2/5
The woodland looked like an unfinished painting. Most of nature's tarpaulin was polar-white, as the winter coated everything with its icy blanket. They were walking quietly among branches hanging low from the weight of snow, while the frost patiently tickled their faces. The boy's boots charted a trail of clear footprints as they ploughed through the powdered ground. He kept stealing glances to his side, where his companion's bare feet sauntered the frozen land leaving no trace. Noticing the bewilderment in his gaze, the dryad stifled a giggle.
"What?"
"You're taller than me now."
He drew his hand over his head, tracking the imaginary mark of his height.
"It's called growing up." He cockily bestowed upon her a lopsided smile, which only stretched wider when she met it with a pout.
"Not fair", she grunted, but the next moment her eyes gleamed. "Hey, did you plant it?"
"No, not yet. I was busy. I work now. But I will! I definitely will."
The nymph's focus drifted away from his earnest affirmations. Intricate patterns of silver floated weightlessly down, each swirling flake a masterpiece of glacial mesh.
"Did you know that every snowflake starts out as a grain of dust?" She checked his reaction, the negative shake of his head boosting her zeal to continue. "A small speck of dust or pollen catches water vapor in the sky. It eventually shapes a crystal. And as it cascades to the ground and temperature changes, it builds up to a diamond. An ancient proverb says that a snowflake never falls in the wrong place. Imagine all these insignificant little wonders...yet destined to settle right here...right now."
Enthralled, the boy captured such a wonder in his hand. The snowflake held its filigreed form for a few seconds and then, it melted.
"Destined to melt when they touch the earth."
"Yes. You can say they fall to their death."
Eventually, their path widened to a spacious glade. In its middle, a lake nestled quietly, carpeted with thick ice that blurred under the wintry moonlight. It was ringed with coniferous trees, whose juniper shades still leapt out on the lower boughs and pyramid peaks made it look like a regal crown of the forest. With most of their residents hibernating, the surroundings spread silent. The sole ripple in the air was an occasional sound like a cracking whip, as the ice shifted in the frozen lagoon.
"Let's go!"
"Wa-wait!"
She swiftly grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him on the frosty surface. However, her enthusiasm wasn't enough to keep him standing. Unable to mimic her graceful skating, he zigzagged clumsily for a few meters, until his heel slipped off and he found himself tripping over air. The dryad spiraled around him, watching his failed attempts to rise back to his feet.
"Don't just flap your arms, it won't help."
"Nothing will. I need ice blades, I can't just glide on my boots. It's too cold and slippery."
The immortal maiden mulled over his human limits and slid to a halt in front of him.
"Here, take my hands."
She helped him stand up and maintain his balance, before instructing him to close his eyes. He obeyed, albeit hesitantly, until a splitting sound beneath his boots terrified him.
"The ice! It's going to crack!
"Ssshhh, don't worry. Just trust me...and listen."
"Listen what? I can't hear anything."
"The music."
First came the susurration of leaves, as if the tall pines engulfing them were swaying against the wind. He scoured around but the cold had stilled the land as far as his eyes could reach. And then, he heard it. A soothing melody scaling up from somewhere deep. Dulcet notes creating a wordless chant, accompanied by burbling streams and chirping birds, all noises that bore no right in the heart of winter. This mysterious music was coming from within. It was her. The dryad was humming inside his head.
Below them, big cracks fractured the ice like a web. In a bizarre phenomenon, sago pondweeds emerged from the rifts, immensely tall and flexible, branching out dozens of thick, green limbs. They hugged their knees and feet like giant snakes, keeping them steady, and before the boy could fathom what was happening, he was already soaring along the nymph above the shattered lake. The currents up high swept his tweed flat cap off, unleashing his hazel mane, and he clung onto her with all his might. But she lulled him with a smile, gently guided his hand on her waist and intertwined their chilled fingers.
"Dance with me."
Her song was still infiltrating his mind. It drained him of all his fears, and, really, the motions of the enchanted pondweeds were rather delicate after all. They waltzed together, hovering close to the lake or sailing towards the ghostly moon, the marvel was perpetual. The view of the polar-white woodland was magnificent and the fact its daughter was unable to fly, having to rely on their extraordinary lifts just like him, thawed his lonely heart.
When the music hushed and their feet grazed the ice again, whether minutes or ages had strolled by, he couldn't tell. The giant pondweeds had crystallized into a grotesque sculpture arching over them. With their hands and souls still tangled, they yielded into each other's gaze, until he breathed out heavily.
"What's wrong?"
"It isn't easy being a human. I'd much rather stay like this."
The verdant monument smashed into a thousand glittering fragments. They rained upon them, forging a lustrous dome of jade and silver. But as they were nearing the chalky ground, those argent splinters transformed to bowl-shaped, white flowers, adorned with tufts of golden-yellow stamens. Soon the lake was but a wellspring of Hellebore blossoms. One of them smoothly floated into the boy's open palm and the tree nymph curled back his fingers to shield its brilliance.
