Chapter Five - Spring Rain
Writing often made Homura think of sponges and rain.
Lately, in the last few months or so, the very act of writing had been a struggle. Putting words to the page was like wringing water out of a sponge that had been left on the stove for a thousand years. It was dry, it yielded nothing; in the end she tossed the sponge aside in disgust.
Forcing oneself to write, but being unable to write in a way that satisfied oneself, was verifiable torture. She wanted to write, she had a dream; and yet constantly chasing that dream meant no guarantee of its attainment. She could write all she wanted. It would never mean she would write something she could show the world. It is an ugly feeling to know you want something and have dedicated your love and time to it only to see it grow further away. She felt like the Greek legend Sisyphus, cursed to forever roll a boulder to the top of a mountain, never to complete his task.
Once in a while though, it rained. A long and heavy rain that drowned the entire world and silenced it, so that she could focus on the words coming from within. She could go outside and soak her stupid sponge and wring it all she wanted, wring it over and over again, because the water was endless. The only thing that could stop her was the exhaustion within her own two hands.
Such was the feeling that seized Homura that night. As she wrote she lost track of time. For the first time in eternity she was fascinated with something. She pressed on, she neglected food and water and sleep; she had to make use of this time, before the rain stopped.
It really did rain that night, a light drizzle that pitter pattered off her window. The rain continued throughout the dark and into the light. The ideas flowed like the water running in rivulets down her window. She was invincible, powerful; she felt as if she understood any and all things, for in this world of her own creation she was omniscient.
The sun was beginning to rise when she finally decided to take a break. She put her pen down, which was starting to go dry, and fell onto her creaky bed. But she did not close her eyes, did not seek rest. Check the time: five thirty in the morning. She had class in a few hours. No point in trying to sleep now. She would be fine; one all nighter was child's play for a serious writer.
But some water would be nice.
She grabbed some from the kitchen and returned. Once she was hydrated she sat down and typed up everything she had written down. Some of it was unintelligible, just nonsense, but she loved each and every word and opted to keep it all. Once she was done she went to the bathroom and took a long shower.
It was around seven in the morning when she heard the front door open. Kyouko. Homura retreated into her room and toweled herself off, pulling on some clothes and making sure she didn't look too frazzled before emerging.
Her redheaded roommate was in the kitchen. She stood with her elbows leaned up against the island, munching on an apple. She caught Homura's eye and lowered the apple from her mouth, seeming somewhat self conscious.
"Oh, hey." Kyouko wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She was in a black tank and shorts, though Homura had never seen her in anything else. The girl's usual teal jacket hung by the door. "Did I wake you up?"
Homura shook her head. She walked behind Kyouko, where an electric kettle was sitting on the counter. "Coming from somewhere?"
Kyouko watched her, as if mulling over what to say, then grinned. "Yeah, Sayaka's. Her roommate doesn't come back till later this morning, so I spent the night. Had to bounce before she came though. Wouldn't want to be a bother."
Homura hummed as she filled the kettle and put it on. It gurgled quietly beside her. "Considerate of you."
"How about you? Do anything over the weekend? Besides study, that is."
"I had dinner with…a friend."
Kyouko guffawed around her apple. "So you've got friends?"
"Sometimes," Homura said. The kettle clicked and she poured its contents into a waiting cup, dropping a bag of chamomile tea inside.
The redhead shrugged as Homura pulled up a stool and sat across from her by the island. "Hey, I wouldn't know. We never talk. You're always in and out, I'm always in and out. Like that one American burger chain. You know the one? Anyway, you could have zero friends or a billion. I'd be none the wiser."
"Mmm." Homura sipped distractedly at her tea. "How is your girlfriend?"
Kyouko seemed surprised to be asked. "Sayaka? She's good. We're both good. In fact, last night was very good, if you catch my drift." She waggled her eyebrows before making an obscene gesture with her hands.
Homura eyed her roommate. "Your drift is caught."
