-/ Chapter 9 \-

Himawari finds the change of pace from high school to university isn't too bad. She has twinges now and again, but she doesn't miss her family that much. She misses the fact that she doesn't have to worry about hurting them, that she can relax with them. To some degree, they are afraid for her and of her. But knowing that took its own toll; that, she doesn't miss.

What makes it bearable is Muun's friendship. Aside from meeting Watanuki, he is one of the few true blessings of Himawari's life. There are a few other people from their high school at her university, but none she wants to be close with. She makes friends here and there, but the person she ends up studying with is Muun. It's comfortable, Muun allows her to keep a safe distance and he doesn't ask for more than her companionship. In university, too, plenty of people are dating so no one can keep track of everyone, and it's less of a big deal to be seen together than in high school.

They talk about school a lot, of course, but they also pick each other's brains about various topics and opinions in a way Himawari has never been able to with anyone else. They could be talking about clouds or fish or the economic market or sociology or politics and Muun can make it all interesting, but he'll be asking her what she thinks, too, and Himawari's never had someone who wanted her thoughtful opinion on anything other than the best restaurants in town or fun things to do or famous idols. When asked Himawari discovers a stronger opinion than she possessed at first. Muun will argue, but he never puts her down, and he's always equally fascinated.

Himawari admires Muun for many reasons: for his confidence in speaking his opinion, for his respect, for his thoughtfulness. He's the best friend she could ever ask for. She can talk to him about her stress, or what is really bothering her, or her worries about what misfortune she may have caused. He calls her out when she gets too negative about her condition. He's usually right. They have only one really loud argument over her luck and it could have ended bitterly, but Muun stopped the quarrel before they could get too wrought up. When they had both cooled off, they apologized and went on as before. What they have is too precious to waste on hard feelings.

What Muun finds unbelievable is that no one ever studied Himawari's curse or thought of teaching her how to minimize the damage. He calls it irresponsible of the priest to diagnose her and leave her to suffer the consequences. He thinks it would have been better if the priest never told her at all; if that wouldn't benefit the world around her, then at least it would have been better for her mental health. Himawari disagrees. Her mental health is fine. It's the world that needs protection from her, not the other way around. In the end she did figure out what to do by herself, and the priest couldn't have known how to help her or he would have offered. But it's not completely under her control, the most she can do is attempt to manage it. At least she knows the mechanism by which the bad luck is transferred: touch.

Muun accepts that some of it is surely real, but he reasons that Himawari's condition is partly in her head. Muun figures that if Himawari is hyperaware of her condition, she might cause it to worsen or notice more things going wrong than she actually caused. Yet as they discussed, if she wasn't aware, she might cause things to happen that could have been prevented. Muun wants to find a better way to minimize her chances of that happening, a way to decrease the consequences of the hyperawareness, and see if that has an effect.

Because she has nothing to lose, and she couldn't really argue that his idea wasn't possibly true, most of the time Himawari goes along with whatever Muun suggests. She's not completely sure, but life does seem to get better in small ways, and she feels more hopeful.

Then, in the middle of one of their study sessions towards the beginning of Himawari's second semester in university, Himawari gets the call.

Gesturing for Muun to remain quiet, Himawari picks up her phone and tucks it between her shoulder and her ear. "Moshimoshi?" she says, moving the textbooks around. Her expressions changing, she picks up the phone and repositions it. "What's going on?" Losing interest, Muun returns to his math homework and completes a few more algebraic steps. "Doumeki—" She turns quiet and intent, listening closely. Muun glances at her, turns his paper over, and copies another question from the textbook.

Finally, Himawari says, in a slightly high-pitched voice, "Watanuki? He's all right?" She listens some more, pained, and at the end of Doumeki's reply she says grimly, "You've been afraid of this all along," and pauses.

For some reason, her eyes flicker across the table to Muun; he tries to look busy. She leans forward, rubbing her temples, and says cagily, "Watanuki...I mean, Doumeki-kun, you're in the best place to judge—do you think he's been taking care of himself? Not...taking risks, or anything like that?"

Muun puts his head down again, and unsuccessfully tries to tune it out. He succeeds for a few seconds, but then Himawari glances at Muun again—Muun eyes her back.

Himawari's eyes revert directly front, and she says, a little too confidently, "Don't worry about it, Doumeki-kun. I have a plan." After that she winds up the conversation, becoming a little more desperate, a little more plaintive, telling him that it's her turn to help—help what?—and at the end her voice drops to a nearly inaudible level. Then she hangs up, looking upset.

Muun checks: "That was Watanuki, wasn't it?"

"It was from Doumeki, but it was a call about Watanuki, yes," she confirms, and her voice drops. "He's an invalid again."

"What happened?"

"He got wounded somehow, a spirit of some kind sliced him up, and then he was knocked out." Himawari closes her eyes. "We keep telling him to be more careful. His job is too dangerous, and he doesn't have enough experience, but he can't leave his post. If he can't take care of himself within the confines of the shop, then..."

"I... I gather you want to do something about it?" Muun asks cautiously.

