Author's Notes:
First one up from my small lineup. This is actually a pretty old piece, written shortly after Mipiko completed Second Star because I quickly became enamoured with the pairing she had created. I held back posting this due to laziness (mostly out of forgetfulness; I completely forgot that this existed until a few short weeks ago). This is not a companion piece, but there is one very obvious hint that alludes to her story. Well, two, but the one in the very beginning hardly counts. I'll continue the rest of my notes at the end of the story. Enjoy!
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This is a love story.
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Look at them.
Just look.
You have been, for years, watching as they grow and change and leave the sweetness of childhood behind, as they strike out for unfamiliar places and greater worlds, as they push beyond the old, rotting boundaries in favor of something brighter.
You have been watching these two since the very beginning; since the river incident; since their argument; since smoldering chocolate chip cookies; since the accident; since their first laugh together; since that wonderfully disastrous viola lesson, that wonderfully disastrous fluttering of sheet music and flying fists; since their very first play, an adorable rendition of Peter Pan; since that day, the last day, when he came running, running, running, at them like demons were on his heels because wait-don't-stop-I-need-to-say-goodbye; since Miki hugged him once more, for luck; since until next time.
You've been watching our Miki and our Hio and shaking your head and perhaps laughing a little to yourself because, God, can't they see it? Can they not see what you see? What I see? The signs, the little trail of breadcrumbs they've been leaving each other all this time?
Secret hints, signals towards that unexplored terrain, hints that whispered — no: shouted, yelled, screamed — kiss me. Kiss me. Signals towards the kiss. A trail of breadcrumbs leading them to each other.
You've been tracking their lives, peering in on them from time to time to see just how they are getting on, and maybe, if you are lucky, to see them making progress — creating wholeness out of fragmentation, assembling a narrative out of disparate pieces that will finally make them understand what is there. What is waiting for them if they just —
If they could —
If they would only —
Well.
And still, you don't give up hope. Because they will, they will kiss, they must kiss.
Because there have been so many moments — and you've seen them, you know, you feel it — when Miki looks at Hio, when Hio looks at Miki, and their breath… it sort of trips over itself, and their stomachs, they quiver… and if they were just brave enough to leap off the edge their world would go up in bright flames, molten and magnificent, like so much potassium thrown into water.
I'd like to tell you your hope is not in vain.
But Miki and Hio are older now. The lines of anger, loss, and grief have carved themselves into their flesh. They can't remember what it was like to be clumsily exuberant youth, still in the throes of that giddy, aching longing; that growing, tender hope.
They have laid it to rest. They have buried it deep. They have forgotten.
But you and I, we have not. We're still here. We're still waiting.
Even though this isn't our story, even though it is a story about a kiss that might have happened, could have happened, a kiss and everything else it would have brought, everything Miki would promise, everything Hio would have given.
Watch, watch as it plummets, cold and heavy like a body, watch as it falls in the land of kisses never had, where it belongs.
If this were a romance novel, there would be fingers entwined, rosy cheeks, and a dizzy exchange of oxygen. If this were a romantic comedy, our Miki and our Hio would realize at the last, breathless moment what it all means, what they mean, and they would turn and run and pull each other in for that final triumphant collision in the midst of a world gone white. If this were a dream, Hio's irises would be universes for Miki to fall into and her mouth would be his catalyst.
But this is not a dream. It's not a romance novel, nor a movie. It's the story of a kiss never given.
But if it had been.
Well, if it had been — it would have been incredible. I can't tell them how Miki's mouth pressing against Hio's would feel like an impact, knocking the breath from his lungs. How his groceries would drop to the pavement, a scatter of oranges and bird seed and leaking milk. How everything would go very quiet, then very loud — a sudden roar of trembling want bursting to the surface. How he would go limp, falling toward Miki, who would bracket his skull with strong palms and push him back against mortar and brick without breaking for air. How their heads would become tingling dark spaces void of all thought, because the whirl of lips and teeth and tongue and oh god oh yes oh finally would turn them to ash.
I want to tell them all of it, but I cannot, because I am the narrator and I exist only to tell you that they should have, could have, might have, but didn't.
This is the story of a kiss that never was. A good kiss. A superb kiss.
Not a kiss.
The kiss.
The kiss that would have changed everything.
Author's Notes:
Please tell me if I'm not the only one who was upset that the two cuties didn't kiss in her fic (spoiler alert, maybe?). Maybe I'm just a sap for romance. Ah well. Regardless, it is very well written and I highly recommend it. Andmaybehelppesterherintoupdatingthesequel. It'sbeentoolong. Ijustwannafindoutifthey'regoingtolivehappilyeverafter. TTvTT