"Good. So assuming I did a good job, I'd reckon she's doing great."
"Can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Have you ever thought about cheating on her?"
There was a jagged silence, in which the rain scattering against the kitchen window was the only discernible sound.
Homura raised a hand. "I should add, I'm not trying to suggest anything. It's just a question, out of pure curiosity."
Kyouko put her apple on the island. "Fuck's wrong with you? Why the hell would you ask me that?"
"Like I said, I was just asking. I'm not saying you want to, or should. In fact, I'd probably recommend against it. I just wanted to know."
"Even if I have, and I haven't, I wouldn't tell you of all people," Kyouko snapped. She scarfed down the rest of her apple and flung the core into the track can, although she missed badly. "You've really got zero tact, you know that? I just got back from having awesome, loving sex with my awesome, loving girlfriend, and that's the end of it. Got that?"
"Yes, I did. Thank you."
Kyouko glared at her. "Say whatever you want. I don't care. At least I can hold a chick down for longer than a week, unlike you and that girl you brought here last semester."
With that Kyouko stalked out of the kitchen and into her room. Homura sipped quietly at her tea, trying to contain the anger that had flared up within her at her roommate's words.
It was still raining when Homura reached her bus stop, a small black umbrella clutched in her hand. She felt irritable, though whether it was from lack of sleep or what Kyouko had said she could not say.
What did that girl know anyway? They lived in completely different worlds. The way she saw it, the redhead lived flippantly, without care. She had a girlfriend, she didn't think about her future; she had plenty of friends and did whatever whenever. Homura knew there was absolutely no way the two of them saw the world as the other did.
Though if that were true, she shouldn't feel so bothered.
She lifted a hand and put it to her chest. Suddenly, from the soft gray of the misty rain came memories she had buried. Memories of intimacy. Like Madoka's embrace, but deeper, more visceral. She felt a sense of longing for something that didn't exist anymore, maybe never existed at all.
Something rumbled in the distance, and the bus arrived. Homura shook her head as she boarded.
It wasn't healthy to think about it.
At one of the bus stops two boys go on and sat together a few rows in front of her. They were talking loudly when they boarded and did not stop once the bus was moving; the topic of their conversation was so mundane and pointless as to not merit description. They were both hulking, tall boys with impressive physiques. The flat, inflectionless baritone of their voices lended their exchange a vaguely unintelligent aura. What did people like that dream about? What got them out of bed in the morning and kept them up at night? She doubted they were writing, like she was. But they must want something, they must have dreams like her.
In any case, she wished they would shut up.
The lecture hall was subdued when she arrived, in the way it often was when it rained. Homura, on the other hand, rather enjoyed rainy days. She felt empowered, almost superior to her languid classmates.
During the lecture she opened her laptop and typed out an email to Toby.
Toby,
Hope you're well. How's that air conditioning bill coming along? I've written something I think could be very good. It is still very early in the process, but I would like for you to take a look and give your opinion. Please let me know when you can meet up.
Best,
Sunako
Not her real name of course; she always corresponded with Toby via her pen name. Just a pen name, that was all it was.
The lecture ended and the professor passed back an assessment he had graded. Low groans rose from the room as the students saw their scores. Homura, on the other hand, scored a ninety four; well above the average. She couldn't muster much sympathy for her peers, many of whom seemed devastated. Maybe they should have spent the entire week studying like she did.
After lecture she was free until later that afternoon, so she went to the library and took a nap. She went to the very back of the section where they kept all the CD's, because no one ever wanted those anymore and she would not be disturbed. After propping up her bag behind her back she leaned against a bookshelf and fell asleep almost immediately.
After a brief dream about caramel squares (she was a big fan), Homura woke to an alarm she had set for herself. It had only been an hour, but she was not one to waste time. She found an empty desk nearby and wrote for the remainder of the morning, putting down anything that came to mind.
