ＨＯＬＤＩＮＧ ＯＮ ＡＮＤ ＬＥＴＴＩＮＧ ＧＯ
— it's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed —
Listen to Ross Copperman (Holding On And Letting Go)
x
i. the damage is done.
x
Once, a long time ago, it used to be Kou. Kou Mabuchi. Not Tanaka. Not Tanaka anymore. Just Kou. Simple enough, easy enough, ordinary enough. Except then suddenly it wasn't enough – of anything really. Or well, maybe not so suddenly, but it's a story that's been told before in a hundred different ways but with the same general storyline.
There's a boy and it's great. He's got a great brother, a bit too soft even he has to admit, but great nonetheless. And a dad too, though he could do better on that front but whatever, he can deal. It's fine. He's fine.
And then he's not. Because there's high school and playground rules aren't enough anymore, there's hormones and reputations to build and trying to be something, someone, falling into new crowds, the ones that'll introduce you to things like plastic red cups of beer and fist fights, committing endless teenage crimes, fulfilling endless teenage desires.
It's like a game. How much can you put yourself through before you finally crack, till you're left with absolutely nothing except for an abyss where your heart should be, where every happiness, every sadness, every petty emotion can fall into, everything but the callous things, the ones rough around the edges. Those are for keeps.
One thing always leads to another. One thing always builds off another until something finally breaks and bridges are only built so you can set fire on them afterwards anyway.
Watch them burn, watch him burn.
Yeah, he's pretty fucked up.
He won't deny it. Any of it.
x
ii. you can hear me cry, see my dreams all die from where you're standing on your own.
x
Futaba Yoshioka is bitter.
She isn't the kind of bitter that glares, obvious, at everyone who passes. She doesn't wear tight, ugly clothes that hug in the wrong spots or dark lipstick and she doesn't chain-smoke or sit in thickly clogged bars, drinking bourbon. Futaba is the quiet kind of bitter, underneath her perfectly pressed clothes, her wavy, shiny hair, her neat, clean makeup. But it is still there.
Right now, though, with the sun in her eyes, her world is spiraling downward. It has been ever since she was born. She's not a cliché. God, don't ever call her a cliché. Don't call her a mess. Don't call her broken. Don't call her a disaster. But most importantly don't call her beautiful. Don't fucking call her anything.
The sun is beating in her eyes, on her makeup-free face, her tired body. She is sixteen. She is guileless. She is naïve. And, oh Christ, she just confessed to Kou Tanaka and is currently turned down in the most embarrassing way possible.
This is real. Everything is real and she is not woeful or in need of anyone's pity. But bitterness, bitterness is fair game. She's entitled that at least, right? She doesn't care what others think. She just doesn't.
She can definitely handle this, she thinks as a tear sneaks down her cheek.
x
iii. hope has disappeared, you find me here.
x
He doesn't know how it happens, but something inside of him tells him to go find her one stormy August summer afternoon.
She's standing on top of the bench, her arms wide open, and the rain beats down against her skin, and her eyes are closed again, but he thinks she's breath-taking – beautiful – and all he wants to do is (being untalented) write a song for her, and let the rain wash away the ink, because the closest to genius he'll ever come to song-writing will be about her. He knows it, can feel it throbbing in his veins, and it's too perfect, too idealistic to be shared with the world.
He watches the slick droplets of water trail down her body, dripping down with a pearly sound and her clothes cling to her body, and she looks so desperate to let go and he wonders if it's selfish of him to not want her to let go just yet, to not be ready just yet.
The sky promises a never-ending storm with its thunder and somehow he finally finds his voice as he calls out to her, her name resonating against the gathering storm they've found themselves in the middle of.
x
iv. sometimes the one (breath) we're taking changes everyone before.
x
She turns around to him and he's never thought a girl could look so lovely with tears in her eyes. He can't hear the words coming out of her mouth, but she keeps speaking them, repeating them almost inaudibly and he can't help walking closer, till he finally reaches the bench and stands up on top of it. He gathers her in his arm, the coldness of her skin prickling his own, and he finally understands what she's saying.
"I need to get on with my life. I promised myself I would."
