A Reason To Live

::Chapter Three::

Chance and Fate

They walked into the western-style café silently, both of them dripping all over the floor, but in light of the turn of events that didn't seem to matter all that much. Arashi made a gesture with her head for him to sit at a small round marble table flanked with two chairs, and sit he did. He pulled out the chair and flung his feet on the inlaid marble table with a kind of childish abandon. Arashi glanced around the little café, curious to see who had noticed his careless actions, but the rest of the café seemed oblivious, almost like mindless drones. It was, after all, a rainy day, and people were disinclined to move through the grey monotony with any amount of energy.

Arashi and Hiro sat together, yet apart, in a silence that wasn't quite uncomfortable, but in a silence that wasn't quite comfortable either. They sat there, just like that, the hands of the ancient clock in the corner crawled by as the minute had slowly made the inevitable ticking noise...

(tick, tick, tick)

...both of them unsure of what to say, Arashi being taciturn by nature and Hiro being so swept away by the current events and foreign emotions that even his normally glib tongue was stilled. And still they sat, the silence growing thicker by the moment.

"May I take your orders?" A bland female voice asked in a slightly bored tone.

Both Arashi and Hiro started at that. At the same time two pairs of eyes, one deep brown and the other a pale grey, turned to stare at the bored looking woman. She was in her late thirties or early forties with a tired face and dressed in the maroon polo shirt and black slacks that constituted the uniform of the small café. On a small gold plate above the breast read a little nametag that said "Takuya Minako."

"I beg your pardon?" Arashi asked the waitress with a slight frown.

The woman smiled, an unpleased line as thin as a scar that curved viscously upwards, giving her face an altogether unpleasant expression. "May I take your orders?" She repeated in a slightly irritated tone.

Arashi glanced at her with a blank expression devoid of the contempt she was inwardly feeling and then pulled out one of the menus which had been shoved haphazardly between the metal caddy containing salt and the like. Barely scanning it she tossed to Hiro as she turned back to the woman. "I'd like a cup of coffee, black, and a small garden salad. Italian dressing please."

The waitress frantically scribbled down the order on her little note pad and then turned her dark eyes to Hiro, who sat with his hands to his side, kicking his feet that didn't quite touch the ground with a kind of sullen boredom that only young boys can manage.

Hiro, without losing the air of sullen boredom allowed a large and slightly malicious grin to slip on to his face. "Hey, Mina-chan, I want two tuna melts, four garden salads, a bowl of chili, six hotdogs and a hamburger. Oh yeah, and a Pepsi to drink. Got it, Mina-chan?"

He watched with a sadistic kind of delight as the dour woman made a futile attempt to scribble down his large order with any kind of rapidity. Arashi eyed Hiro's slender frame with silent amusement. Hiro's broad (and slightly twisted) grin never faltered as he watched the woman's discomfort. Finally, with her task completed, the harried woman scurried off to the kitchen to place Hiro's large order.

After "Mina-chan's" tiny form was out of earshot Hiro's plastered grin fell. It was replaced with a musing frown that didn't fit his youthful face and demeanor at all. He turned to Arashi with his large eyes, sensitive eyes, wondering how to phrase such a tender question. Words tumbled through his mind, and he was at a loss for words, which was to say much, for he was rarely at a loss for words. Finally he found a word that fit, a word that embodied all of his complicated questions so simply it almost seemed ludicrous.

"Who?"

Arashi, who had been meditating on the repercussions of her impulsive decision raised her eyes to his in question, a question Hiro fully expected. "Hm?"

"Who was he?" He not that. On some most base level Hiro understood that the persons grave had been a man's. It was some foundational intuition that led him to that belief. He decided to clarify, not because Arashi didn't understand what he was talking about, but because of a need to talk, to fill the silence. Hiro hated silence. "Whose grave was that? The one you were crying over, I mean. Who was he?"

Arashi closed her eyes with a slight grimace and spoke a single word. "Sorata."

The name was whispered across the distance between the two, from the lips of one, spoken almost like a prayer, to the ears of another, where it was little more than a murmur of a forgotten breeze.

"Sorata?" Hiro's gaze spoke volumes. 'Please elaborate' that raised eyebrow said. 'I don't quite understand' those expressive eyes implored.

Arashi averted her gaze making a non-committal noise. Hiro decided not to press matters further. Instead, he asked another question.

"Why?"

Arashi smiled at this one. Why indeed? What was she supposed to say? Because you remind me of the man I loved? But no, that wasn't quite right. He wasn't like Sorata at all, but then again he was. It just wasn't quite right. Because we're alike in a dissimilar way? But that didn't fit either. A mixture of both? Just what exactly was one supposed to say? All of the above, yet at that same time none of the above? That didn't fit either! Arashi heaved a mental sigh and then opted for the most basic truth she could find.

"I'm not quite sure why."

Hiro eyed her warily. "Not quite sure?"

