Continued here:
Previous|
Part 1
_______________________________________
Turning a steely gaze at Hisao, Amaya's face goes from excitement to dissent in no time flat. As I recall, Hisao claimed no complicity in this fireworks fiasco, and I believed him; as did Amaya. Looking toward him as he stands, I try to keep the disappointment off my face, but at least he doesn't look guilty; maybe we owe him the benefit of the doubt.
Amaya is no less curious to hear him explain his apparent role. Folding her arms defensively and waiting patiently, she looks ready to start screaming if necessary. The only indication of nervousness on Hisao's part is that it seems like he's avoiding my gaze completely, but I can't tell if it's because he's embarrassed about the fireworks or something else.
“Getting the fireworks was my idea; not blowing them up in your face,” Hisao explains, shaking his head toward Tadao, “that was their half-baked plan.”
“Yeah, he's right,” Kenta confirms, parting from Yoko finally to stand and join the conversation, “that was our bad idea. Hisao just suggested picking up the fireworks in the first place.”
Still sitting, Amaya squints and glares at Hisao for a few seconds; waiting to make sure he isn't lying, I imagine. Kenta's confirmation seems to have placated her ire well enough, but it gave me a few new questions. For the fireworks to have been Tadao's idea, or Kenta's, made perfect sense. There's a pyromaniac hidden behind Tadao's gentle facade, and Kenta just likes watching things explode if his taste in movies is any indication. All this time Hisao seemed to have quieter hobbies, so for him to suggest fireworks is just strange.
“Okay, whatever,” Amaya says with a shrug, “you survive another day, cow-lick.”
As Tadao and Kenta head off down the beach, Hisao stays behind for a few seconds while conspicuously staring at the fire. Something tells me I should try and find out why, but I'm frozen in place. Once the boys have gotten beyond the range of the firelight, Hisao chases after them, leaving me to wonder. If there were ever a time I wanted a sixth sense, it's right now. All I can do is hope it isn't anything too terrifying.
Looking toward Amaya, she doesn't seem concerned about his abrupt departure, but I know the look on my face will give me away quickly. Instead of letting that happen, I stand and act like I'm stretching my legs so I can look away without drawing suspicion. However, that turns me directly into the gaze of Shizune, and that might actually be worse, but I'm out of options unless I walk out of the campsite – which would just draw attention.
What's he plotting...? And why do I feel nervous?
It could be something simple, and I'm just getting worked up about nothing, but maybe it isn't and I should be worried. When Hisao was sitting on the stairs reading earlier, I left him alone with his thoughts. That far-off expression could have meant anything; he's prone to extended periods of inner monologue, but he also kept looking at me. In the back of my head, that thought is setting off alarms. Maybe it shouldn't since we're dating and I was in a swimsuit, but I don't think he was leering so much as contemplating. There's something on his mind, and it's making him nervous.
And that's making me nervous...
Taking a chance at Amaya's scrutiny, I turn and look off toward where the boys went. All I can really see are shadows against the darkened sky, but it looks like Hisao is talking to both of them – either that or I need new glasses. Whatever they're talking about, it doesn't seem like they're handling explosives at all, so maybe he just has ideas about the display; he did spend most of the festival fireworks talking about how they're made and how they work. Most of it went over my head while I was too distracted to listen, but he seemed to know an awful lot about it, so he might just be offering advice on their setup. If I think real hard I can even imagine his voice talking about powder ratios, fuse times and a hundred other things I don't care about.
That could make sense, but I'm probably fooling myself...
Whatever he's doing, I can't hear anything they're saying; they could be talking about baseball for all I know. Maybe he's planning to attempt the first blast off into space without a vehicle, and he needs their assistance strapping all the fireworks to his back. That would make me an astronaut's girlfriend, I think. There might be a parade involved and that might be fun, but it would more likely end in a funeral, which would make me an astronaut's widow.
Wait, no... you have to be married to be a widow, right?
As I'm imagining a hundred stupid reasons Hisao might be nervous, I fail to realize I've started pacing. Not only that, but I've drawn quite the entranced audience. Looking down, I notice I've worn a narrow path in the sand, and Naoko is giggling despite herself – which is an unusual sound. Glancing around, I see Amaya raising a coy eyebrow at me, and Shizune is shaking her head while Misha rocks back and forth trying to avert her eyes. Yoko motions to speak, but I hold up a hand to silence her and drop down quickly, sitting on my knees and slouching to try hiding my flustered expression.
