1: January Thaw
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sonnet XLIII
The New Year comes, and you put flowers in your hair and wrap a sash around your waist. How does that song go? 'When we were younger we thought everyone was on our side. Then we grew a little and romanticized the time I saw flowers in your hair.'
Today is about not growing past this line and maybe somebody will romanticize the peach blossoms tucked in the center of your pins. You rarely dress so daintily, and although the bold contrast between the burnt orange of your kimono and the sea foam green of your sash is more daring and playful than ladylike (Yukari could wear cerise pink like nobody else)—and sure, there is a crisp white undershirt to fend off the cold—and you wear your hair up in a wrapped braided like always—but it is undeniable that you look like a soft princess. Disney could write a movie about you.
Once upon a time, there was a Princess of a faraway land, orphaned at an age when she could neither recognize nor appreciate her parents, who kicked ass. The end.
You suppose that can't stretch to two hours.
The sash knot is never going to be perfect—you give up trying to create a symmetrically perky butterfly at your back. Well, you twirl in front of the mirror, at least all the hairpins are in place.
"You look beautiful," Fuuka quietly compliments you, idolization evident in her voice. She doesn't look half bad herself, with a mint green kimono only shades lighter than her hair. Mint green is a hard color to command, but Fuuka is so pale that the fussy color only makes her look paler. You don't necessary agree with the whole pursuit of pallor, but you agree that a large portion of Fuuka's attraction comes from how her blue-green veins underneath her translucent skin are so fragile. But today, Yukari put some blush on her cheeks, the same pink as the carnations on her kimono, and instead of looking like she might faint from a slight breeze, she looks like a girl who doesn't realize how pretty she could become.
Which is fine by you, because you can't help but feel happy and proud when she compliments you so sincerely. You know you're pretty, but, well, Yukari glows like a true princess, and Mitsuru is always alluring in her standoffish manner, Aigis is a crafted robot whose perfect symmetry and beauty is harsh but true, and even the photo that you found in Theo's pocket had two drastically different but drastically beautiful women. It is hard to assert yourself amid this group of unnaturally beautiful peo—eh, beings.
You are worth so much more than your looks, but that doesn't mean looks aren't important.
"Let's leave now," Mitsuru interrupts you basking in Fuuka's comment, "the lines for the wish tree will be long."
"Oh yeah!" Yukari exclaims, "I'm so excited for that!"
"I am excited to participate in such a traditional event as well," Aigis nods.
The wish tree and the prophecy booth are always filled with people at this time of the year. Very few people truly believe in such ancient superstition anymore, but most of the fortunes the shrine gave out are good ones, so it's nice to begin a year on a good note. You know it's all just a money-trap, that the shrine needs this influx of prayer money and happy people are more generous. You know it's all wrong, because each year your fortune varies, but your future is always the same.
"Whoever gets the best fortune has to buy everybody takoyaki," you suggest.
"That is a good idea," Aigis agrees, "an increase in stake makes a seemingly inconsequential result more interesting, and the idiosyncratic nature of the draw makes it fair."
"You don't always have to analyze things," Yukari rolls her eyes.
"Yukari doesn't like life explained like a math problem," you quip.
"Why should I?" she looks away, "I just want to enjoy today."
A small silence falls over the group, slightly uncomfortable, and the proverbial elephant just grew in size.
"The boys should be up any minute, we should leave before them if we wish for a speedy retreat," Mitsuru broke the silence.
Just delaying the boys' reaction to the festival grounds, but you would rather face a scene at the shrine than this suffocating and despairing silence. "Now, now, now!" you gesture to the door, pushing Aigis.
-.-.-
Your eyes are closed before the wishing tree. You have tied your paper slip, and it is time to pray.
Except you can feel a piece of the takoyaki stuck between your teeth in the left back, and you can hear Junpei muttering to the right about the Demise, and Akihiko is clearing his throat embarrassedly, and somebody's dog is sniffing your foot, and a stranger nearly trips over the dog and curses, and you open your eyes.
You spot yours on the tree easily, and when Junpei and Yukari banters about their wishes, you look at your group.
Both Junpei and Yukari wishes to prevent the Demise, and their wishes are simple and almost altruistic, compared to the rest. Akihiko wishes to grow old with you, proud of being awfully clever since for that to happen the apocalypse can't occur. Mitsuru wishes to be able to carry out her promise to her father in the new year, and it is a loaded promise of her happiness, the Kirijo Group's stability, and the world's wellbeing. Fuuka wishes that none of her friends suffer. Ken wishes that he can grow up to all that he wants to be. Aigis wishes to understand humans and perhaps humanity slowly but surely. All of these wishes imply that the world doesn't end, but only Junpei and Yukari included nothing for themselves—not because they are selfless, but because Junpei is so scared and Yukari fervently believes that the worst will happen. To them, there is no future to wish for.
