Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers

Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side First Love

Himuro Reiichi x Heroine

By Gabihime at gmail dot com

Part Three: Action, Reaction, Causality, and Escalation

Inevitably, they headed back down the arcade in the direction of Delicious Taiyaki. Midori made no attempts to leave off holding onto Himuro's arm, and Himuro made no attempts to shake her off. He even folded his arm slightly, which made it easier for her to keep her arms linked around it. It wasn't as if he were giving an open endorsement to her behavior, but he was apparently at least tolerating it, which was good enough for her.

After all, if I wasn't holding his arm like this, he'd surely be holding my hand, so it's not like it's so very different, she reasoned to herself. And the heady feeling of being on Himuro's arm, whether he expressly wished her there or not, was a new and intoxicating pleasure that she was not yet ready to give up, even if going hand-in-hand might have been nearly as good.

They advanced together down the arcade at a pace that for anyone else would have been perfectly reasonable, but for her supremely efficient sensei it seemed positively idle.

He doesn't seem to care very much about keeping to a schedule right now,she thought, but she kept this observation to herself. Having such a secret to keep left her feeling inordinately pleased with herself, and being so pleased she could not help but feel slightly, and yet delightfully, wicked.

She began humming measures of Mozart again, and he briefly glanced down at her.

"That's the third movement of Mozart's Piano Sonata Number Twenty-One again," Himuro observed, and then was silent for a moment in contemplation before he continued. "You seem to be in a particularly good mood."

"I am gioioso scherzando allegro vivace, sensei," she confessed, laughing easily, then squeezed his arm for the pure pleasure of squeezing it. "The only thing I regret is that I didn't bring my flute or my violin with me to the festival. I should have known I'd want them."

"It's reasonable that you imagined you wouldn't need them. Not many people bring an instrument with them to a festival unless they expect to preform before the crowd," he answered evenly.

"But music, sensei," she struggled to explain, "It's the way my heart speaks. I'm so exhilarated right now, I just want to share that feeling with the whole world. I feel like I'm going to burst from all the feelings going dokun-dokun inside."

"I know," he said, and that was all he said, so she leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, a brush of her hair against his sleeve, then she resumed walking properly, like a good student. She wasn't sure exactly how much he would tolerate from her, and she didn't want to ruin her splendid evening by being too pushy and making him annoyed.

"Even still, it isn't so bad," she said cheerfully. "I did leave my flute and my violin at home, but I brought my recorder at least. It's here in my bag," she unhooked one of her arms from his and patted the bag at her hip before resuming their union. "I can't go about without anything at all to play."

Himuro was well aware that Midori had developed an inscrutable attachment to a cheap plastic recorder that was better suited to an elementary school girl than it was to a serious music student, and that she carried it with her everywhere.

"I don't understand what attracts you to that thing," he confessed shortly. "It's not as if the recorder isn't a beautiful instrument in its own right, but if you wanted to study it you should at least have gotten one made out of wood."

Midori hummed a few bars of one of Vivaldi's flute concertos for recorder in response, and then shrugged eloquently. "But I bought that one myself with my own spending money, and it's the first instrument I ever bought, all myself. Oh, I know it's not made as well as my flute or my violin, but it's simple and common, and that makes me love it. Music is for everyone!"

Yumeno Midori was a third generation concert musician who came from a family whose dedication to the arts went unquestioned. She had begun serious music lessons at five years old, and her sister had begun dancing at a similar age. They had both studied the arts abroad as children. Enough care had been taken with their educations that Himuro sincerely doubted Midori had ever before had an instrument that was common.

"Besides," she was saying, "I think part of it is just playing make-believe. I never got to play a recorder like this when I was in elementary school, but something like that - playing in a recital with all my classmates - seems very exciting." She thought about it. "Maybe you ought to start teaching the recorder to the students in homeroom. I bet it would be a good bonding experience for everyone."

