Chapter XXXIV: One True Thing
Her phone's screen blinked once, twice, thrice and then went dark—and when it did, the bright future she'd seen in the light of the fireworks went dark too, splintering into shards like a shattered mirror. She really was some special kind of idiot, wasn't she? She thought she'd chosen to be alone, to live a normal life, away from whatever bolt of lightning Kuon was riding. She'd thought she'd decided to move on. But all along, she hadn't realized: she'd never stopped thinking of Kuon as an open door. Deep down, she'd never stopped thinking of him as an option. Whether or not she admitted it to herself, part of her had always assumed he'd always be there, the way he'd always been there over the summer.
The realization nearly brought her to her knees.
The pain in her wasn't some abstract, pretty thing that you could act out on stage. In the minutes and seconds immediately following her call, she felt it come for her—the monster lurking in the dark corners of her heart. It was in her body. An all-too-real physical pain, manifesting in the way her throat closed and her gorge rose—in the way her stomach dropped, in the way that her chest felt as if someone had kicked her. She fought to breathe against it, but her heart was running away with her breath, beating a frenetic beat—go, go, go, it said. But there was nowhere to go.
She'd seen one truth in Tadao's eyes, felt her soul soar above everything and everyone else. Now, she saw a second: she'd been the monster in her own fairytale.
How horrible, to see things so clearly so late.
Shock, first, and in the weeks following, regret—a torturer's breaking wheel taking her apart, bone-by-bone. She fought to keep her calm with each passing moment, afraid an errant word would break the sobs out from the box she'd hidden inside her. It was only a matter of time before her weakness would have her screaming out her grief out into the open sky.
It was nothing like getting over Sho. Then, she'd been empty—a numb nothing, letting the days bear her along like a leaf on the river. Whatever love she'd borne him had been a dead, well-behaved thing, lying quietly in a coffin. In hindsight, that emptiness was easy. Emptiness was something she could work with, something she knew well. But now? Now she closed her eyes and all her thoughts were full of him. Him, and now the lack of him. She threw herself into her tomorrows, gritting her teeth at the petty tasks that she clung onto like a life raft.
He'd moved on.
That was his right. She'd foreseen that, hadn't she? That he'd find someone new? Or perhaps...perhaps he was simply playing the field.
No.
No—whoever his new flame was, he'd trusted her enough with access to his phone.
The knowledge lay like a stone in her gut. Dense and sharp, heavy as lead, inescapable as prison. In setting herself free, she'd bound herself to the inevitability of Kuon finding someone else. Part of her felt angry, though she knew she had no right to be. He was the one that prattled on and on about fate, and destiny, and soulmates, a crimson thread binding them to one another. And yet…and yet…she'd been replaced as easily as a dirty sock. Her half of that crimson thread was flapping loose in the wind, untethered and unmoored in the tempest-blown dark.
She'd been the one that cut it.
She'd been selfish, foolish, cruel. She thought back on those weeks he'd still been at the ryokan, all those nights she could have been with him before he'd gone back to Tokyo. Instead, she'd spent them alone. Alone, despite his protests, his cajoling—despite the look in his eyes that he didn't need to speak into words for her to understand: Here is my heart, please don't hurt me.
Well, she'd hurt him.
She'd hurt him and she'd hurt herself, and then she'd turned around and told him "this is good for us both." It was an act of unspeakable violence, really—she'd killed something rare and precious, something pure and good. It was like killing a unicorn. She'd bludgeoned it and then discarded it, choosing the bitter over the sweet because it was all she'd ever known.
Irony. She'd been afraid he would treat her heart the way she'd treated his.
Oh god, she was sorry.
What did she have left, then? She'd made a choice, hadn't she? What difference did it make to know that Kuon had moved on? The relationship had ended long before she'd made that call. Nothing had changed since. Did it matter that the pathway to Kuon was shut now? It didn't, she told herself, but her heart whispered back: it should.
The only way out was through.
Work.
Work would get her through, the way work always had. Her tasks, her studies—all of these had served her well in the past. Sublimation—she would take all of this grief inside her and turn that straw into gold. The future of her choosing required it.
As November wore on, she found that midnight oil didn't burn so much as it faded into nothing. Night after night, she slaved over passages and formulas, tables and figures, layering coursework on top of the festering void. The sleepless nights left marks on her body—dark circles formed underneath her eyes, her eyelids felt like sandpaper as she blinked away fatigue and tears. If she worked hard enough, perhaps the pain, too, would fade to nothing. Her mind descended into a fog that never went away—and always, always, always she was so tired.
Dawn never got there early enough.
=.=.=
The class had finished its stretches—they'd been instructed to do laps around the gym, given how cold it was outside. Tadao watched Kyoko from the corners of his eyes—never directly. He'd accepted her rejection with good grace, but that didn't mean his feelings had faded into thin air. He was worried about her. Under the fireworks, she'd looked…resplendent. Incandescent, electrified and electrifying, as if all the secrets of the world had been revealed to her. The next day, she'd been as despondent as ever—more, even, than she'd been earlier that semester.
Had she been rejected?
Her present state only made sense if whoever this…mystery man…of hers had rejected her. Maybe no one else noticed, but he saw it. She was studying for her university exams alongside many others in the classes, though with her grades he knew she was trying for Japan's most prestigious institutions. Two, if rumors were to be believed: Kyoto, and Tokyo. Impressive as that was, he had the feeling that she continued on with all her other commitments. It was common knowledge that she worked at the ryokan she was heir to—but on top of that, she still functioned as a resource and almost-tutor for anyone who asked for her help.
But Tadao noticed how she rarely ate. Tadao noticed how dark the circles underneath her eyes were; how her clothes were looser on her frame. She'd lost the unfocused, frenetic energy of September and October, and now she moved along a straight line at a breakneck clip. And today, she was in her gym clothes, moving squarely in the middle of the pack as they jogged around the gym. He was keeping pace behind her when—
She wobbled.
And then she fell.
"Mogami-san!" he cried out. She fell into his path and he caught her, feeling how hot her skin was to his touch. "Mogami-san?"
Her lips were moving soundlessly, her cheeks were flushed a deep pink.
