She'd dreamed about Irie last night, snug in another man's bed, and he'd hugged her, kissed her, held her tight, did all the things he'd promised too. She smiles against the soft pillow, trying to catch the warmness of the dream back, chasing after what her mind has already forgotten.
Still. Even if she doesn't remember the exact details, she knows the main gist and so it's all well. It really was a good dream. Irie holding her tight, whispering his heart out in her hair, making her feel warm and loved. She thinks she'll be returning to it often, when the dream isn't her reality, when they are separated, like they are now.
Not separated in the technical sense, (divorce scares her more than death) no, separated in the we-can't-see-each-other-due-to-miscommunication sense. Irie-kun is still angry with her, angry that she's supposedly with Keita, though she can't imagine why he'd ever be angry about such a thing.
He's not even in love with me, Kotoko thinks, and I'm not in love with him, so why is he so frantic? So angry?
She thinks about his hug, his happiness, and she think about the fact that her happiness is tied to his. She thinks about holding him close, sitting in the grassy fields side by side, his hand on top of hers, legs touching. She thinks of him, and her heart swells, and she feels some sort of melancholic sweetness pass through her.
Still. Being at Keita's, and thinking about another man is just rude. Even if the other man is always Irie. Irie is always the one she'll think about.
Keita, for some reason, likes sleeping in his couch instead of his bed, so Kotoko wakes up in Keita's big bed, and thinks about Irie for a while. She goes to the bathroom, still wearing the same clothes from last night, and gurgles her mouth with water, takes a swipe of mouthwash; calls it a day.
She's so stupid, leaving all of her belongings behind, hopping from house to house. She cries a little bit, wiping her tears with sink water.
When she comes out, Keita's already dressed. He's standing at the door, glancing at his watch. "Sure took a while in there," he says, giving her a once over. "Are you alright?"
She nods, gives him a smile. "Yes, I'm fine," Kotoko replies, glancing around the small, open living room. "Do you want me to make breakfast?"
Keita blinks at her, shakes his head no. He turns away from her a little bit, and she can't really read his face from this angle. The shadows that cover his face make him look a little bit scary, mysterious. He has the same strong, side profile that Irie has, she thinks, and so she stares at him for a long time.
"Are you even listening?"
"Sorry! What did you say?" Kotoko walks over to the door, slipping her shoes on.
"Marina's going to treat us to lunch today," Keita reexplains, watching her face. "She said not to eat too much, since we're going to be going out later. You didn't get her message?"
Kotoko feels her pocket for her phone. It's there, but it's not turned on. She'd shut it off completely before she even entered Keita's. She can't tell him that though.
"I…must have not gotten it!" Kotoko lies. She forces a sheepish expression on her face. "Anyways, let's walk to the hospital together," she says, trying to redirect the conversation. "We can pick up a drink along the way! My treat!"
Keita pauses, glancing at her. There's a certain chill in the air, something that rouses suspicion. Or perhaps he's just suspicious of Kotoko. Maybe she's being suspicious.
"Are you really alright?" Keita's got his hand on the doorknob!
"Of course I am," Kotoko replies, cocking her head. Her wide eyes blink back at him, and he looks away from her, quickly.
"Just checking," Keita says, jiggling the doorknob. The color of the rusted doorknob, a deep yellow-brown compliments Keita's own complexion. Kotoko wonders if he spends a lot of time in the sun. Hmm. She thinks his slightly darker complexion is natural, and she stares at him. He is good looking, she decides. Keita is not ugly. He's got the same focused look that she's seen on Irie all too much, and he's got healthy hair, and a strong, straight nose. Irie's is thinner though, she thinks, mentally comparing the two.
It takes Keita two or three tries before it fully opens, and he shakes his head, annoyed. "It always takes a couple turns," he explains, and Kotoko smiles, knowingly.
"I know all about that! I've got one at home that's the exact same!"
"So they're common," Keita says, trailing off.
He waits for Kotoko to step outside the door before he shuts it behind them. She feels her smile fade as he looks at her, expectantly.
"Do you really want to walk together?" He asks, apprehension littering his tone. "I don't know if there's still some things that you need to pick up, and we're still pretty early, so you've got time."
