A.N. the long wait is over. only took me my longest hiatus to get it done ^^;;
to make up for that, this chapter (and the next one, which will also be posted soon) holds nothing back.
you have been warned.
Umi double-checked her phone. On it was the address of the recording studio that Maki had made arrangements with. The building itself was modest, a plain two-story structure sandwiched between flashier, larger stores. Right now, she had her most recent conversation with Maki on-screen.
Maki: we'll be here at 10, and recording will go until evening
Maki: on a bit of a time constraint, but you can show up whenever
Maki: i do expect you to be here today.
Umi: Of course.
Umi swallowed hard. This was a pivotal moment for the song. Hearing it come to life could possibly rejuvenate or re-inspire the feelings she'd had when she wrote it, that one night where inspiration had graced her, bow-tied and delivered right onto her notepad. Such a passion project required just that: passion and love for the process at every single stage, from its humble beginnings to its full arrangement at the hands of a competent studio producer. Though it had been more than a month since she'd initially jotted down the lyrics, she hoped the hired hands could feel the love she'd poured in thus far.
She stepped forward and opened the door. The lobby was plain, and the listless receptionist turned to face her. Without a word, he pointed down the hall, where the muffled crashes of cymbals and deep thumps of a bass drum reached even here. Umi nodded, making her way towards the music. The most ideal recording studios had soundproofed rooms, but she wasn't about to complain about a place that did the job halfway. Maki was doing her a favor, after all.
She opened the door to their designated rooms to the sight of many an unfamiliar face. It took her a second to locate Maki, who had crowded around the soundboard along with several other people. Thankfully, she was the first to turn, offering Umi a small but welcome smile. A wall of glass separated them from the adjacent room, where a man hunched over a drum kit, tapping away a syncopated beat.
"There you are," Maki said, parting the crowd to walk over and take Umi's hand. This is Umi," she announced to the group. Everyone nodded, some muttering a greeting or two. "Umi, this is our recording team for the next week or so. That's Tatsuya-san," - the wiry-limbed, buggy-eyed woman at the soundboard raised her hand - "this is Okura-sensei, my piano teacher," - an unassuming man at the fringe of the group reached out and shook Umi's hand. Maki went down the line, introducing the band and sound team alike. Though the group seemed large at first, by the time introductions were over, Umi realized the team was only seven people strong, including her and Maki.
"Your reputation precedes you, Sonoda-san." Tatsuya lowered her large glasses to peer at Umi, who accepted the compliment with an embarrassed smile. "It's nice to see you and Maki-chan make a return to songwriting."
"Thank you." Umi bowed slightly. "The circumstances were a bit…" she exchanged a glance with Maki, who shrugged. "...serendipitous. But we're taking this as seriously as we took every song we wrote in μ's.
Tatsuya nodded, but she quickly turned away, pressing her headphones to her ears as the drummer went through a fast-paced sequence.
"She said she wants the drums to sound really punchy." Maki took up the explanation in the producer's stead. "It's not commonplace in jazz, but she thinks it'll help with the immediacy of your lyrics."
"I see." Umi didn't have enough knowledge of music production to contest the producer's vision. She figured it was best not to interfere.
They watched the drummer behind the glass proceed with his take. His part was far from easy; the jazz influences resulted in many off-beat snare hits and unconventional fills. It was a treat to watch, though, and Umi found herself nodding to the beat with no other instruments to hold it up. With the mics feeding into an overhead speaker as well as the producer's headphones, Umi knew she could spend hours in here without realizing it. Thankfully, they were all here for that very reason.
The recording went down the line in its typical manner: rhythm section recorded their parts first, then the melodic instruments and accessories would build off of that foundation. After the drums and bass finished without many hiccups, Maki leaned over and whispered to Umi.
"I'll be the first to tell you. I think I'll have fun with this." She stepped back, leaving Umi to appraise her uncharacteristically straightforward comment. She didn't have time to, though, as Maki exchanged a nod with Tatsuya, before stepping into the recording room as the bassist stepped out.
"Maki's playing the piano part?" Umi asked the room at large. Since her old piano teacher was in the room, Umi had assumed he would take the role, but instead he stood by, a trumpet in hand. He turned to her, a look of amusement on his face.
"Didn't she tell you?" Okura laughed softly to himself. "Maki-chan's had nothing but good things to say about what you two came up with. I'll bet she's been practicing it in her spare time."
Umi looked from him to Maki, who was now seated at the keys and warming up with some scales. "I owe her a lot," she said simply.
Okura and the producer exchanged a nod. "That's a two-way street, Sonoda-san." He winked, and before Umi could ask what he meant, the recording began.
Maki's headphones were hooked up to a maze of wires, all running back to the soundboard. Umi had enough experience to know that the backing track played in her ears, though with minimal work done to each track up to this point, she posited it was only the drums. That was all Maki seemed to need.
Maki's fingers glided across the keys, making her playing seem effortless. The hints of exertion were there if Umi looked closely enough, however; Maki's furrowed brow and deliberate swaying to the tempo in her ears were proof of her own passion.
Of course, the difficulty level required such attention to detail. Only now did Umi hear, and realize, how far Maki had taken her rough melodic sketches; the piano skipped up and down its 11-octave range, the left and right hand dancing around each other, sometimes fighting for precedence, sometimes playing counter-melodies to one another. It was all more technical than Umi would have ever asked for outright.
It was certainly impressive, and more beautiful than Umi could have dared to imagine. But was this what she wanted? For her former composer to do this much for her? And for what?
Pinpricks of doubt made Umi's skin crawl, and she rubbed at them hastily, hoping that no one would notice. When she regained the presence of mind to look around, however, she saw that no one had spared her a second glance. Everyone was focused on the pianist at work in the recording room, staring with various degrees of respect and admiration. Umi caught a handful of observations from the group, which drifted towards her and processed slowly in her mind.
"So this is the Maki-chan I've heard so much about."
"She's usually so stern… I almost don't want to disturb her when she's done…"
"That's my student! I was worried about how she'd juggle the piano once she left for college, but she hasn't lost a step." That came from Maki's old teacher. He turned to Umi, who immediately ceased her anxious fidgeting. "Even if Maki-chan asked me to play the part, I would've insisted that she do it," he explained to Umi. "You know why, don't you?"