Arakawa-sensei had come running as soon as he'd seen her collapse. "What happened!?" he asked Tadao.
"She…fell," Tadao said. "That's all I know."
Arakawa looked at Tadao, who was still on the floor and clutching Kyoko protectively. The girl was in a daze, head lolling backwards until Tadao supported it.
Arakawa saw the way the young man was looking at Kyoko and felt a twinge of pity for the guy. Ah, he thought. So that's how it is. "Can you carry her?" he asked.
"I…should be able to," Tadao responded. "Sorry, Mogami-san," he whispered to Kyoko. "I have to pick you up."
"Take her to the infirmary," Arakawa-sensei said. "And make sure you wear a mask, Tadao-kun," he added. "Just in case it's something catch-able."
Tadao took her to the infirmary. He felt a little guilty, trespassing on her like this, but all he'd wanted to do was help. He put her down on a waiting bed and then stepped back as the nurse took a look at Kyoko's pale, drawn face. She waved him away without a glance—all he could do was turn to leave, wishing all the while that he could stay by her side.
=.=.=
The news from the school took Yayoi by surprise—though in retrospect, she should have known better. The truth was she simply hadn't noticed anything was wrong on the surface—Kyoko was so capable, so put-together. Whatever heartache she bore had been camouflaged in the frenzy of work and study that Yayoi knew to expect by now. Some girls curled up into balls and sobbed; Kyoko was not one of them. Kyoko retreated into that frenzy of work that Yayoi recognized to be her way of…coping. Yayoi didn't know the full extent of coursework she'd committed to, but she did know that Kyoko hadn't given up any of her daily tasks at work. She'd refused to delegate. Kyoko never complained—she worked on and on with a dogged determination.
It was no wonder that she'd collapsed.
Yayoi and Etsuro answered the summons to the Koseika Takeda hospital, concealing their alarm. Her collapse had been an indictment of their fitness as her guardians—how could they be called fit to care for her if they hadn't noticed how she'd been working herself to the bone? They were duly admitted to her bedside and saw for themselves how fitful her rest was—they could see she was running a temperature.
"We should have watched over her better," Etsuro said, musing over the hospital bed.
"It's my fault," Yayoi said. "I should have noticed how much she was taking on."
"It's not your fault," Etsuro said. He took her by the hand. "She's extremely good at hiding how she really feels."
"I know," Yayoi said. She knew that the exhaustion and collapse were merely symptoms of a far deeper sickness. "But you know…I can tell. Ever since she came back from Tokyo, I've been able to tell when she's upset. I know that she works to distract herself from it—but I never thought—"
A quiet whimper interrupted her from the bed. Yayoi startled and moved closer as Kyoko said something that sounded like…a name. Even if she hadn't heard it, Yayoi would have known. Kuon. But Kyoko's breathing was shallow and rapid, and her eyes remained closed. A nurse with kind eyes looked in on them.
"Visiting hours are over, Fuwa-san," she told them. Softly. Patiently.
"We—we can't stay with her a little longer?" Yayoi asked, hesitating. "Watch over her?"
The nurse looked hesitant. "That would be…quite unusual. I'm certain you couldn't be comfortable here—and you need rest, too."
"I understand," Yayoi said. "I'm just worried about her."
"She's in the safest place she could possibly be," the nurse said. "Your daughter will be well-cared for here."
Yayoi didn't correct her. Instead, she brushed Kyoko's hair back over her face. "Thank you," she told the nurse. "We'll leave her in your hands."
"We'll have her back up in no time at all," the nurse said.
Yayoi took one last look over the sleeping girl. "She's—she's very dear to us, you see."
"We know," the nurse said. "Thank you for your trust."
They bowed and headed out of the room, silent until they got back home.
=.=.=
The office phone rang later that afternoon. Yayoi answered it. She'd nearly missed it—she and Etsuro were both tired after having returned from the hospital.
The deep voice on the other end was sad and earnest and pleading.
She knew who it was.
How could she not?
Guam, he told her, I'm in Guam. He sounded tired, too, and heartsick. Yayoi didn't care what Kyoko had told her—whatever the state of their relationship, Yayoi could hear how much he still loved her. "Come back," she told him. "Come back." Kyoko was pining for him, pining in a way that she hadn't done for her own son…and it was killing her. Quickly, and not slowly—someone running a fever so high needed to be in the hospital.
She knew, instinctively, that Kuon was suffering too.
He told her he would come—come as soon as possible, vast blue oceans notwithstanding. Yayoi had the sense that he would grow wings if he could, just to come see her. She could hear the panic in his voice when she'd told him his Kyoko was sick, and she took comfort from it. If he still cared then…then…perhaps the two of them could escape the harrow they'd been living under. Perhaps they could reunite their two sundered halves into one whole again.
Yayoi prayed that this time, Kyoko would let him love her.
He arrived a day later. Yayoi didn't recognize him, not at first. His tall figure was dressed entirely in a sinister black. His hair had been dyed to match, but his eyes—his eyes were his own. Under a black fringe, they glinted in a bright emerald green. He came to the kitchen entrance, appearing like a wraith out of the drizzly November gloaming. His appearance surprised her. At first she almost screamed—but then the figure bowed.
"Okami-san," the figure said.
She recognized his voice immediately, but his eyes were haunted and the face looking into her own was pale and nearly gaunt.
"Kuon-kun," she said. "You came." She wasn't sure he'd come—wasn't he one of the busiest stars in Japan? But seeing him now, she understood her doubts to be baseless.
"I tried to get here sooner," he said, "I took the first plane I could. "
She nodded in understanding. No doubt he would've found his way back from Mars. Somehow, his presence was oddly comforting to her—with him here, a happy ending seemed possible. She smiled, letting that flicker of hope reach out to him. "Thank goodness you're here. Have you eaten?"
But he waved her question away. "She's sick?" he said. He was trying—and failing—to hide his impatience under a veneer of politeness.
"Yes. She's resting," Yayoi said. "I hope."
"You hope?" Kuon asked. His eyes had blazed momentarily before he lowered them.
