Author's Note: The events hereby written may or may not be real. Twenty-four down, six to go.
[25/06/16]
She lived too far away, I could never ask her to come back.
Bright-eyed and smiling, she waves from the other side of the terminal. Hands in his pockets, feet on the ground, his eyes are fixed on her and how she has let her hair grow long again; the faded rose gold makes her look like something out of this world, a watered down memory of someone he used to love.
They were only children when they met and the world was a different place, then. It has been years, and in time, they have grown out, spread their roots, sought different ways. They are no longer the same people who met in that place, but some days it feels like they could still be. Today is going to be one of those days, Yamato can already tell. The customary greetings, the presents — everyone's eyes and fingers and mouths linger too long on her, and he has to check himself before old, old things begin to stir.
He's still thinking about it hours later, and when she gives him that knowing look he knows he's already set himself up for failure.
"Is something the matter?"
Softly, slowly, he blinks. She knows him well enough by now to understand this as a denial, not a dismissal, and her soft mouth curves into a small frown. She is afraid to ask, still walking on eggshells whenever they discuss his personal life, never knowing how much is too much for her to know. It has gotten better with the years, but old habits die hard and she can feel herself biting down on her tongue to avoid bombarding him with questions.
"Take-kun said Mimi-chan came to visit," she says, and his eyes slide down to hers too fast to be merely coincidental. Unsmiling, she holds his gaze over her cup of tea. He doesn't say anything, and so she presses on. "Have you seen her yet?"
Raising his eyebrows, he stretches his long legs under the table, reaching out for a menu.
"I have."
"Was it ...?"
"It was okay."
She doesn't say anything and for a while, he doesn't either. He's thinking about all the ways in which it was not okay, still unable to forget the look in her eyes when he announced he had to go. He keeps saying it over and over in his head, 'I'm sorry, I have to see someone', and tries to convince himself this is why he did it. But the truth is that she said 'It's all so different, back home', and it was as if she was shot him in the knee.
"She has a life, back there," he murmurs quietly, fingers still over the ceramic ear of his mug. "And I'm not a part of it."
The admission is simple, less painful than he thought it would be. He steals a glance across the table, finds her looking carefully into her drink, thin eyebrows crinkling in concentration. Her grip on the cup slackens as she realises he's staring, and she throws her short hair back, sighing.
"You have a life here too, Yamato," and then adds, "A good one."
"Yeah," he says, and his smile is softer, more gentle. He reaches out and places his hand over hers, pressing. "It is."
When she says good-bye, he leans closer so she can kiss his cheek.
"Mimi-chan is a sweet girl," Natsuko says. "But you're a sweet boy too, Yamato-kun. Don't let this make you bitter."
And she smiles, like she knows what she's talking about.
She does, he reminds himself, and that knowledge is reassuring.
"I'll see you next week, kaasan."
His apartment is blissfully empty, dark when he comes home. His phone hasn't stopped buzzing and he silences it, places it carefully on the coffee table. In the dark of his living room, he does not have to smile anymore. His hand rubs his jaw and he licks his lips. The whole thing seems plucked out of a distant time, an ancient photograph, a silent film starring someone else.
Cutting, like a knife, he murmurs, "She doesn't love me anymore."
Then louder, "She doesn't love me anymore."
Finally, he falls back on the couch, runs his pale fingers over thin golden hair, throws his head back and, disbelieving, laughs.
"She doesn't love me anymore."
In the dead of night, he has no choice but to believe it.