"Yes, not quite sure. I'm not quite sure why I chose to do this. There was just something. I really don't know how to describe it, or even if I can describe it. It's something foreign, not destiny, not entirely, but-"

"Chance. That's what I call it. In no way destined but 'right' all the same. Does that make sense?"

Arashi mulled over that for a while. No, not quite "chance" either, but close to "chance" than "destiny." Arashi had gotten her fill of "destiny," most of it unpleasant.

"Chance is close enough. So, Hiroshi-kun, what's your 'why'? Why did you come to tell me your name? Why did you take notice of me at all?

Hiro looked at her and then down. His carefree demeanor and glib tongue seemed to disappear as he began to speak in halting, clipped tones. He grew old, much too old, to ever been mistaken as twelve, though twelve he was. He became someone else entirely, someone that Arashi understood the moment such a persona appeared. It was similar to her, very similar. It was the demeanor of someone who had lost everything that meant anything to them.

His story started simply. "It was snowing that night..."

It was snowing that night, in far-away America. Vermont, to be exact. Hiro and his "family" were just returning from a Christmas Eve full of cheer at joy at his "mother's" house. It was Christmas in Vermont, and the snow was beautiful indeed, a young boy's wish, in fact.

A thin man with a graying beard sat being the wheel (his name was Rick O'Reilly, but that's irrelevant). He was slightly flushed, a moderate drinker, who, given time would become a heavy drinker, who, given time would become an alcoholic. The man was a bad drunk, but neither of the other two knew that. Neither of the other two had any idea that he might someday become a despicable, disgusting creature. Neither of the other two really had anything concerning the "future" on their minds at the time, neither did the man. Given time, if Chance willed, Destiny would change this man for the worst, but that wasn't important at the moment. In fact, this man's Destiny wasn't important at all, because Chance was about to intervene. But at the moment, that wasn't important either, because right then and there the man was relaxed and happy, with his "family," and a little intoxicated, but come now, it was Christmas Eve.

Beside the man sat a woman (whose name was Patricia, called Patty, and equally irrelevant), well into her late thirties (the same age as the man, her husband). She was a little plump right around the edges (but by no means fat). She was red cheeked and smiling with sparkling bright blue eyes. She was kind, and gentle, and completely unaware of the breast cancer that was lying dormant inside her. Given time, this will kill her after months of chemotherapy and years of agony and pain. Such was her Destiny, but Chance was about to intervene on that too. Right now, though, then and there, it wasn't important, because it was Christmas Eve, she was with her "family" and there was nothing wrong with her body at all. It was absolutely perfect.

The boy sitting in the backseat of the car was young, seven years old to be exact. He wasn't blood-kin to the cheery couple driving the minivan. He wasn't a child of their loins, but he meant as much to them as any of their own children (if there had been any) would have. It was obvious that the child was not of their loins. He was half Japanese. Still, the couple loved him and he loved the couple. A foster family they may have been, but they were (in the truest sense) a real family bound together through trust and love, if not blood. They were an ideal "family," unfortunately (as Arashi could have told them) anything in accordance with the definition of "ideal" seldom lasted very long.

So, it was snowing that night, and heavily at that, but they were jovial, and it was Christmas Eve, and how could anything go wrong on Christmas Eve, of all days and nights of the entire year? So, they were a little foolish and a little careless, but they were "good" people (though if you would have asked the woman in about five years about her husband "good" would not have been included in such a description). But anyway, they were "good" people, and, of course, good people don't die in car accidents, no way in Heaven or Hell. "Good" people deserve to live, and go on living until the Lord (who was very "good") took their mortal souls unto His holy bosom when they were old and tired and generally ready to die. "Good" people died of old age and in their sleep with a happy smile on their faces, and they most certainly don't die in a ditch on the side of a road amongst flames and twisted metal. "Good" people don't go to Heaven via a broken neck or shattered rib cage. Nasty things like that never happen to "good" people. It's an absurd to think that this even has the possibility to happen. Everyone knows that "good" people never die young. Everyone knows that "good" people never die in pain. Everyone knows that "good" people don't die screaming. Everyone knows that. It's simple, common knowledge even. Everyone knows, with the exception of Chance.

Many people have cursed Chance, calling it plague. Simultaneously people have blessed chance, calling it luck. People are foolish though, with both their curses and blessings. Chance does not discriminate. Chance cares not about gender, race, age, marital status, health, beauty, intelligence, sexual preference, religion, or anything else that might cause prejudice in the mind of a human. Chance does not believe in "right," nor does it believe in "wrong." Chance only does what it goes, best, it plays with the souls of humans without mercy or malice. It grants to one either luck or plague, and despite what Everyone says Chance couldn't give a rat's ass about whether or not the people on the other end of misfortune are "good" (nor does Chance care if those on the other end of prosperity are "bad"). Of course, Chance isn't the only factor that decides the course of action. Fate had reared his ugly head in this little matter as well.

Fate dictates the victims of Chance, and Fate had just happened to dictate that this time around it would be the "good" people that got royally screwed.