"They're keeping her under observation at the hospital," Yayoi explained. "Her fever is quite high. They'll keep her there until she recovers fully."
He nodded tersely, and she could see the worry in his eyes—and no wonder. A fever high enough to have her collapse was certainly a cause for concern. "Which one?" he asked.
"Koseika Takeda." She wasn't surprised when she saw him turn—likely to take the boat back and go to the hospital.
"Kuon-kun, wait," she said, "Visiting hours are over. Etsuro and I watched over her today, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow, I'm afraid."
He froze in place, but she could tell how he fought to keep his self-restraint. "I—I want to see her," he said. "Please—even if it's just for a second—"
She sighed. "Kuon-kun…"
"They'll let me in if you vouch for me—you're her guardian—"
"She's not awake, dear, not yet—"
"Please?"
Yayoi sighed and then shook her head. "Very well, I'll call—perhaps they'll make an exception for us—"
"Thank you, Okami-san," he said.
=.=.=
Kuon didn't like hospitals. He'd been to his fair share, first as a bullied little boy and then as someone who fought for fun. He didn't like the way they smelled—a strange blend of industrial-strength cleanser over the stench of bodies in various stages of disrepair. He didn't like the way they looked: each and every single one of them Brutalist boxes with blank faces on the outside, relentless fluorescent lighting on the inside. Everything was too bright, too sharp, too noisy—the bustle of nurses and orderlies, doctors and patients too busy for actual rest or recovery.
He shunted all of that aside—she was waiting for him.
Yayoi followed behind him as they entered, hastening to keep up with his longer strides. She understood his anxiety—his claim to Kyoko was deeper than her own, and she had already had a chance to see her. He waited alongside her as she spoke to receptionists and nurses, pacing like a caged lion as Yayoi explained who he was and why it was so important to have him by Kyoko's side.
They led him to her room, down a hallway that stretched on like the entrails of a beast. It felt longer and longer as he took each step. He passed by other rooms, heard a cough here and there, heard machines ding in alarm as they ticked to the rhythm of someone else's heart. His own was beating in record time, anticipation and anxiety flipping sides like a coin tossed in the air. He wondered if he would ever reach her, worried, perhaps, that she'd been consumed by the building, never to be seen again. How could this place be good for her? She was a creature of sunlight and forest and this—this was a maze devoid of beauty.
They rounded a corner to face a new, nondescript hallway. They stopped by a door—
And then there she was.
His heart twinged at the sight of her—fragile and feverish, her skin damp with sweat. She was so thin—much thinner than she'd been when he left. Her face was tight and drawn, even in her sleep. They had given her an IV—the catheter was in her arm as a bag of saline gave her fluids. Seeing her brought a shock to his system. He'd been sustaining himself on pictures and imagination. The pictures reduced her into two dimensions—static images in time and space that never changed, never varied with each iteration. Imagination had perfected her face in his mind, but it was no better—his imagination was not good enough to show him the way her finger curled onto the plain white sheet of her hospital bed, or the stray curl above her ear clinging to her face. Imagination couldn't show him her labored breathing. He wanted to take her away from this place. He was sure he'd do a better job of protecting her—of healing her—than any sad hospital room with its dingy bed and its buzzing fluorescents.
"I'd like to stay," he said. His mouth was dry. "Please."
The nurse looked uncomfortable. She knew how to deal with anxious families—Yayoi and Etsuro were par for the course. But this man—this man looked like the Angel of Death and was probably as stubborn. "I—am not sure we can allow that, sir," she asked. "We've already made an exception, you see…It's already after visiting hours, but Fuwa-san told me that you had come from overseas—"
"I did—but…" He looked at her, imploring her with his eyes. He pulled out every trick he knew. He didn't know if it was his persistence or the smile he used to calm his fans. Perhaps it was the shameless deployment of the 'puppy-dog look,' as Kyoko called it. But he knew how to charm, and he did. "I promise I won't be in the way," he said. He motioned to an armchair by the door. "I'll stay here," he said. "No need for a cot or anything. Please—just let me stay."
The nurse watched as the Angel turned to a man—one who'd been parted from his loved one for too long. She had the sense that there was a longer story behind the sleeping girl and this person, but she found herself wanting to help them both.
The nurse let him stay.
The nurses and staff soon realized they could work around him quite easily—and he was an extra set of hands they could use. It was Kuon who replaced Kyoko's compress with new ice, and Kuon who replaced the cooling patch on her forehead. He pulled up the chair to Kyoko's bed, getting as close as he dared. Her hand was close—close enough to hold, but he held his desires in check and held back.
Seeing her again felt…fraught. The fact that he loved her was incontrovertible—he couldn't stop loving her, and he'd tried. But she'd broken his heart. He had no doubt what conventional wisdom would say—the girl is a walking red flag, perhaps. She's toxic. She's incapable of having a secure attachment, and you're just going to get hurt. Ten had said as much the last time he'd seen her. And if he were a sane man, a normal man, perhaps he'd act accordingly. But he wasn't normal, and neither was she. There was magic in her—he knew it. There was magic in them both. Perhaps he'd spent too much time with Lory, but so long as there was the possibility of a happily-ever-after with her, he would try.
If she wanted him.
Was he still the kind of man she'd even want? She deserved a fairy prince and he—he was the kind of man who got drunk and fucked strangers. He was the kind of man who fought his colleagues just for the sake of fighting. He was petty. He was someone who endangered his life for no good reason—and all of that was on top of the flawed asshole who'd come to her in Kyoto in the first place. Like it or not, he was tainted. How could he touch her after what he'd done? He knew he'd have to tell her, and he knew he might lose her permanently in the telling.
She cried out a little in her sleep; a sad, lonely sound that made him uneasy. Who knew what she was dreaming of?
He put his doubts aside. All that mattered right now was her comfort.
