Chapter Nineteen
The early morning trip to the train station was a somber affair.
Hanamura walked alongside Tendou as he navigated the street, lugging her small green suitcase on the sidewalk behind them. It's wheels caught at the pavement, sounding rhythmic as they set off into a pale gray sunrise. They did not make the journey alone; Izakaya and Ushijima had joined them for the trip, both looking a little fatigued as they strolled together in companionable silence.
Hanamura yawned.
She too was tired from last night, having found it difficult to fall asleep. It didn't help matters that the streets were wet with rain, the sky overcast. Despite this, a lazy summer droll filled the city. Tourists were milling outside the nearby shrine tucked behind the trees. Its torii gate was the same fiery orange as the travel kiosk on the corner offering bicycle tours, and already people were pedaling off into the overgrown side streets. A patisserie across the road was serving hot crepes from a picture window. Steam poured from the opening, scenting the air with sugared strawberries.
"Look," said Tendou, pointing at the crosswalk.
Following his gaze, Hanamura immediately grinned. She saw a dog-walker struggling amid a cloud of red Pomeranians. They circled his heels, yapping fiercely as they made their way to the park.
"He reminds me of Akiko whenever Argus goes after pigeons," she told him, laughing.
Tendou smiled, and the warmth of it made her chest twinge.
"This is my favorite route to the station," he said, taking her hand, "and the easiest way to and from school. Think you can remember how to get back on your own?"
She nodded. "I think so. The landmarks help."
"Good."
They aimed for the train station which was a small wooden building at the end of the street. It overlooked the foothills to the north and was guarded by a pair of dragon statues.
"Try not to forget about me," he said as they approached the entrance, "I want you to pay your respects every day if you can."
Hanamura made a face. She imagined having a picture of Tendou placed alongside her grandmother's portrait in their household shrine and realized how morbid it would be to 'pay her respects.' Her sister, Mei, would think she had gone bonkers.
"What if I never come back?" She asked him instead, lifting her brows in concern. "Two weeks is an awfully long time. Anything could happen."
She waited for a reaction, expecting his eyes to widen or his mouth to gape in shock. But Tendou simply blinked, the shadows of his face sharpening into a dangerous, smoldering look that she could feel all the way down to her toes. He tugged on her hand, drawing her close enough that his lips grazed her ear.
"Then I'll just have to come find you, won't I?"
He whispered the words like a promise, hinting at all the new things they had recently learned about each other. Scorching heat spread across her face as she thought of their long night of secret trysts: hands on skin, mouths on necks, two bodies in the dark…Her heart skipped a beat and she somehow managed to stumble over nothing.
"Careful, Suzume," he warned her. "If you go on like that, I'm much more inclined to sabotage your trip and keep you all to myself."
"But…but the train's right there," she argued weakly. "I can see it."
"Oh? So you doubt me?"
He curled his voice with equal parts taunt and warmth, making her insides waver. She shook her head, the heat becoming unbearable. Any brighter shade of red would wind her up in the hospital.
Tendou had a look of satisfaction on his face.
"Alright there, champ?" He asked lightly, echoing her concern from earlier.
"Hem. Hem."
Izakaya coughed loudly behind them, looking scandalized. "Do you two mind? We're in broad daylight!"
He glanced to Ushijima for support, but the ace was busy watching the Pomeranians, oblivious.
Smirking, Tendou ruffled her hair as they stepped into the station.
A steady stream of travelers was heading out for the holiday. Hanamura saw everything from feathered parasols to inflated pool toys, one group in particular dressed in matching yellow sun hats. Another group had a picnic basket full of fireworks, a boy cradling the largest watermelon she had ever laid eyes on.
"There's still time before your train," said Tendou as he checked her schedule. "Wanna pick out some souvenirs to take home?"
He pointed to the shop next to the platform.
Hanamura eyed him softly. He was being so attentive. All morning, there had been soft nudges to the small of her back, a refusal to let her carry her own luggage, little side glances here and there that, despite all his teasing, told her he was anxious to see her go. If she had known that summer school would have brought her such endless joy as having Tendou escort her to the station, she would have endeavored to become a delinquent sooner.
"Yes," she said. "Will you help me pick out a cake for Mei?"
"Your sister? Sure," he agreed. "But…a whole cake?"
