Looking Through One Eye
Kyon pressed the ESC key. A choice permanently writing over the fabric of time. The girl with the glasses was now free. She gave him a short smile, when he gave her the literature club form. His name written on the top. But now, this normal girl was forced to watch as the current of causation pulled her along, dragging her through sights she wished not to see. The way he brought the girl with ribbons into his arms. Those whispers she heard spoken into the other girl's ear. There were dreams which haunted her. The times she touched him, felt the warmth of his skin, the way his chest moved with each breath, only to suddenly wake up. Her stomach aching, begging, crying. She was free. Free to feel. And free to be hurt.
Nagato read The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle on the windowsill. A light rain tapped on the window beside her. The sky was dark. The sun set early in winter. A pale yellow light filled the room by the lamp on the table. Droplets of water stuck to the glass beside her. The pale of her skin reflected in the tiny mirrors. Like a rainbow passing through a prism; a perfect white formed in light. She wore her purple hair short. The strands cut above her ears. Three piercings lined one ear lobe; she wore a jean jacket over a black shirt.
The room was silent. Nagato was alone. She was always alone.
The girl with the ribbons, Haruhi, was hosting another meeting at the café. Kyon spoke about it during lunch. He leaned against the doorway, his tanned coat draped over his arm.
"You should come," he said.
"Why?" Nagato asked, keeping her attention entrenched in her book.
"You're a member of the brigade too. It'll be fun. I promise."
Nagato returned to the literature club after classes. She did not trust Kyon's promises. Especially the promises in regards to the girl with ribbons. He liked to believe there was something special about Haruhi. A hidden charm hibernating beneath her arrogant exterior. Nagato saw no evidence of this. Haruhi, in Nagato's experience, was just a cocky girl who refused to let others speak. Nagato felt as invisible in the café, as she was alone in the literary club.
Kyon was convinced Nagato and Haruhi were going to get along. Like he had knowledge of a deeper truth about them. Nagato knew this was false. He understood a shadow, and mistook it for the real girl. Nagato was never going to like Haruhi. Not while Kyon stared at her the way he did.
She'd been waiting so long for him: the second member of the literature club. How did it end up like this? There was a picture in her head. The way she used to imagine it. When she first saw him, the boy who helped her get her library card, it felt surreal. Like the picture had stepped into reality. A dream too perfect to be believed: the boy she wished for was here, in her club. But, truthfully, she'd been staring at the picture so long, that she mistook it for reality. If only she thought of the right words, she'd have him. If only she could try again. Instead, she was alone again; holding the picture close to her heart.
Koizumi knocked on the door around seven. Initially, Nagato mistook him for Kyon; she stayed silent, wondering why Kyon would return. She tried to hide her surprise when Koizumi walked through the door. Koizumi looked like he had been caught out in the rain. He wore a leather jacket over a black cardigan. A small denim bag hung off his left shoulder. The sleeves and back of his jacket were covered in water dripping down his body. The pants he wore, tight black jeans, clung to his skin. His hair was held in a mess; the strands weighed down by the rain. He shivered as he entered the room, took off his jacket, and rested it on the back of a chair.
"Excuse me," he spoke, after opening the door. "How are you Yuki?"
Nagato stared at the unexpected guest. "I'm fine."
Koizumi flashed her an innocent smile. "That's good."
He moved beside the bookshelf, where a coffee maker rested on a small table. Grabbing the cord behind it, he checked if the machine was plugged in. He opened the cupboard underneath the bookshelf and grabbed a mug and coffee filter. "Do you want any coffee?" he asked. Nagato shook her head. From his bag, he took a small zip lock bag filled with ground coffee. He put a small amount into a filter, poured water into the coffee maker, and turned the machine on.
"I'm here on behalf of the Brigade. Haruhi got pretty upset when you did not show up. She talked about how important it was for the full group to be there. Apparently it was so important she sent me to come get you. Don't worry though. I'm not going to drag you out. To be honest, I'm still not very familiar with this area, and I got kind of lost outside in the rain. I'm wet and cold, and I'm not going back out there till it's stopped."
"I'm not coming with you," she said under her breath.
"No? That's too bad. Haruhi's not going to be pleased with that. She doesn't like when things don't go her way."
"Why did you come, and not Kyon?"
"I'm not sure. Haruhi insisted I should go. Kyon didn't say anything. Not that I blame him, it's hard to talk Haruhi out of something once she has her mind set. I wouldn't take it personally though. Haruhi has been using me as her errand boy recently. Guess that's all a transfer student is good for.