Himuro coughed, which was his attempt to stifle an unbidden chuckle. It was strange. He never had to worry about giving his emotions away except around Yumeno Midori, who apparently exerted some mysterious force of nature on him. It was the only explanation that he could accept as to why he found himself behaving differently around her than he did around everyone else.

A glance down at her upturned, expectant face revealed that she was quite serious and apparently had no idea that her request was, well, silly.

"I'll take your idea into consideration," is what he answered solemnly, and her smile lit up his evening in response.

Festivals, he thought precisely at that moment, are not that bad.

The causality of this thought was difficult to deny, but he did his best to deny it anyway.

"I suppose I'm also a little sad that I didn't wear my yukata this evening," Midori continued. "I would have worn it if I thought I was going to meet sensei. Satomi-chan wore hers, even though her plans were to spend the evening with Tsukushi." She suddenly fluttered one hand in front of her face, "Ah, you know sensei, that's my little brother."

"I remember the hooligan," Himuro answered. "I caught him backstage at the Culture Festival last year and he tried to talk himself out of being ejected."

Midori laughed sheepishly, "That's Tsukushi, certainly: a hooligan. Grandpapa says he takes after papa, although I don't know how true that is. Grandpapa usually says that about anything he doesn't completely approve of. I'm surprised he didn't try to get sensitive personal information out of you."

"He did," answered Himuro. "But I saw no reason to give my personal phone number to an elementary school student."

"Well," she said, "Maybe you ought to give it to me, at least. I'm your student, after all. And I might need it, for, um, for, in case . . . " she tried very hard to think of a plausible reason, "In case I'm ever kidnapped by the yakuza, and need to call for help."

Himuro coughed again, because her sudden turn of reasoning was unexpected. "Perhaps I should talk to your parents about the sort of movies you've been watching," he said, after he recovered from his cough. "And why would you call me if you were kidnapped? It would make more sense if you called your parents, or the police."

"Wouldn't you want to know?" she asked wonderingly, as if this reason was perfectly plain and obvious.

He did not cough again, lest she think he was coming down with a case of rapid-onset summer influenza, but it did take him a moment to construct a response that he felt was suitable. "If you can ever prove to me that the yakuza have suddenly taken an interest in you, then I will give you my phone number," he said very gravely. "But not before."

"Himurochi," she wheedled plaintively, but he was firm.

"Not before."

Her gambit having failed, Midori was perturbed for the better part of a minute, until they at last came upon the taiyaki stand of their previous acquaintance, and Midori forgot her disappointment in the face of acquiring a festival delicacy.

She stood back, gazing at the taiyaki stand as if it were the garden of earthly delights, and then tugged on Himuro's arm excitedly.

"Sensei, sensei," she began, her eyes starry, "What kind of taiyaki do you like best? Of course, the red bean kind is traditional, and therefore must be considered first, otherwise the feeling of things is wrong. But the custard filled ones are so rich and creamy, while at the same time being as light as heaven. And the chocolate ones - everyone loves the chocolate ones, naturally. The ones with green tea filling are also delicious, so maybe you like those the best. They have a sober character, like sensei. Their sweetness is delicate and hidden. You won't detect it unless you pay careful attention. And we can't forget about the ones filled with savory things, like cheese, or sausage. Ah, you know what I bet would taste wonderful? Taiyaki filled with sweet Chinese-style barbecue. Sensei, sensei, which kind? Which kind is your favorite?"

He patiently listened until she had completely finished her beatification of taiyaki before answering her as soberly as green tea filling.

"I don't usually eat things like taiyaki."

She fluttered one of her hands as if this was an unacceptable answer.

"Of course you don't. If we ate taiyaki all the time it wouldn't be as special as it is." She paused briefly as she thought about it, "And it wouldn't be very healthy. Anything in excess is bad for you, even taiyaki," she pronounced this last bit as if it might be information that was difficult to believe. "So taiyaki is a food you share with your friends at a festival. It tastes better because you share it," she explained patiently, as if he were her student in this lecture series about festival food, friendship, and passionate youth. "So even considering that you don't usually eat things like taiyaki, what kind is your favorite?"

