Be Proud When You Dazzle the Wondrous
Disclaimer: don't own this manga. Title comes from a line in Bat for Lashes's song "Siren Song"
Note: been too long since i properly wrote these two. i think about them & winter a lot. and kyoya & the charles.
The distance between Boston and Cambridge is something over 600 meters (Kaoru had read it in one of Tamaki's guidebooks when he was procrastinating once); other measurements, the gimmicky sort resulting from paint, are over three hundred and written in bold, brightly-colored strokes of paint; it's the distance between him and the safety of the land or between him and Kyoya or both—Kaoru has no doubt of the bridge's structural soundness (the guidebook had gone on and on about that) but being three hundred meters out in either direction over an icy, polluted river makes him nervous in a way few things can or ever have.
It seems an eternity crossing the bridge, even with Kaoru's long legs and quick strides; he refuses to run but the bitter wind is unrelenting, chilling even on the hottest summer day, a reminder in the fall that winter is coming soon with the frost and snow and chill that seeps into his bones and he knows now what all those American books he'd had to read in high school were talking about when they spoke of the New England winter; it's a formidable opponent that he'd really rather avoid when he can.
Kyoya meets him on the other side, humor in his eyes; sometimes he taunts Kaoru and Kaoru shrugs and pulls on his hand and they walk off toward the coziness of Kyoya's Cambridge apartment, the stuffiness only alleviated by cracking the windows and letting in the cold, and Kaoru keeps the blankets around him while he gazes out the window at the river view, the blackened snow on the streets and the frostbitten grey-brown trees and the cracked ice on the surface of the river and the awful brightness of the blue sky, uncomfortably out of place and harsh.
"Kaoru, you're blocking the light," says Kyoya, and Kaoru sits back down, letting the covers fall and reaching a hand across to Kyoya's desk where he works on the laptop.
"Yes?"
Kaoru hums. Just this closeness, this communication, even if there's no physical contact—that there's the option of physical contact is a comfort. He can almost hear the muscles in Kyoya's face spreading into that familiar, small smile of his.
The distance from Cambridge to Boston seems longer, when he's trudging back across the bridge in the winter evening when it's not yet half past four and the sky is almost completely dark, and he hunches down in his scarf and pulls the hood of his parka around his face and resolves to design something better for the cold himself because this seems like barely anything sometimes when the wind is howling in his face and the cars and buses rush by him on the other side of the concrete barrier and the neon lettering on the bridge is barely visible, not that Kaoru's even paying attention to much more than the other side ahead of him, the solid ground and the twisting roadways and the shadows of the esplanade crusted in white snow and ice—it's lonely and awaiting him are a grumpy brother and half-finished homework, a far less appealing prospect than a warm apartment and Kyoya; he almost turns back but it's his common sense stopping him and Kyoya's words echoing in his head: they have to make sacrifices now for a future that Kyoya will admit is uncertain and shaky, but the mere fact that he's willing to bet on it and save for it gives Kaoru hope. Kyoya's bets all seem sure ones; he's not one to do something like this on a lark (of course, he has no doubts about the sincerity and depth of Kyoya's feelings but when it comes to the future there is nothing but doubt). And thinking of the future chills him deeper, too.
The distance across the bridge from Cambridge seems longer than the one from Boston when he's the one waiting on the other side for Kyoya to walk across the bridge, when his eyes are peeled on the walkway, squinting into the light as he buries his hands deeper in his pockets. The relief, the end to his impatience, is always met with a tight hug and then Kyoya's hand joins his in his pocket and tapered fingers caress his. They walk down the esplanade, passing a few joggers and stoners but mostly on their own. The rocks are frozen over leading to the river; the water is not swollen like it gets in early spring and like it had gotten the previous fall with the hurricane; the rocks spread out devoid of miniature sirens but just as rough and uneven and uncomfortable as Kaoru tries to stand on them; the bumps bore through the soles of his boots and he steps back onto the solid ground and they keep walking.
The frozen boathouse is lonely and they cannot continue to walk abreast to pass it; under the bridge the silence is spooky and they rest in the shadows, light filtering down from the rails above and sparkling across a flawless patch of ice, untouched by dirty shoes and car exhaust, like an opal buried among dull ashes. Kaoru's never been too much of a nature lover (flower arrangement aside) but this is—there's no word to describe it, really; they're all too trite. Maybe it's because he's here with Kyoya, because they're alone and sheltered from the wind and together, because of their uncertain future—because no matter how much he complains about this place and the horrible winters and how much he wants to get the hell out of here, they're relatively sheltered from parents and pressures of the professional world (as sheltered as they'll ever get) and because no matter how long the distance from Boston to Cambridge to Boston crossing that bridge is straightforward, no matter how separated they are they can easily reunite, and he wants everything about this moment to last, from the angles of the sunbeams to the tilt of Kyoya's head to the way his grip is tightening on Kaoru's hand to the weight of the winter air and the pressure on their shoulders. He feels nearly invincible.