Chapter 1: To anywhere.
To her, the best hour was when the workday was over.
It would sound mean saying she didn't enjoy work. She liked, yes, being between so many smells, handling meat parts, fixing plates to create pieces of art. She fought a lot to get into that industry. But she didn't see the pleasure in the customer's eyes at the time of delivery, when the first snack happened.
When she left the kitchen, yes, she saw the happiness on his face. It was there. She finally arrived.
"Am I late?", she asked, opening her own umbrella. She looked at him with reunion expectation, the homecoming company, ten minutes of walk that made her whole day worth. "I'm sorry, Shiryu-San, there were problems in the kitchen today and—"
"No problem", he was so polite to critique her. It didn't matter if he waited ten, fifteen, thirty minutes. The reception always being the same: the reserved smile, the peaceful voice, the interest in knowing how her day was. "Busy day?"
"Almost hellish", she opened a smile with the voice, because she knew there was what he felt it. She never shown herself tired next to him. Even her feet were painful, the arms equally heavy, the entire body needed rest. "But nothing different from usual. Another day of work, another day closer to my dream."
"Makoto-San, you can be honest with me, if you want to," he smiled under the umbrella, the eyes the eyes that could see nothing closed. "I know that your routine is not the easiest."
She could embrace him, as so many times felt the urge. Running her hands through his hair and rest above his shoulder. Crying when her fatigue exceeded what the body could bear. Although she knew her limits, and those imposed on that relationship. She always remembered of his broken heart, the other one who's left to live a life that, by then, never was being a choice. And she thought in her own heart, in her teenager trauma, which reappeared to mess up her relationships.
She liked to imagine, however. They had never touched each other. A slight rubbing of her fingers on the times she prepared lunch boxes to flavor his days. In her thoughts, they'll go to beyond of that furtive encounter, of the fingers that met too quickly and did not stay.
"It's all good, Shiryu-San. And tell me, did you resolve the problems with your apartment?"
"The tenant gave me one more month. I guess he doesn't want to kick me there right now". They walked for the major streets of Tokio, heading for their homes. She did not say out loud, lest she frustrate him, that she could cope well with the loneliness when she returned home. She knew to get by well - too well. And because she liked the company, to feel that there was someone by her side.
Someone who carried about her safe.
"But he will do. This is a certain."
"I will no more be your neighborhood, Makoto-San."
Makoto sighed at length. If she wished she didn't look sad so as not to worry him, she couldn't.
"You didn't seem to appreciate that."
"It's like—", she didn't want to sound so honest. She kept for herself what she'd thought about Shiryu, about the friendship they built during these six months. She could go deeper into the talk, admitting what she even dared not to pronounce, but let it die. She glanced the wet sidewalk above her feet, the bitter taste in her mouth. "It's not as if the entire neighborhood is my friend."
"I understand."
They stayed in silence for a time, side by side. Shiyu moved well into Tokio, senses heightened around him. This was one of the several things of which Makoto admired in him.
"It's not like we will not talk to each other either, right?", she patched, hoping there would, in fact, be a chance for friendship, for their relationship. She heard with relief his calm laugh.
"You are one of my priorities, Makoto-San. The distance is just physical."
She held her breath. Since when had she become a priority on anyone's list? Not even in her friends' lists she were at the top. They were distant, as adult life made its daily demands.
They took up the silence of the walk, as they often did. It was never uncomfortable, but Makoto felt herself strange. Priority was a sound name. She looked at Shiryu from the corner of her eye, which he looked unwavering under that rain, and ask herself a lot of why's. Makoto knows about his life only what he desired to reveal — the orphanhood, the work with his longtime friends, the woman whose broke his heart, the desire to have a calm life, the search to other crafts to maintain his stay at Tokio. Where is Makoto, between so many important things like those one?
They arrived at the condominium where they lived and went up the stairs to the 4th flour, still in silence. Makoto felt herself thoughtful and asked about what was in his head. He was always so quiet about his own feelings…
"Good night, Shiryu-San. See you tomorrow, right?"
He didn't hold a priori, the key in the lock of his apartment. It wasn't common for him to take a so long silence like that, but Makoto decided not to insist, getting ready to open the door. She was surprised when she felt his calloused hand above her fingers, the longest physical contact so far.
Makoto looked to him, to his closed eyes, and diverted the way to his ajar lips.
"Makoto-San, forgive me for the dare," he told with the same polite tone, but without the usual security, "I am more alone than normal and..."
He pressed her fingers, an insignificant strength. For Makoto, however, it means a lot.
"In my house, or in yours?", she didn't want to create reserves, plays, divert paths. She noticed he retreated from his body, but his hand didn't leave her fingers.
"It doesn't mean what I want to—"
Makoto approached, shortened the distances that she wished had never existed between them. Held the face of her neighbour and let her thumb slides above his face.
"Shiryu-San, I would never be the priority of a lonely man only to become a neighbor's friend. It's everything ok," she smiled, breathing deeply. She looked one more time for Shiryu's lips. "I insist: in my house, or in yours?"
Answers became a luxury in the time crunch. Makoto realized herself being embraced by powerful arms, lips pressing securely to hers, and she allowed the desire which had gone unnoticed until then to be reciprocated. She was fulfilled by allowing her hands to lose themselves in his dark hair and wanted the woody scent to be part of his skin as well.
In my house, so, she thought in some moment, finding space to open the door of her apartment.
They stayed in the living room, which was already a good size for the two of them. Makoto sat on Shiryu's legs and, as she kissed him, avoided thinking about how many times the other one had done the same. Or if he was just playing a substitute role for a rainy night. She gave herself a chance and didn't want to think about it. She would be the lover that day, the lover of that mouth so thirsty, of hands so curious, that squeezed her strong thighs and went towards her buttocks without asking permission.
She took off her blouse and left her breasts free. She wanted to be loved, wanted to have him close to her heart while his warm tongue scrutinized her nipples. To hear him whispering her name softly, leaving traces of saliva on her skin, the ambient light coming from outside, from the cars passing on the street, and to feel him under her pants, everything he had to love a body, a person.
Shiryu was pure sensation, hands, fingers, smell, saliva, strength. He laid her down on the couch, removing her pants. It mattered to find out what she was hiding deep inside, and Shiryu did it — how he did it! Makoto cried out, swore oaths of love, letting her fingers wander through his hair. He held her by the hip, bringing her to himself and making her food.
"Shiryu-San, I'm going to—"
"Hold on a little longer. Just a little."
She obeyed, waiting, pulling his hair, needing him closer, closest. Inside her, knowing fresh paths, the thunder paths, and Makoto obediently shown everything if he wants. She saw, a long time after, the dragon whose lies above his back, where she left scratches, kisses, promises. Sworn her love and her body to the dragon and everything the creature would claim for itself.
Shiryu reclaimed her for himself. On the couch, because there was no time for the tiny things. He dropped kisses on her neck, above her bones, embraced her tight, to feel her skin. No rain or coldness outside when the storm was particular between them. Makoto braced herself, moaning. She let the thunder sing in her body; the dragon being her mister, a particular ritual in her home.
"Don't go," she asked in a whisper, Shiryu's head into his breast. "Don't go."
"If I need to, you'll come with me," he dropped a kiss on her lips. "To anywhere."
Because Makoto will realize later, they hadn't had just a night together. There was a ritual.