There goes my dignity...
“Worried he'll blow a thumb off?” Amaya inquires, just barely keeping herself from laughing.
Instead of replying, I launch myself back to my feet and walk away from the fire to try and calm down, or save face, whichever is handy. The giggling that erupts from over my shoulder drives me to stomp a few extra paces before I stop and take a few deep breaths. Whatever I might be thinking, the only way I'll find out is by having a little patience, but their snickering isn't helping.
Neither of them knows why I'm anxious, though, so there's at least that. Actually I don't know what I'm nervous about, really. Hisao has acted suspicious before and it didn't turn out bad, so maybe I should just think positive. It's difficult when I'm left completely in the dark, figuratively and literally, but there's not much I can do about that. Although after the discussions I had with Amaya earlier, I wouldn't be surprised if it does turn out to be something bad – bad things come in groups of three, I've heard.
Anklet worries, fireworks fiasco and now-
“Hey!” Hisao calls, breaking my train of thought and sending me spinning around. Meeting his generous grin with a nervous smirk probably isn't what he expected, but I don't think I have much control over that now. The thumb pointing over his shoulder is followed by a request, “I got them to delay the display; you feel like a walk?”
A walk? Just a- Oh wait...
“U-um...” I stammer, trying and failing to sound casual, “s-sure, I could use some... air.”
For just a second, Hisao's smile falters and panic crosses his expression, but he quickly recovers and redoubles the smile. If anything, it's comforting to know he's probably as nervous as I am, but at least he knows why. The possibilities continue to rack my brain, but I've got enough sense to grin and take his offered hand. Wherever we're going, I don't think either of us is holding onto any illusions; this isn't just a walk.
Well, maybe it is to start. Until we're well beyond earshot, and for a while after that, we're both completely silent. It's not the most comfortable silence we've shared, but it's allowing me the chance to calm down at least a little. His plans are still a mystery, but that's something I've always liked about Hisao. Even before we met, I remember being somewhat obsessed with the unanswered questions surrounding his late arrival at Yamaku.
Among other things...
The first thing I notice is that he's not leading us down the same path we took last night. Instead, we're headed down the beach toward the boardwalk. As we're walking, I notice he's still smiling, but he keeps looking over his shoulder like he expects someone followed us, and his free hand keeps fidgeting around his pants pocket.
In an effort to help him ease up, I break the hand hold and start walking backwards beside him. “They can't hear us much more than twenty feet away, y'know,” I mention, pointing back toward the distant bonfire, “you can probably relax.”
He throws one last longing look over his shoulder and sighs, “Probably...”
The resigned tone to his voice makes me giggle, and I feel a bit of my own tension slipping away. The sand squishing between my toes and the sharp breeze coupled with the prevailing darkness makes me feel light. With Hisao walking beside me, even anxious like he is now, I feel completely safe closing my eyes to breathe in the sea air. While my eyes are closed, I put my arms out to the sides and pretend I'm soaring through the night sky.
“Here it is,” Hisao says, causing me to open my eyes. Looking toward him, I see he's wandered off toward some rocks along the shore; they're somewhat familiar. “This is the place, right?” he asks, glancing back at me, “the tidal pools?”
Stopping my backward march, I scan around and shrug. The tide is in and it's dark out, so I'm not sure it's the same place, but Hisao seems convinced. “Looks like it,” I reply, following him down toward the rocky outcropping, “does it matter?”
“A little,” he says, but doesn't elaborate.
Following his eyes, I see he's trying to see something in the rocks, or something on the rocks, but I don't remember there being anything special. Shaking my head at his apparent desire for secrecy, I tilt my head and ask, “What are you looking for?”
“There!” he practically shouts, “C'mere! I wanna show you something for a change.”
Taking my hand as he goes, he leads us around to the other side of the outcropping and points up toward the top of the rocks. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and see what he's pointing at, but I'm still confused. “Stairs?” I wonder aloud.
“A throne,” he corrects, pointing to the top of the strange natural staircase. At the top there's a well-weathered bench of sorts seemingly cut into the rock-face. “I saw it when we came down here the other day,” he explains, motioning toward the stairs, “almost thought I was seeing things.”