He was unsure of what to say. His stock answer in situations similar to this one had been for years, 'Such things are not a part of my diet.' So he had disposed of countless homemade lunches, valentine's chocolates, and Sport's Day breads. He did not think this approach would continue to work in this situation. Given Midori's utter certainty that taiyaki was an irreplaceable part of a full and well-lived youth, he did not think he would be able to convince her that he had never eaten any, and therefore had no interest in it, nor any opinions concerning it. Even if he did manage to convince her of this, he was certain her reaction would be one of horror mixed with pity, and then she would make it her special mission to remedy this terrible oversight in his life experiences.

And it wasn't as if he had never eaten taiyaki in his entire life. He had, he was vaguely sure, eaten it at least once at a festival in the misty past. He was still reflecting on how to answer her question when he realized that she was talking again.

She had placed both hands against her cheeks and tilted her head to the side while she smiled, her face faintly flushed. "Ah," she made a small sound of contentment. "I'm going to make a memory of eating taiyaki with Himuro-sensei. It's so wonderful."

"Red bean," is what he blurted out instinctively - unintentional, emphatic, and deeply embarrassing. He immediately looked away, his own face flushed, and he felt like an idiot.

"I see, I see!" she answered cheerfully, and as she did her open palm slid down his arm and she took his hand companionably. "Sensei is a traditional sort of person when it comes to certain things. So if we go out to sing karaoke together, will Sensei sing enka with me?"

He turned sharply back around to deny this possibility, but when he did he realized that she was grinning at him, like a cheeky little imp. Before he could move to retort she had tapped him on the tip of his nose with her index finger.

"Himurochi is hilarious when he makes such a serious face," she announced, then released his hand as she turned on her heel to face him and leaned forward winsomely, so she was looking up at his face. "And I think, just maybe, that if I asked sensei to sing enka with me, he would." Here she winked, and it was as if her wink generated both twinkling sparkles and a suitable sound effect as her mouth turned up at both corners. "But only if it was me who asked."

Then she spun herself around with a light-hearted flourish and closed the distance between herself and the taiyaki stand before he could think of anything to say or do.

As he stood there, his palm still tingling from the warmth of her hand, watching her wriggle slightly in anticipation of ordering her taiyaki, he tried very seriously to tell himself that he would never be swayed into going to karaoke with a female student, and even if he did take her, say, for a study in the cultural anthropology of modern music, he would not sing, he would not sing enka, he would not sing enka with her -

But imagining the scene in detail - her eyes sparkling, her cheeks rosy from the excitement of singing, and her mouth a little open as she prepared to laugh or warble in her silly, charming way, leaning towards him with her finger ready to slide down the list of songs in the selection book -

He sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose with two fingers.

Sometimes there was just no use in even trying to pretend.

He closed the space between himself and her back just as she was saying, "Mr. Taiyaki Man, we're ready to order, we're ready to order!"

Himuro unbuttoned his suit jacket and began to take out his wallet as he nodded to the taiyaki cook and said, "Let her have whatever she wants."

Midori looked up at him then with an expression that appeared to be a mixture of adoration and utterly pleased, self-satisfied smugness, and he suddenly had an unexpected feeling of alarm at what she might be capable of as her eyes glittered.

But what was done was done, and he had no time to react to correct his oversight. He had given her free reign over something, even if it was only free reign over taiyaki.

"Okay, Mr. Taiyaki Man," she was already chirping along cheerfully, "We'll have four: two with red bean, one with egg custard, and one with green tea. Sorry for the trouble and thank you very much," she sang out.

Himuro unfolded his wallet and gave some bills over to the vendor. Ultimately, the cost of four taiyaki at a festival made very little difference to a grown man who drove a Maserati, but it was not the price in coin that worried him. It was the price in blood. He had let her completely have her way with something. Inevitably, the only effect this could possibly have would be to make her more bold, and he wasn't sure he was equipped to handle her firing on any more cylinders than she was already.

He covered his worry by looking down at her skeptically. She was still swaying in place and singing some sort of nonsense song to herself about taiyaki while she waited for their order.