He doesn't know what happened but suddenly he's desperate for her to not let go just yet. He cups her face, looking into her sad, shimmering eyes, trying to memorize her gaze, and it all happens almost in the slow motion, the pelting rain and the ominous gray skies forgotten, and all he can see, all he can think about are her lips. He captures them with his own fearlessly, and he hears a sound of surprise come out of her mouth, but it's lost soon as the kiss deepens and he claims the part of her she's always kept just for him, that has always kept her a little hesitant from jumping in headfirst, like she'd like to.
Kissing her is like playing the piano for hours on end, gliding fingers across the black keys (because they've always been more mesmerizing to him) and he knows he'll always keep this kiss close to his heart, no matter how far she goes, no matter how far she runs. He'll keep it close to him, he promises himself that as he opens his eyes to see a rainbow taking shape and lighting up the sky behind her just in time.
He wonders if she finally feels any less suffocated now, any freer now.
x
v. you're losing your memory now.
x
She stiffens in his arms all at once, as if finally realizing what they're doing (what he's doing for her) and suddenly she breaks away, trying to catch her breath, and there's a silhouette of lightning in her eyes, electrifying and vulnerable, and he wants to take her back in his arms, never let her go, but it's too late now.
She touches her lips ever so faintly, like he's burned them, and her eyes lose their storminess, and suddenly everything around them is turning into a shade of perpetual gray and he watches everything slip out of his grasp.
It's temporary though. It has to be.
"You shouldn't have done that." She says softly, regretfully, and all of a sudden her eyes are empty, void of colour and the receding stillness around them can't seem to dull the weight of his actions.
She jumps off of the bench, still facing him, and as she starts slowly walking backwards, her footsteps are soundless and deafening at the same time.
"Goodbye." She whispers sadly.
And then she's running, as fast as her legs will take her, down the hill and away from him. There she goes, a dream weaver, a falling star, forever uncatchable.
He closes his eyes, imagining her to just be another student in the hallway of his schools, just another friend of Kominato's. Just another girl. His throat feels dry and he thinks he can hear a faint lullaby sung by the wind. It reminds him of hopeless dreamers letting go.
"Watch your step." He murmurs to no one in particular, closing his eyes, and letting the moist air take the words away with the wind, with the loss.
x
vi. where have you gone? and where have i gone?
x
On her days off from classes, she goes to the nearby Park and just sits there and reads.
It is raining one day she is there, and the park seems emptier than usual.
She likes it that way though.
So she sits on the bench, holding the umbrella lightly, the book disregarding in her bag, as she gets lost in the drizzled and clouded sky in front of her.
It takes her a while to realize someone is standing right beside her. He doesn't have a hat or an umbrella, and his curls are slightly wet from the drops of rain. His arms stay loose on his sides.
He greets her with a simple hello, no demands or hysterics on her whereabouts insight.
She asks about their relationship. He replies with that usual steady, calming voice of his.
And then there is silence as he rocks back and forth on his heels a little.
He asks what happened to them. She doesn't really know herself.
They stay there for what seems like hours, just watching the rain in silence. Almost like old times.
x
vii. does anybody really know if it's the end of the beginning.
x
Her clothes are slightly rumpled, a button missing on her blouse, near the bottom, where she played with the whole time out of nervousness. As she walks down the sidewalk, Futaba fingers its lack, feeling tears welling in her eyes. She wants her mommy, her Ayumi Hamasaki album, some coffee. But she is an adult, she could handle this.
Futaba holds her hand up to shield her eyes from the sunlight. Then she looks behind her. Of course he isn't following her. Of course. The sight of the empty sidewalk prompts another tear to spill.
The sidewalk is so deserted. The sun is so bright and warm, the air so contaminated. Futaba is so late.
Life isn't a fairytale. The boy she loved so desperately when she was a teenager isn't going to come running for her, proclaiming his love. And now, she isn't so sure she even wants him to. What if Kou really is just a phase, an adolescent need for something tougher than Sapporo? Because that's what he is looking like, in the harsher light of day, her head pounding with a headache.
x
viii. why i'm alone and freezing, while you're in the bed that she's in.
x
She goes to the bookstore one day. And she's looking through the shelves, without actually seeing any of the titles. She finally picks a random book of short stories and goes to the front counter.
