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 Five: All Things Betwixt Heaven and Earth

Away from the color and noise of the festival, a strange sense of solitary peace settled over Midori. It wasn't calmness, exactly. Himuro was close to her - on the other side of the middle console, to be sure, so not actually as close to her as he had been when they had been walking arm in arm at the festival - but now, something was true that had not been true before: they were alone. They were quite alone, as they often were when he drove her to and from places, or when they both, by sheer happenstance of course, stayed late at school and met in the music room to talk or play. Although she had experienced it before and would likely experience it again, his nearness to her when they were alone left her feeling nervous and keen. Her heart was trembling, not in fear, but rather in expectation. Well, perhaps a little in fear: in fear of the unknown, the unknown and near, the unknown and exhilarating. Just being near him like this made her feel light-headed and euphoric. He had promised to take her to see the stars, rather than dutifully escorting her home. She was a little drunk on that promise.

He was silent as he drove and he did not glance over at her, instead keeping his attention fully on the road, his long-fingered hands comfortably firm on the calfskin of the steering wheel. He was driving carefully, but Midori could sense that he was fully focused, that at this moment he had given himself over entirely to driving, fully and tightly in control of this low-slung, powerful machine. The light from the passing street lamps created a Morse rhythm of color and darkness across her skirt, and she recalled that he had told her that he sometimes felt like this car was his other self, and that the pure, sensual pleasure of driving came from achieving perfect synchronicity with the machine.

She sometimes felt that way with her music: when the moment came that was perfect and unexpected, and she fell headlong into the emotion of the sound, the meaning and the bearing, and she and her violin became one strangely shaped, beautiful animal. Music was always pleasurable for her, the playing and the listening, even during the long, difficult hours of practice, and music was always the way her heart spoke, but it was only in those strange, arcane moments that music became the language of her self. In those moments she had limitless faith: in herself and in the universe.

She broke the silence of the evening, although her voice was gentle and quiet.

"Sensei," she spoke slowly, as if threading her thoughts around her fingers, "You really love driving, don't you?"

He did not look over at her when she spoke, but there was a simple, honest warmth in his short answer. "I do."

"Because you love being free," she said, realizing it herself with a small smile. "You love rules - rules for every thing, rules for every time, rules for every place - but as much as you love rules, you love being free even more."

Midori was still as she thought about it, and Himuro said nothing in response, simply focused himself on driving. The road ran alongside the coast, and the sound of the sea on the sand was rhythmic and comforting, like the heartbeat of the world. The road turned to climb a coastal bluff and they followed it until they reached some obscure landmark, and Himuro pulled off the road onto a narrow gravel path. This they followed for a short way until he decided they had reached their destination, and pulling the car to a safe stop, let it rest for a moment before turning the engine off. As the engine cooled, Himuro turned to look at her steadily.

"You have an interesting theory," he said seriously, "But logically speaking, it is contradictory. Lovers of freedom, as you put it, are in my experience rule-breakers, without exception."

"Then the man hidden in sensei's heart must be a rule-breaker," she agreed pleasantly, seeing no contradiction at all. "All the rules and all the laws and all the schedules are there as a limiter then, as a self-control." A look of awe and understanding crossed her face as she made a realization. "That means that sensei's heart must be really wild and impetuous, to need so many locks and chains."

Himuro Reiichi was not used to being told he was wild and impetuous, any more than he was used to being told be was kind. He wore plain, unadorned suits. He owned only two colors of ties for all the days in the year. He measured his daily dairy intake in cubic centimeters. He made up test pages on his holidays. At school, some of the students honestly believed he was some sort of experimental robot running an advanced operating system, whose only purpose was to give them, by turns, homework and detention.

"Why is it," he asked her, honestly confounded and seeking some small measure understanding as to why she had made such a ridiculous statement, "That you think I'm wild?"

"I suddenly understood it as you were driving," she explained, and then she smiled and she was lovely in her honesty and her simplicity. "Besides, I've heard you play the piano."

Himuro said nothing and looked away, and the car was very still except for the soft sound of their breathing. The interior had gotten a little warm from the summer night, and already the windows had begun to fog delicately.

At last, he said, "Come along. I brought you here to show you the stars."