Hanamura nodded. "We have a rule that if anyone travels, we bring home a dessert for her to recreate from scratch. She's especially good at sponge cakes." They perused the shelves inside the shop, settling on a lemon Chiffon wrapped in gold foil.
"So there's another scavenger in the family," said Tendou, amused.
Hanamura paused. "I guess so. Seems to be the family trade."
They approached the cash register and took to examining the free pamphlets lining the front counter while the clerk wrapped her cake for transport. Hanamura flipped through a brochure on the best places to eat in Sendai when Tendou showed her a pamphlet on Morse code. "Evidently, it's a thing to send messages from the train windows," he said curiously, "There's even instructions on how to use a flashlight as a communication device."
"So you can only use light or sound to relay Morse code?" Hanamura asked.
"No, it says here you can use any object to relay a message so long as the other party knows what to look for," read Tendou with growing interest. He pocketed the brochure, claiming, "you know, this might come in handy."
"For what?"
He smiled at her in response.
It was then that Ushijima joined them, bringing a fragile glass windchime up to the counter. It had hand-painted daisies on the glass to match the yellow floral tag that was attached like a tassel. When he caught them eyeing the souvenir with curious looks on their faces, he said simply, "for Akiko."
Hanamura stared at him, surprised.
"Aren't you the gentleman," Tendou commented wryly. "Beginning to miss her already?"
"Our three-month anniversary is coming up," said Ushijima, frowning. "According to The Perfect Gift for the Perfect Girl, it's customary to commemorate it with a token. Am I mistaken?"
He posed the question to Hanamura as if she were the authority on the subject.
"Absolutely not, young man!" The clerk cut in from his place at the counter. He seemed deeply moved by Ushijima's intent. "This is a fine thing you're doing. Very fine, indeed! Shall I wrap it in pink or yellow gift wrap?"
"Yellow," said Ushijima automatically. "It's her favorite color."
"Very good, sir."
Hanamura continued staring at him in awe. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever expect the words 'anniversary,' or 'gift,' or 'perfect girl' to come out of his mouth. Ushijima always seemed so reserved. Though she was aware he was dating Akiko in secret (she had been there the day Akiko burst into the studio, looking to her sister for guidance on how to survive their first date), hearing it confirmed from his own mouth had its own kind of shock value.
"He reads all the adverts in my Jump magazine," said Tendou quietly, squinting at his friend. "I'm beginning to see the genius behind it."
A jingle played throughout the station.
Attention all passengers, Train 357 is now boarding.
"Suzume, it's time," said Izakaya as he hastily put away the sunglasses he had been trying on near the entrance.
"Right! Takashi, you're in charge now." She pulled him into a half-hug, careful not to squash her cake as they walked onto the platform. "Try not to burn the studio down while we're all gone."
Izakaya tensed, but gradually relaxed enough to pat her shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. Just try to stick to the study schedule we made," he chastised her back.
They broke apart, Izakaya stuffing hands inside his pants pockets, flustered. She was glad to have spent the past two weeks in his company. Not only had they survived summer school together, tag-teaming homework and exams, but they had also become close friends in their own right. She was proud of him for staying on at school to finish his sculptures.
Turning to Ushijima, Hanamura offered him a polite wave.
"I hope everything goes well this week. We're all counting on you to go to Nationals."
He nodded, issuing his usual, "Ah."
Tendou followed her onto the train and stowed her suitcase into one of the compartments beside the door. He spent an inordinate amount of time securing her cake, making sure it was safe for the journey. When he finally turned, she was overcome by intense heartache.
"I'll be watching you," she blurted, her words sounding more like a threat than an endearment. Tendou lifted his brows. "The tournament," she quickly clarified, "I'll be watching you at the tournament."
Why was she suddenly so tongue-tied? There was an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, of affection, solely for him, but she found herself unable to free the words caught in her throat.
Tendou grinned, looking as if he understood her dilemma.
"Watch me closely then," he said, leaning down until they were nearly eye level. "I'll be showing off some of your dance moves on the court."
He winked at her, his grin turning sly.
Hanamura scowled. "Okay, just because some of us–"
He cut her off with a kiss. It was soft and brief, but he lingered, conveying all that needed to be said in that single moment. His thumb swiped at her dimple, making her heart swell.
