...
When Kuon puts the empty cup on the table, he raises his eyes to look at Kyoko. She stifles a cry because the person who is looking at her is more that sad-eyed boy she met so long ago than the broken man he became.
Kyoko finally pours the third cup. Then she adds a generous amount of sugar and puts the cup in front of Kuon. He looks at her in the eyes, by choice. His lips are pressed tightly and his hands are resting firmly on the table. He's afraid, once again, he is afraid. But Kyoko takes his hand and intertwines his fingers with hers.
"I'm with you," she said. And more than a statement of the obvious, Kuon felt it as a promise. She was with him. Kyoko and Kuon.
And while holding her hand, letting his blood finally respond to hers, filling himself up with her warmth, the warmth of Kyoko, he drank.
The third cup.
And then, the void.
"Now what?, you may well ask," Kyoko says. He nods without a word, but Kyoko's face lights up with a radiant smile, the kind of smile that blinds everyone, because Kuon has responded. Oh yeah. For the first time, Kuon has given a direct answer to her.
But not even Kuon is oblivious to the effect of that smile, and his body welcomes it letting to be flooded by its light; and he intertwines her hand with his once more, so small, but much stronger. And she wanted to cry with joy because Kuon has accepted her to his side. Kuon has chosen to live and love. He has chosen her.
"Now we start walking together," Kyoko says, answering hers and Kuon's question.
Still holding the hand that ties her heart to his, Kyoko reaches over to get her purse, a little further. She takes her mobile phone and she puts it in front of Kuon.
"And what should I say?" Kuon asked. Kyoko put her hand to her chest, to calm her racing heart. His voice was rough, hoarse, due to crying and lack of use. It was the first thing he said today. Probably since some days. But it was his voice. And for All the Gods' sake, it was wonderful to hear it.
"You say hello," she replied. "I'm sure you master the basic skills to have a conversation..."
His green eyes, still full of sadness, still full of sorrow, sparkled briefly with something like humour.
"Of course I do..." Kuon replies with that gruff voice, and with an attitude that tries to keep a minimum of his newly regained dignity, dials that number that he refused years ago.
His hand still holds Kyoko's. He's still afraid, she knows, so she squeezes it stronger, wanting to convey in this gesture courage and assurance. He closes his eyes when he hears a female voice on the other side of the line.
"Hi, mom," Kuon says.
And that was the first step, the hardest, and the most difficult. But the first of the path that they will walk together...
Many years later, when there was no reason to dye his hair or to pretend to be another man anymore, he and his wife kept the habit of sitting in the backyard, while the children (first their own children and later their grandchildren) play in the garden, and having three cups of tea.
The first one, bitter like death.
The second one, bittersweet like life.
The third one, sweet like love.
They drink together to never forget.
.
.
NOTE: There are several traditions about tea ceremony among the nomadic Saharan peoples. There are always three rounds, but the order and the reasons do change. I chose the one I remember from my childhood :)