While I'm still staring at the unusual structure, Hisao heads over and starts to climb the first few steps. Looking back at me, he grins broadly and holds out a hand. “Mi'lady, your throne awaits,” he says with a coy smirk.
While the prospect of climbing on top of what looks like a slippery rock fifteen feet in the air seems like a bad idea, that smile is making it hard to refuse. After a last hesitant glance at the precarious bench, I nod willfully and step over to take Hisao's offered hand, though I quickly start climbing on my own. It's not really slippery, and some of the edges are jagged but I'm not complaining. The trip up to the top of the pool building isn't any less daunting, and I've always liked high places even if I'm not really fond of heights.
Hisao reaches the top first and sits on the bench before turning to offer me a hand along the last few steps. There's enough room to sit side-by-side without risk of toppling over, but just barely. Once I've gotten into position, I take a moment to look around and notice we're up high enough to see both the distant campfire and the lamps along the boardwalk.
With the stars blanketing the sky beyond in a swirl of brilliant sparkles, and sitting in a darkened perch above the rolling waves, I almost feel like I'm flying. Of course, with Hisao sitting so close beside it's easy to remember I'm still connected to Earth, but, when I finally look at him, I can tell he's thinking something similar. That childlike wonderment has returned, and for the moment none of the worries I had about this little trek seem to matter.
“I hope you don't mind sharing your throne,” he says, bowing slightly and averting his eyes.
“You keep calling it that,” I retort, shaking my head at his regal reference, “but I don't remember laying claim to it.”
“Where else would the Queen of the Sea sit to lord over her Queendom?” he asks, sweeping a hand out toward the glimmering waves, “The trinket about your ankle is the mark of your lordship; would you disappoint your subjects?”
“Are you among my subjects?” I ask, playing along.
“Well...” he replies, trailing off and looking away, “if you'll have me, mi'lady.”
Instead of answering verbally, I reach up to pull his face over and plant a kiss on his cheek. “You can be Captain of the Queensguard, then,” I announce, “Chief slayer of Dolphins.”
“Dolphins?” he prompts, looking confused.
“My aquatic nemesis!” I reply, narrowing my eyes and clenching a fist.
“But-”
“Don't question me, Captain,” I interrupt, “or I'll serve you to the sharks!”
Staring at me for a moment, his face goes from startled to incredulous.“You wouldn't dare!” he proclaims.
“Don't tempt me!” I retort, already starting to laugh, “your agonizing death would be nothing more than a trifling amusement~!”
After managing to say all that, I drop all pretense and start laughing hard. Hisao holds a straight face for a few moments, but it quickly cracks and he starts laughing. For a few minutes we say nothing, lost in giddy laughter. We manage to stop a few times, but as soon as our eyes meet, it starts up again. This isn't nearly as terrifying as I feared. This spot atop the rocks really does feel like a throne, and the view is something worth seeing, especially in this company.
Wrapping my arm around his waist, I squeeze closer and sigh loudly, my shoulder still bobbing with internal chuckling. After a few moments, I notice he hasn't done the same and instead feels a little tense. Looking at his expression, I'm suddenly feeling nervous again. He's still smiling, but instead of the mirthful grin I've come to know, it's an uneasy smile – almost a wince.
“What's wrong?” I blurt, suddenly not feeling like being coy.
My question seems to have surprised him a little, and he looks a little shocked. The trepidation on his face finally shows completely, the smile vanishing into a somewhat grim look of something like determination. It's an unfamiliar expression, though I think I've seen it before, and I'm still holding out hope that it's nothing bad, but the nerves are making me hold my breath in suspense.
Finally, he recovers his senses and puts on a weak smile. “There's something I need to tell you,” he says, and suddenly I feel like all the air got sucked out of the world.
That can't be good.
His statement seems to have had the same effect on him, and it's followed by a long silence. Whatever he's planning to say, it clearly isn't something he takes lightly. As I'm waiting for him to continue, I remember where I've seen that look before; the day he told me about his arrhythmia. If this is anywhere near as important as that, I don't feel silly for being nervous. However, I have a sinking feeling this will somehow be worse.
