Chapter 25
Reiha
"Oh, Reiha-chan, did you hear about the summer festival?"
I've just arrived home from school, grabbed a snack, and was making my way to my room for rehearsing and homework when Grams stops me.
I turn around, abruptly swallowing a slice of orange. "W-what?"
"The summer festival," she repeats. Her brow crinkles with a smile. "I know summer break is over, but I thought maybe you'd enjoy going. It starts tomorrow."
"With you guys?"
"Oh, no." She laughs. "Your grandfather and I can't stand the heat any more than necessary. I'm sure it would be much too energetic for us. But I'm sure you and Mitsuri-chan would have a lot of fun."
I'm stumped.
But . . . I do have someone I can ask to go.
The next afternoon, I find myself shopping for yukata.
With Mitsuri.
After a snack of blue-raspberry-flavored popsicles, we stop by the mall after school, where the only store that's busy happens to be the same one we're going to — it seems like everyone else has the same idea.
"I'm surprised you don't have a yukata," I say, browsing through fabrics of flowered pink, orange and red stripes, and polka-dotted yellows.
When we were young, Mitsuri always loved traditional things, like going to a shrine on New Year's. I remember going to festivals with her every year, but I can't recall many details — only the excitement of dressing up and the thunder of fireworks. Of course, in America, I'd go to enjoy fireworks on the Fourth of July, but that holiday was usually coupled with barbecue and swimming, as opposed to the food stalls and festival games of Japan.
"I do," Mitsuri says, eyeing a light blue silk. "I just don't have any that currently fit." She pauses. "It's been a while since I've had any need to wear it."
Oops. I'd almost forgotten that she's been in self-imposed exile these last few years.
Although . . . it's not that different from what I was doing.
For a moment, I wonder if we are more similar than either of us think.
Could it be that our parents' divorce affected us each in more ways than the obvious? We both saw our parents' relationship fall apart, witnessed the hours deciding on legal custody . . . and while Mitsuri had the example of our grandparents' perfect marriage, I watched our mother flit from relationship to relationship for six years. Six years of experimenting and beginning and ending, before finally finding the "one." Looking at her now, you'd never think she's been married twice. She seems like a teen fresh out of high school, wearing rose-colored glasses to match her pink dresses. But I've witnessed her and my stepfather's love firsthand . . . and it's genuine, even if it took many trials and errors.
So you could say we've both had good and bad examples of "love" in our lives . . . unfortunately, I think I've inherited the worse side of things.
Still. I have a mini war in my head about what I should do, but then I decide to take the leap. "You know, I haven't had many friends either. Of course, part of it's because we moved around so much, but even when we were in one place for a while . . . I never really got close to anyone."
Not as close as they'd like. Never as close as what could be possible.
Mitsuri's quiet for a moment. She pulls out a dress, examines it, puts it back. She's stalling.
Finally, she says, "I'm sorry."
For what? I almost ask. But I swallow the words down. The afternoon has been enjoyable, and I don't want to ruin the night by hashing up the past. Someday, I know I'll have to. But it can wait a little longer.
She pulls out the next dress from the rack, and her brow wrinkles at it: it's a deep crimson striped with dramatic lines of black. "This looks like you," she says, holding it up. The hem goes to right below her knees.
I drag out another yukata, which is in a more traditional style, lavender-colored with delicate white petals blossoming across the fabric. "And this looks like you," I say.
To my surprise, she laughs. "Then I've got an idea."
Two hours later, after a transformation similar to Cinderella's own, Mitsuri and I are finally are on our way. Grams and Gramps had delayed us by insisting on taking pictures and ensuring our curfew.
They'd both been surprised at our choices. To be honest, I was, too. But Mitsuri's suggestion was too good to pass up — when we'd picked out the dresses that we thought suited the other, she suggested switching it. The goal is to see just how much we can confuse everyone. And it had worked on our grandparents for a moment — thought that might've partly been because of their deteriorating eyesight.
With her fashionable red yukata, Mitsuri coupled it with a golden obi and completed the look with geta. I, on the other hand, can't stand walking in those things, so I opted for my tennis shoes. When I first put them on, Mitsuri had a look of horror on her face, but after a moment, she just shook her head in acceptance.
Even though I usually consider myself more of a tomboy, I like dressing up as much as any other girl. The Cinderella costume I'll be wearing is a bit cumbersome, but I still love the look of it. I paired a mint-green obi with my own yukata, and we both did our hair up in buns to hide the difference in length.
