Title: Meant to be
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: Beyblade © Takao Aoki
Rating: T
Summary: She could hear the pity in his
voice as he served her seconds. She accepted his pity, and his
food, with little hesitation. (Hiromi & Hitoshi) Mentions of slash & previous partners.
Authors Notes: I wrote this for SE, so she could have a little Hiromi-fandom-bicycle for her awesome AMV. It's not the best fic. Just something simple. Enjoy
It never ceased to amaze her, Hiromi, how much Taoko was like his brother. Proud, headstrong, passionate. It took her a long time to admit that she loved him, Taoko, long after she missed her chance with him, if indeed there had ever been one. But when she finally realized it, in the middle of her eighteenth summer, watching him blade to glory alongside his team, their friends, her family – it stopped her. It twisted her up, so that when she stumbled back to her apartment, hot and distracted, she didn't notice that she'd already moved on.
She dated Max. Date, one date, one dinner full of awkward, silent pauses, and nervous small-talk that mostly centered around the only thing they had in common – Taoko. The idol chatter tapered off near the end of the meal, during dessert, when Max (uncharacteristically) wore a solemn face and jabbed at his ice cream.
He would be challenging his mother's team again soon. And Hiromi resigned herself to the loveable, slightly annoying, always loyal friend who could cheer him on from the sidelines.
The story of her life.
She ran into Rei and Mao in the grocery store, and jealous of the remarkably comfortable silence that surrounded them, Hiromi marched home and picked up her phone. She held her fingers above the numbers and imagined her life always ordering Chinese take-out for one.
Fear was always a good incentive to make drastic, life-changing decisions.
She thought long and hard about her time with Kai. The times he annoyed her, the times he was mean. The time he betrayed them, the time he accepted her… even that one time when he saved her.
She thought of him sometimes, over the past few years. At odd intervals. When she saw a stay cat, or watched American commercials for shampoo. All that swishing and shinny hair always reminded her of Kai. It really was unfortunate that such a gruff boy would have such lovely hair.
She dialed his number.
Taoko answered.
Hiromi hung up.
And all the world fell into place. Crashing, booming, violently fickle and unfair and all the things she hated about living and having to make her own decisions. She cursed her rotten taste in men and decided to be antiquated into lonely spinsterhood at the age of 20.
After all, her world was only so big, she only knew so many boys.
That winter, she saw Brooklyn at a convention and nearly asked him to go for a cup of coffee. (It seemed as if her will to remain away from the opposite sex only extended as far as her front door.)
She didn't really know why she wanted a boyfriend, a date, hell she'd even settle for cheap motel sex at this point. Perhaps it was the long, long, dry spell she'd fallen into after that one unfortunate night she attended a Beyblade ball that ended in her losing her virginity to Yuriy in the back of a limo.
Maybe she was a whore.
She decided to get a man's opinion on the subject. An objective, wiser, (non-threatening) man. And it just so happened that she knew the perfect one.
"Hiromi-chan?" She cringed, even though she knew it was coming.
"Hitoshi-sempai." Distance, she considered, was probably a good thing. It reminded her that she probably shouldn't be checking out the older man's (older brother of her childhood friend/wished he was more/reason she's all messed up/can't get a date/lousy-good-for-nothing/GAY) Taoko's older brother.
"What's wrong? Did something happen to Taoko?"
She smiled, a coy, slightly inebriated smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. "No. I was just wondering if I could ask you something?"
"It's cold out." The middle of spring, and the weather hadn't turned balmy warm yet. "Come in."
She obeyed, leaving her shoes at the door and replacing them with a pair of his guest slippers. "Thank you."
"I was just making dinner, want some?"
No.
"Yes."
He lived alone, a bachelor. He wasn't all that old, she was forced to admit. He'd seemed so when she was younger. 14 to his 19. But now, 19 to his 24 didn't seem like such a difference. She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen and watched him stir whatever was in the large cast-iron pot. It smelled good, better than anything she'd made in a long time.