He wanted to surround her hands with his own, warming them so that she knew she needn't fight the monster haunting her dreams alone. He'd hold her hand until she woke up, and when she did, he would do whatever he could to help her. Her sickbed was no place to make this terrible confession, and she was far too sick for him to presume she'd want to talk about their relationship. Perhaps he would have to wait to make things right between them. Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to think that he could make things right between them. And so…well. If she didn't want him there after she woke, he would leave. But tonight—just for tonight—he didn't want her to be alone. He would watch over her sleep and fetch whatever she needed to rest comfortably. Slowly, he moved his hand onto the bed. Palm up, so she could rest her fingers on his hand instead of the bedsheet. He trembled—her hand rested on top of his, cold and clammy. Too cold, especially for someone with a fever. But she was solid. A real girl. Not a figment of his imagination, not some passing ghost.
She rustled; he heard a small whimper. Startled, he moved to take his hand back—the last thing he wanted to do was disturb her. Perhaps he would have to content himself with sitting silently next to her, just being in her presence and sharing the same air she breathed.
But.
Her fingers curled lightly around his own.
And the sight of them, so small against his palm, caused a flicker of joy inside him. She wasn't holding his hand, not exactly. But this touch—this small touch—was enough. He leaned forward against her bed, head in his arm, and listened to the sound of her breathing until sleep took him, too.
=.=.=
Kyoko was dreaming.
A high, rocky place. A cliff. Wind, cold and bracing, whipping her hair back and stinging her face.
She was dressed as she'd been for her LME audition—a short skirt, a fashionable jacket, her hair bleached into a bright chestnut color. She could feel the rocks beneath her feet—unsurprising, given her thin ballet flats. She was woefully underdressed and unprepared for the climb. She was on a narrow ledge, bordered on her left by a sheer wall of rock, and to her right by a gaping chasm. There was a narrow path before her, grey and barren, hugging the cliff face and then stretching upwards into the mist. The sight of it filled her with an undefinable horror—did it lead to the summit? Or would she simply drop into the abyss? She took a step forward, wobbled, and then screamed as the place where she'd been standing disintegrated, broken rock falling into the dark below.
No. She would not fall. She refused to fall. She choked back a whimper and then clung to the cliff face beside her. She took another step…and then another. With each passing step, she found the path behind her disappearing. She was going to be forced into the mist, and she didn't have a choice—upwards and upwards she climbed, the path behind her disappearing like an unwanted memory.
She was tired—oh god, she was tired. She wanted to lie down and catch her breath. But every time she slowed, she felt the abyss gnawing at her heels. Who knew how solid the ground beneath her feet would remain? She kept moving. Rain began to pour down, stabbing her with icy rivulets—and she was glad of it. It cooled the heat of the tears pouring from her eyes. There was no rest—there wouldn't be any rest for a long, long time. She would simply have to bear it—
Silence.
In a moment, everything stopped. The sky was a brooding gray above her, but it was silent. The rain had stopped. The wind had stopped. Her clothing was still wet from the rain, clinging onto her body.
And then there was warmth. It came suddenly, un-looked for and unexpected. She felt it inside her, expanding outwards with the beating of her heart, moving to her hands and upwards to the crown of her head. She stopped moving simply to experience it—for the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt safe.
The dream shifted, she took another step—but before her was a small patch of sun in the dark. She stepped into it and found that the wind had stilled. The path widened before her. The ground stayed put beneath her feet. She looked upwards into the light, bathing in it, luxuriating in the feel of it on her skin. She could rest now. She could sleep now. She could stop running—
And all the rest went black.
=.=.=
Kuon woke before dawn, startled out of sleep by a nurse checking in on Kyoko's vitals.
"I'll need to change over her saline," she said. She checked the thermometer that had been taking Kyoko's temperature. "Her fever's gone down quite a bit."
His heart was in his mouth, silencing him for a second before he found his voice again. "I'm glad," he said.
"You've taken good care of her," she said. "Um—" She hesitated, realizing that he hadn't given a name.
"I'm Cain Heel." Inwardly, he winced. He'd nearly frozen. He should have thought this through–he certainly couldn't introduce himself as Ren Tsuruga. Nor could he introduce himself as Kuon Hizuri. Cain Heel, though, was safe. No one knew him. No one cared about him. No one would remember him.
"Hajimemashite, Heel-san," the nurse said. "You must be uncomfortable." She looked down on his hand, still palm-up under Kyoko's. "No one would blame you if you went home to rest."
"I won't leave her," he said. The words came out more sharply than he'd intended. "I can't leave her."
The nurse looked at him curiously and nodded. The strange man wasn't giving her any trouble, and the patient was doing better. "Try and get more sleep, then," she said. "I'll have them send you breakfast in a few hours."
I don't want breakfast, he wanted to say. But he didn't. Comical as it was, he'd eat breakfast because she would want him to eat breakfast. Her sickness wouldn't change that.
Quietly he contemplated her sleeping face. The nurse was right—she seemed easier now. The fever had broken, she was no longer restless. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, compounded with a rush of tenderness. If only he could hold her—he wanted that so badly. Instead, he simply kept watch.
The seconds ticked over into minutes, and the minutes dragged on. He was alone with his thoughts, which her presence threw into disarray. All around them the hospital buzzed and beeped—a constant hum that only made his silence in her presence too loud.
She murmured in her sleep.
"I love you," he told her. His words were a quiet rumble, staying close in the air between them. He said the words as if he was reciting a prayer. "Kyoko…I love you."
He thought of all the times he'd tried to forget her. All of the times he'd failed. I love you seemed small and pithy—how could it convey what he felt? A man did not love air, or water, or food. He needed her, or else he'd die. No, I love you wasn't nearly enough—but it was all he had to express the immensity of his hurt and his hope. "I've never stopped loving you. I never will. If you want me to stop acting and leave Ren Tsuruga behind, then I'll do it. I'm yours. Even you can't change that. Even if you're not meant to be mine, I don't think I'll ever belong to anybody else." He'd told her as much all through their summer together. She'd never really believed him.
There was no response. She slept on.
"I lost you and then I lost myself—for a while—"
What good was it to speak to her this way?
He had so much to say…and he wasn't sure he'd have the courage to tell her when she woke. Certain things had to be confessed. Certain things had to be said. He gulped, feeling a wave of grief and treasuring the touch of her hand in his…maybe for the last time. "For a while I didn't want to go on," he said thickly. "I didn't know what the point of going on would be, not if you were gone. Lory wanted me to drop this project and go back to you—and I should have. I should have listened to him and begged you to see reason, but you were so adamant when I left, and I—"
He paused. "I was angry."