"Whenever you feel lost, remember my gift. It will chase your worries away."
For a moment stagnant in time, the boy stared at her, mesmerised by the wavy strands of walnut crowning the twinkling summer wine in her eyes. The snow began thickening.
"I need to head back."
Her gaze tailed after him as he picked up his tweed flat cap and dusted the icy shards off. And when he awarded her with a bright smile and started walking away, she kept on watching. Even when he became nothing but a black dot within the white onslaught. All around her, clumps of flakes continued fluttering windlessly down...one...two...
. ..three...four...Behind the window pane of a coffee shop, Ikuya is counting the first snowflakes. Timid signs of an upcoming blizzard, they abolish their hexagon shapes as soon as they kiss the glass, leaving wet traces of seraphs.
"Did you know that every snowflake starts out as a grain of dust?" he unexpectedly utters. Across him, Hiyori looks up from their training schedule.
"Come again?"
"Water vapor freezes onto dust particles and they turn into ice crystals, growing as they fall into a myriad of different shapes. There's an old proverb, a snowflake never falls in the wrong place. These snowflakes now outside were destined to die here."
Ikuya takes a sip from his peppermint hot chocolate, relishing the warmth of the cup that radiates through his fingers and overlooking his friend's incredulous expression.
"Have you been reading that kids' book of yours again?"
"It isn't for children. It's a collection of European folklore tales."
"Yeah. With that fairy you like."
"Not a fairy. A dryad."
"Who thinks she's in love with that mortal guy-"
"She doesn't think!" The clear irritation in his voice draws the attention of the nearby tables. Hiyori rushes to promptly apologize, while Ikuya crouches back to his self. "She really does love him", he mumbles. "She just waits for him to open his eyes."
"Ikuya, what are you getting riled up for?"
"Nothing." He dips himself inside the aroma of his mug.
Hiyori exhales and puts down his ipad, their densely written timetable locked on its screen.
"You seem to be attached to that book. Was it, perhaps, a present from someone?"
"No. I borrowed it from the school's library back in Iwatobi junior high."
"And you never returned it."
Ikuya shrugs. "No one ever asked for it. I just enjoy it a lot, that's all."
The seconds pulsate away and Hiyori realises he isn't going to pry anything else out of his quirky, tight-lipped companion. He decides to change the topic.
"By the way, your pastel-top friend's party is closing in."
"Kisumi isn't just a friend. He's a leech. A friend allows the others some personal space."
"But, we're still going, right?"
Ikuya grunts. "Yeah, I guess. At least Makoto's presence will keep him busy." As if he suddenly remembers something important, his amber eyes dart to Hiyori's wristwatch. Five ticks later, he is already zipping up his windproof Shimogami jacket and leaving on the table his share of the bill.
"I am going to jog home. See you at tomorrow's training."
"Alright...wait, tomorrow's? What about tonight's?"
Hiyori's puzzlement is nothing but a whirring sound, sealed away along with the coziness of the bistro. The cold weather incinerates his lungs and the people in the streets of Tokyo resemble disorientated ants more than pedestrians. On the way to his apartment, he doesn't jog. He runs. Outside his own front door, he balks. His pants percolate in misty clouds before his nose. He hasn't been ready for this December. He isn't ready for what awaits him inside the flat either.
An outrageous Christmas tree made out of beer bottles is reigning inside his living room like a commercial joke. Rows of glass from every corner of the earth build a garish decoration five levels high. Golden ribbons strangle most of the spouts, the thin cord replacing some of them betrays the lack of stock. On the floor, a few more empty bottles lie scattered, unable to find a place on that gaudy masterpiece. Meanwhile, the aspiring craftsman is testing the garlands of colourful lights, whose iridescent glow bounces off his chef d'oeuvre.
"Aniki...are you drunk?"
"You underestimate me, Iku-kun", Natsuya gloats. "If I'd been drunk, I would have filled this with condoms."
A furious blush sears through Ikuya's cheeks and his childish glare ignites his brother's boisterous laughter. Natsuya beckons him to step closer and inspect the wondrous assortment of bottles.
"From your trips?"
"Yeah. These are not all, I keep my secret stash over at Nao's", Natsuya boasts and points at a chunky, dark cinnamon bottle. "Check this out. Negra Modelo, or as Mexicans call it, the 'cream of beers'. Right next to it, Tecate, that baby has won gold medals. While in Tijuana, I saw its ads in every sports event. I have brought a lot from Europe too. You surely recognize this one."
"Guinness."