"I have to, I really need to give him a good piece of my mind," Himawari says, restless; she crosses her arms on the table and rests her head on her piled wrists. "But only once he gets better. I don't want to push him over the edge." She sighs. "I ought to be angry, but I don't know if I can get angry at him. And I really need to be, to get through to him. Does that sound stupid?" she asks, sounding tired.

"No. No, not at— No." Muun shakes his head. "He's far away."

"You make it sound so simple," she says bitterly. "I should..."

Muun shrugs. "Himawari-chan, I have always said and I will keep saying, you're too hard on yourself. You are one of the most beautiful and intelligent people I know. Nothing you feel is insignificant. Give yourself more time. It'll come to you." Muun drops his head, and continues working on his homework.

No one else knows her well enough to say such things to her... She feels a brief burst of affection for him so acute that tears spring to her eyes. He believes in her so easily.

Himawari wipes her eyes. "What should I do?"

"I think you already know that."

Himawari thinks for a while, then sort of giggles and mumbles, "...maybe I should let loose and have a drink." Thinking, she falls silent.

Muun tilts his head. "Not a bad plan, in my book, as long as you're careful."

Himawari shrugs listlessly. It could work, but...

Her reticence is rather unusual. Muun crouches and cranes his neck to look her more squarely in the face. "Do you need more time?" he asks, his words both gentle and plain.

After a moment, Himawari nods reluctantly.

"Then tell me when, I'll be there."

"Okay," she promises, but Himawari is unsure. It will be her first time drinking outside the company of her family and Watanuki, Doumeki, and once upon a time, Yuuko. It seems like a good idea, but there's also the possibility of splashing her bad luck on innocent bystanders. If she's uninhibited enough to start ranting at Watanuki, she won't have a shred of self-control left. And if Muun was her dinner partner for that evening, he would surely bear the brunt of it.

Homework finishes up pretty quickly, but neither of them feel much like leaving the library. Himawari picks out her favorite josei manga, and Muun comes back with a book of translated poetry, and they read together. When Muun falls asleep, Himawari wakes him up by tugging on his clothing before she moves on to her part time job. Muun goes home to discover that his shirt has worn an odd hole near the breast pocket, probably from when he was wading through the park on the way back. Or perhaps not. Either way, he won't tell Himawari.

In the morning, Himawari collects her mail as usual, idly flicking through ads and letters. A card slips out from inside the pile and falls to her feet; bending, she picks it up—a postcard, with a picture of the red rising sun behind Mt. Fuji, fairly standard and generic. It was not to Watanuki's taste, more to Doumeki's—she slips it over. She almost drops it again as she recognizes Watanuki's handwriting, but she fumbles and recovers it just in time. Hands trembling, she returns to her desk and drops the rest of the papers down, and sits down to read it.

Dear Himawari-chan, how are you? The summer weather is sweltering, but I am well. Doumeki must have told you how I am, but you shouldn't believe half of what he says. I am fine and will be better by the end of the week as always. So please, don't worry. I am not allowed to do much at the moment, but I made you a charm. Turn the card back over when you read these words and you'll see it—

Himawari's eyes leak from the corners, letting water trickle out. She swipes them with her left hand and turns the postcard over again. Now there's a woven talisman lightly stuck to an embossed picture of a red poppy and yellow camellia; she knows this means, 'I miss the cheerful you'; she touches the cord, and lightly runs her fingers over the braided charm. It falls into her palm easily. Swallowing, Himawari turns the card over again, and reads:

—you'll see it there. It's for protection. You can give it to a friend or a special someone and they won't be affected by your luck as much—I think—it's just a prototype, but I have been thinking of it for a long time and it could make your life easier. You'll have to let me know. I tried to put something of Tampopo in there, pieces of his eggshell. If you could bring a few of Tampopo's molted feathers, I could make it work better. Something of your blood kin would also be helpful. I'll keep practicing while I have time like this... Until next April, Himawari-chan. Please look into this matter for me? He signs it, Watanuki Kimihiro.

She'll have to buy the saké for his birthday. Things from her family—she could snip off locks of their hair when she goes home for a visit, and mail it to him in an envelope; she could collect Tampopo's molted feathers, too. Watanuki may have intended the charm as a gift but Himawari senses that this service shouldn't be free; as he said, he was practicing for work, and she would be helping his work: it was actually a transaction. But he hadn't presented it like that.

Actually, that thought is somewhat worrying. The most pressing part of his work right now is to learn balance...but he shouldn't be leaving it up to her to decide...

He is so frustrating.

Himawari numbly rubs her fingers over the charm; in a few seconds, it is softly glowing pale yellow from the center. I guess it works. Himawari bites her lip. That stupid idiot— She's smiling and crying, it's the smile of a happily broken heart, she loves him so much and yet for all the love she has for him he pains her in the same measure...

He should be worrying about himself, he should be studying the spirit world, he should be researching other kinds of protections, surely there are more useful things to be doing—why, why, why her, when he has already done so much for her? She can wait. She hadn't asked for this. There are more important things in store for him right now. He can't afford this.

She slips the charm into an envelope. She is pretty sure that if she holds on to the charm, she could break it before it does any good, and she wants it to last as long as possible.