The words came pouring out. It was a relief to say them out loud, even if no one could hear them but him. "So angry. I know that now. And I wasn't angry because you were cruel. I was angry because you were unjust. You weren't fair to me—you weren't fair to us." He paused. "The truth is that you never really trusted me. You didn't. You never let your guard down. Didn't matter what I did—carry your rocks, make out with your mop, any of it. You had our endings all planned out." Two unhappily ever afters, he thought. Or perhaps just one—his.
He let out a bitter laugh.
"I resented you. I resented how right you thought you were. Even though I think you knew how unfair you were being, you just…insisted on punishing me for things I hadn't done. I tried to hate you, but I couldn't hate you. I told myself you'd never felt the same way about me as I had about you. But I couldn't believe that—I know what we had was real. Even if you didn't think so, it was real, Kyoko. I don't think I'll ever believe you when you say we can't be together. I missed you so much I thought something had been cut from me—I could almost taste the blood in my mouth. Every second of every day, I sat there trying to convince myself that I would never see you again and that I would be fine with that. But it wasn't true. I'd tell myself that and then find myself looking for you with my next breath. And sometimes I wanted to go to you just to scream out 'Why?'—because I didn't deserve it, Kyoko. I know I didn't."
His eyes were beginning to blur, but he blinked the tears away. "I know you were just trying to protect yourself," he said. "I know how badly he hurt you—I know you never wanted to be hurt again. But I would never hurt you like that. After everything I'd done and said and told you—just to show you how much I cared—it hurt so much when you just…turned away from me. Like it meant nothing to you—like I meant nothing to you. You did it again and again and when I finally left, I didn't think I could survive it."
He shut his eyes. He couldn't bear seeing her pale, sleeping face on the pillow, not while he talked about this. "I don't think you would've liked who I've been these past few months." He choked back a sob, disguising it with another bitter laugh. "I was numb and I wanted to hurt things and I wanted to hurt people—I wanted them to hurt the same way I was hurting. And I thought—hey, maybe if I let the misery out, I won't feel so bad on the inside. I tried to be the man you accused me of being and I hated myself for doing it. I was 'undercover' so no one knew I was Ren, but—oh god, Kyoko. I would show up to the set two hours, three hours—four hours late. Got into fights with my co-star. Almost got thrown off the project." He sighed. "Part of me wanted to destroy everything I'd ever worked for. It was immature…but it was painful to pretend everything was fine. But even that wasn't the worst part."
He fisted his free hand, feeling the edges of his fingernails dig into his palm. "You always said I was a playboy—but I'm not. Not really. But for you, I tried to be. Out of spite, since you insisted on that being who I was. I got drunk one day…Two women found me and I got drunk and they took me to their hotel room. I didn't stop them. And I did exactly what you said I should be doing, because they sure as fuck wanted my dick." He shut his eyes against the memory. "Can you believe it? The Co-star killer, in bed with two women. A blonde and a brunette, two Americans visiting a tropical paradise. They picked me up and there I was, living out every guy's fantasy…" He spat out the word and felt his entire body tensing. "But they disgusted me. I didn't want them to touch me but I was determined to go through with it…" He trailed off, feeling nausea in his gut.
"They called me daddy, Kyoko." Even now the premise seemed absurd. It would have been funny if it didn't hurt so much to remember. "Daddy. And I was sitting there thinking What the actual fuck!? I couldn't even keep it up. I refused to kiss them, I refused to do anything to help them—but in the end I stayed right there and I let it happen." He gave a sarcastic laugh. "It's not like I can say I was forced into it. It wasn't anyone's decision but mine. But you know the saying, right? That the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else? That's what I told myself. And I thought—why not? But I know why I did it, even though I knew better. I thought maybe…maybe if I could be with them I could forget being with you. I thought I could force it—be someone who I wasn't. Because I'm an actor, you know? You put yourself in a role long enough and you become that character. But I couldn't be anyone else. The only character I could pull out of myself was some broken-hearted excuse for a guy, wanting to forget the only woman he's ever loved."
He let the tears fall now, unheeded down his cheek. "And oh god—I wanted it to be you so badly. You were all I could think about. Everything about them felt wrong. They smelled wrong. They sounded wrong. You were always so worried I'd find someone else, but you don't understand—you're the only person who fits me. You're the only one that will ever feel right. Because how can I go and fuck some random pussy knowing you exist?" His chest was tightening with his self-loathing. "And now I'll have to tell you what I did. How it felt like I was cheating on you, even though I was trying to convince myself that I would never see you again. Ten found me the next day and she told me—it wasn't that I had betrayed you. I'd betrayed myself. Because I know better. Because I am better." He wiped his tears away with his other hand. "On my flight I kept wondering if I should beg you to take me back. I kept thinking 'She broke up with you. Why would you beg someone like that to take you back?' But even then I knew better. I've always known better—I will never stop wanting you. But I'm poisoned now, Kyoko. So if you never want to see me again, I'll understand. I ruined whatever chance I had of coming back to you and making us whole again. I wish I could say it was lust that did it, except it wasn't. It was just desperation—and now….now…how could you ever want me back? I only wish I'd found out what that cast-mate did earlier. If I'd known…if I'd just known you'd called…but I had no idea you called, I swear it. I would have flown back just for your friendship. Just to hear your voice again in person. But I didn't know you'd called until yesterday, I swear—that woman was my cast-mate and she touched that phone without my permission—"
He turned to look at her, expecting to see her sleeping cherub's face.
He found himself gazing into amber eyes instead.
He felt the spirit knocked out of his body. He froze, his mind racing through a dozen possibilities. What had she heard? Her eyes were glazing with unshed tears. Shock reverberated through his core, followed by horror. "Kyoko—" he whispered. He jerked his hand away from her, as if her fingers had burned him. He'd bared his heart to an empty room, only to find that he'd had an audience all along. An audience of one—comprised of the only person in the world he'd wanted to protect from his unvarnished anger and resentment and the pathetic slavishness of his love.
