A/N: HI. SORRY. DEAR GOD. I cannot believe it's been over half a year since I updated. That's disgusting and I'm so sorry. To make up for it, I absolutely promise to update again within the next month.
Absolutely, completely honest and I swear I will.
I've just been entering one of my busiest years in college and taking on more than I can handle, as typical coffee. Gross, I know.
And from here, I'm trying to get to the 'meat of the matter' of what I hoped to focus on in the second part of the chapter – certainly Atobe and Nanao's relationship, yes, but in the scope of their society and what it means, etc, so the plot might move a little quickly from here forward!
And I know I haven't replied to your reviews in so long, and I swear I'm reading all of them and appreciating them just as much – I just haven't had any time to do anything. I'm sorry about that, but I want to let you guys know I appreciate it so much; honestly, your reviews are what inspire me to keep writing even when I have no time and it's so easy to just forget about ff.
I hope you guys will keep staying with me and this story, and continue to review and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I do not own PoT.
Dedication: Dedicated to the lovely fyerigurl, who keeps my muse alive and my desperation ongoing for updates to YWISSG.
Mizuki Sanae learns, very quickly into her first year of college, about the very real presence of 'social class.'
As the daughter to an average salary man and his kind – but also nondescript – wife, Sanae had grown up attending average high schools with average friends and, for most of her life, had led a very average life.
Perhaps the most out-of-the-ordinary event in her life had been her acceptance to Tokyo University – a dream her parents had hardly allowed themselves to dream for their little daughter with big brains and fastidious study habits. She's done so well, in fact, that the university awards her a scholarship for her grades; it's a load off of her parents' shoulders, who are already doing the best they can to support both her and her two other siblings.
She's sent off to Tokyo from her little countryside town with a few boxes of her things and a suitcase and a decidedly non-designer purse on her shoulder.
She's overwhelmed by Tokyo and city-life in general and the big world, as well as the prestige of the university she attends.
And then, she meets Kinoshita Daiki.
He seems different from all the others she's met. At first, she can't put her finger on it, why he seems so- above everything else. He enchants her with his hazel eyes and Colgate smile and big heart, but there's something else about him that makes her tilt her head and think that he's really something special.
It's not too far into their courtship that she starts noticing things – like how even the simplest of bouquets he brings her has a decidedly expensive edge, lined with satin ribbons and small, sparkling accents and the largest roses she's ever seen. How his clothes all bear foreign labels, which she later starts to recognize as Armani and Tom Ford. How the first time she sees his car (and finds out he has a car at all), it bears the mark of a very familiar horse.
He's rich, is the all too apparent conclusion. Rich, not like doctor parents rich, but more along the lines of…father owns one of the largest trading companies in Japan rich.
Sanae's existence thus far had been so ordinary that she'd never even contemplated on the existence of people so wealthy. Perhaps she'd seen them once or twice in passing, on the covers of gossip rags and tabloids, but never as an actual, real part of the world.
It's not his money that continues to make her heart race, though – it's the way how he'd taken her hand and led her through crazy city life, how he laughs too loudly and has too much enthusiasm for stupid little things.
When things start getting a little more serious, Daiki begins to ask her to accompany him. To things. To places. To events she'd only ever seen on television, events so lavish she could have never imagined them in her wildest dreams.
And he dresses her for all of them. Dresses her in Chanel and Marc Jacobs and Valentino, and Sanae's only seen their names glossy and in large, gleaming bold letters along store fronts she'd never dreamed of entering. At first it's fun, exhilarating, as though she's the star of her own Cinderella story movie.
But then the world reminds her that Cinderella had been a maid, more used to dusty chimneys than fine china, and that quite honestly, marriage probably had not been smooth sailing for the two star crossed lovers. It reminds her that the story after the fairy tale was probably not as pretty as young girls like to imagine – the story of how a prince bred in luxury falls for a poor common girl named Cinderella, the story of how their two worlds were supposed to just perfectly align when they wed.
It reminds her that for all of Daiki's kind smiles and kinder words, Sanae is not- she is not from this world, this world where children of conglomerate emperors are free to go jetting off to foreign countries at the drop of a hat, where college and education is simply a formality for them to get to the lives and companies that have been entrusted to them since birth.
Sanae is from the world where people had to scrimp and save and plan meticulously for months to be able to take a week long vacation to Paris, where her parents had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed, feverishly, for her to be able to go to a good college where she'd make something of herself.
But she loves him, is the sad, bitter thing.
So Sanae attends these parties, these charity galas and balls, and thinks to herself that if she had this much money, and if she really, really cared about these starving children in third world countries, she'd rather donate it all instead of spending another million on a party just to celebrate their philanthropy.
But she loves him, so she does her part and attends these parties and learns the names.
Shigohara Minako – femme fatale of the upper crust, corporate darling who's also the apple of Oshitari Yuushi (heir to a medical empire)'s eye.
Takahara Yuuko, daughter to a steel magnate, who will most likely be engaged to Shino Takeshi, whose family owns some of the largest processing plants in Japan, before the year is up.
