When the lazy silk of her hair spills over her shoulder.
Hands in his pockets.
When they are in their own bed she touches his cheek.
Head kept high.
So that he shivers, the little shivers down his spine, little slow shivers.
Foot after foot after foot, a confident stride, they say.
Do they have a moment of rest? Of contemplation? Together in the fading sunlight they have made love on the sheets of their bed. Her hair spread out over the pillow. Her lips parted and her eyes shut and the both of them making sounds, soft, broken sounds, I love you, I love you too, forever, yes, forever, yes.
He has her memory, tucked tight into a pocket buried deep in his heart.
There it pumps his blood.
There it keeps him walking confidently with his head held high.
Nanako.
Because what if he should pause in his step and see her.
And have to prove to her that without her.
He is strong.
Nanako wa--
He is just fine.
Boku no Nanako--
He is OK.
Boku no--
He's more than OK. He?s better than ever.
There is no need, no need, to say anything.
See how straight he stands?
See how casual he moves?
This is not the straight back of a boy brokenhearted, this is not the casual lounge of a boy left lonely.
But more than anything he loves her. More than anything, he wants this, and only this, for always. To lift a hand to her face and cup it gently, and watch her eyes on his eyes, and feel this warmth in their bed with her body, the curves of her breasts soft and pale against his own cheek as she cradles him, pressing him close to her chest. Legs on either side of him and his back sinking back into the soft mattress beneath him. She combs his hair with her fingers. He breathes in the scent of her body, which is sweet, like these mornings in her arms. She kisses his forehead. He sighs. She kisses his forehead. More than anything, more than anything, he loves her.
What do you do?
What can you do?
"When you lift your chin up, it makes you look older," she says, "more mature." Her eyes sparkle. He lifts his chin up.
When you're left alone, you're left alone.
You just have to keep your chin up.
'Cause it makes you look more mature.
Their two bodies fit and feel right. He learns the language of her languid arms and her lazy smiles and he learns it fluently. He loves it when her hair falls in her eyes, so he can brush it back, and watch her lips smile.
Memories, he scowls.
For a while he wants to erase them.
But he would not know how to walk so confidently, were he not remembering how she touched him with her cool fingertips.
"Minami."
It is hard to keep the smile up.
"Nanako."
His hands feel empty in his pockets.
"We're late for class."
It is the stinging pain that she left him.
A first love pretends that it will last forever.
When reality sets in the blow is fierce to the sensitive senses.
It is not that it ended that he still rages against, in the very deep, very secret places inside his chest. It is that she ended it. It is that he did not see it coming and thought, foolish, yes, naive, oh yes, that it would not end, could not end.
Just because I say I love you now does not mean I will say it tomorrow.
All he can do, he thinks. All a guy can do in the terrible face of love unrequited.
Just because there is nothing that lasts forever.
Is keep his chin up.