"Mhm", Natsuya nods. "But what about the one above it? Read the label, 'Buried at Sea'. Quite a name the Irish gave it, huh? It's one fine chocolate milk stout. And then, there's my favourite blond ale, Westmalle's tripel. It kept me company for several nights in Brussels."
Ikuya listens to Natsuya's reminiscing about his adventures with nostalgia and pride, every new journey another month away from home. He can't hold it against him, though, not when these travels make his older brother beam with the exuberance of a child. Even if the beer tree before them would fit better in an absurd exhibition of contemporary art, rather than his minimal sanctuary.
"Anyway, this place was somewhat depressive. So I thought of adding a festive note", the endeavouring explorer concludes.
"A note, aniki, not a cacophony."
Natsuya shoots him an amused glance.
"When did my kid brother turn so cheeky?"
"Maybe while you were busy drinking all these?"
The tall brunet chuckles, his tongue rolling over his pearly teeth while he weighs his options. Bronze eyes squint impishly and Ikuya can smell the gale before it breaks. He has seen that wicked look one too many times throughout his childhood, he can read what ensues. And yet, he falls for it every single time. In an instant, Natsuya pounces on him, pulling him down into a playful headlock. He knuckles Ikuya's head, more so disheveling his teal hair than applying actual force. As always, the young swimmer struggles to disengage himself, but his brother's biceps are unyielding and any swiveling results in getting throttled by the crook of Natsuya's arm. The story repeats itself.
Or, perhaps, this time it doesn't. Because Ikuya may be too consumed in floundering like a fish to notice, but the vibes that Natsuya senses are unmistakable. There's a change. In the way the youth's body resists the physical manipulation. In how the tiniest squeal hasn't fled past his lips. This isn't a fragile teenager in Natsuya's grasp. This is a sturdy young man who doesn't strive anymore to mature into his equal. Natsuya staggers backwards.
It's within this unheralded realisation that he feels it for the first time. It starts as a hand touching his midriff, all in purpose of shoving him away. Yet, it never does. Instead, it lingers there, relaxing in lieu of strengthening. Beneath the wispy fabric of his shirt, Natsuya's abdominal muscles stiffen. The sensation works on him like a switch, as if all along he has been a machine not fully powered up. He desperately wants to put the blame on fallacy, but it's palpable, those delicate fingers he once held to cross the street, are now ever so diffindently kneading him. Tension escalates through him in high tide, and he's aware that Ikuya's inner turmoil rivals his own, because his brother's rampant heart drums against his ribs.
Red alarms go off when Ikuya's hand shyly pursues a course upwards. Any remnants of laughter die out, Natsuya instantly loosens his grip and obliges the distance to fall between them. Startled by the barren feeling, Ikuya soaks up his brother's back. He isn't an idiot, he is able to guess the origin of their strife.
"Aniki...that night back in June-"
Like a sardonic deus ex machina, Ikuya's cellphone reverberates through the living room. The moment has come and passed.
"Yes?" the beluga boy spits out tersely. At the other end of the line, Asahi's carefree self is buzzing through. "What do you mean 'ah, it's you'? You're the one who called me, idiot, whom did you expect to answer my phone?...Huh? Yeah he's here..."
Ikuya unwillingly hands the mobile to a Natsuya that peers at him confused.
"Hello?...Shigino?...Oh right, Ikuya's ex classmate...No, I think we haven't...Next Saturday? Hmmm, yeah...I can probably bring him too..."
Even though mint strands of hair grate his vision, Ikuya intently watches his brother's making arrangements on the phone. If he could chew his nails off in anticipation, he would.
"That pink fox", he gripes as soon as Natsuya hangs up, "he knew I wouldn't pass the phone to you that easily, so he used Asahi as a decoy."
"You boys act so dramatic over a mere party", the adult in Natsuya shakes his head. "Oh right, if it wasn't obvious, apparently Nao and I are also invited."
Ikuya averts his gaze, stammering his agreement and, surprisingly, this dainty reluctance is the most adorable reaction by the drifter's standards. Peeling his ivories, he tips up the young swimmer's chin and scrutinizes his bewitching features.
"Cheer up, baby bro. It will be a fun gathering. I promise I won't embarrass either of us." His wink embeds the calm back into Ikuya's soul. "Ok, I'd better be off. I have a week to persuade the silver owl that rocking our butts around the youngsterns on a Saturday night is somehow more entertaining than his pile of books."
Under the door frame, Natsuya pauses. He tilts his head to the right, the outline of his face barely visible.
"Ikuya...that night, I was drunk. There's nothing more into it."
Words fall like stones. And they lodge there, sharp and unmovable, along with the brunet's wafting scent and a surrealistic tree of glass. Ikuya doesn't bet on it, but he may have caught a glimpse of a small hunch burdening his brother's shoulders. However, what the loner is certain about, is how the wings of his dreams have just been pruned.