"Why do you listen to her?" Nagato asked quietly.
"She's stubborn, but," he paused, trying to choose the proper words. "I don't know." Koizumi laughed. "I guess I'm just a fool in love. A damned fool."
Nagato turned her attention back towards her book. Koizumi sat back into a chair. The coffee maker gurgled. The noise of the rain hitting the window filled the room. Koizumi emptied his bag onto the table: two pens, a three ring binder, a pack of clove cigarettes, two cassette tapes, City of Glass, moisturizer, a purple lighter, a silver flask and a pair of sunglasses. He checked each for water damage. He'd bring them close to his face, turning the angles, examining the details. The pages of City of Glass were warped; the spine curved to the side. He let out a sigh.
"Is there sugar anywhere?" Koizumi asked, his hand resting on top of the ruined book.
"There should be some under the shelves."
"Thanks." Koizumi opened the cupboard once more. He crouched down to his knees. The sugar was hidden near the back. It took him a moment, shifting through the assorted things in front of it. When he stood up, he held the sugar close to his heart in one hand, and a small stereo in another. The stereo was an old GE radio; a long black rectangle with two round speakers on either end. A thin blue line was painted across the face. Koizumi poured himself a cup of coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar. "You mind if I play some music?" he asked.
"Go ahead."
Koizumi unplugged the coffeemaker, and replaced it with the stereo's cord. With his right sleeve, he brushed some of the dust off the front of the stereo. He blew onto the speaker cages, hoping to clear them off. From the pile of things he took out of his bag, he grabbed one of the cassettes. The eject button was stiff; he tried pressing it repeatedly before it opened. He fit the tape into the slot, and pressed play. Love Will Tear Us Apart started to play.
"You like Joy Division?" He asked. "I also have a Swans tape, if you'd prefer that."
"I don't listen to music." Nagato replied.
"Really?"
"Yes," she said, resigned.
"Strange. I can't imagine my life without it." He paused. Love Will Tear Us Apart blared roughly from the old stereo. "Well, I guess we all have our idiosyncrasies. You love books; I love music. It all depends on how you grew up."
"I guess," Nagato spoke, her focus remained on her book.
"Although, that's not completely true. I didn't grow up with music. Never really experienced it. First time I really listened to a record was three years ago. On Tanabata, I found an unmarked tape on a park bench. I slipped it into my pocket, and played it when I got home. There were these loud drums, and an eerie sounding singer. It felt magical. Like a gift from God. As every song played, there was something new. A new emotion, feeling, thought, whatever, that I experienced. I can't describe it. Ever since I was a child, I felt this hole inside me. Like there was an extra sense waiting to be awakened. And, well, as corny as it may sound, I felt like this record filled it. I knew who I was, when I listened to it. At least, it felt like I did. Later, I found out it was Siouxie and the Banshee's Juju. I dedicated myself to finding more like it. Pop music became my God, if that makes any sense." He stopped, and took a sip of his cup. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. I'm being rude. You don't care about opinion of music. Sorry. I've been out of sorts recently. Haven't been thinking things through."
Nagato stayed silent. The rain started to intensify. She held The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle close to her chest. The cold from the window cut sharply into her left side.
Koizumi finished his cup of coffee. Transmission started to play. The song crooned loudly, muffled and distorted through the old speakers. Koizumi grabbed the pack of clove cigarettes from the table, and moved towards the window.
"Do you mind if I smoke in here? I don't want to go outside again. I'll open a window."
"Okay," Nagato said.
He moved to the window furthest from Nagato, next to the corner. The window was closed with a latch on the top. Koizumi struggled to pull it free. The cold metal latch was stuck in place. He tucked the pack of cigarettes into one of his cardigan's pockets, and used both hands to force it free. With a snapping noise, the window folded down. A cold breeze flew into the room. Rain hit the exposed screen.
Koizumi took a black cigarette from his pocket, put it in his mouth, and lit it with his purple lighter, exhaling in one long, slow breath. The smoke mixed with the winter cold passing through the window. He leaned against the wall, the cigarette held between his fingers, and stared straight towards Nagato. Her eyes watched him, over top of her book.
"Hey Yuki."
"Yes?"
"Why are you sitting on the windowsill? It must be cold there."
