bittersweet: a mixture of joy and pain; finding happiness amidst sorrow


Eru would never admit it, but she had watched Seijuro's retreating figure all the way until she could no longer distinguish his silhouette from the fading glow of the setting sun, lost among the lilac clouds and darkening skies.

It occurred briefly to her that this was what he had always been since the day they had first met in Teiko – as radiant as the sun at its peak. But not everything remains accessible, and the sun, in all its brilliance, couldn't remain at its highest point forever. Eventually, it retreated until it lingered just out of reach: enough to be cognizant of its presence, but far too little to ever feel secure. And still, it was in those moments that the true extent of its remarkable beauty could even come close to being captured.

The tiny smile playing on the corner of her lips slipped off her face once he disappeared from sight and was quickly replaced by an unwelcome feeling of dread at the prospect of facing her parents. She gingerly reached for the sliding door, only to feel it being pulled abruptly from her grasp.

Her mother cut an imposing figure against the doorway, partially illuminated by the dwindling evening light. Although it took a moment to fully register her presence, the look of disdain that marred her mother's facial features had an immediate effect – a sinking heart alongside a growing sense of dread.

"Come in," she said, and there wasn't an ounce of warmth in her voice. "I want to hear about your day."

Eru slipped into the house through the narrow space between the door and her mother, making sure to avoid even the briefest contact. Her heart was beating so fast that her vision was beginning to blur, but she knew that it was impossible to do more than delay the inevitable. There was a muffled thud where she cast her belongings onto the carpeted floor, before her mother destroyed all hope of dwelling on pleasantries.

"Your position for entrance exams?" The silence that followed was deafening, and it was painfully obvious from her mother's stiffened posture that the latter knew to expect bad news.

"Fourth." In a cohort of three hundred and twelve, she wanted to add, but she knew that detail wouldn't make any difference to her mother. "I'm sorry."

If she had even for a moment believed that an apology would soften the incoming blow, then she was sorely mistaken.

"You won't ever be as worthy as she was."

The words were whispered, but she heard them loud and clear. For a moment, Eru almost wished that she had been on the receiving end of another stinging slap – perhaps she wouldn't be in quite as much agony then. And though there was no external sign of the pain being inflicted on her, she knew that the scars would have already unwittingly carved themselves onto her heart.

Nanase Misaki had already turned away, ignoring the forlorn figure bracing herself desperately against the wall. Eru felt condemned – as though her mother had uttered a final verdict against her existence. In that moment, she felt an immense hatred for herself: even with the emotional turmoil, there was nothing she yearned for more than her mother's acceptance.

It was odd that she was reacting this way, when the words had always been lurking menacingly beneath the thinly-veiled displeasure her mother felt towards her. They had been lingering at the back of her mind from the moment their family had received the bad news, and her mother had transformed into someone truly unrecognisable. Still, hearing the words being spoken aloud concretised their meaning somehow, and now it was so much more real than it had ever been.

Once her mother disappeared into the study, Eru turned on her heel and headed for her bedroom. The moment she slid the door shut, she sank onto the hard, wooden floor, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. It was as though all the barriers holding on tightly to her emotions instantly crumbled into infinitesimal pieces; the hot tears that had been gathering reluctantly at the corner of her eyes rolled defiantly down her cheeks.

Half an hour later, Eru brushed the last remnants of tears from her damp cheeks. As she made her way to the adjourning bathroom, she pulled her brown curls back into a high ponytail. Her trembling hands turned on the tap, before allowing the cool water to run over them. When she lifted her head to the see her reflection in the mirror, she was startled by the shattered, bloodshot gaze staring back at her. For the first time in ages, she had lost control of her emotions – something she had always held on tightly to, for fear of exposing her vulnerabilities. Then, almost instantly, the expression was replaced by a defiant one; forced, but certain nonetheless. After all, this was just another crack she had to conceal.

When Eru finally pulled herself away from the sink and headed back into her bedroom, she felt considerably more stable; her body wasn't shaking unnecessarily, and her breathing was steady again. Her bed sank beneath her weight, and the duvet felt comforting between her hands, as she ran her fingers back and forth over the soft material. A wave of exhaustion took over her and her eyes to fluttered shut. Somehow, the overwhelming silence that enveloped the room didn't feel stifling at all – not when it was a welcome contrast to the cruel words she had just been on the receiving end of. By the time the peace was interrupted by the soft chimes indicating dinner, Eru was already fast asleep.


Her dreams were filled with desolation and little else; haunting figures and a sense of fear that lingered even after her eyes flickered open. Outside her window, the sky was still dark, and Eru could only vaguely identify the masses of clouds that shielded the faded stars from her view. Though she felt physically rested, her mind was an endless turmoil of indistinguishable, inseparable emotions that contributed to the ever-present heaviness in her heart.

Her morning routine was reassuringly familiar and did wonders to relieve the residual unease in the wake of her unpleasant memories of the day before. After retrieving her messenger bag, Eru padded lightly down the hallway, eager to escape the suffocating confines of her home.

The rush of cool air that greeted her when she slid open the wooden door felt like freedom. Disregarding everything else, there was just something about the sheer simplicity of this part of Kyoto that she couldn't quite put a finger on. In her mind, this minimalist, but distinctive architecture recounted stories in a subtle way of their own; unlike the modern skyscrapers of Tokyo, these quaint wooden houses breathed.

