Chapter 9:
"Parallel."
The sunlight. It was how it streamed through her chocolate brown locks as they shook when she ran. He would watch her; always. When she sat in the orchard, her tiny legs crossed and her chin leaned on the palms of her delicate hands as she stroked the grass, he would wonder what she was thinking. He would watch her when she counted her steps while walking on the cold hall floor. He would hear her delighted laughter as it boomed and echoed through the empty rooms; it would make him smile. He would peek at her when she sometimes argued with herself over what was above the sky and frown as she would shut one of her eyes and encircle the sun with her small fingers. He would watch her as she read to herself, or as she bit her lip in deep concentration. He would see the gleam in her eyes when she was excited.
She carried an outline of light and color with her wherever she went. He had watched her laugh, he had seen her cry. She had painted the mansion's empty walls with joy, and she spread warmth all around.
He shouldn't have a preference, he shouldn't even care. But out of the three, she was the one who amazed him the most. He would watch her in awe. She had a way of getting to everyone around her.
There were times when he considered calling out to her, talking to her, laughing with her. Letting the little five-year-old child soothe some of the hurt in him. But there was always the one thing that stopped him. He couldn't let her know him; he wanted to live free of that guilt. He didn't want her to ever know him, she would be ashamed of him, and she would hate him if someday she knew.
She was small, full of life and joy. She didn't know him, but he loved her. He had no right to, but he loved her. So, as she asked him his name with curiosity burning in her eyes, he masked himself. He would let her live with a ghost of his reality, maybe this way, if someday she found out, she would hate him a bit less. He asked her name in return, even though he knew; he knew so well. He knew everything about her and he had loved her long before she ever saw him.
It was gradually dawning on him that despite the love he never experienced from his own father, even after years of yearning for it and claiming its existence, his restraint against love for his own children was a losing battle. In a way, it infuriated him, making him think of how unlovable and unworthy he must have been for his own parent to have no compassion whatsoever for him.
"Ro?" the little five-year-old girl waved her hand in front of the brown-haired man. "Are you sleepy?" she asked, blinking.
"No," he said, startled out of his thoughts. "Just, thinking."
She cocked her head. "I think too," she smiled. "Me and Luca, we think about what we will play next."
He beamed at her. "Do you like your book?" he asked gently.
She nodded. "But, Ro, I want that one." she pointed at the red, ancient cover of the volume placed on the high shelf.
He found it odd, that she should show interest in reading the one that appealed to him the most. "It's very difficult," he confessed. "You can't read it yet."
"I can, I can understand. I know how to read," she insisted.
He glanced at her pensively and knelt on his knees. "Let's make a deal, when you can reach it, you can have it."
She grinned, "I can keep it too?"
"Yes, but only when you can get all the way up there," he pointed to the raised compartment.
"It's okay," she said looking at her feet. "Yui-san says I grow up really fast."
And fast she did grow, when the days turned into months and the months into years. When the sun rose and was dipped in the darkness once again, the cycle was repeated and each moment ticked by the clock disintegrated into non-being.
"There," said the seven-year-old girl, holding the red ancient covered book up. "Mine," she smiled and got off her tiptoes.
"I would call that cheating," accused the brown-haired man, "But I guess a deal is a deal."
"I'll have this read by tonight."
"It's not how fast you read it though," corrected the man, smiling. "It's how deep you do, just as it doesn't matter what's on the outside of the cover, everything is within."
The girl grimaced. "You say that all the time, I don't get it," she admitted.
"Never mind, just promise me, you'll keep that with you and you'll keep it safe," he said indicating the scarlet printed volume.
"I will," she agreed. "The Three Magi," she read from the cover. She closed her eyes in concentration and repeated his earlier used words. "Everything is within."
"That's right. Everything is in the book, Claire, it's all you need."
She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him.
"Stay safe," he said, shutting his eyes slowly.
She gently traced the dark circles under his eyes with her fingers. "You look tired, are you sick?" she asked concerned. He had looked weaker with each passing day since the previous year.
"Just a bit under the weather," he said hastily. "Nothing serious," he stood up and stroked her hair. "Goodbye then."
"Are you going somewhere?" she asked, worried.
