Chapter 25 - Gratitude

The next few days continued in the same routine. I would sleep until the afternoon and return to my mother's side for the evening and night. Mori or my father brought me meals, my father sitting in with my mother in the morning and leaving to sleep late in the evening. As a result, Mori and I never slept at the same time, and my interaction with him was limited besides the deliverance of those meals.

During those afternoon hours I was at liberty to chat with my father about all that had taken place since I had transferred to Japan (save, of course, some of the more embarrassing host club antics) and as always, my father listened, often interrupting to inquire into minor details or to ask me to "paint the scene," as he always put it. He saw everything with that photographer's eye—an eye of position and contrast and light—and it was thanks to him that I was deliberate in my observation of details. I knew I had told a story to his justice when he asked for almost no further description or elaboration. To others our conversations often sounded tedious, but my mother put up with us with the good-natured patience and jokes that could only be hoped for by a photographer's wife.

During these discussions, Mori never stayed for long, perhaps because he felt it was some sort of imposition. Most of the time I was too engrossed to remember to ask, and the next thing I knew, he'd be gone. My father told me he had taken to running during the night and helping the villagers during the day with various tasks, from hauling firewood to running errands. I could picture it so well, and I told my father this, speaking of Mori's helpfulness and quiet good nature.

"You don't have to tell me," my father said. "I was out taking shots of him and the villagers yesterday. It was quite a sight, such a tall young fellow hauling wool for the little old ladies of the spinning hut. He towers over everyone. I had to take a few steps back for each frame to fit him in!"

I rolled my eyes. "Dad. You can't just keep taking pictures of every friend I make. I'm not a modeling agent, ok?"

"You may not be a modeling agent, but—"

"-Every human being is a model. I know, I know," I grumbled, finishing his favorite excuse.

"You ought to pay that boy more attention," my mother admonished me one night after my father had gone to bed. "He is, after all, the reason you're here."

"Well, I want to be here with you…"I started to retort, trailing off. I felt my face flushing.

"Of course. But it's unfair to barely talk to him for the 3 days you've been here!" Her words began to slur as the sleeping meds kicked in. "Just talk to him, that's all I'm saying…"

I smiled as her eyes fluttered shut, and squeezed her hand. "Fine, fine," I whispered. "Only because you told me to."

The truth was that I did want to talk to Mori. I pondered this as the moonlight settled in through the window, casting my thoughts in silver. I drifted back to our confrontation in the garden, how the tone of Mori's voice had changed when he began to speak, but was interrupted by the alarm of the twins. I was dying to know if he had more to say, and I missed his quiet company. But I felt that to leave my mother side would render his importance over hers, so I made myself hold back, hoping he would understand.

Just as these thoughts settled, I heard a soft rustling outside and the faint puffs of heavy breathing. Alarmed, I placed my mother's hand by her side, then crept to the doorway, peeking it open enough to peer outside. To my surprise, Mori was standing beside the door, sporting a light T shirt and sweats. It was strange to see him in anything besides formal wear or jeans. The fabric that draped across his tall frame like tunics on a clothesline.

I followed his eyes, which were staring into the woods. A soft hum of bugs was rising from the undergrowth, along with occasional chirps of the nighttime wildlife. He cocked his head to the side with a soft "hmph," and stretched his arms, leaning against the side of the cottage.

Figuring it was ok to leave my mother for a minute or so while she slept, I slipped outside the door, making sure my footsteps were audible enough that they wouldn't take Mori by surprise.

He looked up. Then, in a whisper, he asked: "Care for a walk?"

I looked back at the door. "For a few minutes," I told. "I don't want to—"

My lips were stopped by the touch of his finger. Upon my astonishment he withdrew his hand, momentary tenderness in his eyes fading to his blocked stoic gaze I was more used to. I felt my heart pounding and hoped the sound was covered by the wildlife symphony surrounding us, following Mori down the dirt road with cautious steps.

Once we were a decent distance away, Mori was the first to speak. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I replied, staring into the hills with awe. I had't spent much any time outside since arriving. "Just relieved that Mom is improving. The doctor said we should be able to leave in two day's time, that my mother should be fine by then. I just want to stay long enough to make sure."

I looked up at him. "I hope that's alright."

Mori nodded. "I'm also glad you're ok," he replied, softer than before.

"Why are you worrying about me?" I said, half laughing. "I'm not the one who was sick."

Mori stopped for a moment, eyes darting to the side. "The pain your concern caused you…" he started, then paused. "I was worried—the pain was shared. Your health is just as important. "

I couldn't find words to respond to this, help captive by his gaze. I broke the crackling silence with continued steps, gathering courage to speak again. "I'm sorry we haven't talked. It's just, with my mom and her medication and not seeing her for months, I just feel like if I leave her—"

"You don't need to justify yourself," Mori stopped me. "I understand."

Another pause. Our steps crunched into the dust.

"You don't have to leave every time my father and I talk," I told him, finding subject changes were helping to suppress my nerves. "You're more than welcome to stay, or join in."

Mori looked down, his face almost becoming black in the shadow of the moon. He didn't reply.

I studied his expression for a moment, then my eyes widened. "Mori-senpai. You can't still be punishing yourself for what Kyoya did. It was a misunderstanding."

He was silent for a moment, then rumbled, "We're not in Japan, Ivy. You can call me Takashi."

So he does still feel guilty, I thought with alarm.

"Mo—Takashi," I corrected, fighting my astonishment. "You have more of a right to talk to me than anyone. You don't have to keep yourself from me anymore." I felt tears of gratitude welling up and my hands trembled. "There's a good chance you saved my mother's life."

Mori looked down at my hands, and seemed to reach for a moment, but stopped, his palm flopping against his side like a cut puppet string.

"Consider any debt you feel repaid," I continued, much softer. I stopped walking to stare of the edge of a bluff, down into the wilderness which was sparkling with lightning bugs. "What you did for me….it by far offsets anything else." I looked up at him, heart pounding harder. "I'm indebted to you, for goodness sake."

Mori came to a stop beside me, looking out into the woods and then back at me. Still he didn't speak, his expression attempting to conceal some sort of inward battle. I sighed. My words were failing to ease whatever turmoil he felt.

Then, like a spark of natural light in the woods, I remembered something so simple, a thought archived in my mind from months ago.

Maybe for him, silence isn't the lack of conversation. Silence is the conversation.

My whole body hummed with both terror and understanding. There is something more effective than words.

I touched Mori's shoulder with a shaking hand, then gripped his sleeve harder to prevent my fingers from trembling. His eyes filled with surprise as he turned to face me, staring down at me like the moon had fallen to the earth. I touched his other arm and my heart pounded harder.

Before I could stop myself or panic any further, I raised myself onto my tiptoes with all my might, using my grip on his arms to steady myself.

I kissed him on the cheek, brushing past his lips with the unsteadiness of my nerves, feeling his intake of astonishment like a warm breeze by my neck.

Using every muscle in my body to keep myself from falling over, I lowered back down off my toes, blushing harder than I had ever thought imaginable.

I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes for more than a second. They were wide and filled with wonder and something else I couldn't identify, something I had never seen in pictures or read about in books.

"Th-thank you, Takashi" I whispered.

Kicking my muscles into flight response, I ran back into the village as quick as my feet could carry me. I only turned back once to see Mori frozen in place, dumbfounded, and panic seized me at the feelings churning in my chest.

This was no longer about debts and debtors. This was ceasing to be about gratitude. This was something more.