Something feels warm in my chest as we have fun putting on make-up and bobby-pinning our hair. Like any typical girls, Mitsuri and I had once spent hours dressing up in Mom's clothes and making a mess out of her closet. And now, it's like all those years apart never even happened.
As we finally leave the house, Mitsuri turns to me. It seems like what she proposed is catching up to her. For a moment, it's jarring: seeing her worried eyes on a face exactly like my own. "Do you think this is too much?" she asks.
"What do you mean?" I pretend to be oblivious so that she'll elaborate.
"Well." She hesitates. "I know this was my idea . . . but I've never done something like this before."
"It's supposed to be fun," I remind her. "We're just going to tease them a bit. And . . . think of it as a test. Would you really want to date a guy who wouldn't be able to tell you apart from your sister?"
"Well, no," she says. "But we're intentionally trying to fool them, so I don't know if that counts."
I smirk. "Just have fun, sis. If I know the two of them, they'll have no problem seeing through this ruse anyway."
And when I say the words, some part of me knows they're true.
For Akashi, whom Mitsuri had invited earlier, it's a given he'll know which of us is Mitsuri right away. He's always catching the most minute details that I'd never even think of. And based on how his gaze is always following her, he'd probably be able to pick her out with a blindfold.
And Ogiwara . . .
Today, when I'd asked him if he wanted to come to the festival with us, he'd blinked rapidly, a stunned look on his face. Shiyo had laughed, and as an afterthought, I invited her too. With a sparkle in her eyes, she'd said she was busy.
Assuming Mitsuri will go off with Akashi, that leaves me alone with Ogiwara. And while we've been alone so many times now, it somehow feels different tonight. Much more . . . date-like.
It's a short walk to the festival, and we know we're getting close once others wearing yukata start appearing. The sun is just starting to set, the mark of the start of the festival. Soon, soft background music and the scents of fried food fill the air. My stomach rumbles. I'd had a light lunch for this.
Within just a few minutes, the stalls come into view, the street already crawling with people. I'd told Ogiwara we'd meet him at the entrance, and as Mitsuri and I get closer, I spot him waiting, waving his hands in the air, a grin on his face like usual. Beside him is Akashi. A smile lights up Mitsuri's face, and I wonder if this is what a person looks like when they're in love. I'll have to imitate that for the play.
"Over here —" Ogiwara faces toward Mitsuri as he calls out to us. But then, there's a flash of confusion on his face. On the way over, I'd given Mitsuri a few tips on how to "walk" like me, but she'd forgotten them immediately upon seeing Akashi.
Ogiwara turns to me, still puzzled. "Reiha?" he questions.
"Yep." I dip my head demurely and smile up at him innocently. "Did I get you?"
He shakes his head in wonder for a moment. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that. And you dragged Kasayama-san into it!"
"Hey!" I protest. "It was Mitsuri's idea."
"It was," Mitsuri admits, from where she stands beside Akashi. He, like predicted, had no problem telling us apart.
"Well." Ogiwara scratches his head. "You both look good."
He and Akashi are both wearing yukata too, to my surprise. Akashi's looks regal and perfectly tailored to him. Ogiwara's, however, is a bit crooked and wrinkled, but I find it oddly endearing.
I grin. "You don't look too bad, either."
He blushes. His gaze moves around rapidly, before falling to the ground — he does a double-take. "Are — are those tennis shoes?"
I laugh. "I can't walk in geta!"
A wry smile appears on his face. "I guess I would've known right away it was you if I just looked at your feet." He holds out his hand. "You want to start exploring?"
"I was just waiting for you to ask." Instead of taking his hand, I loop my arm through his, pulling him closer to me. I hear his intake of breath as his shoulder rubs against mine. He's still so innocent, even after all the things I've pulled with him. "First, let's get something to eat. I'm starving."
A few minutes later, after cruising through the food stalls, we decide on tempura and candied apples. Ogiwara argued that we should wait to get dessert, but I'd told him that they might be out by the time we got in line again.
After we've both finished stuffing our faces, we decide to play some of the festival games.
"There," I say, pointing to the nearest stall, a shooting game.
He grimaces. "You know those things are always rigged."
"Even so," I say. "I never went to any fairs in America, so I gotta try it again."
Sighing, he trails after me as I fork over some of the change Grams had given me for tonight.