"No," he assured. "Just to take some rest. I will see you again," he said but his voice lacked any hope, and surely, even though he forced her to believe the contrary, that was the last time she saw him.
Over the next few days, it felt like Killua and I were stuck in some ridiculous loop of finding ourselves in compromising positions and then being subjected to the most unreal interruptions.
For instance, after he tucked a stray lock of my hair behind my ear, our faces were automatically gravitating towards each other. Too bad the scoop of ice cream on my cone was doing the same sequence but with my attire.
Killua spent the next fifteen minutes trying to fruitlessly wipe the remnants of frozen dairy off of my dress. "It's fine," I told him, finding his effort sickeningly sweet. "I didn't even really like this dress."
"I did," he informed, looking bothered with the way things had turned out. I didn't make anything of it, I was still set on labeling this as a friendship.
The intrusions were sometimes self-made and sometimes an outside contribution. These also came in the midst of heavy cliches, like how Killua tried to subtly make a move during a movie we decided to catch last-minute at the theatre, and Gon's hand protruded out of nowhere in search of popcorn.
Killua pushed the bucket to him with a little more aggression than necessary, while his clueless friend munched on, completely invested in the contents of the big screen.
The latest, and most excruciating, of these disruptions came with a string of unimaginable consequences. Killua had just parked the car right in front of my driveway one evening, again insisting on dropping me off like it was absolutely imperative.
Naturally, we'd found ourselves in that almost-there dance while he tried to get my door right from where he was with those long arms he had at his disposition. It looked like they came in handy for more than that since they instigated another potential kiss, except a sudden knock on the passenger window had us absolutely startled.
"Mom," I breathed in horror, spotting her lowered head as she squinted to make us out.
Killua, the oblivious idiot he was when it came to my family, made the grave mistake of turning on the cabin light as a reaction.
"Killua!" came my mom's ear-splitting shriek of joy upon recognizing him. "You made good time, we're just setting up dinner."
My heart plummeted as the window glass slid down, mirroring my own sinking spirits "He can't stay mom, don't corner him," I warned, struggling to unbuckle my seatbelt.
"I think he can speak for himself," my mother brushed me off like I was a dirt-eating child. "Can't you stay, Killua?"
There was the briefest moment where he made eye contact with me before responding and I knew this night would end up in a headache for me. "Actually, I'd love to."
Standing outside the car, I could now see the way the cabin light illuminated Killua's face, casting an unnatural glow on his usually pale skin. I shot him a desperate look. He just shrugged, that infuriatingly charming smile still playing on his lips.
My mom, oblivious to the mounting tension (or perhaps enjoying it a little too much), beamed at us. "Wonderful! Come on in, Killua." Turning to me, she unleashed the full force of destruction that she had stored up her sleeve.
"Guess what?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eye, as if she hadn't already orchestrated this entire social minefield.
"You and Dad are planning to break out the interpretive dance routine again?" I muttered, already dreading the inevitable "Thriller" performance.
"Better," she chirped, her smile widening. "Your grandmother is here! I wanted to surprise you, but I thought I'd give you a heads-up now that Killua's joining us."
My jaw dropped. "Nonna?" I echoed, the word tasting like ashes. "Oh, this is a disaster."
My grandmother, bless her enthusiastic soul, was the epitome of chaotic energy. The thought of subjecting poor, unsuspecting Killua to her whirlwind of affection, her endless stream of questions, and her uncanny ability to overshare was enough to make me want to disappear into a thin wisp of smoke.
As my mother went in ahead of me, I turned back to glance at Killua, who was watching the exchange with an amused expression. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air.
I reasoned all of this was his own doing, so there wasn't much I could do for him. I put a hand on his arm to put him to a halt. "Whatever happens behind this door...is entirely out of my control," I finished, my voice a low murmur. "You've been warned."
His answering grin clearly conveyed that he did not take my words as seriously as he should have. Too bad for him because the rest of the evening was a torturous exercise in failed social graces.
My nonna had enveloped him in an invading embrace before I could even properly introduce the guy. He was also immediately proclaimed the most gorgeous man in existence.
He was handed a drink and passed from person to person, then seated at the table before he properly even had the chance to say two words.
I dutifully sat next to him as soon as that happened, the best I could do under the circumstances.