She hasn't come into contact with Kou for a week or two now. Sometimes, late at night, she still calls Touma though. He always picks up.
And then through the window she sees them.
Kou and Narumi.
He's not really looking at the dark haired woman, his eyes scanning their surroundings, but she has her hand in his, and she's talking about something and doesn't seem to really care that he's not paying attention.
He looks a little irritated, a little restless and Futaba isn't sure if she wants to smile at it, or frown over it. And then out of nowhere, he grabs her chin, and kisses her hard. Narumi reacts immediately, kissing him with equal enthusiasm and wrapping her arms around his neck lazily.
A nauseating feeling rolls over her, and—
"Miss? That will be $10. 99."
She pays the money quickly before rushing out the exit, and into her car.
x
x. and somehow i'll get through, cause i have you.
x
"Come away with me." He mumbles into her hair sometime a week later. It's four in the morning and they're lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Daylight will break any minute now, and Futaba can't help wanting to soak in the light and heat that will come through the window when it finally does.
"Where?"
"London."
She smiles absentmindedly at him, before sighing airily. "I always did love London."
He smiles fondly at her, outlining the contours of her face with the back of his hand, and she unconsciously moves closer to him, kissing his chin before nestling her head into the familiar place between his neck and shoulder.
"It's the first place you took me, after you convinced my parents you'd be completely responsible and mature when it came to taking me on a summer trip alone.", she reminisces into his shirt, as an afterthought.
"I kept my word." He says sleepily, and she can't help snorting.
"Touma, I lost my virginity to you on the third day there."
"I wasn't planning on that happening."
She props herself up and gives him a piercing look.
He closes his eyes, smiling pensively before continuing, "Okay, well I wanted to make your first time romantic, is that so wrong? And besides, we were safe, weren't we?" He mutters the last bit lazily and she can't help laughing lightly at the way he just breezes past the subject.
"So what do you think?" He asks quietly, and when she looks into his eyes, she can see how serious he is about going away, and it takes her a minute to grasp how life-altering her answer could be, if she chooses to make the right one.
"I think…" She pauses, looking up thoughtfully at the ceiling one last time, "I'd like that."
Her hand sneaks into his, their fingers locking together almost instantaneously, and he brings them up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand unhurriedly, without ever letting his gaze fall away from her face.
"We could start over." He says off-handedly, pressing his fingers into her arm like he's playing a string of notes on ivory keys of a piano.
"We could try." She murmurs back. He doesn't reply.
She watches him fall asleep as the sun rises, the sky lighting up and morphing into a canvas of pastel violets, pinkish-magentas, burgundy reds, and pale oranges, and the shades of colours highlight the bone structure of his face in just the right places. It's all so lovely and surreal.
It's almost like falling in love all over again.
x
xi. we're holding on and letting go.
x
This time she doesn't let herself over think it. She just knocks. After a few minutes, the door finally opens, and there he is, and he still looks like he hasn't slept in months. His face is hollow, and he looks lankier.
He leans against the doorframe, waiting.
"I came to give you back the book you lend me." The words rush out of her mouth fast, and she wonders if he understood any of it.
He nods his head, taking the book, and when they're fingers touch briefly, barely, she feels electricity shoot up her arm and she stands their frozen, as he continues to stare at her, studying her face.
"So you're leaving." He says it more like a statement than a question, and there's still no emotion in his voice.
"Yeah. I don't know for how long, but it doesn't really matter." A pause. "And you're staying?"
He looks away. "Narumi wants me to move in with her, but we'll see."
"Well that didn't take long, did it?" She can't help the mix of sadness and resentment that that surfaces in her voice as she asks the rhetoric question.
He looks back towards her sharply. "That's Narumi for you."
She's trying to blink away the pain taking over her body, but it won't go away, won't disappear.
"Are you happy?"
"Are you?" He shoots back smoothly, and she's going to miss this. She's going to miss his musical, velvet voice.