What is your wish? You give a sneer.
-.-.-
"'You will be saved if you believe'," Akihiko scoffs from the couch, watching the reporter interview a member of the new Nyx cult, "Such morons, who would buy that?"
You think he maybe, perhaps, sort of just rebuffed every religion there ever was.
You sneak a hand underneath his jacket then the edge of his sweater, tracing fingers slightly across the back of his waist. Something about an obliviously cynical Akihiko is so hot.
-.-.-
"They're no longer admitting me to the hospital," Akinari tells you passively. "It's a lost cause—they didn't say it like that, but that's what they mean."
It's funny, you think those words should sound angry, or at least cynical, but Akinari makes them serene, like he doesn't blame anybody—not the doctors, not his parents, not fate, not even himself. You're unfamiliar with such peace.
"I've refused medication and any care," he continues, looking straight ahead. "I want to be out here, on this bench with you, instead of in any room. You know," he says to you, turning to face you so that half of his face is eaten by the brutally bright light, and the other half is shielded by his ropy hair, "You know," he tells you, "there is nothing more beautiful under the sun than to be under the sun."
You look at him. You can trace the veins flowing just beneath his almost transparent neck; you can feel the ashen cracks in his thin lips; you can see the start of his collarbones protruding against his skin like they are trying to break free. But you also can see the faint tan line against his wrist, just a hint of color, where his sleeve is lifted a little when he goads his hair to stay behind his ear; you can hear his joints crack when he stretches slowly and the rustling sound of his hair against the wooden bench; you can feel his every gulp of the Durian Soda (it reeks, but you like the smell of durian, and you love buying this for him, because he is only allowed extensively filtered still water elsewhere—you're sure the sugar is bad for him, but you can't resist the soft gleam in his eyes when he sees you coming with two cans), his Adam's apple rising and falling like every other boy you know.
"It's a great day to be beautiful," you say to him, and it might be a little flirtatious, in another scenario, but Akinari just chuckles in wordless accord.
He likes you, you know. It's not a romantic like, but the sort of like that could one day become romantic, except it won't have a chance to. He likes you, partially because you're all that he knows, but also partially because he feels you are an equal. You don't treat him like a regular person—that would be cruel and stupid—but you treat him as if you are dying as well. He likes you because you're not family and he can like you without having to feel guilty. He likes you because it would be hard to not like you.
You like him too. It's not a romantic like, but the sort of like that's similar to the sediment of affection for a once very close friend that you haven't seen for a very long time. Some days, you love him for it; other days, you can't stand the sight of his face.
"Do you remember the story that I told you about? The one with the pink alligator? Do you want to hear what I have so far?" he asks you, politely, even though he knows you will say yes. You hope he knows you're not being polite, though, when you respond, "Of course."
He smiles, his eyes thinning into a curved line and fine lines collecting at the outer corner of his eyes, and all of a sudden your nose aches and your eyes sting—he will never see wrinkles of old age. But there is a dimple, just one, to the left of his smile, that seems to collect all the good things in life. "Okay then," he says happily, "let me read to you."
You scout closer and look at the notebook that he pulls out, because this way you can't see his face.
"There was a beautiful land, one that lied on the other side of the sea that we never reached the end of, a land that had sun every day, and in the sun there grew a forest. It was lush and expansive, the trees so green it looked like it was burning in the daylight. The flowers were red, and the earth brown; the sky blue like a yard of velvet and the brooks clear like a diamond. There was one thing that was not red, not brown, neither blue or clear though—there was an alligator who was pink. Every scale, every inch of flesh hidden beneath the scales, every fingernail on his claws and spike on his tail were pink; even the underside of his belly, light and flush, was undeniably pink—"
His voice is weak and cracked when he talks for too long, his vocal chords unused to being so heavily utilized, but he just takes a sip from the can of Durian Soda when that happens. The tin can is covered in a thin film of condensed sweat, even in the cold January—you don't know how Akinari is able to stand such a cold drink in this weather, but he cuddles the can like it offers warmth—and he wipes his fingers on the leg of his pajamas before turning a page of his journal. There is nobody in the playground—even young kids isn't drawn to the gray trees and ice-cold slides—and it's just the two of you, in a corner, inconspicuous, and Akinari's voice rings throughout the empty space.