She was tired, but not tired enough to stop. Homura had the feeling that she had to make the most of this moment. Once she stopped adding to it the idea would settle, and it would become harder to change. She needed to get it all down now.
Homura spent the remainder of the week in largely the same manner. She stayed up late into the night and still dragged herself to lecture. Money was nothing if not a terrifying motivator, and she could not afford to lose her scholarship. After four or five days she was starting to develop dark bags beneath her eyes, and her hair refused to stay down straight, but she hardly cared. She felt fulfilled.
Toby, however, was slow in getting back to her email. After three days she followed up with him, but by the time Saturday had rolled around she had yet to receive a reply. Annoyed, Homura sent a second follow up before going back to writing. Toby had never been the most reliable person, but this was a bit ridiculous.
It was late on Sunday night when Homura still hadn't heard back from Toby. She sent a third follow up email, more tersely worded this time. Afterwards she made to close her phone but was surprised to see an email pop up beneath her notifications, no more than a minute later.
Pursing her lips, she opened the message.
Sunako,
This is Takanashi Rikka. I am Nakagawa Tobio's new secretary. From here on out I will be managing his correspondence with outside clientele.
That being said, Mr. Nakagawa is unfortunately very busy and will be unable to take a look at your manuscript in the near future. As you may be aware, the company is undergoing some restructuring. He is already working with many talented writers and has his own responsibilities to fulfill.
We hope you will be understanding of the situation, and seek to take your great talents elsewhere.
Best,
Takanashi Rikka
Homura reread the message several times before tossing her phone onto the bed in disgust. There was something vaguely sarcastic and threatening about the email that ticked her off. How long had this Takanashi Rikka character been working at Toshoukan Publishing? No more than a couple weeks, at most. She had probably spent more time in that building than this so called secretary.
Reopening her phone, Homura typed out a brief response.
Rikka,
Thank you for updating me on Toby's situation. I greatly appreciate it. That being said, I would like to speak with Toby in person and confirm his availability (or lack thereof) so I will make time to stop by tomorrow.
-Sunako
The flippant use of given names, and the casual brushing aside of Rikka's warning; she hoped the message was crafted in a way that would irk the secretary for a few minutes.
It had rained lightly throughout the entire week, and it rained again the next morning when Homura left her morning lecture and hopped on the train uptown. Mitakihara was subdued by an aura of gray, in the way cities are when it rains; her rain boots squelched against the floor of the train as she sat down.
As she waited, Homura wondered what Madoka was up to. She imagined the girl was still grappling with what had happened. Would she confront her mother directly, or tell her father first instead? Or would she keep it to herself, afraid to say anything and destroy the suddenly fragile peace of her everyday life?
All very poignant questions, which Homura would have no problem imagining the answers to. But part of her preferred to meet the girl and find out directly from the source, because authenticity was everything. Unfortunately, Homura lacked Madoka's contact information.
The train let her out in a dark and empty train station uptown. If she had come earlier the place would have been a rat race of salarymen making their way to the office, but there was a reason why she hadn't skipped morning lecture.
It was an old station, built way back when people still used phone books. Streaky graffiti lurked on the walls and rats scurried back and forth across the tracks, scattering when sudden vibrations announced an approaching train. Dark rainwater dripped from cracks in the ceiling, leaving the platform damp beneath her shoes.
An old homeless man was propped up against the wall by the stairs leading out of the station. He sat on a ragged blanket that was held down by a couple cardboard boxes of belongings. He had a small box opened in front of him that was filled with a few clumps of spare change. His eyes glowered out from two sunken eye sockets as he sat hunched over, carefully watching the occasional passerby.
Homura gave him a wide berth, then exited the station.
From there it was a short walk to the publishing building. Homura entered through the rotating door and approached the front desk, where a receptionist she recognized was waiting.
"I'm here to see Nakagawa Tobio."
The receptionist waved her up without protest. She knew better by now. Homura took the elevator up and emerged onto the floor, where another front desk with another nicely dressed lady was waiting.