Hanazono Jin and Hanazono Ayame – children of the owners of the finest luxury cruise liner company.
Most prominently: Atobe Keigo, whose family owns – well, everything. The Atobes make up a huge corporation whose hands have dipped into almost every field imaginable, from finances to food to hospitality; their name is emblazoned across hotel chains and cafes and department stores, prominent throughout Japan on all fronts.
It was an unspoken rule, Sanae learned quickly in her foray into this world, that if one wished to play this game of diamonds and money and stocks, one couldn't ignore the Atobe name. The Atobe's were the Jones's of the corporate world, the model to aspire to be and the next door neighbor to envy.
And the one nice thing that comes from anonymity and unimportance in this society is that no one pays her any mind. They'll see Sanae in the corner of the parlor room, touching up, and they'll roll their eyes and continue on with their gossiping. So Sanae knows arguably some of the most damning things concerning the darlings of the wealthy – but who would believe her, anyway?
But it's because of this that Sanae knows things. Knows things like how Atobe Keigo has always maintained an ultra-exclusive coterie since their junior high days; how Takahara Yuuko is barely twenty one and already has rumors circling about alcohol problems; how Hanazono Ayame had that whirlwind affair with a poolboy at her parents' summer villa at St. Bart's last year.
How Atobe Keigo has been dating Suzuki Nanao (whose parents own a line of fine, luxury hotels throughout Japan) for the better part of two years, going on three, now. How everyone is surprised at how long it's lasted, how they're wondering if this is going to be a permanent thing and when is Atobe going to get engaged at last, and to whom?
It's little rumors like this, little snippets of Atobe's famous persona and infamous standards, little lines here and there about how Suzuki is nothing like Atobe, that have Sanae's eyes unconsciously drawn to the pair.
She notices that for how people keeps saying that Suzuki is nothing like Atobe, she is like him in all the ways that matter – they both come from money, and she wears her Chanel just as comfortably and with as much practiced ease as Atobe his Tom Ford. She'll hear rumors of how, for his birthday, Suzuki had gifted him with a rare book collection worth close to $45,000.
Sanae doesn't know how Suzuki Nanao is 'different,' but she knows that in the ways that matter, she is just like Atobe.
Sanae thinks that instead, it is she who is different; fatally so.
Sanae learns somewhere two weeks into class of her second term at Tokyo U that Suzuki Nanao is also an architecture major. She learns this because they're in the same class taken by architecture majors: a 3 hour practical class where students apply learned methods by creating their own designs. It takes place in a workshop slash artroom like environment, and there is a small total of thirty-something students.
By then, Sanae has learned many things about the upper crust world.
She has learned that Shigohara Minako is a model, jetsetting to European countries too often for Oshitari Yuushi's liking. She's learned that Takahara Yuuko will get drunk at every society event without question, and will also likely drunkenly pawn off whatever jewelry she is wearing to a serving staff. She's learned that Mukahi Gakuto and Shishido Ryou participate in drinking contests out of tradition at all charity galas, and that Kabaji Munehiro is a surprisingly silent but large donor to animal rights organizations.
She's learned much about Atobe Keigo. She's learned that he's rich beyond everyone's wildest dreams; she's learned that he's brilliant, performing within the top five of almost all of his economics classes; she's learned that he's basically what the dictionary definition of 'perfect' is, from his hair to his athletic abilities to his sharp wit and sharper mind.
Sanae knows decidedly less about Suzuki Nanao. She's heard more about Suzuki's two elder siblings, who are both making their mark as top class predators in a ring of vultures. She has heard, however, that Suzuki shares a large age gap with her two older siblings, and that it's apparently obvious that the Suzuki head dotes terribly on their youngest because of it.
When Sanae notices Suzuki Nanao in her class, she starts learning more.
She sees Suzuki's color-coded notes and painfully neat handwriting, and thinks that this girl is extremely Type-A organized and meticulous; she notices Suzuki's stellar grades, and also notices how she's often just coming from the direction of the library when class starts. She notices that Suzuki has a very soft grace about her actions, where the simplest of things like taping down a piece of draft paper to a board is done with gentle care and precision.
She notices that Suzuki smiles a lot, has a warmth to her eyes that Sanae's rarely seen from their society, and that Suzuki's laugh sounds a lot like air and pleasantries. Suzuki is, Sanae concludes, mild-mannered on all fronts, so much so that she'll often stand back and be the last one to retrieve a piece of draft paper or a drawing board from the back.
It's a stark contrast to what little Sanae knows of Atobe – dominant, aggressive, sharp edges and bold presence – that Sanae wonders what that relationship's like.
In fact – perhaps it's a little presumptuous, a little wishful for her to think so – but Sanae starts to develop a small modicum of kinship towards Suzuki Nanao.