"Something about 'personal flair' and 'investment,' I take it?" The answer was obvious to Umi, but she wanted to hear the perspective of Maki's old piano teacher.
He nodded along. "Maki-chan plays like she has everything to lose. Her old teachers called that kind of play 'reckless,' but I encouraged it. Piano was her only escape until she met you all.
Umi flushed at the praise. "She didn't talk much about her home life. We didn't know how much we meant to her until much later, but I think we can all empathize to some extent. μ's was our escape."
"And not just for the nine of you. Maki-chan still finds ways to bring it up, but sometimes I wonder if you realize just how many people you ended up influencing. You brought hope to them, just by telling them that you're behind them every step of the way."
"Of course Maki doesn't want to lose that." It seemed obvious to Umi, but saying it aloud seemed nothing short of a revelation to her. This might have been the first time she'd given it this much thought. Honoka wasn't the only one who still clung to those days.
"And I suppose, by extension, she doesn't want to lose you. With all of that in mind, there's no way I could hope to replicate or even begin to express all of that just with my piano playing."
"It has to be her." With Maki gracefully playing through her piano part, this had never seemed more obvious.
"Maki-chan's a great friend to you. This is proof of that." He smiled, and Umi offered a terse, yet sincere smile in return.
When Umi turned her attention back to the music, Maki had already lifted her hands off the piano. She waited the obligatory five seconds before Tatsuya gave her the thumbs up, officially signaling the end of her take.
Maki opened the door between rooms to a round of greetings and thanks for her hard work. Umi wasn't the least among them.
"That was amazing, Maki," Umi offered a genuine smile. "I knew what to expect, but… I really can't express how impressive you were."
Maki shrugged. "Spare the praise for later, please. I feel like I'll need to put another couple takes to tape." Despite her deflection, Umi saw the shortness of breath that resulted from Maki's prolonged focus. She'd put her all into that performance. Considering how some of the other musicians had required a couple takes to get theirs to an acceptable level, Maki's technical skill shone even brighter in comparison.
Before Umi could dwell on it any further, though, the technician stood up. "Great work, everyone," Tatsuya announced, placing her headphones down on the board. "How about we take five? Get some lunch?"
Though Umi had mostly observed up until now, the declaration came as a relief. She slipped out unnoticed, instinctively pulling out her phone to take another look at her lyrics - as well as any potential new messages.
Umi sat on a bench in the lobby, scrolling through her lyrics. The band members shuffled in and out, exchanging cordial nods with Umi as they passed. She was muttering the words under her breath when a water bottle was pressed into her free hand, making her look up.
"Make sure you're hydrated if you get called on later." Maki took a seat next to her, nursing her own water.
Umi's nose wrinkled. "I thought I was just here to watch."
Maki shrugged, casting her a sidelong glance. "So did I, but plans change." She opened her own water bottle, and they took a drink together.
"No, you didn't. You knew you were going to play," Umi grumbled. Once again, she felt like she'd been set up.
"That's part of the songwriting process. You have to be ready all the time." Maki had whipped out her phone already. Umi couldn't help but sneak a glance at her screen, but she was only met with a mess of musical staffs, notes crammed into every available space with seemingly no regard for music theory. It seemed alien to her for a moment, until she saw the singular letters dotting the top of each line. Those were her chords, the foundations of a song that seemed nearly unrecognizable in the studio just minutes ago. But to Umi, there was still a disconnect there. How did they get from those simple, derivative chords to this?
"Can I see?" Before she realized it, she'd leaned far into Maki's personal space, her shoulder practically pressed against Maki's. Maki swiveled and shrunk back, seeing how close they were. Before Umi could follow up with an automatic apology, Maki put a hand in front of her face.
"You're already looking," she deadpanned. She cracked a smile a second later, just when Umi was about to launch into yet another apology. "I'm kidding. What do you want to know?"
Umi swung her legs aimlessly, taking a moment to look outside. Here in the heart of Akihabara, many of the building facades still had their Christmas decorations up. This winter was more overcast and drab than snowy. Last night's snow - the "Christmas miracle" that had captivated Honoka so - was the only exception.
"How'd you come up with this?"
"We've talked about this already, no? It just happened."
The swinging of Umi's legs turned into an involuntary bouncing. She looked back to Maki's impassive expression, though her purple eyes shone with a mote of understanding. "Was that not enough for you?" Maki asked.
Umi nodded, flushing slightly at how easily she'd been figured out.
Maki sighed and leaned back, resting her head against the unforgiving concrete wall. She stared up at the ceiling, and when Umi followed her gaze, all she saw was the harsh, artificial indoor lighting.
"When you reached out to me last month, I almost couldn't believe it. Two years is a long time to isolate yourself, and you just called me out of the blue, wanting to meet up…" Maki trailed off, laughing dryly. "I wasn't sure who I'd see sitting across from me. I was looking for the opportunity to say that cliche line." At this, she gave Umi a pointed look out of the corner of her eye.
"...'You've changed.'" Umi quoted for her.
"Yeah. You got it." Maki flashed her a wry look, which Umi mirrored. "But you were going on and on about these lyrics you'd written, and when I took a look at them, I thought you hadn't changed a bit."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you're not posturing. Those words are your feelings, and they tell me that you've been struggling on your own all this time. I can't back that up with anything less than a beautiful arrangement. One that lets you express your pain."
Umi blushed fiercely. Maki seemed to realize how much she was emoting, and her own blush soon followed.
"Oh, please. It's not like it's any different than our time in μ's."
"Kotori wouldn't agree," Umi recalled. "I think she saw my writing in μ's as restricted. Like I was holding myself back by writing about topics I knew nothing about."
Umi watched as Maki pored over this new take. "And what do you think about that?"
"Well…" Umi rubbed at the back of her neck, frowning. She wasn't sure if there was a nice way to put this.
"Just say it," Maki urged. "I'm not gonna judge."
Umi sighed, giving Maki a reluctant sidelong glance. Still, she obliged. "It's hard to write for the feelings of nine people. Or three, even. The more I thought about it..." she trailed off again. "The more I questioned what it meant to write for myself."
"If you struggled to write for all of us, you didn't show it," Maki mused. "I wouldn't have guessed."