"That'll give you five tries," says the stall owner cheerfully.
"Right, I got this!"
I heft the plastic rifle's butt, the thing too short to actually rest on my shoulder. Pop! The first "bullet" goes wild, as do the next two. By round four, I've gotten more the hang of it and manage to nick the side of a deck of playing cards. I hadn't been aiming for that, though.
"All right," I mutter to myself. "Last one."
"You're really taking this seriously," Ogiwara says.
"Just imitating you," I say, giving him a sweet smile. He chokes.
I let loose the final shot, and it — collides straight with the head of a stuffed fox, sending it careening.
"Got it!" I whoop, throwing my hands up, and Ogiwara laughs, with a bit of awe on his face.
"Is that what you really wanted?" he asks a few moments later as we walk away, my prize in hand.
"Yeah," I say, then I hold the stuffed animal before me. "I thought I'd give it to you."
"W-what?"
I laugh. "Would you have gotten it for me if I hadn't been able to?"
He turns his blushing face. "Well . . . um."
"You're supposed to say yes," I prod.
"You're just teasing me again," he mumbles.
He's totally right, but that doesn't mean that I have to admit it.
"I'll tell you what," I say. "I'll hold onto it until you want it, 'kay?"
He makes a face. "Okay. Where to next?"
I shrug. "How about you pick this time?"
"You're actually giving me a choice?"
"You don't have to act so surprised."
"But I am surprised," he says, and it takes me a moment to realize that this time, he's teasing me.
Something flutters inside my stomach, and my hand goes to my chest unbidden. Ogiwara starts moving forward, and I realize for the first time how broad his back is. He's always been taller than me, but now that height seems . . . significant.
"Reiha!" He turns his head, looking back at me. "Are you coming?"
I can barely hear his words over the growing crowd, but I see his lips moving — and I remember that one of the first thoughts I had about him was that he had nice lips.
He does have nice lips.
I imagine they're perfectly kissable, soft, warm — wait, what am I thinking?
I already told myself that I couldn't fall in love with Ogiwara. I had convinced myself that I wouldn't. But yet . . . what is this feeling? It's foreign, fluttery, and it feels like something that might be called . . .
Not that I would know, as I've never known love before.
The last time I had even come close to that abstract concept . . . had assured me that it was something I never wanted to experience. But now, here, today . . . all I want is to be around Ogiwara, see his smile, touch his lips.
And if that's the case . . . what in the world am I going to do?
I can't afford to let that happen again.
"Reiha?"
Ogiwara has returned to my side, a worried expression on his face. "Are you okay?"
I rearrange my features quickly into something I hope looks presentable.
"I'm fine," I say, urging my legs to move. I flash him a smile, then grab his hand and tug him into the flow of the crowd. His fingers curl around mine.
They're always warmer than I expect.
Mitsuri
I have no idea what I was thinking when I first suggested Reiha and I imitate each other. For some reason, at that time, right after she'd brought up our years apart, something she rarely talks about unless prompted, I wanted to do . . . something. Something that sisters would do. And isn't pretending to be each other a prank identical twins always pull? We'd done it as kids, seeing if Mom or Dad could guess who was who (they always could), and maybe it would be fun to try it once more as teenagers.
That's what I think I was thinking — and for the most part, I still think it made for a good bonding time with Reiha.
But I completely forgot just who exactly we were trying to fool.
Akashi Seijūrō himself.
Of course, thinking about it on the way here, I knew there was no way he wouldn't see through it. Which left me with the fact that I was now dressed in something entirely different from what I'd normally wear, something bold and daring that Reiha would have no problem pulling off, but me . . .
I catch sight of Akashi before he sees me, which gives me a moment to once again mentally prepare myself. Although the length of the yukata is roughly the same as my school uniform, I usually wear tall socks too. Tonight, I'm all too aware of the bare skin showing.
I angle myself slightly so that Reiha hides most of me. I'd been trying to strut like she'd instructed, but now I find myself shaking. I've gone over to his house several times, I've ridden on the same horse as he has, yet still, tonight seems more like a date than ever before. I think of all the stories I've read of couples enjoying the festivals together, kissing under the fireworks . . .
My cheeks redden at the thoughts, and I pinch them, which probably doesn't help things.
"It's okay," I mutter to myself. Then, following Reiha, I make my way over to where the two boys wait, trying my best to act as confident as my twin feels.