When she arrived at the train station, Seijuro was already waiting with his blazer draped casually over his right shoulder. His gaze roamed the open platform before quickly landing on her, and she noticed the way he instinctively gave her a once-over as if to ascertain her condition. A part of her wondered why she'd never paid closer attention to the intensity in his eyes; the heterochromatic colours were a source of fascination – unique, captivating and impossible to unravel. Now, she wasn't convinced that she had the willpower to look away.

"Eru," he greeted, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of his lips. "I trust you slept well."

Flashes of her disconcerting dreams rose to the forefront of her mind, before being replaced by the bitter aftertaste of her mother's words. Seijuro sensed her hesitation and cast her a questioning glance, but she dismissed his efforts with a bright smile and hurried footsteps. Thankfully, the sound of the train rolling into the platform removed any potential for further conversation, and Seijuro redirected his attention towards finding room for both of them in the crowded cabins.

With a steady hand pressed against her back, Seijuro guided her to an empty seat before positioning himself directly in front of her. In a way, the gesture felt almost protective – like this was his subtle way of ensuring her security. Eru supposed that this was the strangest thing about their relationship; sometimes she was convinced that she was the one monitoring him, making sure he wasn't too overwhelmed by his self-imposed expectations. But moments like this made her realise that he was often the one looking after her.

His firm hold on her arm was unwavering as he steered her through the other students alighting at their station. The way Eru lagged behind him ever-so-slightly gave her the opportunity to admire his absolute focus. And it was in everything: his confidence, his protectiveness, and what she had always appreciated in her life – his steadiness. It seemed that, despite everything, he was still her constant; the anchor amidst the turbulent waves that threatened to drown her.

A figure with tousled brown hair bounded towards them, and Eru barely had time to register his presence before she was given a gentle nudge in the side. Igarashi appeared to be full of good humour, and it was his brilliant smile juxtaposed against Seijuro's half frown that made her realise how drastically different they were. If Seijuro was an anchor, then Igarashi was a hurricane – the kind that drew you in, held on tight, changed your world, and you would never even see it coming.

"Catch you later during Lit, Nanase-chan." Igarashi was still beaming widely, emanating a surprising amount of warmth considering how she barely even considered him an acquaintance. Then he raised his left hand in a gesture of farewell and returned to the same girl he was with the day before.

Igarashi's abrupt departure seemed to have an instantaneous effect of draining the energy in the atmosphere. Eru didn't miss how Seijuro withdrew his fingers from her, all the while maintaining an unnerving silence. He remained a step ahead of her until they reached 1-A, and he hadn't once spared a glance in her direction.

Although these bouts of coldness were not completely out of the ordinary, a part of her felt bitter – not at him, specifically – but towards the circumstances; perhaps it was selfish of her to think solely of herself in this situation, but Eru couldn't help but wonder why Seijuro hadn't chosen a better day to pull away from her. On most days, he kept her steady against the shifting tides. But this time, when the tides were rising rapidly all around her and threatening to throw her against the deadly rocks, her anchor was slowly being hoisted away, leaving her to fend for herself.

She heard Seijuro release a soft sigh and angle his body towards hers. Years of interaction allowed her to detect the remotest hint of an apology written across his features.

"I'll find you later at lunch?" He was never one for unnecessary apologies – not since the incident with Murasakibara – but she recognised his effort to extend an olive branch. And because of that, she gave him the softest smile.

"Of course. Just like always."

Any lingering detachment in his gaze disappeared, and the smile he returned her was genuine. She could feel it. For two entirely different individuals, this was a major common ground: a mutual love for routine and consistency; a fear of abrupt and drastic change.

Ironically, his dread had manifested in his own change from a kind, mild-mannered but firm, compassionate person, into someone unrecognisable: commanding, cold, condescending. But not to her, never to her. In a way, Eru reckoned that Seijuro likened himself to coal: something that needed significant change to be considered valuable, and the only way to achieve that would be to place himself under immense pressure. Without it, he would never be what his father demanded him to be – diamond.

On her part, she had been groomed – moulded, even – to be ignored; to achieve constant success without complaint. Sometimes, she felt like a trophy placed in a display cabinet to lord over others but serving little other purpose. Its maintenance was left to others; her parents wouldn't even consider performing a task as menial as that. To be noticed in her household wasn't a good thing. It meant that she had failed to meet her parents' expectations, or in their eyes, failed to properly replace her sister.

Despite the many things that set them apart, there was a unique kind of relief in the semblances of similarities she occasionally stumbled upon. Though it had taken her far too long to realise, she was beginning to recognise just how valuable it was to have found someone who shared her struggles; someone that she was convinced would stay with her till the end.

A/N: so I thought this would get done fairly quickly, but I was wrong. this chapter was meant to be significantly longer, but I realised that it didn't quite make sense to cut the chapter off where I had planned to. at least that means the next chapter is basically half written!

on another good note I finally got my results for IB so I genuinely have no excuse to write, except that I'm lazy. would've published this earlier too, but I got distracted playing super smash bros brawl. still, thank you guys for continuously supporting me:) think I'd be a lot less motivated (if that's possible) if it weren't for the lovely reviews