"Kotori said that too. Of course, I had all of your support. But on the other hand, that's what makes me question this project even more. Do I have anything special to say? I want someone to connect with my lyrics, above all else." Umi caught Maki giving her a quizzical look, one eyebrow upturned, and she hurried to correct herself. "Of course, I know you understand them. Your arrangement is proof of that. But when it's all done, I won't know if this song has the power to have an impact on others until I send it out there."
"Well…" Maki began, taking her time in coming up with a response. She crossed her legs together while Umi waited. "If you just pretend like you're okay, you're just hurting yourself in the end. That's the point of this song, right? A song that tries to deal with a dreary worldview is important."
Umi looked up. She needed an additional few seconds to process the fact that she'd just heard this from Maki. She'd expected this level of earnestness from someone like Honoka or Eli - not her junior who used to radiate disinterest.
"You're the one that's changed, I think. For the better."
Maki furrowed her brow. "Maybe. Since I was going away to college, it was either grow up or fall out of touch with everyone. I couldn't imagine letting go like that."
Umi looked away, embarrassed. Maki sighed. "I mean, I didn't have any underlying drama that I could've used to justify it, anyway," Maki corrected herself. "Besides, we all try to support each other. Even now, even when we're trying to do our own things."
Maki didn't say anything for a few moments. Just when Umi thought she was waiting impatiently for a reply, she spoke up again, even more straightforward and honest than before.
"Don't you think that's kind of amazing?"
Umi blinked. "Come again?"
"I really think our group is special. It's a miracle that we've stayed together like this after high school. You have your own reasons for wanting to see this through, and I want to help you. But I also feel like I'm a bit closer to everyone when I compose like this."
If Umi was at a loss for words before, she was completely dumbfounded now.
"That good enough for you?"
Once again, Umi didn't understand right away. Only after several moments did she realize that Maki had answered her initial question in an incredibly roundabout way. "I suppose it has to be."
Maki patted Umi awkwardly on the shoulder. "Come on. I'm in the mood for some convenience store sandwiches." She abruptly stood up. By the time Umi got to her feet, Maki was already halfway out the door. "You're home for the first time in a while, so you should make the most of it. My treat."
Umi decided not to question it.
They reconvened at the soundboard thirty minutes later. Umi and Maki were the last to arrive, and the group turned as a whole to greet them.
"So, we've got a rough take for drums, bass, and piano down," Maki said, giving the sound files on-screen a once over. "Not bad for a day's work."
"Yeah, I've even got them arranged in the earliest of early demos," Tatsuya declared from the soundboard. "Or it's too rough to even be called a demo…" she trailed off.
"We're not done today, are we?" Umi asked. "I thought we were going to record until this evening."
"Oh, we are." Maki gave her a knowing look, which was mirrored by the rest of the crew. Feeling several pairs of eyes on her, a lump of anxiety settled in Umi's throat.
"Me? Really?" Umi tried to look anywhere else, but couldn't escape the collective stares of everyone in the room.
"What do you think, Sonoda-san?" Tatsuya asked. "We have a decent backing track assembled here. Want to give it a shot?"
Umi's first instinct was to decline. She hadn't walked in today expecting to sing, and seeing seven pairs of expectant eyes on her was reason enough to make her anxious about the prospect. "I don't know... I still need to look over the vocal melody," she mumbled.
"Come on, Umi," Maki nudged her shoulder. "Don't you think you've waited long enough?"
There were a million reasons for her to refuse. All she needed was to pick one of them, and if she said it convincingly enough, she could -
"Alright. I'll do it." Before the fog of doubt could cloud her mind completely, Umi answered. There may have been a million reasons to say no, but she only needed one to say otherwise. "You're right, Maki. I've kept you all waiting long enough."
"Not just us. Yourself, most of all."
The recording room was, naturally, a haphazard arrangement of instruments and microphones. A sea of wires nearly concealed the floor in some places, snaking in and around her feet before she had taken a single step. Umi hadn't stepped foot in a recording studio in years, but she moved naturally towards the room's center, where a mic stood waiting for her. She moved to stand in front of the mic's pop filter, giving her a full view of the crew on the other side of the glass.
Umi slotted the waiting pair of headphones over her head, which were bent slightly from excessive use. In the tangible silence, Umi could hear her own blood rushing in her ears. She took a deep breath.
"Just be yourself, Umi. I know everyone says that, but, well. You know." That was Maki, who'd borrowed the corresponding pair of headphones from Tatsuya. "Remember what we talked about before lunch."
Express your pain.
Was that really true? Was pain the primary emotion she wanted to hear when she played this song back? Maki's arrangement was complex and intricate - beautiful, certainly. But painful?
Maybe beauty and pain could coexist. In fact, Umi knew this to be true - she'd seen it earlier this week, on their old school rooftop. She'd seen it when Honoka stood at the edge of the rooftop, her figure framed by an ephemeral aura. She'd heard it when Honoka asked her if they could ever go any higher. She'd felt it when Honoka stared at her, waiting for her to ask anything she wanted.
Umi's heart twinged and ached for Honoka, and for herself. But it hadn't broken - at least, not yet. She saw the end in sight and chased it - at the very least, Honoka could understand why.
"Ready?" Maki cut into Umi's meandering thoughts, her voice sounding directly in Umi's ears. Umi jumped to attention. Only when she raised a thumbs-up in response did she realize how much her hands were trembling.
These past two years had been hard on her, but right now, all she wanted to do was let the music wash over her. Take her away, and she could worry about re-takes later.
The track started with a short count-in, before the drums started up. True to their jazz influence, this beat heavily relied on the ride cymbal. Played with a swung beat, it was the only sound present on the track for a few moments before the guitar line kicked in. Umi nodded along to this foundation. She'd heard the rough sketch already, but even now, with the sound files mostly untouched, it already sounded much fuller - like it was almost a complete song.
The piano came in shortly after. Umi couldn't help but smile when she heard it - here, the offbeat flourishes and arpeggios that Maki played were the perfect complement to the jazzy beat the drummer had laid to tape. They pushed the song forward, building the tension that gave the intro its irresistible quality, establishing the need to keep listening.
Umi's first set of lines were simple: a series of "Ah's" that were meant to build on the beauty of the introduction. She did so with confidence, and she found that she had no trouble keeping her voice steady.