Their worlds are so vastly apart it's laughable – Suzuki in her casual $2300 Balmain dress in the middle of lecture, Sanae in her under-$30-jeans-and-button-up – but the Atobe-Suzuki relationship is the only one she's heard of so far that baffles people. And with the way that people balk at Daiki bringing her – a scholarship student - to the parties, Sanae can't help but feel that perhaps Suzuki knows, even a little, of how she feels.
Sanae can't help but to feel like she knows Suzuki Nanao even though the two have never exchanged a word between them in their lives; she's heard so many things and done her own analysis (which sounds creepy but it's really not), and in the spaces between, Sanae thinks that she knows Suzuki kind of, a little well.
So perhaps it's a little presumptuous.
But Sanae's also just come back from a charity auction where a woman donated a $10,000 mink coat to support animal rights, so sue her if she's feeling a little bewildered and a lot like she has absolutely no idea how anything works around here.
And two weeks later, Sanae gets her first chance to speak to Suzuki Nanao. The day's lesson plans include working with partners to produce an appropriate design for a particular scenario, and it just so happens that she and Suzuki had wound up desk partners that day. As soon as the assignment is announced, Suzuki turns to her with a warm smile and bright eyes.
"Hello," she greets. "I'm Suzuki Nanao."
I know, Sanae wants to say. "Nice to meet you- Mizuki Sanae," she says instead.
They get to work.
Suzuki Nanao is sharply competent, for all of her soft smiles and softer words. Her hands draw neat lines using metal rulers and exact calculations, diction laden with technical terms that she's obviously taken the time to learn and familiarize herself with. She doesn't take the lead at all, but whenever Sanae falters or pauses, she's quick to supply a solution or a 'passing thought that might work.'
Sanae thinks that perhaps excellence is some sort of unspoken, ridiculous standard of their world.
They don't become instant bosom buddies.
They do, however, become friendly acquaintances. Enough so that they'll perhaps grab a cup of coffee before lecture, text occasionally about class assignments and say warm hello's if they happen to pass one another on campus.
Nanao does not speak of her world as though it's an actual thing; in fact, she doesn't make any reference to her background of wealth at all. But then, Sanae's noticed that the truly pampered darlings of the world don't feel a need to express it – because they know that what they have is so utterly secure, and in it, are secure in themselves, that they don't feel an urge to flaunt what they own.
But Sanae notices, with keen eyes and quiet diligence, the shiny labels on her pristine items; she notices the way she rarely wears the same article of clothing twice in one month (sometimes several), notices the way how all of her clothes seem custom tailored and dry cleaned and well-pressed. Sanae notices that Nanao is driven to school, and notices even smaller details, like the fact that her nails are always well-filed and French-manicured.
They speak of other, normal things – things like the weather, things like the latest movies, things like how their professor for Architecture 121 speaks with a strange lisp and spits on the students in the first row.
And occasionally, Sanae wonders if Nanao knows of her – the scholarship student that Kinoshita Daiki has been seen lugging around to various society events the past few months. On one hand, she thinks that it's silly and presumptuous of her, because why would someone know Sanae at all? But on the other hand, she's heard the little parlour room gossip (parlour room instead of 'bathroom,' because they're so posh that they need to rename rooms) about her, about her and Daiki and about what it means for Daiki.
Once, they go shopping together for class supplies. Nanao introduces her to an art store hidden away in a nondescript corner just a few minutes from campus, and they go together after lecture ends.
Before they leave campus, Nanao picks up the phone and dials a number. Sanae's not an invasive person and often leaves people to their own privacy, but Nanao doesn't seem to mind being on the phone right next to Sanae. The conversation goes a little like this:
"Hi," Nanao murmurs into the phone, lips twisting into an unconscious, immediate smile at whatever the reply is. "How was practice?"
She listens quietly for the next few minutes, nodding lightly and humming under her breath in acknowledgement. "I just called to say that I'll be going home on my own today, so go on without me?"
A pause. "Ah, no- I thought you and Yuushi-kun had plans today?"
Sanae's ears perk up at the mention of another name. Ah, right: Nanao was likely on the phone with Atobe Keigo, who was close friends and tennis teammates with Oshitari Yuushi. It's a bit odd and a bit like breaking down the fourth wall, interacting with people that she feels oddly as though she knows purely from the gossip that always seems to float around their society.
(But don't be silly Sanae, she tells herself. You are not one of them, and while you may be a guest at their parties and in their ballrooms, you will always be just that: a guest, a temporary visitor allowed admittance only while she is with Daiki. You will never be one of them, she reminds herself; never forget).
"I'm going to the art store- mhm, the one that you found me last week? With my friend from class."
Friend, she calls her, and Sanae thinks that perhaps Nanao is one of the nicest people she's met from a crowd of wolves.
"I'll stop by afterwards," she promises, and laughs a little – breathlessly, filled with the most mirth Sanae's ever heard from Nanao's lips. "Alright."
She gets off the phone and slides it neatly into her purse before looking up at Sanae with a gentle, bright smile. "Sorry," she apologizes, sounding genuinely contrite. "I just needed to let my friend know that I won't be getting a ride from him today."