Please note – to ensure a timely departure, train doors may close 40 seconds before parting.
She squeezed his hand one last time before withdrawing into the cabin. Most of the seats were already filled with passengers. But before she could claim a spot, Tendou pinched her sleeve.
"Wait, there's one more thing," he said. Hanamura turned just as he reached for something in his back pocket. For a second, she thought he was going to hand her the pamphlet on Morse code, but he produced a rolled-up paper and placed it in her hands.
"Remember that story I was working on? Well…now you can finally read it."
He flashed her a handsome grin.
"Until next time."
The jingle blared, signaling that the doors were closing. He darted through to the other side, rejoining Izakaya and Ushijima on the platform. Hanamura hastily took her seat, paper in hand, and waved at them through the window as the train lurched into motion.
It was maddening. After several weeks of homesickness, she was leaving her heart behind in Sendai.
. . . . . . . .
"There you are, Suzu. I figured you might be here," said her father as he entered the workshop later that evening. He shoved the doors open, making them screech against their metal tracking as he revealed the small yard between the house and the antique store.
"Dinner's ready," he announced. "Your mother made her famous pot roast tonight! Nothing better than home cooking after being out in the wild, eh?"
It was late. The light was a deep crimson at the windows, shooting oblong columns of dusk across the floor. Hanamura sat on her father's workbench, swinging her legs idly. She had been there for quite some time, pondering the things still left unsettled in her mind.
"Suzume?" Her father sobered. "Is everything alright?"
Hanamura pulled her gaze from the windows, studying him curiously.
"Dad, can I ask you something?"
He drew his brows together. "Sure, honey. What's up?"
Hanamura picked up the hammer on his workbench, palming the hilt as if testing a blade. How many times had she found herself in this exact spot, inspecting her father's tools as if they were artifacts from a museum? Her gaze fell on his collection of steel hammers and wooden mallets. Beside the workbench were his prized chisels which would have made Fukuhara drool. The cubbies above the table were filled with jars of glue and varnish, the peg-board walls lined with saws in every shape and size. Even the workbench had been salvaged from a persimmon burl he harvested from their backyard.
As she studied his workspace, she settled on the one thing that still weighed heavily on her mind.
"Why do you salvage things?"
Her father narrowed his gaze.
"You're starting to sound like your mother," he said cautiously. "Did she say something about the barn wood? I told her we have a client whose picking it up for their chicken coop. This mess will be gone by Monday, I promise!"
He fussed over the pile of boards, making her grin.
"I mean, you don't have to salvage. You could always just buy things at auction like Nana used to," she said, elaborating. "Sell things in the store that are already…valuable."
She was thinking of her conversation with Tashima.
Realizing she was fixated on something else, her father abandoned the wood and joined her at his workbench. He smelled strongly of aftershave, the sleeves of his flannel rolled up, revealing strong arms from years of woodworking. His nails were edged in grease, sawdust shavings caught in the wrinkles of his shirt. He removed the cap from his head, slicking back hair with a deep sigh.
"You're right, I could. It'd certainly be a lot less work for me and less stress for your mother," he said, sounding as if the idea had already occurred to him at length. "But where's the fun in that? It's too boring for your old man."
He gestured for the hammer and she passed it to him.
"Your Grandma Fumi had an eye for antiques, there's no doubt about that, but where she liked finding things whole, I prefer finding the things that have been discarded and making them into something new." He held the hammer, wielding it with a grace that came from years of use. "That's where my creativity comes into play." He tapped his brow with a bright glint in his eye. "Anyone can buy a stuffed peacock at an estate sale, but it takes someone with a true sense of acuity to see something and turn it into art. Things don't always have to be what they seem."
Hanamura cast her eye across her father's workshop, admiring the old light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, the velvet theater seats, the wooden carrousel horses flecked with tarnished paint. It was a shrine dedicated to the remnants of old. The space was steeped in nostalgia, but also…wonder. Any moment, those horses could become the guardians standing proudly at the edge of a garden, or the theater seats a new reading nook inside a café. There was an air of possibility, of creation.
"Art, as I've come to realize, Suzume, is nothing more than a series of questions. It doesn't matter if they are small and simple or wild and outlandish, so long as you keep asking. You might be surprised by what you discover."