It seemed like everyone had decided to tap into insanity that evening. My mom, a whirlwind of nervous energy, hovered around us, showering Killua with compliments and embarrassing anecdotes about my childhood.
My dad was the only person with a semi-normal approach to the whole thing, managing to strike somewhat decent conversation with Killua about his line of work.
Unfortunately, the two crazy women were not having it. A heated battle for Killua's attention ensued, culminating in the dreaded question that always sent shivers down my spine. "How long have you two been dating?"
"We're not dating!" I interjected loudly before Killua had the opportunity to respond.
Everyone was just recovering from the startle of my volume when the front door opened and the evening somehow progressed from bad to worse.
My neighbor, Mr. Domoto, barged in ever so comfortably, asking what smelled so good. He was naturally accommodated at the table like it was no big deal.
While this wasn't an odd occurrence at all, I had to wonder and plead with the universe why it had to happen on this evening in particular.
"Who's this guy?" he asked gesturing to Killua when he finally registered his presence.
"This is Killua," my mother introduced with sickening admiration thick in her voice.
"Claire's boyfriend," my nonna added sneakily before forking a bite of meatloaf in her mouth.
I felt like I was on the verge of imploding. "He's not my boyfriend!" I screamed, no longer being able to care that Killua was yet to see this side of me.
My unhinged family wasn't the least bit put off by that and Killua on his part looked more amused than anything else.
"He's a friend— a friend," I pressed when everyone seemed to just take my blow-up as further confirmation of their assumptions.
"Is that your car out front?" Mr. Domoto swerved, addressing Killua like I was invisible.
And suddenly the men had jumped into a conversation about cars, the engine modifications of Killua's (apparently impressive) vehicle a much more captivating topic than my rapidly escalating social anxiety. I slumped back in my chair, defeated. This was officially the most disastrous dinner in human history.
My grandmother, oblivious to my distress, continued to bombard Killua with questions about his family. While it was intrusive, it ended up becoming a pool of information of things about him that I had yet no access to.
It turned out his family ran a business, service trade, no further details. He remarked that it was too boring to get into. His answers were polite but provided as minimal information as was required, luckily my family was too taken by him to notice that.
I was struggling with the beginnings of a migraine by the time they let him off the hook. A pile of leftovers was all but forced on him and he was seen off all the way to his car.
The chaotic evening made me realize the extent of how little I knew about Killua. It wasn't as much of a realization as it was a sudden and unsettling awareness.
The next morning, he called me really early, asking if I'd be open to grabbing breakfast before class. I agreed and we met up at the one lonesome coffee shop that was closest to campus.
"You're not nervous," he noted as we sat facing each other and I picked a croissant apart.
"Should I be?" I asked, putting a bite of food in my mouth.
"Judging by what you said," he reminded, gesturing at me, "maybe."
"Oh… right," I agreed, recalling the connection of his presence and my appetite. "I suppose you're right."
"Or maybe I don't have that effect on you anymore," he suggested, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. I realized that he definitely looked like someone who would go for straight-up black coffee. How anyone could ingest that stuff was beyond me.
"You definitely have that effect," I confirmed, not finding it in me to take another bite.
He observed me curiously. "Just for the sake of clarity, why is that?" He probed, lacing his fingers under his chin. This was suggestive, I wasn't an idiot. But then again I was.
"Not sure…" I checked my phone for the time. Unfortunately, we had plenty. "I wouldn't say I find you intimidating, probably just very mysterious."
"Hm," he weighed that for a second. "I thought we covered the basics."
"The basics are definitely not enough," I clarified struggling to make contact with those analytical blue eyes. "You know more about me than the basics, as of last night, you know my family." I couldn't give that reminder without a shiver.
"So, you've been feeling like this since last night," he deciphered, sounding almost fascinated in that realization. "Last night was interesting," he added with an uninterpretable smile.
I couldn't help but grimace. "Try mortifying. But at least it will keep you from the vicinity of my house, I hope you've learned your lesson."
His eyebrows knotted in confusion. "What are you talking about? Can't speak for you, but I enjoyed it." He went for another sip of his coffee to cover his sneaky grin.
I gave him a look. "You enjoyed seeing me be tortured."