'Friend,' 'ride,' all casual words, considering that this was her billionaire heir boyfriend who most likely drove her home in a limousine. Sanae doesn't say anything, though, simply nods and grins right back.
When they get to the store, Sanae's a bit surprised to find that it is honestly quite a nice shop; it has everything they'd need for class, in several different options, all reasonably priced (this is the fact that she's most surprised at, if she's being honest).
Nanao wanders off to find her own supplies, and Sanae is left to her own devices for a moment. Something catches her eye and she walks towards it.
When Nanao returns to her side a few minutes later, she finds Sanae browsing with meticulous and intense care, the row of luxurious, leather-bound agendas the store sells. Sanae peruses each one by flicking through the pages, lips pursed and entirely focused on selecting the best one; she weighs them in her hands, feels out the leather, checks what kind of layout each of the pages have. "Looking for an agenda?" Nanao asks.
Sanae startles. So focused had she been on the assessing of the agendas, she hadn't noticed Nanao's presence at all. "Oh- no," she replies, and Nanao's brows furrow in confusion. "I mean, it's- for my boyfriend."
Nanao's eyes grow wide.
"You have a boyfriend?" she asks, a delicate little smile blooming on her lips.
Sanae finds herself unconsciously mirroring the expression when Daiki's features flit through her thoughts. "Yeah," she laughs. "He's a little- anal about his schedule, and he lost his planner a few weeks ago and he's been lost without it."
Nanao bites her lip, thinks of how careful Sanae had looked when perusing agendas for him – how she'd displayed a level of care people rarely expressed even when picking their own things. It makes her hide a silly little grin in her palm, fond eyes flickering over Sanae, who'd gone back to looking through the planners.
"You must care for him very much," Nanao murmurs.
Sanae pauses. "No, I-" Sanae thinks of Daiki and his basketball-calloused hands and infectious grin and aching care when he looks after her. "Yes," she says instead.
Nanao's eyes soften. "Well," she replies, "He must be a great person."
Sanae laughs. "Yeah, he is."
In the meantime, Sanae simply goes about her life as usual. She attends class and does her projects and laughs with Nanao over ridiculous lecture topics. She'll take the opportunity to observe Atobe Keigo up close, on the off chance he finishes tennis practice earlier than their 4-6 PM class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and swings by to pick up Nanao.
The first time it happens is a week after Sanae and Nanao finished their joint project. In the time since, they'd grown close enough where they sat beside one another during class (more because neither had met anyone else in class yet and were grateful for a friend in lecture, less that they clicked instantly and became best friends).
So Sanae is witness – very close-up – when Atobe Keigo strolls in at 5:47 PM quietly through the back door. Quietly, but with an air of confidence; the way one might walk into their own bedroom, perhaps.
His hair is damp from what she presumed to be a post-practice shower, but he's dressed in clean black trousers and a loose button-up that Sanae was rather sure she'd seen on the runway of a famous designer when she'd been flipping channels last week. He makes his way down the rows – casually, carelessly, as though he hadn't walked into a class he wasn't enrolled in 15 minutes before it ended – and slides himself into the seat on Nanao's other side.
Sanae doesn't stare, per say, but she does watch very discreetly out of the corner of her eye.
(There's a strange pounding in her chest, and it doesn't make sense. Sanae shouldn't have an earthly reason to be this nervous being so close to someone who doesn't even know her name, but she can't help it; Atobe is some kind of a celebrity in the world of corporate darlings, and somehow, she's started to see him as one, too.)
Atobe drapes a casual arm along the back of Nanao's chair. Nanao leans in with a small frown, whispers that he really needed to stop walking into random classes; Atobe rolls his eyes and smirks at her (the famous trademark smirk Sanae's only ever seen from across large ballrooms), tugs lightly on a strand of hair near his hand.
Nanao gives him a wry expression, but it's clear that he's stolen her attention from the professor, because she's leaning in to hear whatever it is that he has to say, then promptly muffles her quiet huffs of laughter.
And in that moment, Sanae thinks that she understands.
She thinks that all of those whisperers – the girls in their perfect dresses with perfect makeup and perfect hair – muttering about how nothing about Atobe and Suzuki makes sense, clearly don't know a thing.
Because Sanae knows nothing about Atobe and very little about Nanao, and she's only seen a random 5 minute interaction, but-
She sees the way Nanao lights up into this entire other person when Atobe is around. She sees the way how Atobe's normally sharp features (lord knows she's seen it enough times from a distance) soften, just a little bit, how it's not just the room's bright lighting that makes his eyes shine a teensy bit when he looks at her laugh.
Sanae doesn't mean to wax poetic and sound like a third-rate teen romance novel, but at the same time, she can't help but to think of Daiki when she sees the way Nanao and Atobe's heads bow towards one another almost unconsciously. The way he casually pulls out a square of chocolate he must have purchased from the vending machine right around the corner from their classroom and places it in front of Nanao, and the way she seems so genuinely pleased with the small gesture that she's beaming.
There's something endearing in the way an heiress is so easily delighted by three dollar chocolate bars.