This particular lady seemed to be in her early thirties, which meant she probably claimed late twenties on dates. A pair of horn rimmed glasses sat on a tiny nose. She looked up in surprise when Homura stopped in front of her, setting a stack of papers aside.
"Can I help you? I don't remember getting anyone called up," she said, checking her desk phone.
"No one called," Homura assured her. "I was let up. Is Nakagawa Tobio available?"
The lady stared at Homura for a moment, then seemed to put two and two together. She sighed and took off her glasses.
"So you must be Miss Sunako. You actually came?"
"As promised."
"Well I'm sorry, but I can't let you see him. He is in a meeting right now, and you don't have an appointment."
"I assure you that I have never had an appointment when coming here," Homura said. "And Toby is nothing if not flexible. I won't trouble you; I can go find him myself."
Takanashi Rikka bristled. "No, you will not. Miss Sunako, you are being unreasonable. The office is under a lot of stress at the moment and we cannot accommodate your request. Like I mentioned, we're undergoing some changes."
"Well they must be good changes, if they can afford a new secretary."
"I was transferred here after my department was closed down," Rikka snapped.
As Homura was about to say something snappy back, the elevator opened behind her and Toby walked out, a folder stuffed with papers propped on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Rikka. And…you. Am I forgetting something, or is this just a bad day?" Toby sighed, putting a hand on his hip.
Homura smiled. "I'm happy to see you too, Toby."
"Mr. Nakagawa, I apologize. She doesn't have an appointment, but she won't-"
Toby help up a hand, smiling softly. "That's alright. My meeting ended early. I'll handle this. Take care of these in the meantime, please?" He placed the folder next to Rikka and gestured to Homura. "Follow me."
The two of them took the elevator back down to the lobby, where a small cafe for employees was situated by the windows. They took a seat in the corner where they would not be disturbed, neither of them bothering to order anything.
"Okay, I'm just going to cut to the chase." Toby clasped his hands together on the table. "I was CC'd on that email you sent, and the short of it is that Rikka was absolutely correct. I've tried to carve out time for you until now, but certain things are in motion now and I have a lot more on my plate. I know it's not what you want to hear, but I don't have time for anyone other than my clients."
"What certain things?" Homura asked. "Two weeks ago you were more than happy to meet me."
"You're quite the optimist," Toby said. "That was me putting my responsibilities off, if anything. And you had been so persistent, I wanted to at least give you some face time. Besides, whatever it is you've come up with, I'm assuming it isn't done."
That much was true. Perhaps she had been too eager to move forward.
"So you really can't help me."
Toby nodded. "Like my secretary said, we're undergoing some restructuring now. Unfortunately for you and me, the business of printing and selling stories is on its way out. Our president assures us that he has plans for the future, and that these are necessary losses. I have no choice but to believe him…which reminds me, try not to be too hard on Rikka. She's been under a lot of stress, getting transferred and whatnot. She narrowly missed being laid off with the rest of her team. I went to college with her older brother, so I was able to put a word in. But the rest of them? All unemployed, now. So try to have a little empathy, okay? The horizon isn't where the sky ends."
Homura left the building soon after that. The rain obscured everything as she walked back to the station; when she looked into the distance, she couldn't even tell where the horizon was.
Unsurprisingly, Toby suggested that she try her luck elsewhere before she left. We aren't the only publisher in this city, he said.
All very well and true, but Toshoukan was certainly one of the largest. And she couldn't guarantee that someone nice like Toby would be working at any of those publishers. The truth was that she had no connections and no publications under her belt to make her case; meeting Toby had been a stroke of luck.
After walking a couple blocks, she sat down at a bus stop and tried to see if she could look up any information about the company's financial situation, but found little to nothing. Toshoukan was privately owned and thus not publicly traded, so there wasn't much insight into their health as a firm. She supposed she had to take Toby's words at face value.
Sighing, she set her phone aside and stared sightlessly across the street.