She moved the book down onto her lap. "I like the cold." She spoke shyly. Her long green skirt bunched around her knees. Koizumi inhaled; the cigarette resting between his lips.
"You cut your hair recently." He observed.
Nagato's face blushed. She brought her hand to the side of her face, feeling the edge of the hair cut above her ear. The rain beat down on the glass beside her. "Yes." she was barely able to say, the syllable long and soft.
"I like it. It goes well with your glasses."
"Thank you."
Koizumi looked out the window. The sky was covered by clouds. All of the stars were hidden; the moon was nowhere. Across from the window, a couple of lights were on in the school. Their glow was blurred by the rain. The grounds were bare; there was no trace of life to be seen. A blanket of rain poured down. It was no longer the light drizzle of before. The weather had turned into a storm. If they hoped to avoid getting wet, then it would be a long night before them. Clear skies were a memory. They were trapped in that room, the literature club. Two kids, who barely knew each other, barely spoke, were together. Nagato rubbed the corner of the page she was reading with her thumb. The tip of Koizumi's cigarette glowed.
"It's really pretty here at night. How surreal. You know, I almost went to this school." Koizumi said, solemnly staring out the window.
"Really?" Nagato asked, looking over the top of her book.
"Yeah. I had to decide between here and Kouyouen Academy. At the last minute, I picked Kouyouen. It just had a better reputation." The burnt cigarette crept to the filter between his fingers. "Initially, I was convinced I chose the right school. I had real confidence in my decision; there couldn't be a better school than Kouyouen. Sort of a naive view, but that's the effect of Haruhi. I'd never had a friend like her before. She was so personal; curious about every detail concerning my life. I'd always had trouble connecting with others. In middle-school, I was the silent kid in the corner. Before I transferred, I barely talked to anyone in my first high school. Those first two weeks passed by like a blur. Haruhi was able to slow it all down. She made Kouyouen feel like home. Make everything clear again. Sort of like how my music used to: my pop music god personified."
Koizumi reached forward, and put out his cigarette against the window screen. The butt seared as it touched the barrier between the outside and inside. A cold wind blew through; rain drops hit the screen. "Now, that feels so distant, like a past life, like a dream. Haruhi's so interested in this other world Kyon talks about, it's like she's forgotten about me. I think the only reason she still keeps me around, is because Kyon told her I'm apart of this brigade. It bugs me. Everything I've wanted, desired, hoped for, was dangled before my eyes, only to be torn away."
He turned his head towards the wall. The emotion of voice became grating. Words poured out of his mouth like a torrent; a series of emotions without thought. The strings unwound of his personal knot. "I'm jealous. I'm so fucking jealous. It's tearing me apart." His words were venomous. He made no attempt to hide his anger: the overwhelming frustration. "Even the way Haruhi looks at him bugs me. Why can't she look at me that way? What does he have? Keeping me around to be part of this brigade, it feels cruel. I'm delegated to being the errand boy, while this girl, wonderful girl, falls for that idiot. I can't stand it. But, if I leave the brigade, then Haruhi will never speak to me again. And that'd be even worse."
He paused for a moment. A calmness overtook his tone. "I don't hate Kyon. I don't. Hell, in a certain way, I sympathize with him. Eventually she'll get bored of this whole other world stuff, and she'll get bored with him. The same thing will happen, and he'll be hurt just as badly as I am." He stared out the window. The lights from the building continued to blur into a ball of yellow. A wide, rough image of its usual sharpness.
"But, still, in a sense, I do hate him. I hate him so fucking much. He's ruined everything. I, I, I just, dammit, I." Koizumi slammed his hand against the window sill. He kneeled down, curling his arms around his legs. Nagato sat still, watching him over her book. "I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. You don't need to hear about my troubles. That was uncalled for," he spoke, his cheeks resting against his knees.
Nagato put down her book; The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle laid open on the windowsill. She walked over to Koizumi, stopping just above him. Her arms hugged her sides, as she tried to build up courage. The weight shifted from one foot to the other. Weeks ago, the literary club was empty. Nagato read her books, dreaming of company. Someone who would spend time with her in the clubroom. Now, she was overwhelmed. She did not know how to act. Kyon had broken down her barriers. When she was around him, she believed she could face her anxieties. Defeat the butterflies which fought in her stomach each time she met someone new. She'd been fine since Koizumi entered the room, but now, it all felt so different. This was not how it was supposed to play out. This was not what she wrote.