What is he talking about? Oh. Right. She's got only the clothes on her back and her phone with her. Why do I keep forgetting? Even her mind doesn't know why she doesn't know.
Kotoko feels like crying. Her eyes spring up with tears, the sort of tears that just appear, like when you've been sneezing and then your eyes water suddenly.
"That's true," she manages, and she turns away from him, as if she's trying to hide her unsteady voice. "You're right. I'll just call a cab, and then I'll be on my way. Thanks for your help, Keita." This is goodbye, she thinks, relief washing over her.
She feels guilty for being happy, but she doesn't know why. It's not like she doesn't want to spend time with Keita, no, she enjoys having him around, but something's off. Her body, her intuition is telling her something's not right.
But Keita isn't scary. She feels horrible for even thinking that about someone who's helped her so much. She sneaks another glance at him.
Keita stands still. He hasn't moved. "You know, Kotoko," Keita starts, slowly. "If I could, I'd diagnose you with depression."
What?
"Depression?" Kotoko is stunned. "What? I'm not depressed. Why would you say that?" Her mind feels like its on the verge of fizzling out. She knows he's going to start talking about Irie, so she braces herself, looking right up at him.
To her surprise, he doesn't bring up Irie at all.
"Well, maybe like…a hidden depression, I don't know," Keita says, his voice fading to a mumble. "Maybe you're at high risk for depression?"
"You're a worse nurse than I am," Kotoko says, purposefully missing the point. "High risk isn't the correct term for mental illnesses."
Keita scowls at her. "No way you're correcting me," he replies, but there's no bite in his voice. He leans against the door, scratching his neck. The motion reminds her of Irie. She tries to not dwell on the thought, but thinking about Irie is such a norm for her. Thoughts of him enter her mind even when she's trying hard to forget about him.
Irie was right, even back in high school.
She blinks. Keita is here with her. Irie is not. Time to focus.
"Fine," Keita says, looking back at Kotoko. "What's the correct term?"
"Prone," Kotoko replies, easily. "Prone to depression." She smiles, giddy at being correct for once.
"Whatever," Keita says, pulling himself up from the door. Kotoko laughs at him, and his cheeks flush. "It's not even a serious mistake," he mumbles, walking away from her. "No one will care if you say high risk, or prone. They mean the same thing."
"Just admit you're wrong! It's okay to make mistakes!" Kotoko sings, stretching out the words. She starts walking after Keita. "Hey, wait up! Are we really taking a taxi?"
He pauses. "You want me to come with you?"
Kotoko falters. "Well, no, I — "
"No, it's alright," Keita says, pulling out his phone. "I'll call one for you, then we'll ride back together. No big deal." He's already dialing the number, raising the phone to his ear.
Keita hums as he waits for the receiver to pick up. He suddenly takes his phone off his ear, and asks Kotoko her street, returning to the call when she tells him.
"You'll be there in five? Sounds good," Keita says, his back slightly turned to her. She waits, glancing around the lawn. It's mowed down, neatly. The grass is short, not long enough to tickle her ankles like it is in Irie's house. She doesn't know which she likes better.
"Alright." Keita walks over to her. "I've called them."
"Thanks," Kotoko says, quietly. "I really appreciate your help, Keita."
"It's no problem," Keita replies, putting his phone in his pocket. "You can depend on me."
She looks up at him, eyes wide. Why is he saying these things? Is he trying to make me cry? Kotoko stares at his angular face, framed by long, jet black hair. She wonders, for the nth time today, how he gets his hair like that, all shiny, sleek, long.
"You've got beautiful hair," Kotoko says, unable to stop herself. "I really like it."
Keita smiles at her, a grin that steals the words out of her mouth. She doesn't think she's ever seen him this happy, and honestly, she's not used to a happy Keita. The Keita she knows is always grumpy. She wonders who's grumpier, Keita, or Irie. It's a hard one, surprisingly.
"I can tell," Keita says. He runs a finger through his hair, laughing when she still doesn't look away from him. "I always catch you staring at my hair."
"Oh," Kotoko says, looking away. "Sorry, I didn't mean it in a rude way. It's just so pretty!"
Keita frowns. "Are you saying that I look like a girl?"