And then, as though she'd just remembered that Sanae was very much still present, Nanao turns to her to offer some chocolate. Sanae pauses, and catches the way Atobe's eyes flicker over her for the first time. There's a mild spark of brief, brief interest there, most likely due to the fact that Nanao seems to know Sanae enough to offer her chocolate, but the interest quickly fades away into ambivalence when Sanae politely declines and Nanao's attention is back to Atobe.
Several minutes later, when class ends, the three of them stand up and Nanao turns to Atobe. "This is Mizuki-san," she introduces, oblivious to the fact that Atobe clearly couldn't care less about who she was.
Sanae forces a smile on her face anyway, reaches out to shake his hand regardless of the fact that she can smell the disinterest in the air.
"This is Keigo- Atobe," Nanao stumbles over the name a little bit, her own familiarity with him taking over, and Sanae sees the little amusement that filters into Atobe's usual icy expression. It makes her heart a little fond, and Sanae hates that it does.
"Nice to meet you," Sanae says nonetheless, because her mother had raised her with manners.
"Likewise," he replies coolly.
When Sanae passes him on campus a week later, he doesn't remember who she is in the slightest.
Nanao watches Kinoshita's date - looking out of place despite being dressed to the nines in a sweeping Chanel gown, wearing it with skewed lines and awkward angles in a way that dulls even the lovely sparkle of Chanel - and almost winces when she sees the girl flush a bright red as she notices a small group of girls look her up and down with start disinterest and just a bit of disdain. It's the third or fourth time Nanao's seen her, she thinks, this girl with kind eyes and slightly flat nose, the third or fourth time Kinoshita's brought her as his date to one of their society events.
And yet-
-Nanao has not heard her name uttered a single time.
Always "That scholarship girl Kinoshita's brought" or "Where did she even get her hands on a Valentino?" Her existence was so unimportant out of the realm of Kinoshita's involvement, that her identity was always in reference to Kinoshita's name.
It's this sight - of the girl, looking as though she were trying to wear her Chanel like an untrained soldier trying to wear his armor to the battlefield in the naive, mistaken belief that it will protect him from the enemy lines - that makes Nanao's glance flicker to Keigo at her side. He's mid-conversation with Yuushi, a warm hand wrapped loosely around her waist and a Tom Ford suit hung effortlessly from his shoulders.
She wonders if he would still hold her hand if she did not have money.
He notices her glance at last and pauses in his conversation to quirk his head towards her, one brow slightly lifted. "I-" she starts, but fails to grasp the words to convey what she wants to say.
She doesn't even really know what she wants to say, herself.
"Would you still like me if I were poor" seems...stupid. In this pause, Keigo squeezes her fingers briefly, brows furrowing in what seems to be now mild worry. "Are you feeling ill?" he murmurs, quietly under his breath so that only they can hear. "Did you drink too much?"
Nanao shakes her head. "I just. Kinoshita-kun's date-" she trails off, tongue numb and still trying to find its way around the words that fail to form. "She-"
Keigo lifts his gaze and glances coolly over the girl for narry a second before coming back to rest on Nanao - like a lion in the savanna, flicking its gaze over a fly: a creature so small and insignificant that it's not even prey. "What is it?"
Nanao pauses. "Is- Is money so important?"
The words catch the ears of even Oshitari, and Nanao now finds herself on the receiving end of two silent stares.
"I mean," she struggles for words. "I'm still- and you're still- we're all still us, whether or not we have money."
It's Oshitari who answers. "No, Nanao," he murmurs. "We're really not."
Nanao does not say the hundred things running through her mind.
She does not say that the girl's name is Mizuki Sanae, her classmate in one of her architecture classes. She does not say that Sanae is very kind, very bright, and very, very smart – smarter than a lot of the prep-school, tutored privileged girls that are considered socially acceptable. She does not say that when Nanao had missed a class because she fell ill a few weeks ago, Sanae had made copies of her notes for her without Nanao even asking, then allowed Nanao to see the diagrams she'd drawn and sat with Nanao to explain the concepts they'd learned that week.
She does not say that she'd put the pieces together and realized that Mizuki Sanae was the much-talked about girl that Kinoshita-kun's been bringing to society events for the past several months a few weeks ago. She does not say that it had upset her, because she thought Sanae was such a lovely girl – brimming with witty sarcasm and a deceptive kindness towards others – that the fact that she was the one being shunned was unfair.
She does not say that the way Sanae talks about Daiki is-
"He's just a dumb boy – he'll starve himself to death if he doesn't have a keeper, I swear."
"He's such a troublesome little thing, I swear. I keep telling him it's fine, but he insists on taking me home after school all the time and I know he's busy and I wish he'd just let me go home by myself."
"He's one of the kindest people I've met."
-brimming, overflowing, choked up with love and admiration and adoration.
She doesn't even say that Atobe's met her, on several occasions, but has still yet to commit her to memory-
Because, of course, she's entirely unimportant, so why should he learn her name?