"You're really going to eat four?" he asked her, and he could not help but look at her stomach.

She stopped singing long enough to answer by planting her hands on her hips. "Of course I'm not going to eat four. You're going to help me," she said, as if this ought to be obvious. "Besides, I'm a growing girl who needs to eat a lot of food to keep up her strength and her energy. Himurochi doesn't understand this, because he's stopped growing." Here she stretched up on her toes and held her hands as high above her head as she could to illustrate what she thought of his impressive growth.

Midori happily accepted their order once it was done, and Himuro was looking around for a suitable place for them to sit and eat when he realized that Midori was no longer at his side. Alarmed, he scanned the area, and briefly entertained all sorts of alarming fantasies, including one featuring the yakuza, but then he spotted her a dozen feet away, kneeling to talk to a small boy whom he immediately recognized.

It was the grandson of the Miboshi house, the one whom they had so recently met at this very spot.

Himuro was unable to hear what they were talking about as the din of the festival was not conducive to eavesdropping and they both seemed to be pitching their voices low, but Midori appeared to be all smiles. The little boy looked mildly mortified, but she kept smiling and patting him on the head, until he at last pointed in Himuro's direction and apparently said something with some force, to which Midori responded by first throwing her head back and laughing and then by shaking her head, then nodding as she pressed one of the taiyaki on him. The boy cast one more baleful glance in Himuro's direction before gathering his newly-gifted taiyaki to his chest and running off, back down the arcade.

Midori watched him go, a smile on her face, and then stood and trotted back to Himuro, humming her piano sonata again.

"I thought four taiyaki were a bit much, even for you," he remarked dryly, crossing his arms. "When did you spot that little urchin?"

She cocked her head to the side and smiled a smile of blissful contentment, because her plan had come off without one hitch. She moved back to Himuro's side dutifully.

"While sensei was so deep in thought mooning about which kind of taiyaki he liked to eat," she explained, laughing. Then she looked at his arm, and then she looked back at her own hands, filled with taiyaki, and realized that with her bounty she had no way to either hold his hand or curl her fingers around his slightly bent arm.

Himuro looked down at Midori, glancing first from her hands to his arm and back to her hands, as an expression of despair threatened to set in. Would she be forced to choose between her beloved sensei and her beloved taiyaki? The world was a cruel place.

But then, without a word of explanation or acknowledgement, he offered her his arm while looking away, as if the lanterns hung along the street at intervals deeply interested him. He didn't look down as he felt her arm threaded through his and the taiyaki settled again, and he didn't even look down when he heard her cheerful and sweet 'thank you, sensei,' but simply kept his eyes straight ahead and scanned silently for a place to sit as they moved methodically down the arcade again.

They found a place to sit on a bench near an electronics store, and Himuro allowed her to find her seat first with her burden of taiyaki, then settled himself on the bench next to her. They hadn't spoken as they'd walked down the arcade together, and this apparently suited Midori, since she'd simply hummed and leaned her head against his shoulder. As he thought about it, he came to the sinking conclusion that they probably did not appear to be a teacher and student. But then as he contemplated it further, he realized that although this thought almost perpetually worried him, it really did not worry him all that much. It did not worry him enough to ask her to take her head off his shoulder or to stop walking so close to him. He enjoyed those things.

In fact, oftener and oftener he wondered if they weren't the only things in his life that he did enjoy these days.

It wasn't as if he enjoyed the common pleasures of his life any less than he had ever done. It was more as if these pleasures were being eclipsed by pleasures they had no ability to compete with: as if the set of his common pleasures increased on a geometric scale while this set of new and heretofore unknown pleasures increased on an exponential one.

Of course, the converse was also true. His life had stopped being even and regulated, and his heart, once the very model of methodical, logical precision, had become a sea of chaos.

Yumeno Midori troubled him.

But she did not trouble him enough that he asked her to stop.

