Stasis
"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like."
-Laozi
1.
Tsumugu divides his time with Chisaki into two categories: before the Ofunehiki, and after.
Before the Ofunehiki, theirs is a relationship made up of quiet admissions, gentle prods, arm brushes and the occasional angry flush but, through it all, an undercurrent of understanding.
Afterwards, it is a lot of broken pieces. Jagged silences, internal questions, stifled sobs in the night and Tsumugu standing outside Chisaki's door, listening. Wanting to clean up the mess but not knowing how.
On their first day back to school, his grandfather squeezes his shoulder and nods towards Chisaki, whose back is hunched under her pack. "You look out for her."
Tsumugu nods. Watching is what he does best.
2.
The heart is a funny thing. It speeds up for no reason, rushes ahead, gets tangled up in feelings. Tsumugu thinks these things silently.
Just ahead of him bobs a purple ponytail. Chisaki clutches her schoolbag with both hands in front of her, stopping every once in a while to ensure that Tsumugu is still close behind. Tsumugu's hands hang loose at his sides. He turns his face up towards the sun for a moment, enjoying the quiet.
"Oh!"
He snaps to attention at the startled gasp. Chisaki has paused to peer into the windows of a candy shop, the swirl of lollipops reflected in her eyes. As Tsumugu moves to her side, he can't help noticing their reflections in the glass. They've both grown taller, the purple of their uniforms making them seem proper, grown-up.
"…Manaka…"
Tsumugu studies Chisaki. Her eyes have dimmed a little, and as she continues to speak he isn't sure if it's directed at him or herself.
"Manaka…would have loved one."
Tsumugu blinks but isn't surprised. He's become used to accompanying Chisaki wherever she goes, whenever she needs him, but Tsumugu knows there are places where he cannot follow. Memories and scenes that are, to him, only distant dreams. He tries to ignore the net that constricts his heart, that tells him: you are the outsider. There are things he was not a part of, can never be a part of; but, with time, he hopes it won't matter.
He hopes one day he'll be enough.
He reaches into his pocket for some money. "Let's take some to Grandpa," he suggests.
Chisaki returns to him—as if surfacing through layers of the ocean—but she comes back and to Tsumugu that's all that matters. She tilts her head and smiles.
"Good idea. And some for us, too," she adds.
They go into the store.
3.
The night before he leaves for university, he and Chisaki sit on the porch stargazing. Tangerine peels sit in a winding pile between them. Chisaki makes a face as she bites into one. "Sour," she complains.
"I hear it's harder to see the stars in the city," says Tsumugu.
"Hm." Chisaki chews on her bottom lip and reaches for another tangerine. "I'll look at them for you."
Tsumugu smiles slightly. "Don't daydream too much."
Chisaki scowls. "I don't daydream!"
The night settles back in around them, filling the space between them. Tsumugu picks a piece of lint off his knee. "I'm going to find out everything I can," he says, seriously.
"I know."
"We've come a long way," he adds, leaning back on his hands.
"Four years." There's a note of sorrow in Chisaki's voice, but also acceptance and a bit of content. "It's funny, because I feel like things are different but at the same time haven't changed much at all."
"This is the same."
Chisaki rubs her eyes and shifts towards him, confused. "What is?"
Tsumugu gestures to the sky. "Wherever the others are, they're under the same sky."
Chisaki tilts her head back. "I like that idea, Tsumugu," she says dreamily. "I like that a lot."
The silence swells up again—it comes in waves but never overwhelms them, although lately Tsumugu has been feeling as if he's no longer content with simply remaining afloat during these pauses. He has this yearning to dive deeper, to figure out the emotions bubbling below the surface, understand this strange pull he feels towards—
A weight settles on his shoulder. He looks down to find Chisaki has nodded off, her head lolling to the side. He shakes his head slightly, one hand reaching up to brush the hair out of Chisaki's face.
"Oof." Tsumugu manages to situate Chisaki on his back and turns to go inside. She's heavy, having grown in the last five years, but he's grown too and bears her weight. Chisaki's breath is warm against his ear. He plods up the stairs and does his best to set her in bed gently, where he draws the covers up to her shoulder.
She stirs a little and he feels something inside him stir with her, a slow awakening.
There's a name for this feeling, but he tucks it away. Words are too much and at the same time not enough, so he settles with closing the door and making sure his belongings are packed one last time.
4.
Even weeks after his curse from Uroko-sama disappears, the skin on his forearm tingles. He tries not to be too disappointed—it's a silly sentiment, really, but for the briefest moment he was happy, because it had been proof that he was, indeed, connected to their world. Someone worth noticing; someone worth a curse from the Sea God's scale.
5.
"You shouldn't like Hikari."
The words slip out before he can reel them in. He knows they've been hiding under his tongue for a while. He'd sworn that he'd stay back, let Chisaki come to terms with things in her own time. He'd thought that the return of Hikari and the others would resolve things, let them move forward, but it seems Chisaki is still stuck in the past. That, above all else, is what spurs him to speak. He wants to let her know that it's okay that she's changed. Five years with her should mean he's in the position to say that much at least, he reasons. He needs to make Chisaki see. He needs to close up this wound that's been festering in her heart. He needs to help, to fix her somehow, and telling her, finally, the messy truth—that things are different now—is the only way he knows.
Immediately, he sees her expression and knows that she isn't taking his advice well. But it's too late to take things back, so he does the only thing any of them can: keeps going.
By the time he resorts to damage control, it's too late. Chisaki's face is contorted, her face blotchy. As he reaches out to her to try and explain himself, she darts away, slipping from his fingers. It's like trying to catch a fish with bare hands—it doesn't work.
He doesn't chase after her. He recognizes that it's best for her to be alone, but that doesn't lessen the painful thrumming of his heart. He feels as if he has been permanently pushed out of alignment, his head and heart no longer in accord. He lets his hands fall at his sides, useless.
He flashes back to their argument: "You need to move on." Should he have waited longer? Kept his mouth shut? Stopped pressing the issue further? He'd thought that things were different between them, that they were close enough for him to say something like this.
But what use are words? They're like nets, filled with too many holes where the truth wriggles through, slipping back into the ocean, until he is left with one heaving, gasping fish that isn't even what he truly meant to say.
Stupid, Tsumugu thinks.
6.
She comes back, of course, and for the rest of the night Tsumugu feels the ghostly imprint of her head against his chest.
The next morning, they watch Manaka, Hikari, and the others run off to school. Chisaki's eyes are soft as she follows their movements, and he wonders if she's reminiscing. If she misses being alongside them. If she'll ever be happy next to him.
Chisaki's hand slips into his.
He startles slightly, looking at her, but her eyes are fixed on the ground. There's a small smile on her lips.
Tsumugu remembers fishing with his grandfather, Isamu's hands rough and strong. He remembers his grandfather's palms placed over his, the heavy silence before the haul. "Patience is key."
Chisaki's hand tightens for the briefest moment around his.
Tsumugu thinks of saltflake-snow and a time when the ocean will return to openness. He thinks of the future and all it might bring and lets the feelings wash over him. Scared, but happy.
He squeezes back.