"I'm—sorry—I…I didn't know you were awake…I never meant to wake you…" He cringed at the sound of his voice. He'd hoped for some poetry in their reunion, but poetry was reserved for the deserving. It was presumptuous of him to even assume there would be any kind of reunion at all.
"Kuon," she whispered. Her voice was rough with unshed tears. The way she said his name gave him shivers down his spine. Anyone else could have said it, and it would have meant nothing. A simple sound, nothing more. But when she said it, he felt his world stop in its tracks.
"You heard?" he asked.
"Everything," she said. Everything, he thought. Everything was a lot of things—but most importantly, everything meant she'd heard him talk about that.
"Even—?"
A brief nod.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
He saw it, moved to wipe it away, and then stopped himself. What right did he have to touch her? To comfort her? He'd followed his own whims and brought himself into her presence without her invitation or consent—and now he wanted to touch her?
"I've hurt you," he said. He'd meant to buy himself a little more time before his real confession. Perhaps a day, perhaps a few hours. Perhaps enough time to see her smile at him once more. He'd wanted to tell her gently. And now…he'd made her cry. No, she'd never want him back. He couldn't fix this—he couldn't fix them. And maybe he should cut his losses now before what remained of his dignity was obliterated. He steeled himself. "I didn't mean to tell you like this. Not when you're so sick…I just wanted to take care of you. But…I…understand," he choked out. "I…know you probably don't want me here," he said. "You're probably disgusted with me, and you'd be right to be disgusted with me." He stood still, paralyzed. He knew he should leave. He knew it was the right thing to do. He was trying to find it in him to turn around and walk away, but everything in him fought his logic.
No. He'd overstayed his welcome by her side. She was sick and vulnerable and her tears should be enough to tell him he wasn't wanted.
"I understand and I'm sorry." He clenched his hands into fists—both of them, this time. "I'll go," he said. "I'll go—I'm sorry—oh god. Kyoko, I'm sorry I made you cry—"
He made himself turn away from her. He could do this. He could. He would. "I'll always love you," he said, and then he made himself take a step back away from her—
A tug.
On his arm.
He turned around again, looking down in disbelief, looking at the small hand clutching onto his sleeve for dear life. She had raised herself off of her bed, reaching towards him and holding on just before he eluded her grasp.
Her tears were flowing freely now, and so were his.
"Aitakatta," she whispered. He heard her soft voice clearly in the quiet room, the longing in it piercing him to the core. "Kuon—"
He took a step towards her, his heart pounding in his ears, not quite believing what he'd heard. He'd expected condemnation from her—outright rejection. He'd expected her to tell him she never wanted anything more to do with him. But instead…
"Aitakatta," she said again. "Please—please don't leave—I've missed you…"
She fell back down onto her pillow, her strength expended. "—I've missed you so much—"
His heart, his body—everything in him answered her.
There was an intake of breath and a blink of an eye—he caught her hand as her grip weakened, and then he was cradling her into himself. She let out a sob as she clung onto him, wincing when she moved the arm with its catheter. She was light as a bird, fragile as glass, sobbing onto his shoulder. He was crying, too—whether for happiness or grief or relief, he wasn't quite sure. His lips kissed her forehead and then her cheek—soft, reverent kisses meant to comfort her as their tears mingled.
He leaned over her and she nuzzled against him, taking comfort in his warmth. His emotions were rising one moment and falling the next, his joy so acute it was nearly painful. He wasn't really breathing, trying not to hope but hoping anyway. "I won't leave you," he told her. The words flew out of him, half strangled. "Not if you want me here—I won't leave you—shhhh—"
The tears she'd kept locked up came out in a torrent. Months and weeks of pain were in a voice still roughened by illness. "Oh god, I'm sorry," she said. "I am sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I'm sorry for hurting you—because you're right—I hurt you, I did this to us…I ruined everything…I told myself you didn't care but I knew you did—and when…when that girl answered your phone I told myself 'Oh, it only serves you right' and then I told myself 'Well he deserves to be happy' and I tried to be fine but I wasn't fine—all I could think of was you…and someone else…and how good you'd be to her because I—I—"
"I'm here now," he said. "I'm here." She sniffled in response. He stroked her hair until her sobs quieted. He was surprised. Was this why she was crying? He tamped down a perverse spark of happiness that she hadn't accepted the idea of another woman in his life without pain. Such a thought was unworthy of him…and unworthy of her. That Manaka had caused her that pain angered him, but it was gratifying to know that she cared enough to be hurt. Her indifference would have been a thousand times worse.
"I was scared," she said. Her face was pressed against his shoulder. He could feel her eyelashes against his skin. "So scared. That you'd hurt me—so I hurt you first."
"I know," he replied. "I understand." He did. He'd known what she was doing—he'd known someone like her wouldn't trust easily. It was why he'd tried so hard not to push her early in their acquaintance.
Kyoko pulled back and looked at his face, still wet with his own tears. Patient. He was so patient—just as he'd always been. No matter how absurd her ask or how difficult the task, he'd always been patient. He said 'I know' with an easy acceptance that shamed her with its generosity. Oh, he'd said he was angry—she woke up to him saying that. But his understanding only emphasized the depth of the wrong she'd done to both of them. All he'd ever done was give her the best of him, and all she had done was anticipate the worst. He'd said as much to her on their last night together, but she hadn't listened.
"It wasn't right," she said. "It was cruel, and selfish, and immature—"
"It was cruel," he said. "And it hurt. It still hurts." She winced, but he just held her tighter. It would be easy to hide how deeply her actions had cut him. But this was a turning point for them—and he wanted to leave nothing unsaid. "I'm not going to lie and tell you that I'm fine, because I'm not—not yet. You broke my heart, Kyoko." He gave her a sad, sardonic smile, daring her to look away from him. "You did. I spent hours wondering what I could've done so that you'd believe in me…believe in us."