He snorted in the middle of a sip, ending up coughing from the reaction. But it wasn't long at all before that cough had morphed into laughter. He wiped a stray tear from his eye, his shoulders still shaking with amusement. "Tortured?" he finally managed to get out, his voice husky. "I'm not sure that's the right word."
"Glad you enjoyed that," I congratulated bitterly, waiting for his chuckles to die down.
He took my bag from me as we made our way back to campus. There was this one ginormous tree on the south end of the school-ground. It was partially obscured by the boundary wall and another half by the library building.
It had unique strategic value for students, hence why a bunch of commemorative ribbons were tied all around most of its branches. It looked like Killua hadn't come across it before, which explained why he stopped to glance at it curiously.
"What's this?" He wondered, poking a small minutely folded note that hung from a stray ribbon that had definitely seen better days.
"You don't want to know," I postulated, stopping to see him continue his assessment.
"Some sort of wishing tree? I had no idea high-schoolers could be this lame," he commented, plucking a particularly faded ribbon from a branch.
I rolled my eyes at his remark. "Try again buddy, this is actually the school's designated make-out tree."
That piece of information seemed to amuse him. "Any special reason?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure visual accessibility is the main advantage here, then these ribbons make it look like there's some actual wish-making going on here, so there's no reason to suspect people hanging out here. It's very clever if you think about it," I explained, locking my hands behind my back.
"Ah, the workings of the minds of hormonal teenagers are quite remarkable," he appreciated, moving to tie the deprecated ribbon back. He was very gentle with it.
"You speak as if you're long past the tumultuous experience of being a teenager."
He looked thoughtful on hearing my statement. "Not quite," he discerned, staring down at me.
The electricity that passed between us from that little instance of eye contact had me weak in the knees. I was pretty sure I knew what was about to happen, I was also pretty sure that there weren't going to be any interruptions this time around, but I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned closer, his eyes twinkling. "I might still have a few teenage tendencies lingering," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. "And," he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I've always been a bit of a rebel."
His eyes, dark and intense, held mine captive. I felt a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling within me. This wasn't just a casual flirtation anymore. This was something deeper, something more intense.
And as he leaned closer, his eyes searching mine for a sign of consent, I realized that I wasn't afraid at all. In fact, I was strangely exhilarated. But I wasn't sure that I should be.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked weakly, with his mouth so distractingly close to mine.
"With all the lead-up to it? Pretty sure," he confirmed, his fingertips touching my chin lightly.
"I mean, the physical aspect, it complicates things." I swallowed, wondering where I was getting the clarity of mind to say all this with the lack of distance between us and how nice he smelled.
He tilted his head a little, like he was at looking me through a new set of eyes. "I see." He did not sound offended, just intrigued. I knew from experience that this was not how most guys would react to being turned down. Even though I wasn't really turning him down. "You're like me, you think too much," he revealed, stepping back and sinking his hands into his pockets.
I blinked, surprised at the parallel. "You don't look like you're thinking too much right now."
"Because I've already thought about it too much," he confessed, his voice conveying no hesitation, "the before, the after, the implications."
"And what conclusion have you come to?" I demanded, the curiosity was almost painful.
"The thing is, we always need for it to make sense," he decoded looking up at a ribbon that started dancing with the breeze. "I've come to the conclusion that it doesn't matter. I think we should let it happen."
I couldn't make sense of most of what he said, although that was paradoxically in line with what he had assessed regarding me, or us.
"Don't think it over too much," he advised, probably seeing the struggle on my face. "I'm pretty sure it's inevitable."
A shaky breath escaped me at his words. Turned out that this wasn't as casual to him as I thought. But I still had concerns of my own. "But I still think I should know you more."
"You know everything you need to know," he declared, conveying that he had no intention of opening up.
"I barely know anything," I corrected, not liking the way he was shutting off while speaking of taking things further.
"You know more than most."
"I'm not sure if you think that's supposed to make me feel better," I argued, recognizing that cold way he withdrew when I expected more. "It doesn't."
He sighed, the way his body was now angled away from me was a clear indication that he was done with this conversation. "Well, that's too bad."
I silently watched him walk away, the sting of rejection sharper than I expected.