Finally he gives up trying to say anything, and instead reaches into his pants pocket; the one he kept tapping as we were walking. Curiosity crosses my expression as I watch him draw out a folded piece of paper – no, it's an envelope. Holding it out with both hands, he presses it against his thigh, attempting to work out the crease. Giving up on that, he shrugs and lets out a sharp breath, holding the letter up so I can see the delicate kanji script. Just one small grouping of symbols catch my eye; three characters spelling out the name “Iwanako.”
Well, it could be worse...
Finding myself staring, I notice it's a little wrinkled, probably from being stuffed in his pocket, but it appears to have remained unopened. Evidently he still hasn't read the message, and I'm not sure whether I think that's good or not. From the look on his face, a somewhat wistful grimace, I can glean that the contents have him feeling apprehensive; especially when I notice he pulled his shoulders tightly against his neck while his free hand is back to stroking his sternum.
“I told you I'd talk about it when you asked, but it's been burning a hole in my pocket -so to speak- all weekend,” he remarks, turning it over and resting it on his knee. “I figured you saw it,” he admits, turning a raised eyebrow at me, “I wasn't really surprised; it's hard to miss. She always did know how to make her presence known...”
As he trails off, I see his expression shift to a more somber frown. Not knowing what he expects me to say, I just nod dumbly and wait for him to continue.
“Iwanako was a girl a lot like you,” he starts, turning his gaze back toward the waves. Narrowing his eyes, he continues, “She had long dark hair like you, and lovely, sparkling eyes like you; though they were both the same dark brown color. She was confident, but shy and reserved, and she liked math the way you do. She was good at it, y'know?”
Letting out a quick laugh he turns back to face me and adds, “She also liked to conspire with her friends the way you do.” I nod, but notice his smile quickly tighten into a grimace, “Which led to my finding a note in my math book early one February morning.”
February? This year? Isn't that when-
“So, five months ago,” he continues, quickly answering my silent question, “I found myself standing out in the middle of a snowy soccer field, rereading the pink letters over and over, getting more nervous and sweaty as the minutes passed.” Looking at me sidelong, he adds, “I kinda knew who it was from, but not really.”
Regaining the wistful smile, he shrugs and glances toward the distant bonfire; a glowing orange speck in the distant darkness. “Then she was there,” he says, quickly looking back at me, “and my heart leaped into my throat. Kinda like in the lunch room last week...”
When I smile sheepishly, recalling the incident, he shakes his head and laughs.
“She said she wanted to be my girlfriend,” he continues, “which was apparently too much for my heart...”
Oh? Oh. Oh no...
“Right out in that snowy field, listening to her horrified screams,” he says with a morbid smirk, “I collapsed and basically died.”
Well, that's one way to put it...
Going silent, he looks back out at the crashing surf and waits. When he told me he had a heart attack, I always assumed it was because of a shock or exertion, maybe from when he was playing soccer, but I never thought a girl's confession could be the reason. Recalling the lunchroom incident, I wonder if that could have been enough to push him into an attack; which is a horrifying thing to imagine.
Realizing he has more to tell, I clear my throat and place a hand on his shoulder. Trying to smile through my shocked expression, I prompt him to, “Go on.”
Nodding, he sighs and continues, “I awoke in the hospital sometime after surgery. I told you what happened then; the doctor told me I had a heart attack, that I had arrhythmia, and I was going to spend the foreseeable future in that stale, white room.”
Turning back toward me, he pauses, takes a breath and picks the letter off his knee. Rolling it over in his hand as he speaks, his voice falls to a whisper. “What I didn't tell you is that Iwanako came to visit me the most – almost every day. We hardly spoke, but, when everyone else seemed to be abandoning me,” he grunts a sigh, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “she kept returning to my bedside, telling me the inane things happening at school, and trying to keep smiling.”
As much as I feel like Iwanako is somehow my competition, especially after hearing how similar we seemed, I can't help but feel like it was a good thing she visited him so much. Nobody should be left cut off in a hospital like that, especially not sweet, happy, brown-haired boys with heart conditions. Maybe I even owe her some thanks, but I think there's more to this or Hisao wouldn't look quite so guilty right about now.
After a moment he adds, “Somehow it didn't help.”
Lately, seeing him joking around and getting along with my friends, I sometimes forget how sullen and distant Hisao seemed when he first arrived at Yamaku. Some credit for his turnaround is mine, but I wasn't the only one helping him get used to the new school, and the circumstances that brought him to Yamaku. Shizune and Misha befriended him almost immediately, and Emi got him to start taking his arrhythmia seriously. Amaya and Tadao accepted him almost from the moment they met, and I know there are plenty of people, maybe even Kenji, who deserve some credit for helping him see past his disability.