They had parked in an area with low scrub trees and tall grass, and while Midori could hear the sea, she could not see it. Himuro opened the door for her and helped her out onto the path, then moved around to the trunk of the car, which he opened. He disappeared for a moment, and then he emerged with a long black bag with two handles and a shoulder strap. As he closed and locked the trunk Midori could not help reflecting that he looked very much like a character from one of the gangster dramas she loved to watch late at night after everyone else had gone to bed. It was a sinister looking bag. Of course, a bag the same size and shape didn't necessarily have to conceal a rifle and scope (and whatever else assassins were always carrying around in there - maybe their lunches, or a spare set of house keys). It could have easily held a violin, or a flute, or a clarinet, or a number of other instruments, but as she knew Himuro played the piano exlusively, it was more thrilling to speculate on the contraband contents of the long black case.

Having retrieved the mysterious bag, Himuro circled the car again, looking at the tires closely, then was apparently satisfied. He moved lightly past her, sidling between she and the car, and as he did the bag brushed by her thigh, and she could feel a long, cool length of metal slide against her leg, but then it was gone and he was in front of her and she was looking at his tall, lean silhouette. It was terribly thrilling. He turned to face her, illuminated by a strong shaft of moonlight, and offered his hand.

"The walk is short, but it's a bit rough if you're not used to it. We'll take it slowly. I don't want you to fall."

She took his hand, and he led her along the path up the bluff. Twice they had to stop briefly as her skirt got tangled in the scrubby growth or her she lost her footing on the steep ground, and finally he let got of her hand and simply put his arm around her shoulders, his grip sure and firm. The walk was short, as Himuro promised. Too short for Midori, for she found herself wishing he had kept his arm around her when they came out into the clearing on the top of the bluff. But it was only for a moment that she wished such a thing, because the next moment she was staring at the sky, her arms spread wide.

"Sensei, it's marvelous!" she cried with excitement. "I can see so many stars in the sky, it really is like the river of heaven!"

The sound of the sea drew her attention from the sky to the horizon, and she made a delighted noise as she looked out over the ocean to find the moon shining against the waves. The view of the sea and the night sky was beautiful, and away to the southwest she could see the lights of the city spread out along the curve of the bay.

"I feel like I'm standing at the top of the world, looking down at everything, seeing all the beautiful things at once," she said moving a little closer to the edge of the bluff, an attempt to view the water crashing majestically against the rocks.

"Don't go too close to the cliff," he warned her sternly from somewhere at her back. "I don't want to be responsible for one of my students falling into the sea."

"Yes, sensei," she chorused obediently, and stepped back two whole paces for good measure. She was still admiring the dense field of stars and the pulsing sea of night blue silk when she thought of asking a question. "How did you find such a place, sensei?" the question was in her mouth as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Then she was clapping her hands in excitement and rushing over to where he stood. "Oh, a telescope! Of course that's what you had in that bag. Why would sensei bring a rifle to look at the stars anyway?" She didn't give him any time to answer this presumably rhetorical question, as she was already going on about something else. "I didn't know you were a stargazer, sensei. Do you come out here very often?"

"Sometimes," he answered seriously, as he bent to adjust the tripod so it was quite stable. "I have a younger cousin who is interested in astronomy. He and I used to come out for sessions once a month. This is a good spot because it's in proximity to the city, but the light pollution isn't severe."

"Always a sensei," she teased gently, bending over to watch him rummage in a small leather case of lenses. "I'll bet you learned all about the stars just so you could teach him about them."

"Developing minds need guidance," he admitted, then looked up at her from where he was crouched, sorting through lenses, "But I learned about the stars because they are something that men need to contemplate. Basic astronomy is a subject in which every educated person should have a grounding." He cleared his throat before continuing in his most formal classroom tone. "Now, Yumeno, what is it you wish to look at tonight?"

She straightened and placed a finger to her lips and regarded the night sky thoughtfully. At last she pointed into the heavens, to a scattering of stars near Ursa Minor. "Let's look at Draco first."

She head his brief, low chuckle and looked back to see him rise and fit a lens to the telescope. "It is good you didn't ask to see Gemini, or to look at Canopus."

She put her hands on her hips in feigned offense. "Sensei, do you really think I just sleep through all the field trips to the planetarium?"

"If you did that," he said seriously, his face bent against the eyepiece of the telescope, as he adjusted various knobs, "I would make you cry more tears than you can even imagine."

"Sensei!" she cried out in thrilled consternation.

"Hush, Yumeno," he said, paying her only mild attention. "And now come look. It's ready."

He stepped back and allowed her to move close to the telescope, and with an allegro heartbeat she leaned in to look at the fabulous vistas he had arranged for her pleasure. He had focused on the head of the dragon, and the four stars that formed the quadrilateral, and she was entranced by their warmth and brightness. On such a summer night, the stars seemed very close. They were golden against the night sky.