He laughs quietly. "It's okay. Narumi and I work. She doesn't grow too attached, and I…"
She nods her head, forcing another smile before sobering up again. "Kou—"
"Anyways, it's better this way." The world seems to be fleeting by around them, as he smiles bitterly at her. "We would never have worked. It's too complicated."
He takes a few steps closer to her as he says the last part, and time seems to slow down as he leans down, nose dipping to her cheek, and he kisses the side of her face delicately, before brushing his lips to the side of her mouth. And when he kisses her chapped lips faintly, she can see fireworks, swirls of colours so vibrant, continuous, never-ending, like life should be, glowing in the darkness beneath her eyelids, and he tastes like mint and heartbreak.
"Here's to the future, Futaba. Yours, mine's, ours." He whispers brokenly into her ear, pronouncing her name the exact same way he did all those nights ago. It's like a paradox of homeliness.
He steps away breezily and it's then she realizes what that haunting look in his honey brown–coloured eyes means. It's full of longing, desire, and maybe, just a little love.
He puts on a brave face. Or maybe it's just false bravado.
The calamities that always seem to trail behind him have finally caught up and they surround him, compress him to her into this moment, and for once he's not running away.
"I can't do this, not now after—It's too late. "
Her voice breaks at the end, and she turns around too fast, her footsteps clumsy and ungraceful, and she's tripping over herself. And somewhere in the background she can hear her name in the wind, but it's all over, from every direction and she's so confused, so very confused.
x
xii. when i am lost you have not lost me.
x
They're waiting in the terminal, and the voiceover says something about boarding and flight 89035 and somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognizes the numbers with the ticket in her hand.
She feels his hand gracefully wrap around hers and it fits so well with hers. She tries to tear away any remains of what ifs and doubts tiptoeing in the back of her mind as she looks up to see him checking over his passport.
When he looks back at her, she's met with a rush of feeling, of subduing normalcy, of stabilizing and growing love.
Her heart flutters.
It'll get easier. It has to.
"You ready for me to take you away?" He asks gently, the gravity in his voice balancing out the softness in his melting chocolate-coloured eyes.
She smiles desolately, tightening her hold on his hand, and brushing away a strand of hair from his face, before nodding her head lightly.
"Yeah. I'm ready."
x
xii. all the best of what we've done is yet to come.
x
It's because she just can't let go of the person that created this fluttering feeling in her chest for the first time.
She wishes it didn't have to be this way (she just comes back for him)
Futaba only knocks once and he opens the door, looking like he's probably expecting someone else.
"Kominato, I told you already, doing cooking classes will not make me feel better—"
There's silence, as he takes in the sight of her. (he's totally of guard, she can see)
"Do you really love me, like you said you did back then?"
She's crying silently, her cheeks wet, and she can taste the salt, the pain and confusion on her skin. (giving up everything she has just for him)
Empathy and love are two completely different feelings and she wants to believe so hard he feels the second for her.
He nods his head faintly, eyes never leaving hers.
"Yes. I do Futaba, I love you."
He takes her in his arms, and she lets him embrace her, pulls on the back of his shirt almost instinctively before wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him hold her. And as she sobs into his shirt, his hands brush up and down her back soothingly. And it's only a light material that keeps his fingers from touching her bear skin.
He slides his hand into hers and her heart clenches (because it shouldn't feel right, when it's absolutely wrong), hurts (like moths in hell), protests (an uproar of lovehate), but she still knots her fingers through his and squeezes back just to make sure he's actually here and it's like being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But maybe, just maybe, they could stay like this forever. (definitely holding on)
A/N: Loved writing this oneshot, even though I had major writer blocks and there are probably hundreds of spelling and grammar fails, but I'm so tired and just wanted to finish this. This should firstly end with Touma and Futaba, but I just once wanted to express what first loves could do with someone. The fanfic consists of time snaps (high school college, even after that) and it's not really related to the manga, just based on. I really think this song fits, since Futaba currently is going through this whole "Should I hold on or let go?" thing and it's been so long since I wrote something to Ao Haru Ride.
Review people. It took a lot of effort and time to write this.