Nanao knows that she's being irrationally upset, knows that she's not even that close to Sanae and it's dumb and stupid and completely senseless for her to be so upset on her behalf-
But she can't help it.
She thinks back to the fondness in Sanae's eyes when she'd browsed through agendas for Daiki, thinks of the way her expression had lit up when Nanao had inquired later if her boyfriend had liked the planner.
Nanao steps back, just barely out of Atobe's reach.
Atobe is looking at her with clear concern in his eyes though he doesn't say it, and even Oshitari-kun is peering at her oddly. They don't understand. Of course they don't. "I-" she starts to say, then finds herself a bit lost because she doesn't even know what she wants to say.
"Nanao," Atobe murmurs while taking a step towards her, hand lifting as though to grasp her hand. "What's going on-"
Nanao steps back again.
She can't- she doesn't- she just doesn't want to be here anymore, surrounded by all these giggling girls and smirking boys, wearing their parents millions on their arms like it's nothing. She thinks of how Sanae often rushes off right after lecture for her four-hour shifts at a café, because she's on scholarship and it doesn't cover everything and her parents can't afford to. She thinks of how Sanae has all these lovely, inspiring dreams- "I want to build the world. I want to work in developing countries and help people live in real homes. I want to fly to disaster zones and help people rebuild their lives- it's so important, and it feels as though it's the area that least people want to work in." and how she has to work a hundred times harder to accomplish such noble things in comparison to Nanao's peers, who-
-do a fraction of the work, to accomplish things so much more selfish.
She almost feels ashamed in her own glittering gold Valentino gown, even if it had been Keigo who purchased it for her (because if he hadn't bought her a dress, she knows she would have gone out and bought one herself, so it's all the same, isn't it?).
When she glances up, Keigo's expression has grown increasingly concerned, to the point where there's even a discernable furrow between his perfectly arched brows. Nanao feels a little sick to her stomach.
"I need to- I need some air," she breathes, turns on her heel and makes her way quickly through the crowd to get to the open balcony doors.
For a few moments, both Atobe and Oshitari stand in stunned silence. Atobe is a bit too caught up in his worry to really analyze her behavior, but Oshitari's eyes trace Nanao's retreating figure and flicker back to Kinoshita's date.
Mizuki Sanae, he thinks. (Would he really be Oshitari Yuushi if he did not know her name?). Architecture major, if he recalls correctly.
Ah.
There's the connection.
"I'm rather sure Mizuki-san is Nanao's friend," Oshitari murmurs. "They've likely met in some classes."
Atobe almost asks who 'Mizuki-san' is, but then, he glances at the girl Kinoshita has brought, and his eyes widen, ever so slightly.
"This is Keigo- Atobe," Nanao introduces.
"Nice to meet you," Sanae says.
"Likewise," he replies coolly.
He feels a mild headache coming on.
He hands Oshitari his glass of champagne. "Will you- I've just- Excuse me for a moment," he settles for at last, and Oshitari, bless his heart, accepts the glass with a graceful nod of his head.
"Go," he says, simply.
Atobe walks off briskly in the direction Nanao had gone.
Nanao's standing – primly, shoulders back and spine ruler-straight, as all young ladies are taught to do by their governesses since childhood – by the balcony railing, peering listlessly at the gardens below when she hears the balcony click shut behind her.
She turns, eyes meeting Keigo's the moment she does.
"Sorry," she murmurs timidly. "I didn't mean to- make a scene."
Atobe rolls his eyes. "You didn't make a scene, Nanao," he half-laughs. A 'scene' for Nanao was less dramatic than a normal reaction from a lot of their peers.
"Oh."
She looks down at her hands – wrangled together the way they do when she's nervous or distressed – and they stand in silence for a few minutes.
With a sigh, Atobe strides forward until he's standing in front of her, close enough to where she's almost crowded against the railing. Her nose brushes the front of his shirt when she shifts. "What's going on in that worrisome head of yours?" she hears him say, can almost feel the vibrations in his chest.
"A lot of worrying," she replies, eyes still cast downwards. She looks at the way her sparkling heels face his polished shoes.
She feels a hand run lightly down her right arm, searching for her own hand and grasping it carefully when it finds it. After a moment's hesitation, she grips it back tightly. "I just-"
"You know Mizuki Sanae."
Nanao's head snaps up at that, and she finally, finally looks Atobe in the eye (no, he stubbornly maintains, he is not relieved at the miniscule gesture). "You know her name?"
He resents, a little bit, the amount of surprise in her voice.
"No," he admits, though it pains him a bit to do so. "Yuushi does."
Nanao's eyes glance downwards again, and it makes a spike of worry rise in his chest. She's always so easily pleased, so easy to make happy, that Atobe's never quite known what to do when she's upset.
"Talk to me," he half-murmurs, half-whispers, leaning down so that his nose brushes against her temple.
Her fingers tighten around his a little more.
"I just. She- She loves him a lot, you know," she whispers.
He almost doesn't catch it.