So, they were driving and singing as a classic "I'll be home for Christmas" blared out from the old radio, full of static but jubilant none-the less. It was only at the loudest point that the static became unbearable and Mrs. O'Reilly, the boy's "mother," had to reach out and turn the dial down as one of her hands went to her head and massaged her right temple. So they were singing, and a bit oblivious, especially good ol' Rick, and that's when Chance decided to have a bit of fun.

At this point in the story Hiro took a pause, his young/old face drawn tight. Arashi noticed his hands shaking as he reached to take a sip of his Pepsi.

"You don't have to..." Arashi began.

"Oh but I do." Hiro looked at her with eyes much too old and wise for his age, for his face, a face so youthful it was almost shocking. "You see, this is Fate." The cynical tone surprised Arashi, but looking at him she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. No, not a copy of Sorata. Not in the slightest.

He took a deep breath before he began the second, the final, leg of his story, the part that caused his intelligent grey eyes to fill with tears that remained unshed. "I was happily oblivious, as most children are. I certainly didn't expect what happened next..."

He hadn't expected what happened next, but victims of auto accidents seldom do.

If someone had told him that on Christmas Eve he would loose everything that he held dear he would have looked at them blankly with the full force of a bland, childish, drooling innocence. The accident changed all that. It was (as he would say in later years) like "waking up." The "what" he was "waking up" to could come after, long after the trauma had passed, but right then (and there) he was about the be rather rudely awakened. The wake up call came in the form of something commonly called "black ice."

He had been staring at a deep ditch along the side of the road. It was deep, like a bottomless chasm. Of course his child's mind did not use those words (the thought was more similar to "big black hole" than anything) but still, the concept was still there. Back then his mind couldn't comprehend much. His mind certainly didn't make the connection between the alarming rate which the abyss was growing closer and the panicked screech of tires on pavement. He didn't feel the car tip, and he didn't noticed his "father's" distress. Rick, in his distress, actually let go of the wheel, causing the car to slide into the ditch with disturbing momentum. The car hit the ground of the deceptively shallow ditch with the loud sound of metal grinding together.

Time literally did seem to stand still...

...and then...

There was death.

...and then...

The young boy "woke up."

"They buried them in a small American cemetery and I was set back to Japan. We thought the man would make it but he didn't. The woman died straight off the bat. It was a small funeral, closed casket, of course, and that's all I'm going to say about their deaths. It wasn't pretty, and I really don't want to think about it. Anyway I ended up back here. I was supposed to stay with my relatives, but when I got to the airport they weren't there. So I made my own way. I live in a vacant house. That's me. That's the game Chance has played with me. It needed to be told though, it really did."

Arashi noticed how Hiro had called his "parents" not by "mother" and "father" but merely "the man" and "the woman." He's trying to forget, she thought, and knew it to be true. He was trying to forget the whole incident. She knew the feeling. She had done a similar thing during the time after Sorata's death. It was futile. No matter how hard you tried the ones who were dear to you always remained in your memories. "So that's why you didn't give a last name."

Hiroshi looked up in surprise, his dark grey eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Yeah, you're right. I don't have a last name really anymore."

Arashi was silent for a moment. "Why do you keep on living?"

His usual slightly reckless smile returned and the unshed tears became true tears, rolling down his face in two thin rivulets. "To spite Chance, why else? My life got ruined, but that's no reason to die. I'd rather live."

She considered this, then nodded. "You're dry now, right?"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Yeah, why?"

She ignored his question. "You're done eating, right?"

The suspicious look in his eyes grew even more. "Yeah. I'm stuffed."

Arashi threw some money on the table and got up, grabbing her umbrella. "Then get up. You're coming with me, okay?" She was being impulsive again, and she knew it, but somehow this seemed right.

"What?"

"Exactly what I just said. You're coming with me, how does that sound, Kishuu Hiroshi?"

At that moment Chance struck again (or perhaps this time it was Fate) and Hiro stood up and gave Arashi a brotherly hug. "Sounds great, nee-chan."

Author note

Several things. I made it a western style café because I didn't want to try to mess with Japanese culture. This chapter took me forever to write. Arashi and Hiro have a sister/brother relationship, nothing else. Never fear, the Sorata/Arashi stuff is coming soon. Also, I've come to realise just how hard Arashi is to write because she's so engimatic. Sorry for any mistakes/typos/OOC-ness, whatever.

Reviews

Violet Dreams: Thank you very much for the review. Sorata/Arashi is one of my favorite pairings as well. I hope you enjoy the update.

Takako san: I know how I'm going to end this, and the end is coming soon (but not too soon). Thanks for the compliments!

screw making up random names: Lazy of you...anyway, thanks for the review, as always.

Chibi-Hotaru: Thank you very much!

Liviania: phew, I avoided melodrama. That's always good. I feel terrible for poor Arashi. After Sorata left her life must have just been to bland, but all's well that ends well (just hope that I end it well).

Arisugawa Sorata: I love X, and I'm glad you like my writing!

I really suck at review responses...sorry.