"What are you making?" the small-talk began, unassuming and effortless.
"Beef stew." He answered and replaced the lid. He looked pleased. "It's almost done."
She asked about his job.
Junior Coach to a professional squad. Traveled a lot. Like the mainland, had a small apartment in Shanghai when he wanted to get away.
She envied him. Him with his easy charm and sharp wit. So like/unlike his brother that she'd recently come to terms with loving, hadn't got around to accepting that she'd lost. She watched him move, grab a bowl, ladle stew over steaming rice.
They ate in the kitchen, in relative quiet. Dull rumblings of a brewing storm stirred outside.
He asked about her life, university was hard. Her father's illness, the break-in that happened last fall. She'd lost all her savings. They laughed together at her tragic misfortune, and the ironic twist that instant ramen would become in anyone's best friend.
She could hear the pity in his voice as he served her seconds.
She accepted his pity, and his food, with little hesitation.
And when the night was drawing to and end, she remembered why she came. But she couldn't bring herself to ask him if he thought she was broken or damaged goods. She couldn't bring herself to ask him what was wrong with her, why couldn't she just accept that she was alone. Wasn't that good enough? To have friends and be loved – distantly, always as a sister, but loved still. She didn't want to know what his answer would be.
He walked to her to the door, the hem of his sleeve touching her arm.
"You're different that I remembered." She told him.
He smiled, familiar and hinting at nostalgia. "So are you."
And he kissed her. Gently, unlike anything she'd felt before. It was strange, and sort of remote, like he was only doing it because he thought it was what she wanted.
When he pulled back, she touched his face and gave him a watery smile.
"Thank you." She meant to say goodbye.
"Come again soon. I have more food." He joked, and she tried not to laugh. You're not supposed to laugh when you feel like you're heart's breaking.
"I will." She had no intention of ever coming back to this place that reminded her of a home that was always just beyond her reach, never hers to have, but wanted it anyway.
"Hiromi-chan," he called as she made her way down the steps, to the gate. She stopped and turned, tried not to let it show that this was perfect, everything she'd ever wanted, but it didn't mean a thing to him, just for show, being nice, still just as lonely as before, felt like she was finally whole, just so she could lose it again when he shut the door – went back to his life, left her behind.
"Yes?" She was obsolete.
"Maybe next time, you could wear a dress, and I could take you out."
"Like a date?" she sputtered and stumbled oh-so-gracefully.
"Sure." He shrugged, and she reevaluated the kiss.
Tentative, slow, unpretentious. Maybe, just maybe, that's what it was like to be kissed by someone that meant it.
"Do you like me?" she asked, not daring to move her eyes.
He didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Why?"
He laughed, chuckled really. His shoulders shook and he dipped his head. He looked like Taoko.
"Because, it's easy." She smiled, satisfied with the blush on her cheeks and the giggle caught in her throat. "Hey, what was it you wanted to ask me?"
She shrugged and stuck her hands in her pockets. "Nothing, much." She smiled, with her back to him, and walked into the cool breeze. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself, a buffer against the chill.
It never ceased to amaze her, Hiromi, how much Taoko was like his brother. Proud, headstrong, passionate. Even now, years later, a happy home built on memories of 'that time when Taoko…' and 'remember when we…' It was pleasant, simple, almost routine to fall into place beside Hitoshi, like maybe she'd always been there – coaches of sorts – the outsiders, or so it seemed.
It was a happy life. Loud sometimes, competitive, always eventful. It was a good life, one with friends, and family and an unexpected love, fostered from a girl's insecurities.
He asked her more than once, why she really came over that night. But she'd just smile that smiled she reserved for him. That secret, solstice thing that only he knew of, and told him to mind his own business.
Yes, it was a good life. Because even sometimes, when you don't end up where you expected, or with who you used to want, somehow, it almost feels like it was all just meant to be.