She crouched down next to the boy, and slowly rested her arm over top of his back. "It's okay," she said quietly. Isolation played from the stereo. The static from the old speakers droned out Ian Curtis' words. Koizumi stayed silent; Nagato grabbed his shoulder. She tightened her hand. The lamp on the table threw their shadows on the windows. Rain poured down. The running drums continued to play from the music.
"Thanks," Koizumi finally spoke, standing up. A small smile grew on his face. "It's really pouring out there. How are we going to get home? Do you have an umbrella?"
"No," Nagato said.
"Shit."
"We can wait a little longer." Nagato suggested.
"I guess."
Koizumi sat down at the table. Nagato grabbed The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle from the windowsill. She held the book close to her heart. The safest place to keep it. Nagato moved over to the table, and shifted her hands through the pile of things from Koizumi's bag. The Swan's tape laid on top of the three ring binder. City of Glass sat to the side, the water damage warping the pages. Nagato grabbed the book, and felt the edge of the pages. Her finger moved delicately along the waves. She brushed the cover, and moved it next to the sunglasses. A pair of gold aviators rested on top of the silver flask.
"What's this?" She asked.
"Gin," Koizumi said, leaning against the window sill.
Nagato grabbed the flask, opened the top, and took a sip, the bitter taste biting. "You drink it often?"
"No. My brother gave it to me for Christmas. A strange gift to give a freshman, right?" Koizumi laughed, as if recalling a joke. "He told me to share it with someone special. He loves giving those sorts of particular gifts. One year, he gave me this DVD of the movie Persona. And he told me I could only watch it on a warm stuffy day. When it's so overwhelming, that you can't think, or concentrate, or focus, that's when I could watch it. It's like he views life as a play, where everything's better if it's been ideally set. Anyways, I've been carrying the flask around with me, looking for the proper opportunity. That special person he talked about. Cause, You know, sometimes you can't anticipate it. So, I thought, I'd bring it with me everywhere. Just in case the I found someone, or sometime, which felt right. I was hoping to share it with Haruhi, but it seems like that dream is ever fading away."
"Sorry," Nagato said. She was ashamed of taking a sip. The sides of her cheeks turned a rosy pink.
"Hey," Koizumi said, walking towards Nagato. "Don't be like that. It's no problem. In fact, I think tonight would be a wonderful night to drink it. We're in the literature club, at night, trapped in a storm. That sounds pretty special to me. And there's just the two of us. We're the only ones who get to experience it. That makes us pretty special too." Delicately, he grabbed the flask from Nagato's hand. His fingers brushed the inside of her palm. Continuing in a single motion, he took a large swig. The muscles on his face tightened, but he tried to act cool. Like it was no problem at all. Like there were no problems at all.
The two of them moved to the table, and sat across from each other. They'd take a swig from the flask, stretch their arm forward, and pass it to the other. Nagato tried to take smalls sips; Koizumi liked rough gulps. Rain tapped on the window; Joy Division continued to sing. Novelty buzzed from the speakers. The small lamp lay between them. A soft yellow brightened their faces. The shadows muted around them.
After a couple of rotations in silence, Koizumi finally spoke. "Have you known Kyon long? He's the only other member of the literature club, right?"
"Yes, no, maybe." She hesitated. "No." She held the flask with both of her hands. "I only met him a day before you." A tremble moved through her arms. The flask shook. Koizumi's eyes watched her movement. She took a large sip, trying to hide her actions.
"Why the hesitation?" Koizumi asked.
"What hesitation?" Nagato insisted, pretending she was acting normal.
"Come on Yuki, you can talk to me." Nagato extended her arms, passing the flask across the table. With slight reluctance, Koizumi took it from her hands. He drank a quick sip, and shot his arms across the table, signalling her to take it back. "I'm serious Yuki."
"I met him once before. Only briefly."
"Yeah? Tell me about it."
Nagato took the flask from Koizumi's hand, and brought it close to her chest. Could she tell him about Kyon? "He helped me get a library card, near the beginning of the year. I was standing in the stacks, confused, and he asked me if I needed help. I mentioned I wanted to take out a book, but I didn't know how. He brought me to the check out desk, did most of the talking, and got me a card. Before I could thank him, he walked away, and disappeared into the crowd." She took a sip of the gin.
"Huh, well, sounds like the sort of thing a boy claiming to be from an other world would do. What a weird guy. Then you met him a day before he met me and Haruhi?"