"—who couldn't fly, despite having the plumage of his brethren. His wings weren't clipped but could not feel wind sweeping underneath. He could only jump around, his tiny feet support a body meant for the sky, bearing down not only his own weight but also the derision of his peers and the disappointment of his parents. One day, by the pond, the bird was looking at its own reflection, a clear image of failure, when suddenly, a voice said—"
Akinari is a surprisingly good writer, you discover, and his death is sadder for it—it shouldn't be, but it is.
"—I will lend you my back,' the alligator said shyly, afraid of a rejection but offering the only thing he had: his body. "You can practice flying on me, and you won't be bothered because," he added sadly, "nobody bothers me.' The bird looked at him, surprised and unused to friendliness—"
You know it's a sad story—you know it will be a sad story, but for now, it is a sweet tale of finding friendship in a place of despair. And Akinari is right, you decide, thinning your eyes to look up to the bright sky, there is nothing better than to be under the sun right now.
-.-.-
"Man," Junpei greets you when you come back, looking disgruntled, "you totally missed the most epic battle of wits and force that I could have won if you were here."
He's either talking about Street Fighter or DOTA. You roll your eyes and ignore him.
"I don't understand why," he grumbles, "you spend Sunday afternoons with that sick kid."
You whip around, furious all of a sudden, "He's NOT 'That Sick Kid'!" you bellow out.
Your outburst surprises everybody in the room. Junpei looks startled and confused; Mitsuru is frowning; Yukari is walking over, eager to believe that Junpei did something wrong because she doesn't want to think that you might be breaking down; Fuuka is retreating into herself, curling up on the sofa; Aigis rises, but looks at you for confirmation before flying over to protect you; Koromaru barks once in response and then lies down again; Ken doesn't believe his ears and his eyes convey that; Akihiko gets to you before Yukari though, and takes your hand in his.
"Sorry," Junpei apologizes once Yukari rams an elbow into his back, "I didn't—I hadn't meant it like, you know, like that."
You know, but you're still trembling from the residue anger somehow. Usually the stupid shit that runs out of Junpei's mouth doesn't bother you, but this time…
Akihiko's hand tightens around yours and you want to fling him aside. Akihiko never liked Akinari, a small vein of jealousy, but also he scoffs at the way Akinari stays inside his melancholy. It's the same way that Shinjiro stayed inside the world he drew himself.
None of these people understand, you realize miserably. Back in the day, when you walked in fear like it was a real, tangible thing in the world, each day was hard. Akinari was the one who taught you to say that 'I am not afraid anymore'. He is the reason why they all have you to count on, this figure of indomitable courage and unwavering strength.
You miss Shinjiro very much, unexpectedly.
Akihiko takes your hand again, and you don't resist, instead welcoming the warm calluses rubbing against your skin as you stare at the beanie that you refuse to take off the kitchen counter.
The only good part about this endless abyss is that Akinari will never truly die.
And that is something, isn't it? Even if he doesn't know it.
-.-.-
Junpei apologizes to you on the roof after school the next day.
You don't need his apology, but you let him do it, because he needs it. He rambles on, from saying he respects your bond with the Akinari kid, to saying that he loves fighting games because he sometimes catch himself laughing at the level of meta-irony. He says that you're really cute, and he's not making fun of you when he's saying that, nor is he denying your power, because man, you pack a punch. He says that he's never felt so engulfed by the greatness of the time he's living in. He says he's beginning to understand what all these poets are writing about now. He says he's envious and in awe of you and that he loves you. He says he trusts you with his life. He says he will love you forever, and he says if ever Akihiko does anything, you can call on him to beat Akihiko up, even though you don't need him to, but there's a difference between you needing and him offering and wanting to do it. He says this is all bullshit compared to what you all are doing now, are going to face very soon, but sometimes it's important to get caught up in the small, normal stuff.
You shake his hand after he gives you his pig key holder with a blush, and tell him that he should write poetry.
Junpei cannot write poetry for the love of his life. That is why you love encouraging him so.
-.-.-
You walk home with Aigis, and she likens her feelings towards you to Koromaru's feelings for his dead master, in that Koromaru waited for his master on his grave although he knew his master wasn't coming back, and she's still here guarding you although she knows she can't protect you.
You aren't sure if Aigis is quite human enough to see why this analogy bad, but you chuckle, because it's actually inadvertently perfect.