If she suddenly stopped her smiles and gentle teasing, the heartfelt observations of the world she shared privately with him, her silly, sentimental view of the universe, the care she obviously tried to put into everything she did for him, whether she succeeded or not - this would have somehow been much worse.

He almost said "Midori - "suddenly, as he was looking down at her, but he bit his tongue at the last moment.

It was something he could not say. It would break one of the rules.

So instead, he said "Yumeno," because he really did get a kind of comfort out of just saying her name, even when he was getting ready to reprimand her. It was a way of reassuring himself that she was there, that she did exist, that she was sharing a park bench with him, and attempting to share her taiyaki.

"Sensei," she was saying, as she pressed taiyaki upon him. "You said you wanted red bean, so this one is for you. It ought to be very good because it's still hot, but be careful you don't burn yourself on the filling."

He accepted the taiyaki from her and watched her put one of the remaining two pieces into her lap and hold the third up to him for inspection.

"Which way do you like to eat them, sensei?" she was asking seriously. "From the head or from the tail? If you start from the head, which is logical, when you finally get to the tail there won't be any filling left. But if you start from the tail, then the filling at the end of the nose may have cooled some and might not be as delicious. It is a question that has had much heated debate."

"How is it that you eat yours?" he asked, eying the way she held her taiyaki head down. "From the tail?"

"Oh no," she reassured him, "I alternate. Like clockwork," she said, as if this part were very important. "If I eat one from the head, I eat the next from the tail, and I always remember which I ate last. The last one I ate was from the head, so I have to eat this one from the tail. That way I experience both the triumph and the tragedy of taiyaki more fully and without favoritism."

This explanation seemed to be very much in keeping with her personality, so the corner of his mouth turned up very briefly before he answered, "That seems very logical. I will also make it my practice."

She nodded at this, because obviously, her systematic way of eating taiyaki made a great deal of sense to her, and then she commenced munching on the tail of her taiyaki, which turned out to be the egg custard one. Himuro thoughtfully took a bite out of the head of his piece and for a while they both ate in silence.

As they each neared the end of their respective pieces, Himuro getting down to the tail, with no filling left, and Midori struggling with the sticky filling that had collected in the head, she made a contented noise.

"This is really great, isn't it?" she asked him happily. "Sharing taiyaki at a festival. It's sure to become a precious memory."

"Mm," he answered noncommittally, which is the only way he felt he could answer.

They both finished their pieces of taiyaki, and suddenly she put another question to him, "How was it sensei? Did you like it? Doesn't sharing it with someone make the experience of taiyaki increase a hundred fold in power?"

"It was," he admitted slowly, "Enjoyable."

It was the truth, after all. He had enjoyed himself. He had enjoyed himself all evening, from catching her on the street, terrifying the naughty little boy, and having her lean on his arm as they walked together. But he couldn't say all that to her. It wouldn't be right. So instead, he told her what he allowed himself to say: that he had enjoyed sharing taiyaki with her.

It was simple and it was true.

She was apparently waiting for this sign from him because she enthusiastically produced the third piece of taiyaki before him.

"This is the fabled green tea taiyaki," she intimated, "It's serious flavor hides a delicate, hidden sweetness. I bought this one to share, because I felt that sensei ought to try it. It's your duty to share it with me, you know. If I try to eat it all myself, I might get sick."

"Yumeno," he began, but she waved him off as if his protests were not worth hearing.

"It's all right, sensei," she said. "First I'll eat half and then you can eat half. That way we'll have shared it, and it will be a special memory."

Seeing how much it meant to her, he was willing to be a little lenient with her. After all, what she wanted wasn't so bad. It could, he considered, be much worse. Thinking briefly of how much worse it might be, he coughed, then cleared his throat. There was only one thing to do.

"All right, Yumeno," he said. "I'll share it with you."

She was looking down at the taiyaki happily, when suddenly her expression froze and she looked back up at him, her mouth hanging a little open.

"Sensei," she began. "You ate yours from the head, right?" she asked.

"Correct," he answered slowly.