"Yes. I think."
"It must have been strange, seeing him again. He just walked through the door?" Koizumi said, referring to the door to the literature club.
"Yes. But, it wasn't strange." She brought the flask to her lips and took another sip, and then another, and then another. For the first time, she started to speak without her filters. Uncensored by her own anxieties. "Ever since that day, I knew he was going to walk through that door. It something I was sure of, as sure as I am of anything else in my life. That boy, I was going to meet him again. For months, I dreamed about it. I knew it. I knew it."
"And then it happened?" Koizumi asked.
"And then it happened," Nagato repeated. "It was surreal. Like all those dreams became real. I was happy, so happy. He looked so relieved to see me. As if he understood how I felt. I could have died in that gaze. But," she took another sip. "but it wasn't right. He acted strange, forceful, confused, asking about this other girl. I hadn't expected that. I didn't know what to say, how to calm him down, make him understand what he meant to me. And it continued that way. I was just this silent, pathetic, girl, too afraid to face him. And now, he's with Haruhi."
Koizumi stayed silent. The girl with the glasses, with the short purple hair, covered her face with her hands. Love Will Tear Us Apart started to play again; the different mix at the end of the tape.
Through her hands, Nagato continued to speak. "I have these dreams. The two of us are together in bed. He's lying next to me on his back, completely naked. I stay still, watching his chest rise with each breath. Everything's silent. All I can hear is the sound of air passing through him. I move my hand over to his hips, and I feel the warmth of his body. His skin feels so smooth in my grasp. It feels like home, or whatever I ever imagined home to feel like. It's sublime. I smile. One those smiles you get, when you feel comfortable, when all your guards are down, when you feel completely safe."
"And then I wake up in tears, alone, in my bed. When he first enterred, I felt like I finally found someone who cared about me. Who wanted to spend time with me. But I was just a convenience. I was a tool he used to find Haruhi. Nothing more. I feel ... I feel ... I feel dead inside. So fucking dead inside, like the life is gone from me. This past year, I waited for him, my boy, and he's completely torn me apart.
She took another sip from the flask, and continued. "I have these other dreams. In them, I'm powerful. I can change the world around me. Shift the fabric of the world to my desire. And I walk over to him. He's sitting alone on a park bench, under the stars. I tell him. I tell him how much more I am. How important I can be. And then he says..." She stopped. The words were gone from her mouth. Joy Division played their last note; the tape stopped. A single tear crawled down her cheek. Rain tapped on the window.
Koizumi stared in silence. The girl with the glass sat exposed before him. "It's not healthy to think that way Yuki. You are important. You're," he struggled to find the words for a moment, "you're more than a superstar."
"You're one to speak. Aren't you just a transfer student?" Nagato said. Her words were harsh, with a noticeably biting tone.
Koizumi laughed at his own words thrown back at him. "You have me there. But, that doesn't make it healthy. Neither of us should put ourselves down like that. We're a real mess, aren't we? Both fools in love." Koizumi commented.
"I guess so," Nagato agreed.
Nagato passed the flask across the table. A silence filled the space between them. Beats sounded from the surface of the window: rain hitting down, and from the edges of their chests: hearts racing. Koizumi brought the flask to his lips. Reaching into one of the pockets in his cardigan, he took out another cigarette. He stood from the table, handed Nagato back the flask, and moved to the open window.
"Are you familiar with Plato's Symposium?" He asked, lighting the tip of the black cigarette with his purple lighter.
"No." Nagato placed the flask down on the table.
"Well, it's about a number of great men in ancient Greece talking about the meaning of love. Aristophanes gives this, like, mythological account what he believes love is. According to him, originally, there were three sexes, woman/woman, woman/man, and man/man. All three genders had two heads, four arms, four legs, and looked like two people standing back to back. Now, back then, everyone was happy, there was no fighting, no wars, no competition. People were content. And Zeus, an ever jealous god, seeing all of this, got real angry at this. So, he decided to strike down each of the genders. With a lightning bolt, he cut each person down the middle, separating them into two. According to Aristophanes, love is each person's desire to be reattached together: to become whole again. Our lives are dominated by the hope that we can connect once more with our other half, and be happy again. We have sex as a way to momentarily be connected, but the feeling is fleeting. We can never really go back to what we had, so love is this ultimately futile exercise. We can never really get what we want."