"To the right of the dragon's head, on the short side of the quadrilateral, you can see Mu Draconis, orAl-Rāqiṣ," he said. "It's a tight binary system. Ancient Arabic stargazers knew the head of the dragon as Al 'Awāïd, the Mother Camels. If you look, you can see them circled around the baby camel, that faint star in the center. Western civilizations have called this constellation 'the Dragon' for thousands of years. The star Thuban, up the tail, was once the northern pole star, just as Polaris is now, but due to axial precession, that is no longer the case. Thuban will be the earth's pole star again in nineteen thousand years, after Vega fulfills that role."

"Nineteen thousand years is a terribly long time," she observed, using one hand to steady the barrel of the telescope as she adjusted it to focus on the tail of the dragon, curled around ursa minor.

"For men, yes, it seems like an incalculably long time," he agreed, and put his hands into his pockets as he leaned back on his feet to regard the heavens with his unaided eyes. "But for a dragon with a spine made of stars, it must seem like a passing moment."

Midori made a pleased sound in her throat. "Besides having a fierce heart, Himurochi has the soul of a poet?" she hazarded, teasing. Then she smiled at him as she straightened. "Of course not, because I know the truth: Himurochi has the soul of a musician."

"Yumeno," he began, but she was already ignoring his threats and rummaging in her bag.

"It's Tanabata," she was saying, "Please find Lyra for me?"

Such a thing was hardly difficult, since Vega was the brightest star of the northern summer sky, and one of the principals of the asterism the summer triangle. It was rather like asking someone to find the continent of Africa on a globe. It was difficult to miss. Still, he did as he was bid, and busied himself adjusting the telescope so that she would have a good view of Vega. She was still rummaging in her bag, which she had deposited on the ground next to the telescope case.

As he had half expected, before he had finished the final adjustments of the telescope, he heard the low, sweet sound of her recorder begin the opening notes of Bach's Minuet in D Minor. He let himself relax in the comforting arms of her music as he studied the sky through the focused lens. Vega was brilliant and blue in the tail of Lyra, and she seemed massive in comparison to the stars around her. Himuro knew this was an illusion of forced perspective. Vega appeared to be super-massive simply because she was relatively close to the solar system, and relatively bright. But the brilliance of an object that is very close is sometimes magnified exponentially to the casual, or perhaps obsessive, observer.

Thus for him, Yumeno Midori might have been a new and dazzling Mozart and as beautiful as Helen of Troy. That she was, objectively speaking, quite talented, hard-working, well-educated, and tolerably pretty he did not doubt, but it was that she was always so close at hand, so inevitably underfoot, that made him suspect his observational bias. Surely, if she really was the most remarkable person in the world, someone else would have taken her away by now.

Logic suggests this should be the case, he thought.

She was still playing her minuet, her eyes closed, swaying slightly as she kept time, with all the stars of heaven behind her and the heartbeat of the ocean at his back. At this moment he had a great deal of difficulty trusting himself to logic. She was the most remarkable person in the universe, and anyone who did not recognize this was clearly stupid. At this moment, he found all of her faults impossibly charming, and all of her bad habits impossibly dear. At this moment, he realized with woeful and terrible objectivity, he was entirely in love with her, and that was difficult, dangerous, and very likely impossible.

But none of that matters, he reflected, relying on what was reliable, and incontrovertible. Because what is true is true.

Plank's Constant was constant. Pi was constant. Avogadro's Number was constant. The Golden Ratio was perfect and constant. His heart, he had discovered over these past months, was difficult and troubling, but also dreadfully, horribly constant.

And what it was constantly constant about was Yumeno Midori.

She had finished playing her minuet. He had kept himself busy with the telescope during her performance - although there was not much to be done, Vega being a simple star to find - simply so he would not be left staring at her the entire time. He was trying very hard to maintain a professional student-teacher relationship, and although he was currently doubtful of his success, he was absolutely assured of his total failure should he allow himself to be indulgent.

"I've found Lyra for you," he said quietly, and she nodded, bending to tuck the recorder into the top of her bag.

He stepped back so that she had room to comfortably use the telescope, but he did not move terribly far away. He was close enough to observe the moonlight on her rosy hair, and to see the nape of her neck exposed by her pert, short ponytail. He stepped back again when he caught himself thinking about these things and turned away to look at the lonely sea instead.

"Why is it that you think Tentei forbids Orihime from being with Hikoboshi?" Midori asked, focused entirely on the blue-white star in her field of vision. "She's his daughter. Shouldn't he be happy that she's happy?"

Himuro thought for a moment before speaking. The answer from the folklore was obvious, but he wasn't sure if that would do in this situation, or lead him into more dangerous territory. Still, it was probably better to say something, rather than have her spin air castles aloud on her own.