"That means the next one you eat you have to eat from the tail down." She pointed briefly at her mouth. "I ate mine from the tail first. That means I have to eat the next one from the head down. But if we try to eat it from the head end and then the tail end, then all the filling will fall out, no matter how we do it."

"It's all right, Yumeno," Himuro began with some deliberateness, "I'll just eat it from the head down when you give the bottom half to me. Then the filling won't come out."

"No!" she cried, holding one finger up in front of his nose. "Switching from head to tail to head is a sacred oath taken before Buddha!" she announced, as if this were something he ought to know. She squirmed in her seat. "I guess I could go order another one and eat it from the head so we could eat the green tea one from the tail together." She put her hands over her stomach and wailed, "But I know if I tried to eat three I'd be sick." She sniffled, and it seemed very much as if she would cry again. "All I wanted was to share taiyaki with sensei - "

"Yumeno," he interrupted her, and when she did not immediately respond, he repeated himself, "Yumeno!" At this her sniffling halted and she gave him her undivided attention, as if he might be preparing to pull a rabbit out of a hat. "Yumeno," he explained, "It's simple. We can still share the piece of green tea taiyaki, and neither of us has to try and eat another piece." He took the taiyaki from her to explain. "First you take a bite here," he pointed at the head, "And then give it to me. I'll take a bite here," he pointed at the tail. "We'll keep trading it back and forth until we just can't manage it anymore. It's not a perfect solution, but it will probably," he paused for a moment, unwilling to continue, but at last he managed it. "It will probably be fun."

He had miraculously dispelled the clouds gathering in her heart, and she smiled beatifically at him.

"Sensei," she admired, with politely clapping hands, "You really do always know what's best, don't you?"

"Mm," was what he said, as he passed the taiyaki back to her for the preliminary bite.

She took her bite, and then obediently passed it back to him.

And so it went, with Midori's bites seemingly all at random around the head of the taiyaki, while Himuro's were methodically placed along the tail section, with an eye toward maintaining the taiyaki's structural integrity for as long as possible. Soon the taiyaki was bleeding from many wounds, and its green tea filling oozed out slightly, and Midori ended up with some on the tip of her nose. As he moved to brush it away with his thumb, she laughed, and then he laughed, very quietly.

At last, the taiyaki collapsed in on itself and they were forced to admit defeat with sticky fingers, and Himuro knew that she had been right: it had been fun, and now it was certainly a memory that was quite unlike any other he had.

He was idly and discreetly licking the filling off his thumb when he realized she was watching very intently.

He cleared his throat and immediately looked away, forcing himself to put both of his hands at his sides as he attempted to calmly ask, "Yumeno, is there something I can help you with?"

Her answer was playful and genuine, and a smile was evident in her voice, even if he would not turn to see it.

"Oh sensei," she said, "You already do, all of the time."

So this is now the third part of Sharing the Same Sky, and Tsukushi has still not yet appeared. Poor boy. He keeps getting shoved back. He really honestly should appear in the next part, but this part was already getting so long that I felt like I shouldn't force the rest of the scenes into it. So therefore there will be a part four and a part five. And by then it really should be over, I promise.

Yes, I ought to note here that Yumeno Midori has an identical twin sister Yumeno Satomi. This is already obvious from context clues in the story, but I thought I would elaborate a little. They are both students at Habataki Gakuen and both residents of Himuro-sensei's homeroom. Midori is the elder sister by some minutes, and is generally the more outgoing creature. Satomi is more serious, aloof, and a little awkward. Midori's heart goes dokidokiwakuwaku for Himuro, while Satomi is Kei's girl of the promise, although this is not a fact he realizes immediately. This is my practical way of countering Himuro's private despairs and Kei's quiet desperation. Since the heroine's life and family are left totally up to the player, with the exception of Tsukushi, I have decided to take that ball and run with it, and so you have the Yumeno sisters: one bright like the sun, the other as pale as the moon.

They are my Habataki Gakuen O'Sullivan twins, because sometimes it's really enjoyable to read about people who are grossly talented XD

Anyway, I remain,

Gabi