He paused, wondering if he should continue. It was too soon—too complicated, too big. But he knew what he wanted, and if she wanted it too, then who could stop them? "But I can't help it—I'll always come back to you. Because I know where you've come from, love." She gave a small start, but he kept talking. "You've been betrayed by the people that should have loved you best. I know how hard it was for you just to be with me—just to accept my love. I can't expect all of that to heal in a single summer. And I don't expect you to heal on your own. But you should know—I'm here for as long as it takes. I want you to know that, beyond any shadow of doubt. I want you to understand: you are safe with me, and if it takes me a lifetime to prove it to you, then I'll take that lifetime."
She choked on a sob. It was one thing to berate herself for her cruelty…another to hear him acknowledge it out loud. His words struck at her already-guilty conscience, but he was too kind to force her into groveling. "Kuon. Will you—?" Forgive me. She didn't finish the question. She didn't need to.
All she needed to do was look into his eyes for his answer. "Yes," he said. Softly, gently, with his hands still touching her as if she was the most precious thing in the world to him. "Always."
"I just—I just need—" She felt a sob in her throat again. The words were stuck inside her—she was flailing. And failing. All she wanted was to tell him how much she needed him. He was beside her, patiently waiting. Listening to her, the way he always did—the way he always would. She knew this, deep inside.
"Anything you need," he said. "Anything you want."
"I need to be with you," she whispered to him. He felt her hand clutch at his sweater again. "I want to be with you, the way you've been here with me. I want to make everything better—I love you. And I was so wrong. I'm so sorry, Kuon—"
Her words were like a salve over his wounds. "I love you too," he said. "And I want to be with you—"
A deep sob interrupted him as she kept crying. She wiped the tears away fiercely, but he cupped her face in his hands. "I'm yours," he said. "And you belong to me." His vision blurred. He felt his tears falling. "—But you can't do this again, Kyoko—" His voice broke, but he didn't stop. Everything burst out of him, fierce and wild—all of his anger bleeding out in just a few words, mixed with the desperation of having loved her without hope for so long. "—You can't do this again—I won't survive it—do you understand?"
She nodded yes, her lip quivering.
He moved his forehead to rest on hers. It was a familiar gesture for them both. She was trembling. Perhaps he was trembling too. She looked into his eyes, afraid of what she'd see. But there was so much hope in him—so much love, so much forgiveness, and not a trace of the resentment and anger she'd expected to find. She didn't feel as if she deserved it—after everything she'd done to distance herself away from him, how could he still look at her like that?
He deserved her whole heart—all of it, and all her faith, too. Even if it hurt. Even if it scared her. She knew what she had to lose—but she'd only started to understand what she had to gain.
"I trust you," he said. "With all of me. All of me. Just…please. Trust me, too."
"I do," she replied. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I do trust you. With all of me. From now on—I'll—I'll remember. To trust you. To know that you won't hurt me."
He nodded and kissed her hand, and then he settled himself around her—carefully, gingerly, conscious of the IV in her arm and the narrowness of the bed. She refused to let go of his sweater—and he didn't want her to.
Neither one of them knew who kissed who first. The kiss tasted like their co-mingled tears, but it tasted like a promise, too. It was a chaste kiss, one that lingered softly between them as they basked in each others' warmth. It felt right. It felt good. And more than anything, it felt true. When the kiss was done, they simply held each other. The bleeding edge of longing between them ceased to pulse and pull, and now, for the first time in a long time, there was relief.
=.=.=
Moments had a way of passing.
Perhaps it was something all humans had to contend with: the feeling of grasping at nothing as life passed through a sieve, gone nearly as quickly as it arrived. Kuon was a child of Hollywood—there were times when he saw his moments pass by like scenes from a movie. He wanted to pause this one, wanted to savor it in all of its sweetness. But it was already moving out of his grasp. He already knew his memories would never be enough to capture her living essence, but he knew he'd remember this moment for all of his life—remember it in high-definition, every detail limned in brilliant color: the way her lashes were jeweled with her tears, the soft curve of her lip tilting up into a perfect Cupid's bow as she said I love you. He'd remember the frayed edge of the hospital gown, dull blue and white, the plastic edge of her hospital bracelet knocking against the skin of her too-thin wrist, the smell of her hair against the pillow. He froze the image in his mind and mounted it like one more diamond on an already-glittering diadem. For a second he wished he could draw—what would he give to keep this image of her as she was right now? He kept so many visions of her inside him. Kyoko, his girl-in-the-woods, Kyoko, his-girl-under-fireworks—Kyoko, undone in ecstasy underneath him and then asleep in his bed and in his arms the morning after. This Kyoko, so outwardly frail and yet so fiery, would join them.
What had happened between them felt immense, but the world outside kept to its habits. The room grew brighter as the sun rose higher; they heard the hallways get busier as other patients woke and doctors began making rounds.
Kyoko pulled away first but put a hand on his heart.
"I can feel your heartbeat," she said.
"It beats for you," he said. And then he grinned. It felt good to grin. It was good to feel like grinning. It brought him a bittersweet ache. The wounds were healing but not gone entirely.
She grinned back through her tears. For him, it was like watching the sun break through the clouds. How long had it been since they'd smiled like this at each other?
"If you're going to use your playboy wiles on me, then you'll have to say something more original," she said.
"We've established that I'm a shitty playboy, ma'am," he responded. "Can't do original right now. Just the truth."
She giggled, but the giggle turned into a cough. With a start, he remembered where he was. No, it would not do to handle her like this—he'd forgotten she was sick. He kept an arm around the slim bole of her body and cradled her until she was back on her pillow, none the worse for wear.
She closed her eyes and then opened them again to look at him. "Did you—were you—did you stay in that chair all night?"
"For most of it," he said. "Except for the bits when they allowed me to be useful."
"I—oh Kuon—"
"What, did you think I'd simply agree to leave after seeing you so sick?"
"I can't imagine it would've been comfortable."
"You didn't look comfortable either," he said.
"Yes, but I'm the patient," she told him. "I'm not here for fun."
"Neither was I."
"I would've just been sleeping, Kuon," she said. "Nothing too unusual about that."
He put his hand on her forehead. "You were sleeping fitfully," he said. "And until a few hours ago, you were burning up. Nurse said the fever broke, but you still feel too warm to me."
"I'd feel better if you got some rest."