"Because Orihime and Hikoboshi both have responsibilities. Neither of them do their work when they're together, so Tentei keeps them separated," he said.

"That means they must love each other very much," she was saying cheerfully. "She must love him more than everything else in the entire universe, if she's a princess of the sky and still cares about nothing but him when they're together. She loves him so much that one night will make up for a year of hard work. Only one night each year, from the eternity of the past to the eternity of the future. But I suppose if you figure it that way, an eternity made up of single days is still an eternity, so they do get to be together, always."

He wasn't sure what she was saying was perfectly consistent, but she seemed happy with it, at least.

"It's all right for Orihime," she was saying as she adjusted the telescope again, changing the angle in search of Altair, "Because she's steadfast. But what about Hikoboshi? How does he manage to stay out there with all the herds of the stars when he knows she's right there, across the river?"

"That's simple enough," Himuro answered absently, distracted. "Because he doesn't have a choice."

"Ah," she chirped in affirmative response, "That must be why Tentei won't let them have a real bridge across the river of heaven. Because if there was a bridge they'd just meet all the time and never get anything done, no matter what the Lord of Heaven said."

"Because they're irresponsible," Himuro said frankly, thinking of his mother and father.

"Because they love each other," she contradicted brightly, "And that is the best thing in the entire world. Once a man has lived with love," she quoth gravely, moving from the telescope to stand at his back, "He would usually rather die than live without it."

"You don't make it sound very positive," he said seriously, turning his head briefly to look at her over his shoulder. "And when did you become such an expert?"

"I read," she answered with equal gravity, "A lot of books."

He looked back at the sea and spoke honestly. "I really don't know what to do with you."

"I know," Midori said pleasantly, a touch of laughter in her voice. "But I have faith that it'll come to you. Thank you for bringing me out here to show me the stars, sensei. I've really enjoyed myself."

"Mm," was what he said in response, absently, as he was thinking. Then he recovered himself. "Good. I've also had a," he paused briefly before he found words he felt were suitable, and not too damning, "An educational experience."

She tugged on his arm lightly. "Come on," she said, "Let's go sit and rest on that rock for a few minutes before we make the walk back."

Because she was very persuasive and he was ever-willing to entertain the idea she was mostly harmless (while at the same time being troubling and dangerous), Himuro agreed to sit on the rock with her while she rested in preparation for their descent and eventual return to civilization. She had retrieved a bottle of water from her bag, and she took a long drink of it before companionably putting it in his hands. He held it thoughtfully for what seemed like a long time.

"You know," she was saying, her face turned to read the celestial tapestry, "In italiano there is a saying for an evening like this. It goes 'Quando il buio della sera maschera il mio viso, solo allora potrei dirti certe cose.' That means, hmm, give me a moment, sensei," she pleaded for leniency, then began slowly, as she was working it out, "'In the night, when it is dark and I cannot be seen, I find it easier to be honest with you.'" She sounded wistful as she continued. "I really have enjoyed myself tonight, and I have to thank you for always putting up with me, even though I know I'm often cheeky and difficult. I try to be very good and never trouble you, but I know that I'm an awful lot of trouble all the time, so I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate everything you do for me. So I'm sorry if I'm sometimes silly, or you get annoyed when I tease you. And I'm sorry that I'm always bothering your with all my problems, and troubling you when I know you want to work or have time alone with your thougts. I wish I had a good excuse for doing all these things, but I don't. I just can't seem to help it." Here she shivered in the breeze that rose up over the bluffs, carrying the sea salt smell of the ocean.

Himuro had been unable to keep himself from watching her while she spoke, her own face hidden by the fact that she looked away from him to study the stars, and when she shivered, he moved automatically to unbutton his jacket. Instead of answering her immediately with words, he simply moved to put his suit coat around her shoulders. She looked up at him instinctively as he did and he could see her expression was a mixture of uncertainty and worry, which she had obviously meant to conceal from him by turning her face away. He could not help but comfort her then, patting her head awkwardly and offering her a brief smile.

"I'm always happy," he said honestly, "When I see you waiting for me."

At this she smiled a little in response and moved her small fists to wipe early tears from the corners of her eyes.

"You're awfully good to me," she said, and she meant it kindly, but this was a very dangerous statement, and Himuro refused to respond to it. Left with the silence, Midori began to wonder aloud. "You know, sensei, I never expected to meet you at the festival. I mean, I'm so very glad you were there, and I suppose I'm always hoping I'll meet you everywhere, no matter where I go out, but I never really expected to meet you at the festival. I suppose I thought you just didn't go to festivals."