He was a wreck when I first met him, though...
“Instead of being happy to be alive,” he remarks, “I felt a little like I'd actually died, and Iwanako was the only one who kept visiting my antiseptic grave.”
Although I understand the sentiment, I haven't heard anything so cynical from Hisao in a while. It stuns us both into silence, and suddenly my throne feels extremely uncomfortable. When he talked about slipping into depression before, he never explained how it happened beyond the revelation of his condition. The pained expression on his face, and the slow shaking of his head, indicate he isn't finished, and I'm almost frightened to hear the rest, but I can tell he needs this. It's probably a good thing he's telling me this, even if it pains me to hear the story.
“By my side almost every day,” he continues recounting, “she started to change, too. Instead of smiling and talking, she would sit and read, or just stare out the window. Some days we didn't say a word. It was more like an obligation for both of us, and eventually...” Turning the letter over in his hand, he shakes his head, bowing it slowly. “Eventually,” he repeats, sighing heavily, “she just stopped coming back... and it was my fault.”
Watching him, his last words echo in my mind; he blames himself for her leaving, but I'm not sure that's right, or fair. When Dad was on his last breaths, lying in that hospice, I stayed away; I couldn't handle it. Seeing him like that filled me with something like rage and fear all mixed together, and I couldn't even look at him without wanting to scream or cry. Hisao wasn't dying; he had already done that – while she watched, no less. Still, watching him drift into depression must have been awful. If Hisao were anything like he is now, seeing him transform into the gloomy version I first met had to have been horrible.
What would I have done in her place?
“When Shizune delivered this,” he says, holding up the letter, “that was the first time I'd thought about Iwanako since shortly after coming to Yamaku.”
Is that why she's been avoiding me?
With no small amount of reverence, he holds out the letter toward me, apparently offering it to me. While it hangs there waiting for me to take it, he offers a tiny smile and remarks, “I haven't had the courage to open it.”
Hesitantly taking the letter, I set a pensive look on him. “You want me to open it?” I ask, glancing at it briefly.
He doesn't nod or say anything, but I get the sense that's what he intended. Lifting it up, I turn it over and examine the delicate kanji lettering. Looking at it in the dim moonlight, I'm not sure how he expects me to read it, but there's something else wrong. If Iwanako and I really had as much in common as Hisao described, then I can probably guess what it says, and, considering that, I don't think I want to find out.
Had I written a letter to Dad months later, I would have started by begging forgiveness, trying to explain why I couldn't be there, or coming up with an excuse. Thinking about it, I realize it would be an empty apology full of worthless, self-serving platitudes. Despite everything I felt, I know I should have been strong enough to visit, to sit by his side, to stare down my fears and be there for him, if only for his sake. Dad was amazing and, in the end, even after all he taught me about being strong and facing fear head-on, I was a coward. Writing something like this wouldn't have been for his benefit, but instead just a selfish attempt to placate my guilty conscience.
Hisao deserves better than an empty apology.
“No,” I say quietly, starting to shake my head at the unopened letter. Looking back up at him, I repeat, “No,” more loudly and firmly, meeting his eyes with all the strength I can muster. Holding the letter out for him to take, I see the hesitance in his expression, but I'm not sure what else to say. This letter is someone else's guilty conscience hidden inside a decorative envelope and sent to the person it's trying to placate, and I'll have no part in unloading that guilt onto Hisao's shoulders; he's been through enough.
Seeing his unwillingness to take it back, I decide to go with the truth. “I don't want to know,” I explain, never taking my eyes off of his.
Whatever he thought I would do with the letter, I think the last thing he expected was for me to hand it back unopened. Iwanako is another piece of his past, and maybe I ought to read it to understand her better, but I don't think Hisao needs her absolution if it means accepting her unsolicited pity. Looking down to find his hand, I push the letter into it and smile.
Taking his other hand in my own, I squeeze it tightly and meet his anxious gaze to say firmly, “And neither do you.” Pausing to gauge his reaction, I see his brow furrow in confusion, so I smile brightly to add, “and that's okay.”