She'd grown accustomed to the silence of her apartment, which had greeted her every single day. Some part of her had believed that she'd never be back here. The recording process in μ's was long and arduous, taking many hours out of their afternoons and evenings. They'd argued over the amount of takes they needed, nitpicked each other's singing qualities, and said countless harsh things to each other in the process. But somehow they'd always arrive at a final take, with radiant voices and perfect harmonies.
This was different, but what didn't change was how comfortable Umi felt in this soundproofed room. Though there was a whole team of people watching from the other side, she felt like she could express herself properly, without judgment.
"Stay here, stay in the moment
Where the blooming of spring never ends
Let's go, down by the willow tree
Roll with the hills till we make our ascent"
That picturesque scene came to life in her mind as she sang, unhindered as she was by the things that usually held her down. Nerves, anxiety, isolation - none of that mattered in this first verse. It was just her and the music, and it was her job to work in tandem with the accompaniment, to provide the spring-like imagery it promised. Her voice was smooth, without the uncertainty she'd expressed only minutes before.
"All I imagined is all that I see
Gardens of flowers and a warm summer breeze
There's a place where no trouble is seen
Everything's perfect - "
Halfway through the second verse, everything proceeded as planned. The chord progression was the same all the way through the fourth line, which signaled the first distinctive shift:
" - But it's all just a dream
That I have when I sleep
Through a winter that never ends..."
That utopic, serene vision came crashing down, revealed to be the wistful dreams of the narrator - Umi herself. This abrupt reveal was accompanied by a tonal shift; the key changed suddenly, the guitar and piano working on a steadily descending chord progression, leading all the way into the first musical interlude.
It was certainly true that this song was different. Umi didn't have eight more vocal tracks to cover for her, for the others to mask the imperfections in her voice and for her to do the same. She was on her own, but the natural ease with which she hammered out a vocal melody was undeniable. She allowed herself a smile as she sang, and the recording continued on without so much as a hiccup.
"We made a lot of progress today." Maki didn't look up as she scrolled through her phone. "Maybe tomorrow, we can add the guitars and trumpet before we start on the third verse."
They were on the walk home, having parted with the rest of the team before they left the studio. It was getting dark earlier than ever, and everyone had agreed to head home before five o'clock.
"How about the harmonies?" Umi asked. "I think the intro would sound much fuller with a chorus of voices behind it. Even if I'm just singing 'Ah's at that point." She was still feeling the after-effects of the hopeful rush she'd experienced at the mic, though she suppressed her smile now.
Maki tapped her phone against her chin. "Want to do those yourself? I bet we could get a group of Umis on that intro by the time it's all done."
Umi pursed her lips. She wanted to disagree outright. "No one else wants to sing? You sounded pretty good, on the homemade take you gave me a couple days ago."
"I was just a placeholder." Maki shook her head. "We all have our dedicated instruments this time around. Didn't you notice?"
It was a small detail, one that Umi had dismissed as trivial, but everyone had claimed their own instrument, likely during the planning process. Umi nodded. "What about it?"
"Your instrument is your voice, simple as that. Whether it's one or five of you, you're the only one for the job. So own it." Maki left no room for argument. Umi could only nod, though she hardly wanted to protest in the first place. That meant she could spend more time in the studio.
She looked up. Streaks of dark grey were layered over the already drab sky. The tall buildings and skyscrapers that surrounded them obscured any possible sightings of pastel colors.
"I'm still surprised that you got everyone to come out the day after Christmas." Umi changed the subject, recalling the ease and readiness with which everyone put their parts to tape.
"I phoned in a few favors, that's all." Maki shrugged. "Besides, lots of musicians are just itching to put something to tape. Brush up on their technique. That kind of thing. Plus, I think everyone's even more optimistic now that we've started putting everything together. It sounds great."
"I might be a little optimistic myself." Umi allowed herself a small smile.
"Good to hear."
The rest of the walk was blanketed in comfortable silence. It wasn't long before they were on Umi's street, but Umi stopped shortly before they reached her house. Maybe it was the heady optimism that stuck with her from the recording studio, or maybe it was the insistence of Honoka herself in continuing to dodge the topic. But Umi had come home to set things right, and though she still wasn't sure what that entailed, establishing how Honoka saw her was a good place to start.
The same went for how she saw Honoka.
The days spent in the darkness of her lonely apartment had blurred together until they became months, and then years. Umi had been home for less than a week, but with Honoka so close, a day hadn't gone by without her mind screaming at her to do something. Her anxiety told her to continue avoiding the topic, but Umi knew what was on Honoka's mind, because it was on hers as well.
"Should I wait for you?" Maki asked, several feet away, pulling Umi from her momentary reverie.
"No, you go on ahead. I'm going to talk to Honoka."
Maki raised an eyebrow, looking from Umi to the familiar storefront, and back again. Instead of questioning it, though, she simply nodded. "Now's as good of a time as any." She gave voice to what Umi had realized on her own. That gave her some assurance.
Even so, Umi chewed on her lip. Already, she felt the familiar sensations setting in: the way her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, the crawling of her skin, the bout of lightheadedness, the dark tendrils of dread that grabbed ahold of her tongue and refused to let go.
Still, Maki was right. If not now, when? Umi clenched her fists, which did nothing to help her. The optimism she'd felt just minutes before was fading fast, but she couldn't run forever.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Maki lingered for a moment longer, shuffling her feet. Umi wasn't about to question it until Maki reached out and gave her another stiff shoulder pat. Despite the awkwardness of the gesture, Umi found comfort in its sincerity. She smiled and nodded, sending Maki on her way.
This was the third time in four days that Umi found herself pacing outside Honoka's house. Every interaction they'd had in that time went well enough, but she still felt butterflies crowding her throat, suspended in her stomach, threatening to spill over and leave her collapsed on the ground.
Stop. Honoka doesn't hate you. You're better than this.
Umi squeezed her eyes shut and waved her hands in front of her face, hoping to dispel the nausea tasted in the back of her mouth. Once her heart rate had slowed to an acceptable level, she went over what she was going to say. She'd rehearsed it to the point of tedium last night, but revisiting it now with the buzz of anxiety in her head and in her throat, it seemed a little too insensitive.
Honoka, we need to talk.
"Too harsh?" Umi muttered.