"I don't," he answered absently, without thinking, as he was still reflecting deeply on the curve of her face and the way she had sounded when she said that he was good to her. Upon realizing what he had admitted to, he immediately shut his mouth, rather than blurt out any more incriminating evidence.

But Midori was not an imbecile, and she received this information adroitly, immediately fitting it into the scenario that suited her best, which was, unfortunately, quite close to the truth. "So you didn't go to the festival for any particular reason? Not because you hoped to see anyone in particular there."

"I went because I decided that it was time I had a traditional cultural experience," Himuro declared decisively.

"So not because you heard any particular person mention that they were looking forward to it," Midori observed innocently. She had fished for an invitation from Himuro earlier in the month, and had gotten none.

"Perhaps I heard someone talking about it," he began warily, "And this made me think that it would be a fulfilling experience, so I decided to go."

"How long were you waiting to meet me before I ran into you?" she asked, the pure pleasure of teasing him getting the better of her.

"Yumeno," he threatened terribly, but this time she was unworried, and simply laughed.

"Himurochi, here we are, sitting on a stone, on top of a cliff, up a gravel road, and miles away from anyone who knows us," she held up one finger and tilted her head to the side playfully. "Why don't you say 'Midori' just once? You can say it as angrily as you want, and I promise I won't mind."

He almost said it, right then, just as angrily as he wanted to, but he caught his tongue before it was out, and his brows met in a most dreadful frown.

"Yumeno," he said, letting the ice settle in his voice that had chilled and killed many a teenage heart, "That is inappropriate. I shouldn't have to tell you that it is inappropriate. That it is inappropriate is self-evident. It is inappropriate."

"Reiichi," she interrupted him tentatively, her tone still playful, but sweet, and a little low.

His tirade stopped, and he turned his back on her immediately in response.

"Don't call me that," he said quietly, and there was stillness and a deathly control in his voice.

Feeling very low, she turned her own back to him, and so they sat, back to back, saying nothing, until at last he shifted behind her and continued.

"You should at least say 'Reiichi-san,'" he said slowly. "Otherwise it's not appropriate."

She fell over herself turning around to look at him when he said this, and ended up quite in his lap, which was not what either of them had intended at all, but neither found the position to be altogether distressing. She was laughing, elated, euphoric, and feeling dreadfully silly.

"Oh Himurochi, all your ridiculous, wonderful, awful rules. You know, I'm going to call you Reiichi all the time now," she warned, "Whenever we're alone, whenever you least expect it."

"Reiichi-san," he reminded, and tried his best to retain his dignity, and preserve the sanctity of the formal student-teacher relationship while his pet student was settled in his lap and playing heedlessly with his tie.

"Reiichi-san," she repeated obediently, then she sang out her favorite mantra, altered for this remarkable occasion, "Reiichi-san Reiichi-san Reiichi-san Reiichi-san Reiichi-san - "

"Midori," he called out, and the sound was crisp, like the sound of snapping fingers.

"Sensei," she said, tugging gently on his tie, so he was forced to lean forward and listen to whatever dangerous information she was about to impart. "I love you more than anyone else in the entire universe," she confessed delightedly, and then delicately brushed her lips against his earlobe.

And Himuro Reiichi sighed, as if he carried the weight of the entire universe on his shoulders, and said:

"I know."

Ah, so at last, Sharing the Same Sky, We Are as Close as Lovers is now complete! I strove hard in this story to capture many sides of Himuro's personality, both funny and severe. I hope I have done him service and that you all have enjoyed this story. With Midori I wanted very much to create a character who had great appeal on her own, so that no one had to scratch their heads as to why Himuro found himself in love with her. I hope you have also liked her. Perhaps this story did not end in quite the way you expected, but I must confess that my favorite fanworks: stories, art, or doujinshi, featuring Himuro x Heroine are those that imply a growing relationship during the course of the game, as opposed to after it, so that is what I have set in motion here. This is not meant to be the final word on the two of them, but simply one idea of how such a thing might have started.

One rule that the long-suffering Himuro Reiichi abides by is that he will not confess his feelings, no matter how obvious one suspects they may be, until after she graduates.

This, I believe, is a recipe for endless delirious antics. There is a story I would like to write that happens over the winter break of the second year, which is likely what I will write if I feel compelled to write something else about Himurochi and Midori. It is also a multi-part story and it heavily features Kei and Satomi as the other primary pairing.

In any case, that was my story, I hope yous enjoyed it.

Regards,

Gabi