He's never really thought too much about it, but he has done a lot of stupid (and responsible) things in an incredibly short amount of time. There are occasions he thinks his hair will go grey from just the memory of it all, unable to handle the sudden poofs and bangs and floating and crying. He's sixteen now, ready to enter his second year of high school, and he feels like he's 40 or 50 or something, and already seen his kid off into the world. It's a stage of his life, he knows, and a short one, but here in this temple with just his oyaji lying around dregs up a sense of loneliness he hasn't felt in years.
Miyu had left not long after Ruu and Wanya did after all. He hasn't thought about, hasn't wanted to think about it, but it kind of hurts, even though he knew that everything was temporary. And if he can't sleep properly, well, it's just that he hasn't adjusted properly, that's all. He's still top of his class, still able to cook and clean and sew and... why is he even thinking about this again?
It's not like he's been abandoned. He's gotten letters, emails, and even phone calls from her and video chats Ruu on a semi-regular basis through the transmitter he had been given for his birthday two years ago. He's still got his friends too, still as strange and interesting, but somehow, somehow even Hanakomachi's machinations don't manage to make the days more entertaining.
"Saionji-kun!" he hears for the millionth time, but turns to look anyway. Immediately a crowd of second year girls surrounds him, and he hasn't the faintest clue what is going on. Some of the second years are glaring at the first years, who are clearly heading to the orientation ceremony that everyone else will attend later, after homeroom. He glances over at the new first years, and a good percent of them seem to be just staring at him, though in awe over him or his popularity, he doesn't know.
One of the girls whom he had met last year, Kamiya, grabs his arm and leads him to his class (2-A, he finds out) confidently, though he knows that she's still, like everyone else, trying to avoid Hanakomachi's wrath. The scariest thing about the entire scenario is that he's less creeped out by the fact that everyone knows what class he'll be in before he does, than the fact that her arm doesn't feel right. He has a sudden running flashback of all the times Miyu has grabbed him out of fright and sighs, shaking off the thought and the girl with a gentle tug and a "sorry, I have to get to class now" before he sprints toward homeroom.
She's no longer in America. The fact astounds him to silence, and he reads the email again, just be entirely sure. Her parents have apparently allowed her to instead live by herself and attend a school in Tokyo of her choice, which should be surprising, and yet, he knows how irresponsible her parents are, so it isn't.
But Miyu is responsible, more than he ever gave her credit for, and if she didn't know how to cook and clean, she wouldn't bother, but a feeling that he can't describe bubbles up anyway and it takes him a few good minutes to realise that it feels like betrayal. And it's a beyond ridiculous notion, because he doesn't, shouldn't really have a say in what she does. And she's going to need to go to a good high school to go to a good college, and she's going to do great and amazing things that she can't quite do out in the suburbs or countryside and... damn. He kind of wants to chase her now. It's just an idea, but an idea that has him fidgeting every dinner for a full three weeks.
Oyaji brings it up first. "So Miyu-chan's not in America anymore," he comments in that knowing voice he knows Kanata hates.
"Yeah," he says, and stuffs his face with rice because he's not sure how long his ability to use chopsticks is going to last with his shaky fingers.
"I hear she's doing really well. Transferred into one of the top schools in Tokyo."
He doesn't even respond to that one, because he has nothing to say, but nods in understanding.
"I hear she's become really beautiful too." Kanata knows she's always been pretty, but hearing his oyaji say it is just one step too strange.
"Oyaji, what's your point?" he senses that this conversation is not going to end unless he is a willing participant.
A sad smile passes over his father's face, and he almost regrets saying anything at all. "Kanata, it is okay to be selfish sometimes. I know I have."
He barely refrains from snorting. When he first got that phone call, he could have punched through a wall.
"Again, Oyaji, what's your point?"
"Go to Tokyo." Kanata stiffens. "It's okay; I'll manage here alone."
He can't say anything, not even because he doesn't want to, but because his mind has gone completely blank.
"Kanata?"
"I'm not going, Oyaji," he says, and gulps down the rest of his meal to promptly leave.
He should really go. He's thinking this a full week after that first conversation, and his oyaji hasn't even brought it up again, because they both know how much he's been thinking about it. Well, today is the today his old man has won-he has finally looked up the school that she's attending. It's large and grand and normal at the same time, he decides. Because on one hand, all the pictures bleed outright pretentiousness, and on the other, it has the feel of manga normalcy, like most schools send a third of their kids to Tōdai. And the males wear gakurans. Gakurans. He wants to scoff at himself for even considering attending, but somehow, he knows he'll end up there.
It's like it's (she's) calling him or something.
A week later, he's still resisting the idea, but after a nap on Monday afternoon, he decides, to hell with it. He'll study for the transfer exam.
He tells his father over dinner.
"Good," he says, as if he wasn't the one that launched his son through all the turmoil. After a sip of miso soup, he adds, "I hope you get along with Miyu this time."
"We got along fine last time," he manages to say with a straight face. And he's no longer thirteen; he knows how to deal with girls. His mind brings up the unnecessary image of what he assumes is his fan club. Kind of.
His oyaji just says, "Indeed," with an expression that frankly pisses Kanata off.
But he doesn't say anything, and his father switches the subject to something else that he can barely follow, and Kanata resigns himself to absent uh-huh's and yeah's.
At the end of the meal, he reminds himself to express his gratitude despite his ire and actually does. "Thanks Oyaji." He pauses. "I'll visit."
"I'll be waiting."
"Ah," he says, because they both know he'll come back when he's ready.
He makes it into the school. Not that he ever really had a doubt or anything, but it had been the most effort he had put into anything for a while now. He doesn't tell her about it though because he's just not ready to admit that he's picking up and moving for a girl, for anyone. He wants to tell himself that he's being an idiot, but this is possibly the smartest decision he has made in years, and he 'll see her in two days.