Clumsy
To Sa-chan
They walked down the Sunday road together, side by side. She was softly humming to herself, gently swinging her hat in time to the music. He listened in silence, seemingly lost in the tuneful lilt of her song, his eyes bent to the pavement.
But he wasn't listening to her at all.
You do love her, don't you, Yuki? You love her a lot, right?
That kid, he fumed. Yuki pictured the bright face of his cousin tilted inquisitively up as he stared down at him, dumbfounded. Where did Momiji get such an idea? He jerked the canvas shopping bag in irritation, imagining the bag slamming into that smiling countenance. But, Yuki instantly noted ruefully, the bag was empty. The slap of canvas cloth would hardly sting.
"Yuki-kun?"
"Yes?" He started, perceiving Tohru looking up at him worriedly.
"Are you all right?" she queried.
Yuki reddened. "Oh, no, I'm fine."
"But," Tohru persisted, "you look upset. I thought I heard you say something just a moment ago." She cocked her head to one side, puzzled. "And then you swung your bag like this—" She demonstrated, flailing her own empty canvas bag wildly about. "Are you really all right, Yuki-kun? Is something wrong?"
"No, I'm fine," Yuki repeated. "I—I was just swatting away a bug."
Tohru nodded understandingly. "I see. There are a lot of bugs out here today, yes?" She scanned the surrounding woods, biting her lip. "I shouldn't have suggested that we take a shortcut through the park. I'm sorry, Yuki-kun."
"Oh, no!" he protested. "I'm really glad that we came through the park." He smiled warmly. "I always like walking with you, Honda-san."
She blushed.
Yuki, you need to tell her. She's really a sweet and gentle person, but she's not very perceptive.
That kid, he reflected again, resignedly, this time.
They continued along the path. She resumed her song. Now and again, the streamers of her hat would flutter against him, a quick timeless beat against his hand. At each casual brush of the silk against his skin, he felt a slight tingling.
Don't hide your feelings.
But what if nothing comes of it? he thought. Then she'll have that burden, that painful and awkward memory.
Even though it may be a painful memory, no memory can be forgotten. No matter what kind of memory it is, it should always be in the heart. And it will one day become precious.
What if it remains a bad memory? He listened to her cheerful hum, took in her smiling face. It's selfish of me to impose that kind of burden on her.
Isn't it selfish for you to hide your feelings? If you don't tell her, how will she know her own?
Maybe there's nothing at all, he thought.
She tripped and fell against him. He reached out, steadying her. "Are you all right?" he asked, still holding her arms.
"Yes." She looked up at him, smiling gratefully. He felt his heart toss and billow out like clouds, filling his throat, his mouth.
You need to tell her.
He could tell her now. He could just open his mouth and his heart and let the words spill out of him, the way rain spills out of the sky.
"Honda-san . . ."
"Yes?"
"I—I—"
But he couldn't say the words.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Well." He scanned the sky to mask his confusion. "It looks like rain. I think that we should find shelter before—"
His warning came too late. The storm broke then. The rain tumbled down as they stood in the middle of the empty path. They stared at each other, dumbly, for a moment. He took in the darkening blue of her skirt, the empty canvas bags, her shocked face. As his gaze swung upwards, he spied the dim peak of a roof through the trees.
"Honda-san!" he shouted, grabbing her wrist. "Hurry!"
They slid and skidded across the wet pavement. He held onto her arm, firmly but gently, propelling her through the woods to the shelter of the abandoned shed.
For a moment they stood still, gasping a little for breath, listening to the rain drumming against the thin roof. Yuki surveyed the room, his eyes roving over the warped walls, to the open square of blurred green to his left, and, finally, to the slender girl beside him.
"That was quite sudden, wasn't it, Yuki-kun?" she remarked. He couldn't see her eyes beneath the dripping brim of her hat.
"Yeah."
"We're very lucky that you found this place, Yuki-kun," she went on, gingerly removing her hat and shaking the excess water from the brim. "If we hadn't come here, we would have been in trouble – we might have caught cold."
"Honda-san . . ."
She lifted her face inquiringly to him. Her hair lay against her cheek like a dash of sepia ink. Unthinkingly, he brushed the wet strands from her face, his fingers lingering against her cool skin.
"Y-Yuki-kun," she stammered, a deep red staining her cheeks.
Tell her.
He bent down, his eyes dark and dilated. He saw her large eyes grow larger as he came nearer. He felt the warmth of her skin rising against his own flushed face, sensed the slight pulse of her heart accelerating in time to his own. Words shivered, trembled on his lips like raindrops along the edge of a red maple leaf. Then he opened his mouth and loosed the storm within his heart.
"I love you," he whispered quietly.
But the rain drowned out his words. She peered up at him in the gloom, a mystified expression in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't hear you. What did you say, Yuki-kun?"
He flushed an even deeper shade of pink and turned away, coughing to hide his embarrassment.
"Nothing. It's nothing, Honda-san."
"Oh."
He whipped around. Did he hear disappointment in her voice? he wondered. He searched her face, but found nothing.
"Are you all right, Honda-san?" he asked. "I'm afraid there isn't any fire or anything, so . . ."
She waved her hands about. "Oh, no, I'll be fine! I'm worried about you, though!" She gestured to his chest. "I'm worried you'll catch a cold . . ."
"The day is still really warm, so . . ."
"Ah. I see." She smiled hesitantly then went to the window.
He hung back and followed her with his eyes, tracing the lines of her profile, her shoulders thin and dark against the rain and the green.
Tell her.
I don't know how, he wanted to shout. I want to tell her, but how can I say it when I don't have the words?
Don't be scared. Move forward – because, if you don't, nothing will change.
He didn't move, though, only stood with his hands clenched against his thighs. But in the end, it means nothing, right? he told himself. These words, though I want to say them, are stupid and empty.
You're wrong, Yuki. It's everything. And – I think – it's everything to her, too.
"Ah, Yuki-kun," she began. She beckoned him to the window. "I think the rain is stopping." She pointed out to the sky and smiled.
He stared at her, caught. Again, he felt his heart rise up and swell out like the clouds and the rain beyond her. He moved to her, until he felt the chill of her sleeves against his arms, the warmth of her cheek against his palm.
You don't need words. Sometimes, you can say everything with nothing at all.
"Y-Yuki-kun . . ." she stammered.
"Honda-san, I—"
Then he leaned down, and kissed her.
And she finally understood.