Honoka, about the night I left.
She knocked her fist against her forehead. "Too direct."
Honoka, I can't look at you without thinking about -
Umi groaned. "No. No, no, no -"
"Umi-chan?"
Umi snapped up. At some point when she was pacing and muttering to herself, the door to the shop had been slid open. Honoka stood in the frame, staring at her with some mix of surprise and concern.
"Hello, Honoka," Umi forced out, her ears burning as she realized that Honoka had probably witnessed at least some of her anxious rambling. Her embarrassment was only exacerbated by the stilted nature of her greeting, all too reminiscent of the one just four days prior.
You should be past that awkwardness by now.
She told herself that, but perhaps Honoka was telling herself the same thing; she stood there, her hand drumming restlessly against the doorframe, her feet shuffling about. "Want to come inside?"
It almost seemed to Umi like an excuse to break the silence, because she wouldn't be out here for any other reason. Still, she acquiesced with a sigh and a nod. "Sure." She followed Honoka in, fidgeting with her hands. Otherwise, they'd shake themselves into oblivion, and she wanted to come off as composed as she could. The thoughts racing through her head were proof to the contrary, but she took hold of one at a time, focusing on them to keep from backing out now. This needed to happen, for better or for worse.
Honoka turned around and gestured to the counter. "Want anything? It's on the house."
"No thank you." Still stilted, Umi. "How have you been? Any plans for the New Year?" Better. You're getting there.
Honoka looked at her for a moment too long. Maybe Umi wasn't giving her enough credit; Honoka hadto have picked up on the nervous ramblings, the hyper-awareness of the other's actions, the careful skirting around each other. Without a word, she turned and started towards the staircase. Umi felt her skin prickle as she followed, silently praying that she wouldn't have to pounce upon the dreaded topic right away.
Thankfully, Honoka soothed that fear, if only for the time being. "Nah, not really. Just gonna visit the shrine a couple times. Eat some food and try to stay up, but I didn't do that last year. The staying awake part, anyway."
"You'll have trouble staying up until midnight?" Umi allowed herself the smallest of smiles. "You sound like you're turning forty next year, not twenty."
"Hey, I need my sleep too!" They reached the landing, and Honoka shot Umi a grin over her shoulder. "I'd need someone to go with to make it worth the time, you know?"
Umi's smile faded. Honoka didn't seem to realize the message underneath; that she'd had no friends to celebrate with, and her family had just turned it in early for the night. Sure, Umi herself had spent last New Year's Eve cooped up in her apartment, but she didn't want to go back to that place again. Not when she'd come this far already.
"Would I be imposing if I asked to go with you?"
Honoka stopped outside of her door, fiddling with the handle. She looked up, her smile soft, like it was ready to flicker out at any moment. "Of course not, Umi-chan. You're my friend, so how could I say no?"
Another round of butterflies crawled up Umi's throat, choking her next words. Honoka was so direct, so blunt, that Umi couldn't help but wonder if she was being sincere. If she was just putting on a front, acting like they could keep this up even when Umi had hurt her so badly.
Umi was dying to know the extent of the damage she'd caused. How many times had Honoka checked her phone, expecting a new message or notification from her? How irreparably had her heart fallen into her stomach with every false alarm? Umi tried to envision each time Honoka had taken out her feelings on Kotori, eliciting concern and yet fearing that she'd come off as a burden. How her thoughts would run wild to the point of panic, waiting until she was alone in her room so no one would see her crumble.
How self-absorbed had Umi been, knowing that Honoka had been in that much pain but too afraid to fully accept it? How had she, for even one second, thought that it was okay, for the best, even?
Honoka stood in front of her now, waiting patiently for a response. This couldn't last. Not knowing was agonizing.
Umi forced a smile. "I'll gladly go with you."
Honoka smiled gently. It was a painful contrast to the image of her in Umi's mind. "Thanks." She jerked her head towards her room. "Come on." Her voice was almost a whisper. "There's not much to do here, though. Hope that's alright."
Umi nodded meekly, forcing the lump in her throat down. "That's never stopped me." She meant it playfully. She didn't know if it came out that way, but Honoka smiled nonetheless and led her in.
Honoka's room was as unchanging as ever, fairly messy but still easy to navigate. Umi settled in as best she could, kneeling at the same table she'd sat at so many times before. Honoka passed the table over and flopped down onto her bed.
"Maki and I just came back from recording," Umi explained. "It's going well. I'm happy to be back in the studio, really."
"Awesome!" Honoka's eyes lit up. "Maybe next time you could take me along? I miss it too."
Umi was somewhat taken aback. Honoka deserved to hear the final take, above all else.
Her opposition to the idea must have shown on her face, because Honoka waved her hands in front of her. "I'm kidding! I can wait until you've got the final cut on a shiny CD," she assured Umi. "Or on your phone. Whatever floats your boat."
Umi forced a smile in return, but for the life of her, she couldn't find a way to continue this thread of conversation. Honoka's hidden pain and heartache took precedence above all else, especially here in her room.
"Umi-chan? What's wrong?" Honoka questioned, her usual volume dipping out of genuine concern. Even this little detail made Umi start tearing up. She didn't deserve this. If Honoka felt like she did, though, then she had to know why.
And if she didn't, then Umi still had to know why.
"...Where do I start with that, Honoka?"
Honoka's back straightened almost imperceptibly, but Umi was keen enough to pick up on it. "Huh?"
"I know you want to hear what I've been working on, but there's something else we need to address first."
"Really, Umi-chan, are you okay?" Honoka laughed. Whether she was trying to play it off or avoid a confrontation entirely, Umi didn't know, but she didn't care at this point.
"When I was gone, were you thinking about me?"
Honoka blinked, her mouth falling open in a soft 'o.' Before she could process fully what she'd heard, Umi stumbled over herself to explain.
"There must be something you want to say to me, Honoka. Several things, probably."
Honoka said nothing. She hardly even moved, and Umi wondered if she'd heard her at all, or if she was just taking a while to process this. "But… why now?" The cheerful front that Honoka put on was starting to fall away. Sitting up on the bed, she pulled her knees close to her chest. Hugging them tightly, it seemed to Umi like she was trying to shield herself from what was coming.
"Because I know it's been on your mind. It's been on mine, too, ever since I came back."