Or perhaps not so sightlessly, because she saw someone she recognized.
There was a small cafe across the street, tucked in between a designer store and a family diner. Madoka was seated at a table by the window, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. Homura picked up her umbrella and crossed the street, almost forgetting to look both ways beforehand.
The cafe was quaint, with warm lighting and cozy wooden furniture. A barista with a thick beard nodded at her when she entered, a small book held in his hands. The speakers played classical music; Chopin's Nocturne Opus 9 No. 2, mainstream but comforting in its familiarity.
Madoka was scrolling through her phone when Homura approached, but she had a blank expression on her face like she wasn't seeing anything she was looking at.
"Fancy meeting you here," Homura said.
The pinkette started and looked up. "Oh…Homura! What are you doing here?"
"I had some business to take care of nearby," Homura said. "What about you?"
"Oh…" Madoka smiled sheepishly. "I was on the bus and I totally spaced out. Next thing I knew I had missed all these stops, and then it started raining…I thought I'd kill some time here and wait out the rain."
"Do you mind?" Homura asked. Madoka shook her head and Homura sat down across from her. "I want to say I didn't take you for the clumsy type, but I'd be lying."
The girl laughed. "Well, thank you for being honest. What sort of business did you have nearby?"
Homura played her fingers across the table. "I'd rather not get into that, if you don't mind. It wasn't good business."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"How about you? Did anything else happen since…you know, last week?"
Madoka smiled softly. "I'd rather not get into that either. But…I haven't said anything to anyone. Not yet. I can't bring myself to."
Homura merely nodded. She wanted to know more, burned for it; but she knew better than to press. She ordered from the barista and sat back down, the two of them watching the world drown outside the window.
"My roommate hasn't been home much lately, which is why I thought I'd camp out here," Madoka said. "There's something depressing about being home all alone, especially when it rains. At least here, I can be around people."
She seemed to want meaningless conversation. "I'd disagree. I'm more at peace when I'm alone," Homura said.
"You don't get lonely?"
"Alone and lonely aren't the same thing. And I've always been fine on my own."
The barista brought Homura's coffee. She thanked him and took a small sip. Warm and tasteful; she would remember this place.
"I wonder what it's like to be in love," Madoka said. "My roommate, she's my best friend. We've known each other for years and years, but I've never seen her like this before. I suppose because it's her first real love. She seems so happy…though of course, I don't see her as much any more. That makes me a little sad. But I'm happy for her."
"It's the honeymoon phase. I'm sure it'll wear off."
Madoka smiled. "Maybe. Do you speak from experience?"
Homura forced a wan smile. "Not much. Just a little."
The conversation remained similarly mundane as the rain continued to fall. Madoka's favorite flavor for anything was strawberry; she disliked bitter things like dark chocolate, and her favorite singer was Yanagi Nagi. Her voice is so pure and soulful…it makes bad days good again, she said. Her hobbies included cooking and building scale models; in fact, whenever a new one was released from her favorite series she would go out and buy it, then spend the rest of the day building it in her room.
"Really, scale models? That's surprising."
Madoka smiled sheepishly. "I don't really talk about it. I mean, it's kind of weird, right?"
"Well, I make up imaginary stories that nobody ever reads, so I'm in no place to judge."
"Don't be like that! I'm sure they're very good. I can read them sometime, if you want some feedback. Though I'm not a very advanced reader…and you should come over sometime! I'll show you all my scales."
"Do you have a favorite?"
"Oh, yes! The Star Destroyer model I made last year took forever. But it's the time you put into it that makes the model special! Though I'll admit I haven't seen Star Wars or know anything about it…but the Star Destroyer is so cool! I can't even remember how many pieces it had…I had glue stuck under my nails for a week."
Homura squirreled all this information on Madoka into the back of her mind for later. To her authenticity was key. The more she knew about Madoka, the more real the story became.
