Fated Parallel
By: KanHima Destiny
I.
He watches her.
It's his favorite past time– familiarizing himself with the way her apricot colored hair swishes to and fro, framing her heart-shaped face and enhancing those Amethyst eyes that made a lump form in his throat each time he looked into them. Her legs, slender and long, walked with a grace unlike any he's seen. Her hands are small, but he knows the strength they hold within.
(Past experience, he remembers).
And he'd be lying if he said he's never taken a glance at her… ahem, "merchandise".
But of all these things, her smile, in his highest opinion, was her best feature.
He could spend hours looking at her smiling face, no joke. Whenever he was having a crappy day at school or just needed his daily pick-me-up, her smiles usually did the trick. She was rarely ever anything but happy, anyways. It's like she lived by this motto of, "live everyday the best you can" everyday, never wanting to burden others with her own problems (if she had any).
But regardless of what she is or isn't hiding behind those lips, he takes joy in her happiness all the same. He loves it. Needs it, really. And when she flashes HIM a smile in the mornings, he draws blanks.
He doesn't know anything more about her than what he's observed… and then some. But he doesn't like to think about the past; it's too depressing and has left him with a life that keeps her at a distance. It's a distance that his small legs can't keep up with, no matter how hard he tries.
So he digresses.
Simply watches her.
II.
They don't talk much.
Maybe a few comments here and there to pass the time, but nothing more than what's considered semi-casual. He wishes they could engage in long conversations, ranging from all types of subjects. But where they meet isn't the most comfortable of places to talk, well, comfortably.
The train is stuffy and crowded. Too public for his tastes.
But he enjoys the little they talk about.
("Nice weather we're having huh?")
("How are your classes going?")
("My friend loves to cook curry every Tuesday.")
("My brother is a pain in the butt, Mother Hen.")
She doesn't ask him about his home life and he doesn't ask about hers. But she gives him enough to know that she's a senior in high school, lives with her aunt and uncle, and loves the color red.
(He feels a small nostalgia at her choice of color)
He tells her that he's a second year in middle school, has a twin brother, and his favorite subject in school is P.E.
But he's afraid to reveal too much. So he puts a lid on the more painful and, otherwise, revealing aspects of his life. He hides from her, just like he did before.
(Just like he did so, so long ago).
But his life is new and he plans to enjoy it this time around. She talks, he listens.
Her voice sounds like tinkling bells, he inwardly notes to himself, carrying a sort of rhythm that uplifts your spirits and touches you to the core. He thinks she would make a better singer than artist (but he never tells her that).
Fifteen minutes is all he's given before he hears the brakes go off, signaling the arrival to their destination.
("Good-bye.")
("See you tomorrow.")
They go their separate ways, just as fate set it so.
He doesn't ask for much, but he wants more time with her is all. Conversations on the train aren't enough.
But he tolerates.
Even if they don't talk much.
III.
Vanilla is her scent.
He smells it on his pillow every time she comes over to his house after a bad date with some guy from her college class. He doesn't mind that she wakes him at an ungodly hour of the night, so long that she sought solace from him when things didn't go well.
This time it was Handsome McSmarty Pants from her Creative Writing class.
He complimented her on a story she wrote, she felt good from it, they talked a little, and BAM, decided to go out. Their first date was to the aquarium– he bought her a penguin plushy, treated her to a nice dinner, and dropped her off at her place.
(No kiss. She was too timid for that sort of intimacy.)
Their second, and last, date was at a local club he regularly went to. From what he could understand between heavy sobs and her chocked up coughs, McSmarty tried getting "too intimate" with her, resulting in her purse getting smashed into his face and a thirty-minute trip towards the Takakura residence.
But he wasn't complaining.
He simply held her close all through the night, burying her body against his own, inhaling the intoxicating scent of vanilla perfume till it put him into a peaceful slumber. And he could almost swear she breathed in deeply before he dozed off.
It felt perfect. And he wishes he could have her here all the time, for the rest of their lives.
But she'd leave before he woke up. It was always like that. They never talk about it on their train ride, pretending to themselves that it never happened. So they converse over other stuff going on in their lives– crazy roommates and Mother Hen brothers.
And when he goes home after a long day of schooling, he flops onto his bed and hugs "her" pillow close. Her scent lingers for a little while before his masculine fragrance over-powers it.
Traces of her presence disappear, and he can't help but think of how it relates sooo much to his current situation. "Fate is cruel", he thinks.
It's horrible of him to think this. But he hopes she has another bad date.
Another reason to smell her vanilla scent.
IV.
She tastes of Taboo.