He continued, "but, sometimes, it seems to me that love is the opposite. Love is this desire to split ourselves in half once more. We pretend we're happy, we pretend we have this perfection, we pretend we can be whole again, so that we can cut ourselves in half once more. Love is not coming together, but falling apart. And this time, we won't have two arms, or two legs. we'll be hoping around on one leg, and looking through one eye."
Koizumi exhaled slowly; the lit cigarette dangled between two fingers. A crack of thunder shouted around them; lightning illuminated the room. Flashes of white filled the area around them. Nagato stayed seated at the table. She played with the flask between her hands.
"That's a pretty sad way to look at it." Nagato spoke.
"I guess so." Koizumi replied. "Though, I'm not really sure what I'm saying. I think I may be drunk."
"Don't worry about it, I think I understand." Nagato stared at her hands. They clasped the flask tightly, as if it were her last hope. But, there was no hope in the gin. There was only numbness. She wanted an escape. Not an escape from the literature club, but an escape from the place she'd put herself in. As the girl with glasses, waiting for Kyon, not Yuki Nagato.
She turned her head towards the boy leaning against the window. The tip of his cigarette glowed. Rain fell behind him.
"Itsuki."
"Yeah?"
"Could you ... could you hold me?"
"What?" Koizumi asked, caught off guard.
Nagato stared down at her feet. She'd been afraid for so long, living her life in those words she wrote, in those books she read, in those dreams she had, lying next to him. But now, she wanted to live in real life. She wanted to write her story in action, not in words. She stood up from the table, and pushed her chair back.
"Could you hold me?" she repeated. Her arms hugged the side of her hips. "I want to pretend I'm whole. Even if it's just a fantasy."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I've felt so broken recently. All of my emotions have been wrong, confused: a mess. I can't think. I can't concentrate. I want to feel comfortable. I want to feel the warmth of another human being. And not in my dreams, in reality, with real human emotions."
Koizumi put out his cigarette on the screen; Nagato walked towards him. The storm sang a sad tune. Koizumi took her into his arms. Two unstable, awkward lumps of warm flesh holding onto each other. Koizumi had his arms wrapped around her back, and she had her breasts pressed against his chest. Koizumi leaned against the window; the bitter cold bit into his back. They stayed in that position for a long time, holding each other without a word. Nagato could feel his warm breath on her neck.
The storm continued to rage. Winds whistled through the screen, blowing through their embrace. Nagato rested her right leg between his thighs. His arms tightened, bring her chest closer. She moved her hand onto his waist, beneath his shirt. The skin felt warm and soft to her touch; hairs stood up as she brushed them. She could feel the boy's erection jab her hips. In his arms, she was real; all of the different moments, feelings, breaths were proof of her existence. She was alive. She was alive.
Leaning her head upwards, she placed a light kiss on his lips. And then another, and then another. Until, finally, his hands grasped her back, and brought her into a real long kiss. Thunder exploded outside; a crack of lightning filled the room with a bright flash. Everything was illuminated in that moment. All of the details of the boy's face were clear, all of her anxieties were laid out bare, all of those dreams dissipated into the past. Now, she was no longer the girl with the glasses, dreaming of that old picture. She was Yuki Nagato, in the moment. A flare of life: feeling fully of what made her human. The piece which always felt so far away.
There, in the literature club, there was not two. There was one, pretending to be whole.
It was another half hour before the storm settled. The clouds eventually parted, allowing the soft light from the moon to sneak into the room. Nagato and Koizumi stayed in the same position. Their mouths continued to connect; their hands continued to explore each others chests. But, as it started to get late, they knew it had to eventually break.
When they parted, Nagato agreed to attend the next brigade meeting. She'd been given a reason to. Haruhi could be alright, if Nagato was with Koizumi. Koizumi, in turn, left with the sign up form for the literature club. He promised, even though they did not attend the same school, he'd become the third member of the literature club. She gave him a short smile.
When Kyon chose this alternate world, he may not have anticipated the ways it would differ from the world he was used to. Particularly, he may not have envisioned the new life he was giving to the girl with the glasses. Presented with the opportunity to be human, to feel, she chose a different life. Freedom gave her the power to be what she desired. Not what she needed to be. And that, to her, was the most important thing of all.
...
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Author's Notes:
The Joy Division Tape Koizumi plays is called Permanent; it starts and finishes with Love Will Tear Us Apart. Koizumi incorrectly summaries Aristophanes' story, this is done for thematic purposes.
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Thanks. BJ.