A/N: I know I said I won't be writing fanfic again, but...I lied. I watched Hana Kimi (the Japanese live action drama) and totally fell in love with Nakatsu.
Man Behind
He'd always been the odd-man-out, the oddball (like a misshapen, gurgling, cracked porcelain spout). He'd always be the man left behind. Too slow or too soon, somehow, he never mastered the art of time. The precision it took, like clairvoyance without the mumbo-jumbo, the Chinese roots and lingering, incense-bitter tang of icicles in March and marching songs.
He could never get it right (he got that now).
He wanted to say something, always did—told himself, comforting to lie (even if it were only to himself). He just couldn't muster the courage, beg or coerce his guts to cooperate. And now, it's far too late. And now, like always, he's the man left behind.
. . .
"You're gonna drown yourself if you don't let it out,"
poison, they say. They, the ones that don't understand. A mile away, a sea, seven oceans and counting—
"I'm okay," he answered back.
Venom ran deeper than water, stronger than blood, which was why snakes could live for a thousand years. It's a binding that perforated every cell with individual attention and genetic lances. He, of all people, should know that by now. Rinse, repeat, and say it again: "I'm okay."
. . .
Sano's taller (three inches at most). But he's cuter (to Maman at least).
Sano's moodier.
Sano's...Sano's got her.
But Nakatsu was the nicer and kinder one, the one there for her. More often, frequenter, solicitor. More and more, they move on without him. So began the disillusionment. Third wheel's the weak link, made of plastic, soon to bruise—oh, that's a classic.
Goddamn, he hated Sano's guts. And God, he was dumb.
. . .
One fine morning in late summer, he was sipping cool tea and pondering on the causations of an icy heart when the telephone rang. With a heavy sigh and a pissy pout, Nakatsu picked up the phone and was just about to bark into it.
"Surprise!"
He pushed the receiver away. "Are you trying to make me deaf?" he screamed back.
On the other end, Mizuki laughed and asked if he wanted to join her (meaning Sano too) on a fishing trip. No reason, no explanation, just a simple question. Nakatsu was quiet for a moment, thinking hard and long on this-and-that, of the consequences (again with the what-ifs). Maybe this was just a good joke.
"Oh, by the way," said she, "I'm in Japan."
He dropped the receiver hard and cursed as it hit his foot.
. . .
Mizuki's grandparents had a house in Okinawa and agreed for them to stay there free of price. Nakatsu thought this was eerily, suspiciously nice, but Mizuki assured him that her grandparents won't mind at all. Since, well, she explained, they're kind of (really) old and the doting type. And so, Nakatsu packed his bags and left for the southern tip of Okinawa.
At the station (down under) he unexpectedly met up with Sano. Strange, he was supposed to come a day later (there went Nakatsu's charming plans). They greeted each other tersely, as was the manly way. A brief nod, a laconic reply, and a momentous pause. In a minute, Nakatsu leapt to hug Sano, his very best dearest friend.
"You're too close."
Nakatsu only laughed and whistled a tune. They picked up their luggage and walked. Side by side, they made the picturesque picture of two picaresque comrades—returning home at long last. Nakatsu flipped a strand of hair aside and lo' what a dashing pirate he made.
"I heard you placed in Nationals again, Sano."
"Oh."
. . .
She hadn't changed. It's been a year since they met in person, but there she was, the same. Standing at just above five-feet-two in one shoe, hair slightly grown out, and lips stained with the crimson lines of strawberry blood, Mizuki was a dream.
With open arms and a cheery laugh, she greeted them and hugged them tight. And when she pulled away, he could see into the muscled pockets of her heart. And he still knew her better than anyone else.
"Are you guys hungry?"
Nakatsu nodded and ruffled her hair. She smiled up at him brilliantly.
(Behind him, Sano doesn't say a word, and Nakatsu can feel the tension already rising.)
. . .
On Friday the last, she took them to the lake by the house, in a boat, in the middle of the woods, midmorning, heat of the day. She tossed each of them a pole and a box and issued a challenge to see who could catch the most before dinner. Being the men they were, they accepted eagerly.
He'll show him. He'll show Sano who's the man. He'll—
"You coming, Nakatsu?"
They were already halfway past the dirt-crunched path. He raced down the hill and thought—that almost, if only—he could clutch her close.
"I know it's small and old, but it's sturdy...I think."
Nakatsu eyed the vessel skeptically and shook his head, gave it a toss for good measure. He trusted her (if not the boat).
. . .
The boat capsized by three, and the three of them were soaked to the bone.
Sano grabbed Mizuki around the waist and pulled them both to safety. Like hauling wood, there was nothing to it. Sano was as cool as ever. Two skeletal silhouettes with nowhere to run, they paddled to shore and sank knee-deep into the mossy sand. Adrift, alone, Nakatsu floated on by
(past the water dragon's home and leagues away).
Man overboard, man left behind. He dragged himself ashore.
Breathing hard and hardly beat, Nakatsu gathered the strength to rest, collapsed, and started to snore. Incidentally, his head collided perfectly with Mizuki's lap. Except, this time, she didn't push him away.
. . .
The night before they had to leave was a night covered in ink.
Nakatsu spilled ink all over the porch (he slipped). Mizuki received a rain-splattered letter from Julia (who's in England visiting a cousin) and had twin streaks of gray on her cheeks. And Sano was in a murky mood (some things never changed).
There were fireworks that night to celebrate the summer solstice. Among splashes of haphazardly painted strokes of endless darkness, reds and golds and even bits of pink sprang alive. They jolted into the air, soaring high, rockets into the sky and forever unreachable. Then, in a poof of magic and touch of God, they disappeared and died. Down stormed a million pieces of artificial stars.
Summer was midway done, and Nakatsu hadn't even begun. The rehearsals he'd prepared flew from his head, out the ear, onto the grass, and never to come back. He was no good with words, should've realized that long ago.
. . .
In the end, she was the one who spoke first.
"I missed you a lot, you know," she mumbled quietly into the lapel of his shirt.
He thought he felt a wet drop piercing the cloth and looked up to see. She blinked quickly and looked away. It must've been his imagination.
. . .
There was a gulf of things unsaid between them, a valley of deaths and traps to cross, and just before the finish line, howled the boogeyman. The cloaked man, the laughing man, the man who never shut up (in his head) and couldn't construct a coherent sentence to save his life. Nakatsu stared at his reflection, paused for a second, before reaching for the toothbrush.
It was the start of a new year. He was entering university. He had matured (must have somewhat, oh please). She won't be there to push him forward.
"Ready?"
Nakatsu nodded and strolled confidently past Sano.
. . .
One evening, after a particularly grueling chemistry lab, he received a phone call from her. She didn't say much, not like they used to, spending hours just talking. Bratty kids, goofing off, hey, they were young. She might visit sometime during the winter holidays, but that'll depend on her studies. Maybe during the summer, or maybe they could…
She didn't say much else. But that was okay, now. He was used to waiting, used to standing on the sidelines. Nakatsu smiled to himself and suppressed a yawn. Soon Sano will be home, and they'll be bickering over who's turn it was to be in charge of dinner.
"Mizuki, ah, I'll call you later, all right? I really need to shower. I stink like Yujirou."
He couldn't stop grinning stupidly. Maybe it's a genetic curse or masochistic disorder, he didn't know, because it didn't matter anymore. Because he'll still be there now and always. A step behind, but that was fine.
"I'll be here."
The phone clicked silent.