"...Yeah." Honoka dipped her head slightly. Her eyes flickered between Umi and some far-off thing that Umi couldn't see.
Umi took that as a signal to continue. "Honoka, I just… I want to apologize." Umi bowed her head. Even now, she was afraid of how Honoka would respond, and she couldn't bring herself to look.
"Apologize? For what?" Honoka was going to remain stubborn until the bitter end. But Umi didn't detect any shakiness or apprehension in Honoka's voice. She screwed her eyes shut and pressed forward.
"Everything."
Again, Honoka said nothing. Umi drew in a deep, shaky breath. There was no going back now.
"Disappearing for a year and a half. Not sending you any updates. Never coming home. Trying to cover it all up with schoolwork. Isolating myself." Her list of transgressions spilled forth like a flash flood, no longer inhibited by the forced courtesy and willful ignorance she'd put on for Honoka. There was no way that she could stop now. "Leaving in the first place, after you said you -"
The thought of declaring Honoka's love aloud made her heart constrict, forcing her to stop. She clutched at her chest as discreetly as she could, but there was no way she could hide it.
"After you confessed your feelings to me," she finished feebly.
Umi looked up. Honoka looked away, but not before Umi spotted the flash of hurt in her eyes. Her heart ached again.
"I…" Honoka's smile was still plastered on her face. Now, though, she was staring at nothing in particular. Only after a moment did Umi realize that she'd adopted that same distant gaze from a couple days ago. "I see. So that's why you came here today."
Umi had run through a shameful amount of scenarios in her head, but none of them had accounted for the oppressive silence that now bore down on the two of them. "Um," she began, already losing confidence upon hearing her own awkwardness, "I'm sorry if this is out of the blue - "
"Umi-chan." Honoka cut her off not with force, but with a grave quietness to her voice that made Umi clam up immediately. "You look like you're bending over backwards just to talk to me. I know when you're hurting, and this is my fault too. I was just happy to see that you were back. That you wanted to make up with me. So, I thought that would be enough for me, too."
"You mustn't blame yourself," Umi dug her nails into her shirt, balling up the fabric to avoid fidgeting any more visibly. "I thought the same thing. And it's been so long… I didn't even know how important it still was to you."
"It's okay," Honoka said, though her measured tone told Umi it was anything but. "We… we really messed up, haven't we?" Though her delivery was even, her eyes shone with an unhindered longing that Umi could understand all too well. It wasn't resentful so much as wistful, the naive desire of someone who wanted to just forget it all and try to move on anyway.
"...Yeah." Umi managed in a strained voice. The painful memories clogged her throat, making it difficult to speak.
"Um." Honoka forced out a laugh. It was stiff and inappropriate to Umi, and judging how the ghost of Honoka's smile rapidly faded, she felt the same way. "Do you want to go first, or should I?"
"...I don't know." Umi admitted. Part of her wanted to spring to her feet and run. Honoka's discomfort was on full display, thinly masking a layer of heartache whose existence Umi had only recently acknowledged. Umi didn't want to see her like this - if this escalated, Honoka's words to her would surely be ringing in her head for days to come.
But if she ran now, that would prove that she hadn't learned anything. She didn't want to put Honoka through that again - not when she'd come here to do the exact opposite. Rather than listen to her worst instincts, Umi stayed rooted in place as Honoka pored over what to say.
"When you left, I don't think I truly accepted it for a long time. I saw the note you left me, and… I don't really remember what happened after that." Honoka's eyes glazed over, and her voice had dropped to a monotone. It was unsettling to see her like this, and yet it was merely a byproduct of her heartache.
"I just sort of… did the bare minimum to make sure no one would worry about me," she continued. "I ran the shop. Sat around a lot. Avoided looking at my phone. Mom and Yukiho noticed, but I always waved it off. And the days went by like that. It felt like I was just watching myself exist. Or something like that.
Umi chewed on her lip. Dread and anxiety manifested in every minute movement she made. Even the stare she affixed Honoka with belied her nerves. "I felt the same way," she admitted. "And it was so easy for me to ignore everyone's messages. No one ever called me directly or asked to come visit. So I kept to myself, thinking it would all go away."
"..But it didn't." Honoka finished for her.
"No… I really wasn't ready to move away." It seemed so obvious, now that she'd said it. But, to some extent, that was what her actions had boiled down to: a selfish and short-sighted desire to reach for the naivete of her youth.
"I wasn't ready, either. You already know that," Honoka agreed. "But I had no reason to drift away from everyone, not when they could just drop by whenever they felt like it. Kotori-chan was the first to actually call me." Honoka fiddled with her phone, tapping at the screen idly. It was clear that she was just biding time while she figured out what she'd say next.
"Eventually, I returned Kotori-chan's calls. I feel really bad, looking back on it," she said. A sad smile played at the corners of her mouth, but Umi blinked and it was gone. "I didn't realize just how bad it all was, how I wouldn't be able to handle it, until I was telling her everything. It made me cry. Then she started crying. I felt like a burden.
"She didn't actually come home to see me for a few months. I didn't want to cause a fuss, so I didn't tell anyone else. Except Yukiho. She was even less happy about it than Kotori-chan."
"I, uh…" Umi flushed, looking anywhere but at Honoka. Now that she mentioned it, Yukiho didn't seem to be home, and Umi was grateful for that.
"Sorry," Honoka managed an awkward laugh. "I think she's still pissed at you."
"That's not her fault," Umi said. Honoka didn't contest her. The conversation came to a standstill, and Umi wasn't sure how to get Honoka back on track. Of course, the longer she was here, the more she wanted to escape. Suppressing her more selfish instincts, she let Honoka collect herself.
When Honoka did continue, she'd once more adopted a faraway expression. Umi imagined that Honoka had practiced what to say once she returned, lest she risk their conversation devolving into a yelling match. Perhaps this was her way of dealing with it.
"There wasn't much I could do. You never reached out, and the last thing you said to me felt so final.."
At this, Umi drew in a sharp breath. Her heart felt like a pincushion. With hot tears welling up in her eyes, she wanted to explain herself, but Honoka went on, either oblivious to her plight or too occupied with what she wanted to say. As she did, she rested her chin atop her knees, withdrawing completely.