"She loves him a lot, and she's this marvelous person, and he loves her too- and it all doesn't matter."
Atobe freezes.
He thinks, faintly, in the back of his head, that he's starting to understand.
He wishes, hopes, that it isn't what he thinks it is.
"Because we all know that Kinoshita-kun's going to be engaged soon, don't we?"
Everyone who matters – everyone but Sanae – has known that the Kinoshita's are one of the families that are meticulously traditional about arranging marriages that best benefit them. Most people in their small, elite circle arrange marriages, of course, but the Kinoshita's are one of the few who take it a bit more seriously than most.
Everyone is well aware that Kinoshita Daiki's parents have been perusing possible matches since last fall.
It's only a matter of time.
Atobe moves to wrap his other arm around her, but Nanao takes a step back, then, back hitting the railing and hand loosening out of Atobe's grasp. (It feels a lot like he's lost a little more than just her hand just now).
"It-" her cheeks are growing a splotchy sort of red, and Atobe's a little horrified because if he doesn't know what to do when she's upset, he has absolutely no idea what to do when she cries. "Keigo," she breathes, lips wobbling just the tiniest bit. "Keigo, she loves him."
They've never said 'I love you.'
They've been dating for two and a half years now – far, far longer than anyone expected them to last – but they've never said the three words that have now become an unsaid taboo. Because dating? Dating someone is fun, is nice, and dating someone then breaking up with them isn't the worst thing in the world.
But loving someone – loving someone, knowing that they'd inevitably break up in the end, is much, much harder.
Nanao would – already has – given up Spain for him, but she's never even so much has said the first sound of the 'l' of 'love.'
He doesn't even know who started it, if it was even something they both decided on or if it was a conclusion both had reached silently, quietly, carefully. He hasn't even allowed himself to ponder if he loves her or not, because he- he doesn't really want to know or face what his answer might be, to be honest.
Nanao says she loves him like she might cry I love you.
It makes the blood drain from his cheeks.
"And none of it matters," she whispers, at last. She's not crying, she won't, but she bites her lower lip and wrings her fingers until they're rubbed red and raw.
He wishes he could console her. Wishes he could say no, of course it does, wishes even more he could say of course it matters to me and it's different. But it's not.
It's not different, it's exactly the same, and it's so wretchedly ironic that it's almost hysterical.
He stays quiet for a long time, and Nanao crumples.
"I'm just going to head home early," she whispers. "I- Just tell people I'm feeling a little under the weather, please."
Even when she walks past him and out the door, he finds that he doesn't have anything to say.
They don't talk for two days.
He's drafted about twenty six different texts in that span, but found none of them sufficient enough to send.
She's been checking her phone every two minutes with painful hope and even more painful disappointment (she's a little afraid to text him first).
The thing is- Nanao knows that none of this is Keigo's fault.
She'd known exactly the terms on the table when she'd entered this relationship with him – it was the very reason they'd even started the whole thing, even. She'd known that this wasn't, couldn't be a permanent thing, for a hundred more important reasons than the simple fleeting nature of teenage relationships. She'd known that he had bigger worries, obligations far more important than this two year relationship, responsibilities he'd had placed on his shoulders since his birth.
But then, the heart doesn't really take any of that into account.
It doesn't take into account that this relationship has an end point, that she oughtn't fall in too deep because it'll only make it harder when she has to inevitably let him go.
It doesn't take into account the fact that she'll stand by at his wedding (because of course she'll attend- he's Keigo and he's one of the most important people in the world to her) as she watches a girl of his parents' choosing walk down the aisle.
It doesn't take into account that she'd be stupid to fall so hard.
It only takes into account the way her stomach flutters when he brushes her hand, the way he looks at her with this indescribable fondness in her eyes, the way he'd move the moon and earth and everything in between if it means someone important to him will be even slightly happier than before.
It only takes into account that he'd singlehandedly managed to make the most profound and deep impact in who she is – in the best way – in a mere two years.
It only takes into account that even if they broke up and she fell in love with other people, she'd still love Keigo just as much, because he was such a wonderful person, that one couldn't help but to adore him in any and every way.
She thinks of how Megumi had warned her that he'd break her heart, and thinks, no.
She'd been the one to break her own heart.
And she feels so, so silly, like a little child who's just realized that the world wasn't perfect and that reality wasn't some fairy tale.
She knows that she ought to reach out to Keigo and apologize for her outburst, explain that she was just feeling ill and that it's nothing.
But she just needs a little time to wallow in the hurt, to swallow it down like a bitter pill and move on. She just-
-needs a little time to lick her wounds, that's all, and lament her silly little heart.
That's all.
"Well, do you?"
Atobe looks up at him, sharply, a deep line set in his brows.
Oshitari shrugs lightly. "Do you love her? It's really a simple question – there's only two possible answers, Keigo."
Atobe's expression inches closer to a scowl.
"There's a 50% chance you'll get it right," Oshitari hums, and Atobe's lips curl into an outright half-snarl, half-frown.
"You're a fucking menace," Atobe hisses.