That's the first thought that comes to mind when he runs a needy tongue across her lips. And he thinks it'll be the last when their bodies finally part.
He can taste the honey on her neck from when they were baking some odd minutes ago.
He squirted a glob of the sticky substance on her beautiful neck while they were mixing the ingredients. She shrieked, as he expected. But then she scooped up a handful of pink frosting and flung it at his chest (trying, but failing, to aim it at the smirk on his face). They kept flinging various foods at one another, laughing it up all the while.
And he doesn't remember exactly, but he faintly recalls trapping her body against the counter and several sloppy kisses following suit. Somehow it leads them to his room where, after much hassle, they shed off each other's clothes.
Her body is a spread of various flavors and he almost can't take the overload of emotions it gives him. She's sweet, salty and, overall, delicious.
But she's taboo. Their first kiss from a lifetime ago was the same.
(But he can't help his hunger)
Her kiss is frantic and her lips are slightly coated pink. So he slams his lips against hers to paint them "his" color. Only because she looked better in red.
They move in sync, like they were fitted (always fitted) to do this. He laps up sweat drops from her brow, admiring the contrast between this and the sweeter taste he got from another part of her body, and plunges them both into blissful oblivion.
When they're through, they collapse in a mass of sweaty bodies and delirious mindsets. They embrace each other through lip contact and he feels he'll never tire from this.
Doesn't matter that she's 28 and he's 23. Doesn't matter that she's his art teacher and he her student.
Doesn't matter that they once shared a family name, she having been his "sister" and he her "brother".
Because despite it all, he loves her.
And she's the best tasting taboo.
V.
She touches his heart, and he hers.
She runs her hands down his chest, just to feel that he's alive (that he's real). And it's almost surreal how fate worked for her– giving her a new life, a healthy body, and only leaving a scar behind to remind her of the love she had lost.
She thinks back to when she was a middle schooler, enjoying her discharge from the hospital after the mysterious accident on the train two weeks prior. She was walking towards her favorite knitting store when her eyes landed on a small boy with striking red hair and piercing green eyes. It lasted for only a split second, but she remembers the way her heart ached when she looked at him. She offered him a smile that day and many more after that whenever she came across the little boy.
She also remembers meeting that boy again during a train ride to her high school. She was looking for an empty seat when someone tapped her on the shoulder and offered the seat next to him. He was taller and his voice wasn't that of a child's, but she couldn't forget such similar features– it was the boy from long ago. They talked some on their rides, not nearly enough, but he left her more intrigued with him each time.
Then college rolled around the corner and he became a constant in her life. He was her support system, a dear friend, and someone she found herself falling in love with. Well, she was always in love with him (if she thinks more deeply on it). She couldn't shake it off, but it seemed like every time he held her in his arms she felt a strange nostalgia. In the back of her mind, she remembered this warm touch. And in the dead of night, when he was too involved in his dreams to notice, she touched his eyes and imagined a great deal of pain lied behind them– pain he wouldn't share with her.
Years later, she found herself teaching an art class at a community college that HE so happened to be in. It was like fate. After class, they'd find a quiet spot outside to talk. They'd hug, touch hands (sometimes hold them), and bump waists when they felt especially playful. But they hid such closeness from others; always afraid of what consequences would follow had they been caught. And despite that, she thought it silly at times. They were friends, nothing more. What was there to hide? Their friendship? But then they slept together and she really had something to hide. She couldn't look him in the face in front of the other students without remembering the heated touches to her skin and the way his tongue formed goose bumps on her body. His touch was taboo.
She remembers all these things… and then some. Sometime after their coupling, she started having strange dreams about penguins and fate trains and two boys that she called her brothers. Eventually, she confided in him about it and he had the misfortune of revealing truths she suspected but never really knew were there. He held her in his arms that night while she cried for the life she lost.
"Himari."
She's brought out of her reverie at the sound of his voice. She looks into his eyes and sees the concern etched into them.
(They're eyes she never truly forgot)
Her lips plant a kiss on his chest, over his heart, and she lays another on his lips.
(He's real)
(Shouma's real)
(Ringo's real)
(They never disappeared)
He's warm to the touch, just as he's always been.
"Himari. What's going through that head of yours?" he asks.
And she doesn't need to think it over before she says it. "I love you, Kanba."
His smile is most sincere. He hugs her tighter, feels him inhaling deeply from the side of her neck after placing a kiss there. "I love you, too, Himari. Always."
Because he touched her heart, and she his.
And because they were fated to walk parallel paths.
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I Love You
Forever And Ever
(The End)