"...I was counting the days until you came back. I thought you were doing the same, maybe. First I'd thought that you'd come back for summer. Then you didn't. Then I thought you'd come back for Christmas. You didn't. And I started to worry, too, that something had happened to you. That you'd become unrecognizable, or that you'd gotten in some sort of accident."
Honoka wiped at her eyes hurriedly, but they came away dry. Umi didn't like the sight, but she remained silent. Interrupting Honoka would only agitate her further. "I hated that those were just as horrible to me. That you changing too much would be almost as bad, if not worse, than you being gone for good. I hated myself for thinking that."
Hate. That word, so decisive and jarring in nature, sounded especially alien coming from Honoka.
Had Kotori been right, claiming that Honoka hadn't changed much? Seeing how distraught Honoka was, though it was only a mere glimpse of the years of heartache, made Umi think that the answer wasn't a simple 'she has' or 'she hasn't' - the real answer was much murkier and difficult to discern.
"But I couldn't help it," Honoka continued. "And that's also why I never reached out. If something had happened to you and you gave me an answer I didn't like, I don't know what I would have done."
"I… I felt the same way," Umi said. The searing pain in her chest spread to the back of her throat. Even the mere act of breathing was difficult for her. She was rooted in place at the table, hardly daring to move an inch.
"But you weren't counting the days, were you?" Honoka asked. Her eyes, once so bright and cheery, still shimmered - but the light behind them had darkened considerably. They carried a gentle sadness, the result of day after endless day of self-pity and frustration.
Umi couldn't bear to see it. But she also couldn't bear to lie.
"No, I…" her voice constricted again, remorse clawing at the backs of her eyelids. She had to keep it together now - if she started crying, she didn't know when she'd be able to stop. Honoka kept her composure, so she had to as well.
"I wasn't. I couldn't. I couldn't think of how much I was hurting you."
Honoka looked up again to stare at her. Her lucid blue eyes conveyed everything else Umi needed to know. Hurt, betrayal, anger - but Honoka no longer had the energy to expend on those things.
"At some point, I thought that would have been my last memory of you." Honoka spoke with resigned acceptance. That Umi was here, hearing those words now, couldn't change the fact that Honoka had truly believed it would never happen.
They sat there in silence. Honoka, for her part, was patient, letting Umi decide where they would take this. If Umi had thought that their conversation on the rooftop was difficult, at least it had been much more liberating. She'd seen how much Honoka had changed, and yet they were still able to share moments like that, moments to be treasured and looked back upon with fondness.
Here, in the familiar confines of Honoka's room, she felt like she was trapped, a novel sensation that set her nerves alight with anxiety.
Honoka's soft, understanding eyes brought Umi back from her thoughts. "Were you waiting for a good opportunity to tell me?" Umi asked, somewhat dreading the answer.
"About?"
Umi flushed again, but again, she struggled to articulate Honoka's feelings for her aloud. "About your feelings for me." Again, it felt like a cop-out.
"Yeah. I waited for a long time. A really long time."
"I really had no idea."
"Yeah, I know. You didn't."
Another round of shame rattled Umi, and she shifted aimlessly in her seat. Neither she or Honoka had moved from where they were sitting, and she couldn't help but feel the palpable difference between this conversation and their encounter a few days ago, on the rooftop of their old high school. She'd felt a dull ache in her heart as she watched Honoka drift from point to point on the rooftop, but it was an ache that they shared. Honoka seemed to fit in with the distant glow of the city lights, in a section of a city that once welcomed the relentless pursuit of her dreams. Both Honoka and the city's constant hum had felt distant - visible but always out of reach.
There was nothing here that inspired such nostalgia in her. Honoka was curled into herself, yet each word that she spoke was like barbs on Umi's skin. Umi desperately wanted to hold on to that rooftop conversation, but it slipped further and further away the more she took in Honoka's broken, hollow state.
"Can I ask why?" Umi murmured, both to Honoka and to herself. "Why did you choose me?"
"I thought about that too, and here's what I came up with."
Umi waited, hardly daring to breathe. In a way, she saw this as Honoka's definitive answer. Whether her feelings matched up to how Umi saw herself - and whether they outweighed the pain they had inflicted on the young woman she'd once called her best friend.
"Even when we were kids, I could tell that you and I were really different. At first it was just a matter of school or personality or whatever. Everyone who looked at us for two seconds could tell.
"As we got older, our differences got even more obvious. You started to talk about college, and I could see how excited you were to grow up and be successful and all that stuff. On the other end, there was me. I wasn't in any hurry to grow up. I didn't care much for any of that. You've heard it all before.
"But you still stuck around me, and I could never figure out why. I mean, I'm dumb and I'm probably going to be stuck here for the rest of my life. You're meant for better things. I started to think that maybe I was holding you back. But I never said anything because it made me really happy to see you stick around. I thought I was lucky to see the person you were becoming; the luckiest girl in the world, even.
"And that's when I realized that I wanted to see it all. I wanted to see the look on your face when I made you happy, when you were only focused on me. Or when you found that someone, or even when you just wanted to tell me about your day.
"It wouldn't have been enough for me just to see it, from a distance. I wanted a part in it too. I wanted that person to be me. Anything else would have been…" she sniffed, though her eyes remained dry and her voice level. "I don't know what I would have done. You were right - when you came back, I had so many things I wanted to say to you. Lots of questions, and some not-so-nice things. But more than anything else, I just wanted to see you." Despite what seemed to be her best efforts, Honoka spoke with fondness - not for their current situation, but for the memories that she stubbornly clung to.
Only now did Umi realize why Honoka's intentions had been so difficult to parse over these past two weeks. The oddly knowing stares, the warmth with which she'd looked at Umi, and the careful, thoughtful responses had all caught Umi off-guard. Honoka herself was conflicted - the slow, agonizing fracturing of her heart grappled with a deeply-rooted affection for one of her oldest friends. Asking anyone, especially Honoka, to untangle years of love, pining, and pain and articulate them properly was nothing short of impossible. It would be unfair to ask that of her right now.
"Am I what you expected? Am I that person that you saw I was becoming?" Umi balled her hands into fists in her lap. She braced herself for the answer, squeezing her eyes shut.
Honoka bit her lip. She ran her hands absently across the top of her knees, but when she answered, it sounded like she'd practiced this exact response many times over. "No, you're not. You're a lot sadder."