Oshitari rolls his eyes. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirt, as though they were discussing the weather instead. "You said that she told you she loved you."
"No," Atobe is quick to correct. "She didn't- she didn't. She wouldn't."
Oshitari rolls his eyes again. "Yes, Keigo, god forbid the girl tell you she loves you – what a terrible thing for her to do."
"It's not like that," Atobe says, voice even and quieter than normal. "It's not that-" Of course it's not a bad thing for her to do. It's just that- "Of course I love her," he sighs at last.
Oshitari's widen, just a little bit. (If he's being honest, he hadn't thought that Keigo would come right out and say so).
Atobe narrows his eyes at the surprise scrawled across Oshitari's features and purses his lips. "Don't act like you're surprised," he huffs. "But it's different with her. It's not…"
He doesn't love her romantically. Well, he does, but he loves her in a way that happens to also encompass romance, not in a way that's based in the romance. And that's the most important detail, he thinks, that's the key to figuring out the way they work, to understanding how they're perfectly alright (or were, at least) to date, even with an expiration date hanging over their heads.
He says as much to Oshitari. "I love her as Nanao, not as a girl who's my girlfriend," and he can't help the little wrinkle of his nose in distaste at the word 'girlfriend.' Even after so long, the term still feels juvenile and unnecessary to him.
"I would love her regardless of what she was; I'll most likely keep loving her even after we break up, after we both get married to different people – I'll love her for the rest of her life.
"And I'm not saying this as some god-awful grand declaration of everlasting love like your little trashy novels-"
Oshitari makes a small noise of protest and offense, which Atobe merely rolls his eyes at.
"-I'm saying this as in- I love her, in any and all ways, because I love the person that she is; so whether it's as my friend – the way I love you – or as my girlfriend, I'd love her regardless."
Atobe rakes a tired hand through his hair, as though speaking the words alone have exhausted him. He looks out the window, his face leaned against his palm, hand covering his lower face as his eyes flit over the scenery. "I think it's the same with her," he murmurs, half-muffled by his hand. "But she's just far more of a genuine person than I am, I suppose," he huffs, more self-deprecating than bitter.
Oshitari's quiet for a while.
He thinks that he's known all of this for a while.
After all, they'd been such deep friends before they found a romantic interest in one another, that really, this was the only thing that could have occurred. And he thinks he gets it, a little bit, how they can love each other and date one another even while knowing that it would end soon (he understands, but he'd never be able to do it with Minako – because it's different for her, for them).
(Quite honestly, he'd probably be committed to jail for first-degree murder if he found another man received her hand in marriage).
"I think," he begins, carefully, slowly. "That you really always have to get yourself into the most ridiculously complicated situations."
Atobe laughs at last, even though it has a hint of bitterness accompanying it. "I am an Atobe, after all," and that's all bitterness, Oshitari discerns.
"Just go talk to her," he finally sighs. "It's what you've been itching to do, anyway."
Atobe's lips quirk into a small smile.
"Ma'am, Atobe-san is at the door for you."
Eyes widen.
The maid has hardly a moment to move from the doorway before Nanao's scrambling off her bed, bolting out the door and practically hurling herself down the staircase into the main foyer. She pauses for a moment, hands gripping the railing and hair tumbling over her shoulder as she leans over the stairs to peer at him-
He's standing in the doorway, shoulder leaned casually against the frame and checking his watch, and it's achingly familiar, reminiscent of the exact posture he'd hold when waiting for her to come downstairs when he used to pick her up in the mornings in high school.
It makes her think of all the ways in which they've changed.
It also makes her think of everything that hasn't.
In that moment, she thinks that all the important things haven't changed, regardless of their relationship status or the distance between them. Thinks that they still present honesty to one another no matter how raw or painful, thinks that he's still the only one she'd confide in all her fears and hopes and dreams; thinks that he's still the only person in the world that's supported her to be purely and just herself to the fullest, one hundred percent, all the time, even when her own siblings had worried that she might not be enough.
It makes her think that, relationship or not, they'll be alright.
They always have been.
He notices her at last as she walks down the last few steps, and he steps away from the door to straighten up a bit.
"Nanao," he starts, "I-"
She doesn't let him finish, though, instead barrels straight at him and clutches at him.
To him, though, it's her wrapping him up in one of her usual too-tight, too-haphazard and too-sloppy-to-be-proper hugs, and it feels a lot like coming home. (Oshitari would never let him live it down if he knew what he'd just thought).
And Atobe's a little confused, doesn't really understand what's going on a hundred percent, but he wraps his arms around her on half-instinct alone.
"Nanao," he murmurs again, this time with his lips pressed to her hair.
"Sorry," she blurts.
He pauses.
"I'm sorry. I was- being silly. Just. It was nothing, I was just having an off day, and I'm sorry about being stupid."
He relaxes a bit. "You weren't being stupid."
Nanao doesn't let up on her hold. "I was. I'm sorry."
He runs his hand through her hair. "It's alright."
They'll be alright.
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