He passed her the hammer, yet she remained doubtful.
"But what if it's…different from what others consider to be art?"
Her father fixed her with a strange look.
"You surprise me," he said, smiling slightly at the indignation on her face. "Being different has never stopped you before. What's changed?"
Hanamura fidgeted with the hammer, scowling.
"I didn't know art had so many rules," she said sullenly.
Her father crossed his arms and leaned against the workbench, appearing as if he were mulling her statement with great care. "Hmm. True," he said. "I suppose any discipline has its rules. But you and I both know that life would be dull if we all followed the same ones, right?"
Hanamura looked to her father, finding it curious that his words echoed the ones Tendou had shared with her that day in the park.
Everything in life has rules. The ones that matter most are the ones you make for yourself.
Could she exercise that kind of power? Pick and choose what mattered to her most and disregard the rest – even at the cost of going against expectations? That kind of personal conviction required courage, something she had lost in herself.
"I like painting, but I don't know why, or what it is I'm trying to say," she confessed at last. "Before, I always just did it because I could…Now I'm not so sure."
Her father tilted his chin.
"That's good. That means you're on the right track," he said. "The only way to find out is to keep trying."
Hanamura paused.
"Even if it upsets people?"
Her words were heavy with meaning, touching not only on the adversity she was facing at school, but the emotional scar she had carried with her since that summer she had acted out in grief. A shaky pulse filled her body, echoing the guilt that still gnawed at her chest. She couldn't bring herself to face him.
Her father stood, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Especially because it upsets people," he said, fixing her with his sharp gaze. "Art should always stir a little controversy. Otherwise, what's the point?"
She laughed even though her eyes were wet. "You sound like a villain."
"Good," he said in return. "Sometimes it's the villain who inspires change in others. Without them, there'd be no story – no growth. A little rebellion is good."
He grinned, flashing the dimple in his left cheek.
Hanamura stared at him, feeling the tangled knot in her chest finally loosen. Her vision blurred with tears, but she was quick to hop off the bench and crush him in a tight hug. It was everything she needed to hear and more.
"Thanks, Dad," she said into his shirt, feeling sawdust press into her cheek.
His strong arms hugged her in return.
"You're really getting serious about this, aren't you?" He peered down at her with a broad grin. "A few months in the city has really lit a fire in you, has it?" He rubbed her back, causing her to teeter. "Come on, let's eat. Mei's probably devoured half the roast by now."
Wiping her eyes, Hanamura went to lay the hammer back on the bench but stopped. Her eyes fell on her father's power tools and it jostled a memory of a technique she had read about in a book from the school library. Her mind started to whirl again, thinking back on the list in her sketchbook. She had nearly gathered everything for the project. All that was left now was for her to learn how to use power tools to carry out the technique. What a shame it would be to waste all that hard work when she was on the cusp of something new.
Hanamura turned to her father.
"Dad," she said, brimming with new determination. "Think you can teach me how to use the drill?"
He brightened.
"Sure, but – whatever for?"
Hanamura twirled the hammer, her mind already at work.
"There's an experiment I want to try," she said, her mouth curling into a grin.
"Something…different."
A/N: Gotta have ourselves that sweet scene where the couple says their farewells on the platform, am I right? While Hanamura gets busy in her dad's workshop, we've got ourselves a volleyball tournament to attend. I wonder who we might run into at the competition? :D
"The Wind" - Cat Stevens
"Solo, Clean Bandit ft. Demi Lovato" - Gaga Symphony Orchestra
CeeDee, I'm jealous you grew up in a neighborhood with so many kids nearby! That had to be an absolute blast growing up. The more people you had on hand, the more elaborate the games became, huh? Like Hanamura, I grew up trespassing in the woods with my friends from school. We'd pretend to be survivalists out in the wilderness, rationing our granola bars and splinting someone's "broken" leg in the middle of a cow pasture. XD
Diane, the Fukurodani barbeque was exactly what inspired the last chapter! You totally nailed it. It's one of my favorite scenes from the show. Did you enjoy it too? The food in anime always looks so painfully delicious. Every time I watch Howl's Moving Castle, I crave eggs and bacon.
Thank you so much to everyone who is following this story!
Until next time,
lavendermoonmilk