Day 6: Hurt
Futaba finally goes on a festival date while all Kou can do is watch. OR A play on the red string of fate.
Legend has it that when two people are meant to be, the gods bind them together with a cord wrought from the strongest magic. Even the hardest of hearts succumb to its power, and nothing, neither fire nor storm, can ever break it.
7 o'clock. Sankaku Park, by the clock.
The words ring in his ears, loud and clear as if he has just uttered them into a megaphone.
Kou glances at the clock, watches the hour hand crawl its way towards the number seven before resuming his lookout for a certain brunette. He fingers the thin crimson string hanging limp on his little finger.
'She's late,' he thinks nervously while he scuffs the bottom of his shoe against the cobblestones, contemplating the growing dark around him. Despite the sweltering summer, the sun seems to have made an early retreat, and the first of many stars are beginning to peek out from behind wispy clouds.
The clock reels in his gaze like a magnet, the grinding of its gears magnified. Time is running.
A furrow appears on his brows. He wishes he still had a cellular phone on him, if only to give her a dozen or so messages and badger her with calls until she picks up.
(She'll probably toss her phone in shock upon seeing the caller ID, but hey, he'll take his chances.)
He worries his bottom lip and grunts in frustration before deciding that it's time to widen his search. He leaves his post by the clock tower and weaves through the mass of people in his path. He heads in the opposite direction, a trail of red thread guiding him towards the park's entrance.
Lanterns light the street, their warm glow drawing an eclipse of moths. Couples walk by holding hands, the girls in summery yukatas, nibbling on fairy floss and candied apples, and the boys, flicking paper fans at their faces in an attempt to beat the heat. A group of teenagers swarm around a booth, howling in laughter. In a corner, a child wails over a scraped knee while his mother kneels down to his level and tends to the wound. On either side of the street, vendors showcase their ware in peculiar dialects, their voices competing over the songs of the cicadas in the background.
Loud. It is all too loud, and he feels himself fading away amidst the happy chaos.
'NO! Not now, not yet,' he cries.
He hurries his pace, stumbles through the throng of people until he reaches the gates of the park.
He looks around, nearly suffocating in the sea of color and laughter, when there is a sharp pull on his finger. The string is stretched taut to his right.
A warning bell sounds, signaling five to seven.
He pivots on his heel, a gasp caught in his throat.
She steps through the crowd, donning her yukata like she was born to wear it. Every curve of her body is outlined by the crisp, pastel-colored cloth, an intricate pattern of cherry blossoms adorning its length. It cinches at the waist with a bright orange sash, offsetting the light shades with a pop of color. Her brown locks are piled into a simple bun with a butterfly pin holding them in place. A few loose strands frame her face, highlighting the pink in her cheeks and the light in her eyes.
'Beautiful,' he wants to tell her, watches her lips move in awe as she takes in the sights and sounds.
It has been a long time coming and finally, she returns to the summer festival with the love of her life. His eyes wander from her smile to the hand connected to hers; he notices a slight ache in his chest as he considers the boy who has taken his place.
He is taller than he remembers, his head almost coming up to her hips, and there is a whimsical look on his face. His black hair is dark and rumpled, refusing to cooperate when he runs a hand through it unconsciously. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his smiling eyes a carbon copy of his mother's.
"Oh man, I wish daddy were here to see this!" He chatters excitedly. "Hey mommy, what time is it? Is it seven already? We've got to hurry and find the clock!"
A soft look crosses her face and she nods in agreement, tightening her hold on the little boy's hand.
"Yes, yes. Come along, sweetie. Uncle and aunty said they'll be by the benches, so we wouldn't want to keep them waiting, now would we?" She says gently. He shuffles forward after her, exclaiming at the different attractions.
Kou holds perfectly still as they come towards him. The red string feels tighter around his finger, almost cuts through the skin as they close the distance.
His lips part in needless breath, and just when they are within an arm's reach, he calls her name out to the wind.
They walk past him.
Kou stares at the ground they had just occupied, feels a hollow in his chest where his heart should be, feels that hollow expand, a shadow that threatens to swallow him whole.
She cannot see him.
She cannot see him.
"Kou?"
His head snaps up and he cranes his neck towards the sound of her voice, a silent plea in his eyes.
'Please see me.'
Futaba stares at the space where Kou stands, squints and blinks and shakes her head to make sure that she isn't dreaming because she could've sworn that she just heard someone—someone—call her name.
An idea pops into his head. Kou acts quickly, takes the cord in his hands, starts reining in its length. Handful after handful, he pulls, and though dirty and knotted in different places, the thread has not frayed.
She takes a step towards him.
She cannot explain it. She feels compelled to move by an invisible force, and maybe it is the heat, but she thinks she can just make out the outline of shaggy hair and a hopeful smile. His name forms on her lips.
"Kou."
Slowly, surely, the centimeters shrink until they are so close that he can hear the spirit of her pulse He hardly thinks when he stoops down to press his lips onto hers.
It is feather-light, a small breeze of a touch, but she shivers and he tastes her sweetness.
He pulls back.
Her eyes glaze over at the empty spot and something constricts in her throat. She absently rubs a thumb over her little finger.
Her son tugs on her hand and looks up at her quizzically. "Mommy, what's wrong?" He asks.
Tears spring in her eyes, but Futaba blinks them away before her boy can see. She takes a shaky breath, bends down to press a kiss atop his head and urges him on. "Nothing, just thought I saw someone familiar. Come on, Haru, let's go find that clock tower. Daddy's probably looking over the clouds right now, wondering what's taking us so long!"
Haru grins and pulls her along. The pair strolls past him, laughing and chatting animatedly.
Kou laughs, and it comes out as a sob, but he is still smiling. He watches their retreating backs, feels a final tug on his pinky as they disappear into the crowd. The earth vanishes at his feet.
The clock strikes seven.