-.-.-
You sneak out the back door of the school and slink away to the back alley in the Port. You meet Ryoji here, like you two are clandestine lovers, or you are in a spy novel, or both. You two always sit on the step and order delivery, although the guy never dares to come inside the notoriously dangerous alley, and so Ryoji always sighs, rewraps his scarf around his neck, and grunts as he gets up. It's usually soul food, because you find it ironic and although Ryoji doesn't share your humor he shares your smile. Sometimes you get a salad, because honey staying skinny doesn't just happen.
You tell him about your day, and he tells you about his. He has transferred to another school in town, and although it's not far away, he is careful to not run into any SEES members. He likes school, he says, and he also likes the candy the girls give him.
"Peacock", you mock affectionately.
He shrugs and grins, "Gotta be wanted somewhere."
The pity card is getting old, but you shove him the moistest part of the brisket anyway.
He trades the brisket for a glowing ring, but it won't be on your finger and he's alright with that.
-.-.-
When Mitsuru asks you what you think of marriage as, you immediately think about the monetary and personality balance that so inhibits Jane Austen novels. Instead, you answer, "True love," as if you are a fresh-eyed, idealistic fourteen-year-old.
You know she's thinking of her newly-appointed fiancé, and what she should sacrifice for her company. And what do you know, today is the day that the jackass comes over. The man—a sinister looking man in an awful yellow shirt, solid orange tie, and white suit (he really needs to invest in a personal stylist)—came over and immediately told Mitsuru that she needs to have dinner with him and go to a hotel.
If Mitsuru's father is not alive, this man would have become her fiancé, given his reach and influence within the Yamai family. The Kirijo Group needs fast capital to help them through this insolvency period, and this man would have stepped in and promised liquidity in exchange for a marriage to bind the two companies together. It doesn't make sense for the two companies to join—a fast retailer and a tech research company with political ties—but the union of the two families made perfect sense.
Now, this solution still stands, except Mitsuru's father demanded that the representative of the Yamai family to be this man's nephew.
You don't know how this man is still a part of the company, given how utterly tactless and pathetic he is. The old Mr. Yamai must have realized that nepotism should have its limits. You think he must be acting: even if this man is as sleazy as he is behaving, he would be much better at it. More threatening, and less oblivious to what people can use for blackmail.
So why is he acting this way?
To get a rise out of Mitsuru, or to see how she responds to such advances. To see if she can handle herself with poise and dignity, because these things happen, and if Mitsuru and the young Mr. Yamai are to be the public faces of the two families, they need to be able to handle all situations with the larger picture in mind, to always be ready for the media.
Mitsuru obviously does not act this way. She throws a fit—albeit a very scary and eloquent fit—but a fit nonetheless.
"You realize," you say after deliberating, "that he wasn't looking this reaction."
"If you mean that he is looking a specific reaction," Mitsuru answers, not a trace of anger in her face once the man has fled, "then yes. And if you mean that I know what I just did, then also yes."
You nod.
"I just don't want to be used as anything," she explains although you haven't asked anything. "I don't want to be married to some bastard just because I was told to do so. I want to be in control of my own life. This is the best way to get out of this arrangement: for them to think that I am inadequate for the role. And also this way," she added with some embarrassment, "father can't get mad at me."
That's true. Even if Mr. Kirijo knows Mitsuru is deliberately botching this arrangement, no father can blame a daughter for acting harshly when propositioned. It's an effective, if underhanded and second-rate play.
What she is missing, you think, is that her father is not only the head of the Kirijo Group, but also her father. You once went to see what this fiancé is like (this was when you were dating her, and you needed to know everything about the enemy in a way), so you know that he is fourteen years older, but dependable, with a face that becomes handsome the longer you look at it, who spent the better part of his childhood being groomed for his father's position, and after the murder of his parents, spent the better part of his young adulthood asserting himself as a businessman. He was thrust too soon into too high a responsibility, but he took over and succeeded into keeping his father's legacy. A man as such would be a good husband and probably a bad lover, but Mitsuru isn't looking for some rosy fairy-tale romance. Her fiancé is, perhaps, a little silent and a little dour, but that's not necessarily a bad match for Mitsuru.
What is marriage anyway, you think back to the endless fights that you tried to shut out with a thin door.
It's a good match, as much as love can be matched, but Mitsuru doesn't need to know that. You think that worrying about romance is a normal-girl activity, and god knows Mitsuru could use some normalcy. You can give her popcorn and movies, burgers and ramen, but you can't give her the bittersweet romances of adolescence. The sort of romance where a decade later, you see a certain pattern in a picnic cloth, or hear a sheet of music that went out of fashion long ago, or someone presses the doorbell in quick succession like he used to—a joint memory, although you no longer know if he remembers it.