"I had to meet with my counselor on Wednesday to discuss my major," Madoka sighed. "We have a year left before we have to declare, but they really pressure you to pick early…will you stick with economics, Homura?"
"Yes, I intend to. I'm already declared."
Madoka blinked. "You are? Aren't you afraid you'll change your mind?"
"Not really. I know it's not exactly what I want to do, but I also don't mind it. It's good work that pays well enough, and I'm smart enough to do it. As long as it supports my goals in the future, it hardly matters to me what my resume says."
The pinkette smiled at her. "You seem really sure about yourself. I admire that a lot. I always wish I was more headstrong, more confident. I wonder what the secret is. Do you mind telling me?"
Homura thought about it before answering. "I think if you have a dream you really want, you either find your courage or let it go."
"Is writing your dream? Is that how you became so confident?"
"It is. Most writers won't admit it, but it takes a certain level of narcissism to decide that the world needs to hear your stories. You have to have faith in your own prose, anyways. How about you? If you had a dream, something you want with all your heart, would you do anything it takes to attain it?"
For some reason Madoka took a long time to answer Homura's question. She threw back the rest of her coffee and then looked out the window. The rain was finally beginning to subside. It occurred to Homura that Madoka might not be thinking about her own dreams, but rather her mother's dreams, or perhaps Homura's. She understood it was sometimes terrifying for those without dreams to look at those who did; it was a nebulous thing that changed your very understanding of a person.
"I would like to think that I would," Madoka said finally. "It would be nice to have such a powerful dream. I suppose that is where bravery comes from. If I had the strength to decide what it is I want, and then make it happen, I think I would love that version of myself. And I hope you never give up on your dream either, Homura. I hope you reach it one day. Whatever it takes."
It was Homura's turn to smile. "Even if I have to step on people on the way?"
Madoka laughed softly. "That isn't very nice, is it?"
"I'm not a nice person."
"Don't say that. Who else would concern themselves with a helpless stranger like me? You were there when I needed someone, and even now you're here. I don't know what else to call that than kindness. You might not think you are, Homura, but I think you are a very kind person."
The rain ended, and they left the cafe. Madoka asked for Homura's phone and typed her number into it before handing it back. So we can meet on purpose next time, she said.
They took the train back downtown together. The streets glistened with the shallow pools left behind after a heavy rain. Now that the clouds had parted, Homura could see the horizon, outlined in stark contrast to the sun.
The old homeless man was still sitting in the same spot when they descended into the station. Homura skirted around him and waited on the platform for the train.
Madoka, on the other hand, knelt and left five hundred yen in the little box, as naturally as the passing of time.
Once Homura got home she went straight to her room and put on the Chopin Nocturne that had been playing in the cafe, because she felt like she needed a reference point to reality.
She took out her phone and opened the photos of Sasaki Arata and Kaname Junko. She placed the phone on her desk and stared at it, all while listening to the pianist's rubato. Snatches of things she had heard today floated through her mind.
I don't have time for anyone other than my clients.
I hope you reach it one day. Whatever it takes.
I think you are a very kind person.
Madoka did not know her, and she probably never would. The truth was that Homura was not a kind person, far from it. But she was honest, and she had told the truth to Madoka's face at the cafe. It had been the pinkette's choice not to believe her. Kindness was something Homura neither possessed nor valued. The world was filled with kind people already. Only a handful of them were good people on top of that, and even fewer were strong.
Her eyes flitted across the room, from the picture on her phone, to the manuscript on her computer, to the window outside.
And in the depths of her mind, a plan began to form.
In writing this it has occurred to me that I haven't seen many, if any fics where Homura meets Madoka while she is in her "cynical" form. Typically in fics Homura is either in her insecure form and has just met Madoka, or is in her cynical form and has known Madoka for a long time. As a result I realized there isn't much meta to go off of in terms of "cynical Homura meeting normal Madoka," which I suppose is interesting from an originality standpoint.
Anyways, thanks for reading! Please review.
-Banshee