Akashi's eyes immediately meet mine, and he smiles when I approach, the smile that, no matter how hard I try, never looks as good on paper. "You look beautiful," he says.
I blush. "You look great, too." I never imagined I'd see him in a yukata, and I drink the sight in.
Beside me, I hear Reiha's outburst when Ogiwara assumes it was her idea for us to switch outfits. "It was Mitsuri's idea!" she says.
"It was," I say. I glance out of the corner of my eye to see Akashi's expression, but he still just has that calm smile on his face, like he'd known all along.
"It's nice," he tells me. "Perhaps you should dress up more often."
I almost tell him the same thing — because being able to see Akashi in a tux is something I've only imagined in my drawings.
"Where do you want to go first?" he asks.
I glance back, but Reiha and Ogiwara have already disappeared. "Um . . . well, to be truthful, I'm starving."
He laughs. "We can't have that now, can we?"
And with that, we enter the festival. The next hour passes in a whirl of candied apples and fried foods on sticks and playing all the festival games — Akashi, of course, wins nearly every game he comes across. I, on the other hand, can barely shoot straight or keep my goldfish from escaping on the first try.
"How do you do this?" I groan, holding up yet another broken poi. There's a large tear in the thin cloth.
"My mom taught me," he says. He expertly catches another one, but then lets it free. The kids near us watch with envy and awe.
I pause. He never talks about his mom much.
"It's okay to ask," he says. I start. "I don't mind if it's you."
I bite my lip, a bubble of happiness rising inside me. "You can ask me anything as well," I say quickly.
He scoops another goldfish, his final one, then lets it free. I'd already used up all my fruitless tries, so we both stand. He offers me his hand, and I take it, my fingers sliding in between his. "Well, then, I'll take you up on that later," he says, a smile on his lips. "But I know there's something you want to ask first."
He's right, of course.
He leads me through the crowds to a less-populated area, with benches spread across the ground. We find one near the edge of the festival grounds underneath a large tree and sit side-by-side, knees touching.
"Are you . . ." I hesitate. I don't know how to ask this type of question. "Are you feeling better now?"
He nods and rubs his fingers across the palm of my hand. I shiver, though not from the night cold. "I'm sorry for not telling you," he said. "About him."
He says "him," but I know who he is talking about.
"You shouldn't have to feel like you need to tell me anything," I say. "I want to know more about you, but I'd never force you to tell me something you're not ready to."
He closes his eyes briefly. "Yes, thank you. . . . But I'm ready now."
I nod, letting him continue.
"You know, of course, that my mother died when I was young. Before then, she'd been a buffer between me and my father, letting me still enjoy my childhood while working to be the head of the house. But after she died, my father no longer tolerated anything that did not contribute to his idea of success. He only let me continue to play basketball because he thought sports were a good experience. Also, he gave me the condition that I must never lose.
"When I entered middle school, I was already worn down from my father's expectations. Yet for the first time, I truly felt like I was part of a team. Nijimura-senpai. Midorima. Murasakibara, Aomine, Kise . . . Kuroko. I enjoyed spending time with them and wished it could continue forever. But my father started taking notice. I had just been made captain of the team, and he approved of that, but he was also worried that basketball would take too much of my time. His expectations increased, and as they increased, the team . . . started falling apart.
"Sometimes, I wonder if it was my fault. If I'd paid better attention, maybe I could've helped Aomine. Maybe if I'd listened to Midorima, we wouldn't have parted as we did. But at the time, I was too scared to do anything. All of my friends were getting so strong, and every time, I saw them perform a perfect goal or block an impossible shot . . . I was worried that if things continued like that, I would get left behind. My own powers wouldn't be enough, and they would surpass me, and Father would hate me, and —"
He stops to take a breath. Emotion runs through his eyes — regret, despair. His hand clenches around mine. I offer him no words; just my presence. Finally, he continues.
"One day, Murasakibara challenged me. I foolishly accepted, thinking that I could win . . . but he almost defeated me. He was so close, just one point away from stealing everything I'd worked toward. I couldn't let that happen. So, that's when he appeared. I let him take over so that I could win. And I let him stay so that I wouldn't fail.
"I . . . don't really remember much of that time. I know what I did. I remember moving to Rakuzan and winning, and winning, and winning again. But the details . . . those are harder for me to recall. Sometimes, I can't remember conversations I had with people. I can't remember what I did in the evenings. But I guess that's fine because . . . I'm not sure I really want to remember. That time where I let only my desire to win through and could think of nothing else. I'm sure I hurt people. Not just Kuroko . . ."