"What? No, I'm not saying that, I'm just saying your hair is pretty. Pretty means the same thing as beautiful." Kotoko smiles at him, teasingly. "Just like how prone and high-risk mean the same thing."
"You're not being fair," Keita says, and his frown morphs into a pout. She doesn't even think he knows how childish he's being. Kotoko brings her hand to her mouth, covering her small laugh.
Keita's scowl deepens.
"Stop laughing at me!" He's even crossed his arms! Images of Yuuki flash through her mind, and Kotoko can't hide her laugh any longer.
"I keep forgetting that I'm older than you," Kotoko starts, still giggling. "But when you act like this, I can't believe I'd ever forgotten!"
Keita pauses, and he glances at Kotoko, who hasn't recovered from her laughing fit. He walks over to her, quietly, and he smiles at her.
"Keita," Kotoko says, feeling her heart speed up, for reasons she doesn't know. What is going on? The ground feels unsteady, wobbly underneath her. He's so close.
He blinks down at Kotoko, having effectively silenced her.
"Which do you like better?" Keita asks, reaching out and swiping a loose strand of hair away from her face. "Older guys, or guys younger than you?"
A leaf crinkles underneath her feet as Kotoko steps back from Keita. He reaches out, pulls her close. His large hand lingers at her waist, and Kotoko feels her heart leap from her chest, and to her mouth. She can't breathe, she can't even whisper out his name.
Still, she can think. She thinks Irie should be holding her close like this. She wants Irie to hold her close like this, she wants his firm, unwavering grip, not Keita's feathery light grasp.
A car horn honks, and Keita jumps away from Kotoko, leaving the two of them stunned, frozen outside the flat. The taxi driver rolls down his window. "Get a move on!" The driver yells, letting his arm rest outside the window.
Kotoko frowns when she sees the cigar in the driver's hand. "This isn't a regular cab you know," he shouts over the engine.
Not a regular cab? Kotoko glances at Keita, but he's already making his way towards the car. She follows him, noticing that he sits in the back with her. It's normal, she reminds herself. Nothing special. Keita is being a good friend.
Too good of a friend.
The driver repeats her address, but Keita speaks up before she can, and Kotoko slinks further in her seat. What was that, earlier? She remembers the look in his eyes, the way he had blinked down at her, slowly. She remembers the way his dark eyes had shone, even in the cloudy light of day. With an unnerving amount of self-awareness, Kotoko thinks if she had liked Keita back, even the slightest bit, she would reflecting on these memories with glee, giddiness.
She isn't.
The rest of the ride is quiet. Keita lives surprisingly far from town. The driver is a nice driver — when he stops talking, Kotoko thinks, and then she corrects herself, in her head. There is no such thing as a nice driver, Irie would say, shaking his head. You're either good at it, or you're not. She almost smiles at the Irie in her head, but then she remembers that she is actually driving to where Irie will be, and she feels her stomach twist and turn and then stretch out like a taut rubber band, on the verge of snapping apart.
Will Keita be accompanying her there too? There's no harm if he does, just a coworker stopping by, but Kotoko's thoughts complicate things, like they always do. She keeps thinking about Irie's reaction. Irie's not scary. He's not a bad person.
He's not, he wouldn't…do anything to her, she knows, but she's just, Kotoko just doesn't want to disappoint him.
He's disappointed with her, isn't that it? He's frequently angry at her mistakes, displeased with her actions, but he's never directed that at her. Irie loves her. He does. He loves her very much. She knows that. He chose her. I love him, Kotoko thinks, and only him.
She thinks more and more about Irie as the roads start to become familiar again, as the house she's lived in for what seems like forever starts to come in view.
The taut rubber band tears a little bit when Keita turns and smiles at her, places his hand on hers. "Don't worry," he says, softly. "You can just go get your things. I'll be waiting for you."
The driver parks the car on the side of the road, grumbling something, and Kotoko unbuckles her seatbelt, waving to Keita as she climbs out of the car. She thinks about calling this specific service more often, and she thinks about sharing this newfound knowledge with Irie.
Kotoko glances back at the cab as she climbs the large stairs. She wonders if he's still watching her.