You cannot give her that, although you think it is essential.
She can give you her motorcycle key, though, and she does, but she doesn't say anything about the helmet that sits on her vanity, the one that's dark red and melts into her hair at dusk. A gift: bought when money was tight and she had yet to divulge the full support of the Kirijo Group, and yet the boy, reckless and flush, bought it for her safety. He gives gifts to another now, so she doesn't think you need this one.
Maybe Mitsuru does have the essential.
-.-.-
It's the day of the college entrance exam.
To the thousands of high school seniors out there, this exam is their judgment day, a big a confrontation as the Apocalypse. Twelve years of studying, all for these two days of tests. Even the most confident student is nervous today, and a blanket of tension is shrouding the entire waiting area. Students of the same school are allowed just outside of the test building, and this is where Akihiko has to leave you.
"You'll do great," you tell him, "just remember to double check if you're in the right seat. Did you bring enough pencils? If you don't I can go run and grab some for you. Or maybe you can ask Mitsuru, I'm sure even if she didn't the school would have prepared it for her. Don't drink too much coffee in the interim, you'll just start being jittery, you don't mix well with coffee. And—"
"I'll be fine," he interrupts you. After a second he says, "People who miss this test can catch up within the next three months."
That is what both of you don't want to think about but can't not.
You shrug, "He never cared about this anyway," and walk away.
-.-.-
What do you want to do when you grow up?
Not saving the world.
"Are you planning on going to college after you graduate?" Ms. Toriumi asks you.
"Yes," you say gravely, "I plan on going to Yale and join Skulls and Bones."
Ms. Toriumi looked at you with disappointment. "Please," she says sternly, "be serious."
"I am serious," you deadpan, "If I get a chance to apply to school, I want to go to the one where everybody thinks I can't. Because I can." If ever that day comes, you are sure that with your notorious reputation of always being the first in ranking, your extensive reach in the club activities, and the political support of Japan's two wealthiest families behind you, you will get into Yale. And then, well, you might not be a white Protestant, but you would have saved the world—and you have yet to fail at anything, except living. You will be tapped, just like Shadows will melt away under your blade.
What do you want to be when you grow up? Be in the position to never have to think about anybody else again, ever, ever.
-.-.-
When the old woman tells Aigis that the cat died, you witness before you the first dawning realization of what death means. Aigis knows intimately what death is, almost as well as you do, but this is perhaps the first time that she starts to comprehend what it means, not for the dead, who have no use for the living, but for those left behind.
She doesn't understand why life begins to have an end, why it is inherently cruel, why it neither cares nor knows the sufferings of the living. From a stranger's point of view, it may even seem that she is entertaining suicidal thoughts, always perched on the rails on the roof, gazing into the distance.
The roof is actually where couples come here for a bit of fun, since the door locks from the outside as well, but you don't want to rob Aigis of what little comfort an open view offers her.
She wants to be closer to you than anybody else but knows that's impossible because, well, just look at the competition. Ryoji has been inside of you for ages, and even now, separately, he still mirrors the pained and knowing look on your face that marks a shared secret, an intimacy that nobody else understands. Akihiko is your boyfriend, the one who wraps his arms around you at night, whose rabbit doll at on your headboard although you hate rabbits and hate Miki even more, who resignedly responds to you calling 'Aki' long before he gave you permission. Junpei is your best friend, one whose growth is always able to inspire the best out of you, even when you kick him in the shins or right in his heart. Shinjiro holds you even in unconsciousness: he is a guilt and regret that is sweet to taste and warm to hold, who understands you when you don't want to be understood, who is kind when he wants to be and cruel when he needs to be, whom you will never forgive, which is a stronger sentiment than love at times. Akinari, whom you cherish and can't stand in turns, both because he is dying and you are dying too; and because he dies before you, he lives within you as well.
What Aigis doesn't see is that she is the one that you feel like you are becoming. That you value loyalty more than goodness or understanding; that you take care of her like a child but expect her to be a friend; that being human is very low on your list of requirements; that the curse of living forever makes you think of her fondly; that she is your best friend in another sense and knows you better than Shinjiro in another way; that her charred screw is basically a surrender and a promise.
-.-.-
The day is tomorrow, and your heart drums in anticipation. Even after all this time. You hate your weakness.