He breathes in deeply. "Ogiwara is Kuroko's friend, did you know that?"
I shake my head.
"Yes . . . in Teikō, we were going to play his team, because he and Kuroko had made a promise to compete with each other. But I . . . I did something terrible. And I don't know how to apologize for it —"
I move my hand up his arm. "You want to apologize. That's a good start. And Ogiwara chose to be on this team, right? He took a step, too. I'm sure he doesn't hate you, and he doesn't seem like the kind of person to hold a grudge. Kuroko, too. When I saw all of you playing together . . . it was like you had always been a team."
At the sound of his name, Akashi seems to calm a bit. "I'm glad I met him," he says. "Kuroko. He's a little like you, actually. Neither of you shy away from me . . . and neither of you are afraid."
I blink. I'd never thought Kuroko and I were similar. But the way Akashi said it makes me think. He didn't say I was like Kuroko, but that Kuroko was like me. It's a small difference, but does it mean anything?
"I'm sure you know the rest," Akashi says. "Kuroko beat me at Winter Cup. And during that game, I let myself come back. I still lost, but it was worth it. It was worth it to see Kuroko fighting his hardest against me. At least . . . that's what I foolishly thought at the time. That everything would be okay. That it wouldn't matter to my father if I lost. I was wrong, of course. He was livid. I managed to escape most of his wrath since basketball was over for the season, but even once he'd had time to cool down, he didn't let me forget. It was like a cycle. All over again. He would raise the bar, and I would comply, and it would never be enough. But then . . ."
He finally looks up at me. Squeezes my hand. "I met you." He smiles. "You probably didn't notice, but during our first year, he liked watching you. That's something I remember. And I guess, once I came back, I was intrigued by you, too. You were always alone, but it didn't seem like you cared what people thought. And I admired that. I thought . . . maybe I could get to know you."
I remember what he said during the game. I know how he feels about you. I feel the same, after all.
There's an almost shy look on his face now, something that I don't usually associate with him. I almost want to laugh. Because I'd almost thought the same thing about him — but while I was always alone, he was always with people. And I'd thought he looked so confident, and I was so envious of him.
"I never thought of myself that way," I say. "I've always been scared of what the world will think of me, that they'll change who I am. I've been so scared that, sometimes, I can't even make decisions for myself."
"I know," he says, his voice soft. "I know that now. But that doesn't matter to me, because I've seen you change. You don't carry around that coin anymore, do you?"
For a moment, I'm surprised. But then I guess it's no wonder that he noticed my coin-flipping habit. Not much gets past him.
"I'm trying," I say. "Trying to be more confident in the decisions I make. Trying to be more like Reiha . . . like you."
His smile widens. "I've been trying to be more like you, too."
"What?"
"You and Kuroko both . . . both of you, when you put your mind to something, never back down. And I admire that in you. And I've been trying to practice it, with my father."
"I'm glad," I say. "I'm glad that you're finally doing something for yourself."
"I think so," he says. "For the longest time, it's always been for my father's approval . . . but then you told me that you just wanted me to be happy. And I thought . . . if it made you happy for me to be happy, maybe that's okay."
I squeeze his hand. "Still just thinking about others, huh? Have you ever thought that it would be okay for you to be happy for your own sake?"
He laughs. "It's a work in progress."
"I guess that's fine," I say, smiling. "What are we all, if not works in progress?"
"Yes," he agrees. He faces forward for a moment, before glancing back at me. "Are you sure you're okay with it? With him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say. "It's all you, isn't it? And I like every part of you."
A look of relief crosses his face, and I want to tell him he shouldn't have worried in the first place. Shouldn't have thought that, once again, he wouldn't be good enough. But before I can open my mouth, he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. His hand gently rests on the exposed skin of my leg. I suck in a breath as his touch, warm and soft.
"Thank you, Mitsuri," he says. "Thank you."
Another smile creeps onto my lips, and I lean forward and wrap my arms around him. "I'm not going to leave you," I say. "You don't have to worry about that."
He trembles slightly under my touch, but slowly, he stills, his breathing smoothing out. His arms encircle me just as the first fireworks of the night light up the sky.
A/N: Another longer chapter! And here we get some twins doing twin stuff, and then Mitsuri and Akashi talking about last chapter's events . . . Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.
~ J. Dominique