Umi had braced herself, but Honoka's bluntness still sent her reeling. A weak "Oh." was all she could manage.
"But you're still you," Honoka went on. "When you came back, of course I was nervous, but I was also happy that I still recognized you. That we could still connect."
Umi nodded slowly. "When you showed up to take me out a few nights ago, I was relieved as well. If I'd let us drift apart until we were strangers, I never would have forgiven myself."
Honoka didn't offer a response. For a second, Umi wondered if she'd said all that she needed to say. That seemed outlandish to her - she'd seen the flash of hurt and resentment in Honoka's eyes just moments before. Yet Honoka seemed content to sit there, as Umi silently wrestled with her nagging dissatisfaction.
How did Honoka feel about her now?
Finally Honoka dispelled her worries, which simultaneously shattered the illusion of comfortable silence.
"There's more, isn't there?" she asked, plainly, perceptively.
Umi's ears burned with embarrassment. Even though it had happened so many times now, she resented how easily her friends were able to see through her.
"I'm done hiding, Umi-chan. I know you are, too," Honoka went on, in that maddeningly even tone. "So go ahead. Even if it's hard for both of us."
Umi collected herself. This conversation had been difficult to sit through, but considering how it hadn't descended into a shouting match, Umi had to wonder when the dam would break.
"How do you know what you felt for me was love?"
Up until now, Honoka had only described her feelings with a sort of indirect fondness. Not once had she implied that they had brought her anything but heartache and pain.
But Umi couldn't accept that. She wanted to hear it at least one more time - if only to hear the complete vulnerability and catharsis that she'd only heard in shades since.
I love you.
"I don't." Honoka said bluntly. "But I felt something different for you. And I don't know how to feel anything unless I feel it one hundred percent."
"Felt?" They'd been speaking in the past tense up until now, and Umi didn't know if this still applied to the present. She had to know for sure - and she had to admit that the possibility tinged her words with the most imperceptible traces of hope. "What about now?"
"I mean…" Honoka looked down, and Umi's brief fantasy of hope went with her. "I can't look at you without thinking of what you did." Even compared to the thoughtfulness and tact with which she'd acted during these last few days, her words here were almost robotically even. Like she'd been practicing them, in preparation for this very moment.
"Even now. I'm sure you're trying to make things right. I believed you when you said you wouldn't disappear on me again." Honoka continued, but Umi found herself struggling to focus. Honoka's voice went in and out of focus. Umi already felt her heart sinking, even when her body and mind struggled to catch up.
"...doesn't change how I've felt all this time," Honoka finished at some point. She looked more vulnerable than she ever had, curled into herself. Her posture contrasted grossly with her delivery.
"You… you can't forgive me?" The words fell, icy and leaden, off Umi's tongue, dropping helplessly to the floor.
"I can't."
"... I see."
That settled it. The resulting silence in the room was oppressive, smothering anything else Umi wanted to say.
"I'm so, so sorry, Honoka." Umi had more than sufficient time to prepare herself for this sort of definitive rejection. Yet a blanket apology was all she had to show for it - she resented how inadequate she sounded, and felt. Desperate for something more tangible, she kept going. "I know I don't deserve it, but -"
"Umi-chan." Honoka kept her eyes down. "It's hard on me when you say stuff like that. I want to feel bad for you, and I do. But I don't want to hear your excuses. You've made me feel like I don't matter."
"I know."
"Do you?" Honoka challenged even this. She'd finally looked up again, but Umi wished she hadn't. Hurt was clear on her face and sharp on her tongue. That scared Umi more than she ever wanted to admit.
Honoka had her cornered. Knowing this, her own front crumbled to nothingness. At some point, she had started crying. She didn't know how long she and Honoka sat in silence. The hole in her heart, which had laid dormant all this time, spread viciously and without remorse until she felt it in her very fingertips.
"'... I think you should go. I'm sorry." Honoka looked away. Even when Umi's tears started to fall uninhibited, Honoka offered no solace.
This was what it felt like to have her heart break in real time. Surely, Honoka had felt the same way, weeks after Umi had left her. In some twisted way, it was comforting to be able to understand what Honoka was going through.
The irony of finding comfort in their shared heartbreak would have made Umi laugh, if it didn't hurt so damn much.
Umi staggered to her feet. She didn't have the mental capacity to look back; with the searing pain that crushed her heart, the image of a hollow Honoka withdrawing into herself would have sent her to her knees once more.
Somehow, through a blur of nonstop tears, she made it home without incident. Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she promptly sank to her knees, quiet sobs racking her body. This self-pitying spiral was all too familiar to her, but never before had the pain been so acute.
The day hadn't even ended when Kotori let herself into Umi's house, heading straight for her room. There, she saw for herself the sorry sight that Umi made no attempt to hide; the tear-stained pillows, the small pile of used tissues, and the crumpled-up ball of despair that was Umi herself. Taking this all in, she only had one thing to say.
"Umi-chan, what are we going to do with you?"
Umi, of course, didn't have the answer. She didn't say anything, preferring to replay Honoka's words to her over and over again in her mind. Each subsequent recollection sent her head spinning anew.
Some time later, Kotori left. Umi wasn't sure how many more words they'd exchanged in the interim; it was all so muddled, so distant already. If she'd simply kept Umi's silent company, Umi would have appreciated that the most. Words were too complex, too easy to misinterpret and quick to hurt.
More Notes: I'm much more active on AO3 these days, so you can check out my profile there under the same name if you'd like more Love Live fanfics and things of the sort.
That aside, i've held back the main conflict long enough. it was about time that Honoka got this sort of catharsis, ya feel?
as always, thanks to all of my readers, old or new, for reading this far. if this was as hard to read as it was for me to write, fret not - umi and honoka definitely deserve a better ending than this. which gives me all the more reason i need to finish this thing :/ i think 3 years and counting makes me long overdue for that. my hope is that everyone who reads this story can relate to "the crushing reality of growing up" in some way, whether that's drifting apart from old friends, some desire to hold on to and cherish your old memories, or something of the sort.
speaking of which, the next chapter will be posted soon. it's 99% done, and was written in the same sitting as this chapter. thank you all for sticking around, and i hope you continue to do so.