After refreshing herself, her sienna tresses fragrant in the aroma of her new 'buttercups and summer' shampoo, Kukuri strolled leisurely into her cozy kitchen, outstretching her arms to draw the curtains which matched the ones in her bedroom. Through the blinding sunshine of the late Saturday mornings, she spotted a few of her friends near one of the school towers squinting up at it's terrace, hooting and cackling childishly. What were they looking at ? She wondered curiously, tilting out of the window and looking upwards towards the aforementioned terrace, her hand partially sheltering her inquisitive eyes from the ever so resplendent sun. She recognized a familiar mop of tousled coffee-brown hair, and although she was too far away from him to hear what he was saying, he seemed to be reciting something, as though in rehearsal. "Mishina-kun ?" Kukuri blinked, completely blank about why he'd go all the way up there to practise singing or public speaking. "Oh well, maybe it's to get over stage fright..." She shrugged off the strange behaviour of her friend, bringing herself back into the comparatively darker kitchen, black blemishes dancing in her bright emerald eyes, even though she spent only a few seconds out in the daylight.
Reaching the counter, just like her usual weekend rhythm, she crossed her arms and pondered over the kettles and cups. What do I prepare today ? She thought, tapping her finger on her face, completely lost in thought. Her tranquil five minutes were shattered when she heard something expensive crash into the ground. Realizing it came from the hall, she sprinted across the room.
This was not in harmony with her rhythm at all, now was it ?
Taking in the scene of the insignificant, yet heart-breaking ruin, Kukuri realized that her photo frames which had illustrated the wall, painted a daffodil yellow, near her chestnut-hued doors, had dropped to the ground in frightening unison. She violently scanned the room, turning left and right, her russet curls following her restless movements. Her worried olive gaze fell upon a fuzzy streak of pale pink escaping through the nearest window. She had almost lifted her feet to rush towards it, before she heard an irritated groan from the other side of her door.
Anxiously, she opened the door, as it creaked lazily out of reluctance, mirroring the annoyed aura of the tall figure just before her. His graceful porcelain hands were pressed against his forehead, as though trying to rub away an injury. "Kuroh-kun ?" Kukuri immediately recognized his familiar and noble amethyst eyes, which were narrowed in frustration.
Walking towards him, she continued. "Are you alright ? I heard something really scary."
"Ah..Kukuri." He tore away the scornful expression in his visage and sculpted his usual courteous mien again. "I apologize for frightening you. I was chasing something and in my hurry..." He looked down, slightly ashamed."...I didn't notice the door and foolishly fell against it."
Having forgotten the broken shards of glass and torn photographs which sprawled across her hall, Kukuri gave her companion a timid giggle of assurance. "It's alright, Kuroh-kun. I just hope you aren't hurt, after all what matters most is tha-"
Her words were broken off when Kuroh glanced over her, which wasn't difficult, him being much taller than she was. His usually serene eyes flickered with shock and worry, as his wisteria gaze sparkled with the light of the broken glass. " So I did hear something else fall when I did..." He muttered under his breath, not realizing she could hear him. Looking back to her, his eyebrows furrowed with determination, he spoke, this time, louder. "This is the result of my careless actions. I must restore them back." Completing his sentence, he bowed to Kukuri, his obsidian tresses cascading from his back and falling to his shoulders. Slightly flustered from his formal behaviour, which was akin to the first time they met, Kukuri waved her hands furiously. "No no, Kuroh-kun ! I can do it by myself, you needn't trouble yourse-"
"I insist I help you then." He said quickly, understanding that Kukuri, being the stubbornly helpful girl she was, wouldn't let him do anything for her all alone, but would be fine if she helped him along.
Unable to refuse to the shine of determination in his amethyst eyes, Kukuri sighed, but was secretly delighted to have such a considerate and civil companion. "Alright, Kuroh-kun. Thank you." She said, a delicate pink hue as rosy as her curtains tinting her coppery expression.
Walking into her room, Kuroh knelt beside her, starting to pick up the photographs on by one, taking care not to brush against the sharp crystals of glass.
He had noticed that most of the photographs were of her and her friends, throughout her school life. She and Sumika taking selfies in the mall...A middle school Kukuri with olive eyes dancing about with a tiara on her head on stage...A 8-year-old Sumika frantically chasing Mishina in the beach as punishment the starfish he threw towards her, with Kukuri smiling at the camera from the side with a victory sign...And lastly, Kukuri, smiling, like spring after a long and weary winter, in front of maple tress, holding on to her mother's hand, with whom she shared a startling resemblance...
He had a vague memory of that place, he knew. Trying to remember the details, his recalling was broken off when a small wince came from beside him.
Kukuri was clutching the fingers of her left arm with her right hand tightly, a pained expression on her usually kind and cheerful face. "I'm so careless..." She whispered, as Kuroh noticed a delicate trickle of crimson stream down from her fingers to her wrist, realizing the glass had hurt her.
Letting go of the picture of Kukuri in the autumn garden, the midnight-haired 19-year-old leaned towards her, gently removing her right hand from her injured left one and replacing it with his.
His hands, pleasantly cool and graceful, held on to her wounded one, as he studied the minute injury with his crystalline eyes, as though a mere ethereal glance could heal it. What he didn't study was Kukuri's blush, as crimson as the injury she recklessly acquired, painting her cheeks and ears in embarrassment.