"I would feel better if I stayed next to you."
"You'll get sick if you don't rest," she said.
He gave her a bemused smile. "Says the pot to the kettle." His thumb rubbed over her hand. He sighed. "Kyoko," he said.
"Hmm?"
"Just…indulge me," he told her. "You're sick. Let me take care of you."
"But—"
"I crossed an ocean to be with you," he said. "Least you can do is let me."
She looked down and away from him and was silent for a minute. "I don't deserve you," she said finally. "I really don't."
He shook his head. "But you have me, for what it's worth. And it's not about what you deserve. You are Kyoko and I love you. Because you're you, not because of whatever thing you did to deserve love. I'm not your mother, Kyoko. And I'm not Sho, either."
"I…" Her shoulders slumped. "I really will. Try to be better. Be better," she said.
"You don't have to be better," he said. "Just—just know that I love you. That's never going to change. And you have to know that you are worthy and capable of giving and receiving love. Know that I'm never going to hurt you, not on purpose, at least."
He'd somehow found himself half-on and half-off her bed—his long legs were on the floor, but he'd laid his head on her pillow.
"But Kuon—I—I want to take care of you too. I'm—happy. So happy that you still love me. It's just that—" She frowned as he held her. His hair was a different color, but that wasn't a surprise. She figured it was for the role he'd taken in Guam. "—I don't expect you to just…forget how I hurt you."
"I don't think it's about forgetting," he said. "So much as it's…moving on. Understanding why. Forgiving. Choosing."
"Choosing?" she echoed.
"Loving you is as much my choice as it is my destiny," he said. "I will choose you every time, Kyoko."
"It seems wrong to be able to choose again," she said. "When my first choice was such a mistake."
"Dad always said it was something you had to keep choosing," Kuon responded. "He said to remember the things that are true. So I'm putting my faith in something I know is true. I love you. That is true."
She smiled, more with her eyes than her mouth. But another wave of guilt overtook her as she looked at him. "You look thinner." She'd regained a measure of calm, but she could see the dark circles under his eyes, too. "And tired."
"You look thin and tired, love," he said. "Too thin. The nurses told me you're malnourished and dehydrated."
She was silent.
"You should follow your own advice, Mogami-san," he said. "Breakfast in the morning, sleep through the night—" He looked at her. "—maybe let Yayoi-san help you with your tasks."
"I just got sick, that's all," she said. "It isn't overworking to do the chores I've been doing nearly my whole life—"
He looked at her with an eyebrow raised. He sighed. "Kyoko."
"—And I do get sleep, Kuon. Maybe not as much as some, but enough for me."
"Kyoko—"
"—Plus it's important to me to keep my focus on the work—"
"—Kyoko. Stop."
"—everyone else is in cram school, so it's not like I'm doing more work than they are—"
"Kyoko," he said. His tone brooked no argument. She stopped. "You're in the hospital because you collapsed, love," he said. "That's not normal. And somehow I don't think Yayoi is going to insist on your doing your daily tasks just yet."
"But…" She trailed off.
"Hmm?"
She hid her face in his shoulder. "With you here, I'll be stronger," she said shyly.
That brought a burst of warmth inside him. He remembered how hesitant she'd been to admit her own feelings. How she'd refused to read Juliet simply because the character was a girl in love. But this Kyoko was open and vulnerable—and he wanted to acknowledge and honor it. "We'll both be stronger," he said. "I need you too."
"I'm—sorry you had to fly all the way here, Kuon," she said. "Maybe they'll let me go home—"
"Your body needs to heal," he said. "I'll stay here with you for as long as you need me. You need food, and sleep, and rest—"
"Thank you," she said. "Kuon."
His hands were running soothingly through her hair, and then she took one hand in hers. There were words left to say, she was sure, on his part and on hers. She'd wanted to stay awake just to talk to him, to convince herself that this was real. For now, just being with him was enough. Her body felt heavy—she felt as if she'd spent the last few months running at a break-neck speed. He was with her—and it was just as it was in her dream. The storm had stopped. Here was a warm, safe place for her to rest.
"Sleep, Kyoko," he whispered.
Her eyelids felt heavy, her body languorous. "Stay?" she asked.
"Of course," he responded.
He smiled as she fell asleep in his arms.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
Author's Note: So…here it is. This chapter is done. I think. I guess. They're back together! Yay!
I started this chapter on the same night I posted the last one, but it didn't feel even remotely 'right' for a long, long time. Even now, I'm like—'is this right? Does this sound true?' I really struggled with it because…hey, crossing into cringe territory is incredibly easy with this kind of thing. So I hope this isn't cringey. And I hope it's satisfying. I leaned really hard into jdrama/kdrama tropes here. But…exhaustion is really a thing and people really do go to the hospital for it, at least in Japan. That said…this is one of the few scenes I had in my mind when I first started writing this fic more than two years(!) ago now. I knew what they'd be feeling but…not necessarily how they'd say it.
I owe many responses to your reviews. I'm not gonna lie, sometimes I don't know how to thank you all for the kind words. Sometimes I'm sitting there and I feel REALLY shitty in the middle of the day and I read something you've said about my work and I'm like—hey, maybe I AM somewhat competent in doing something. More than one or two of your reviews have made me cry. Like, ugly cry. Ugly ugly cry. In a good way.
I know I'm always writing these author's notes and I'm like 'omg it's been a terrible month/year/blah blah blah and lots of stuff happened,' but…it's been a REALLY crazy set of months, and lots of stuff DID happen, both personally and professionally. I know I'd alluded to this before in prior chapters, but I did get a new job almost exactly a year ago and it's…more time-intensive than the old one. So I AM sorry that these last two chapters took so long…though I think the lack of time is less important than how enragingly hard it is to write these emotional scenes.
I know I used the phrase 'One true thing' a few chapters back during Kyoko's arc-but it happens to be from something attributed to Ernest Hemingway: "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." I…am no Hemingway. But I love this.
Koseika Takeda is a real hospital in Kyoto.
Anyway. I'll be starting DoK 35 shortly. Please let me know what you think!
Love,
Parkerbear 18 October 2023