That afternoon she buys a longer cord to hang with the charm, and gives the package to Muun when she sees him after class, and asks him to wear it. She can't look at him while she asks. She blushes furiously. She can feel him looking at her, in that calm measured way that Muun always has, but he takes the package without speaking. It's as if he already knows what it is for, but she says anyway, just to be clear, "it's for your safety." And Muun takes it out, with her permission, and he hangs it around his neck. She knows she is wearing the heartbroken smile as her heart beats painfully in her chest, and gives thanks that he didn't protest the gift. "It will wear out someday. You should tell me when it does," says Himawari, almost humming with anxiety. "I think you should notice."

Muun touches the charm. "And where did this—?"

"It's—it's not from a shrine or a festival or anything like that," says Himawari, squirming inside. "It's from Watanuki. His present." She averts her eyes.

"But then it's for you," says Muun, trying to understand.

"It's too weak, I'd break it," Himawari interrupts. "So it's for the one whom I like best." She laces her fingers together behind her back, tense.

Muun blinks.

"This way I can touch you, and you won't be harmed," says Himawari, and sort of reaches out; Muun's hand swings in, and clasps her hand, gripping firmly, his eyes never leaving hers.

She knows what's about to happen. Dizzy, she clings to his hand.

"You mean it?" Muun asks, his fingers closing tighter against hers. The charm hanging from his neck glows softly as it had before.

Himawari nods, barely daring to breathe.

Muun takes a deep breath, squeezes her fingers once more, and releases. He smiles at her. "Thank you."

She knows it is sincere.

"I know when we can go drinking," says Himawari, slowly, the words dripping from her lips like dark sugar syrup, like molasses, slow and heavy like her thoughts.

"Good," Muun smiles at her, as if sharing a secret. "Because I know the place."

Himawari looks up, up into his soft black-velvet eyes, and catches her breath.

"Himawari," says Muun, bending down a little so he can better meet her eyes, "I still like you. Will you go out with me?"

"Yes," Himawari whispers. This time, when he links hands with her, she flushes deeply and glances to the side. "I'm not usually shy," she mumbles, face burning.

"I know."

"I've—I've actually liked you for a long time now, but I didn't want to ask," she says to his jacket, nervous. "In case—"

"But I do like you."

Himawari nods mutely. She won't speak of that insecurity again; she doesn't need to.

Muun casually tucks her bangs behind her ear, and smiles at her. "We should make the reservation."

Slightly anxious, Himawari nods again, and squeezes his hand.

They smile at each other, shy in their new roles, but hopeful. At last, the timing feels right.

It's the least she can do to try to show him, however inadequately she is able, how happy she feels. The funny thing is, he seems to want to do the same.

Himawari calls Doumeki again and warns him of her plan ahead of time. She even rehearses a short version of what she wants to say so he can be prepared for backlash. She doesn't like to put pressure on Doumeki, however inadvertently, and makes sure he knows this. He has been overwhelmed far too often lately. The last thing she wants is to compound his pain. The point, after all, is to protect Watanuki, but also to ease Doumeki's burden in the long run...

It is too easy to imagine Watanuki taking out his stress on Doumeki, both because Doumeki is always handy and also because he has always been Watanuki's automatic target for nagging, and these days Watanuki has no one else to vent on. They had always fit, even completed each other in many ways. One provided what the other needed, one lacked what the other had in excess, and so on...yet they came from such different places that they misunderstood each other utterly. Worse, Watanuki thought little about what prompted him to act or why. His confused dislike of Doumeki had once justified his more unfair impulses; his faith that Doumeki was impenetrable did little to check his catlike tongue. So Himawari used to gently correct him at the times when the pair were least like friends. It was a blatant contradiction that she hoped would—repeated often enough, heard often enough—become prophecy. If Doumeki and Watanuki heard that they were friends, and began to believe they were friends, they might start to act like it. When she chuckled, "You're such good friends!", no matter what Watanuki said next, the bite in his words would vanish as they became silly. He probably didn't even notice the change in his own tone. Watanuki listened to hardly anyone where she herself and Doumeki were concerned (she considered this a sign that Watanuki was closer to Doumeki than he cared to admit, when otherwise he gave no sign of it). But in fact they did mollify over time. How much was due to her influence, she doesn't know.

She can't be there now to deliver censure or reminder. They can't depend on her to smooth over their problems if they refuse to fix them. The most she can do is bring up what's wrong, and hope they work it out between themselves.

Himawari hears Doumeki sigh dimly over the phone, and she knows he shares her reservations; he probably took the phone away from his ear or tucked the mouthpiece against his shirt, but she heard it, that heavy exhale of exhaustion. But he approves the plan. Without a moment of delay, he tells her in no uncertain terms: "Do it."

"All of it? Isn't it a little much?" Himawari asks, a little taken aback.

"I would not add or take away," Doumeki replies.

She wishes she could promise that everything will be all right, but she can't. He knows he might suffer, but thinks it is worth it. He even appreciates her thoughtfulness.

Himawari says her goodbyes and wishes him luck, despite the irony in the phrase as it comes from her. She hangs up.