After a few moments of consideration, he offers a solid nod and smiles evenly. Still, his eyes darken and he looks away after a moment; apparently there's more he wants to say. It takes a few moments, but when he looks back, I see the warm smile I remember cross his face as his eyes lighten; suddenly filled with mirth, or maybe affection. “Maybe you're right,” he says, “but there's more...”
Gently tugging his hand away, his warm smile turns to a wistful grin and he chuckles. “You remember the day we met, right?” he inquires, to which I nod and smirk. Grinning broadly, he adds, “When I bailed you out of facing the firing squad.”
Shizune would have made an excellent Gestapo...
“That's not what I'd call it, but, yeah,” I reply, shrugging at his change of subject.
“I knew then,” he says mysteriously.
Expecting a little more detail, I roll my hand and tilt my head a little, urging him to explain. For a moment, I think he might be mocking me, but the wistful smile has returned. “Knew what?” I prompt, growing impatient.
“Just a feeling,” he replies, casting his gaze skyward and smiling broadly, “though I didn't realize it then.”
“Now you're just messing with me,” I retort disdainfully, crossing my arms.
“You reminded me of her immediately, except for the eyes,” he explains, “for a second or two, I thought she'd followed me to Yamaku.”
Is that supposed to be a compliment?
Seeing my perplexed expression, he amends his statement. “I didn't know I was looking at an improved version,” he explains with a smirk, “at least not right away.”
Now I smile, though I feel a little awkward hearing about his first impression of me. Before our first meeting, my imaginings had gotten out of hand and I found myself disappointed by his seemingly normal appearance. Evidently, I reminded him of the girl who caused his heart attack, which, on second thought, might not be such a good thing.
“You made me forget about her,” he remarks, “in more ways than one.”
Pausing, he frowns slightly and bows his head ashamedly. “I hurt her; I know that now,” he admits, shaking his head and closing his eyes, “She tried to help, but I pushed her away.”
Like I tried to help?
While he's collecting himself, I can't help wondering if things could have gone differently when we met. Somehow I avoided Iwanako's fate, but I never considered the possibility. Even when he tried ducking out of the festival, I remained optimistic, but, then again, I barely knew him at the time.
“I almost did the same thing to you,” he adds, confirming a dreadful possibility. The words hang in the air for a few moments while a shameful grimace crosses his features. Considering the pensive expression, I think this is the admission he was dreading; no wonder he looked so nervous all day. My reaction is surprisingly neutral. While it's not heartening to think he considered pushing me away, our present situation clearly shows that he decided against doing that.
“But you didn't,” I say, as much to confirm my understanding as to hear the words spoken aloud, “and I'm glad for that.”
With that admission out of the way, and after I've assured him it doesn't bother me, he starts to breathe a little easier and his shoulders visibly relax, but I realize there's more. Still, the grimace disappears as he turns to smile at me, and I'm happy to see his mood change. The contemplative stare indicates he has more to say, but I think he's past the bad parts. Why he's telling me all of this is still a mystery, but I'm glad he's sharing it regardless of his reasons.
“When I met you, and realized how stupid it was to stay depressed,” he says with a shrug, “I started to forget about Iwanako.” Lifting the letter and turning it over in his hand, he sighs and shakes his head. “Then this letter showed up,” he remarks, shaking his head a little and sighing, “and I realized what you really meant to me.”
Seeing the warm smile return to his face, for the first time it fills me with trepidation. The sound of crashing waves and rustling grass rise up in the silence, and I can hear that buoy chiming in the distance once again. Over the past week, I've tried to come to terms with what Hisao means to me, but I thought I had time to think.
“I love you, Aiko,” he states, unabashed and without hesitation.
The simple words echo in my head as I try to separate them from the rest of the jumbled mess. Suddenly I feel like that day on a crowded sidewalk, stammering and blushing as we tried to converse. Then, it was simple awkwardness stopping my voice and turning my words into senseless stuttering, but now I'm genuinely conflicted. Sitting beside him, seeing the loving look in his eyes, and feeling an elated tingle run down my spine, I'm happy to hear the admission, but he doesn't understand. Hearing him admit his love, I realize, without question, that I feel the same, but it's too soon; I'm not ready.
A sudden distant bang catches my attention and I see the source over Hisao's shoulder; the fireworks. Apparently he got them delayed just long enough so they would coincide with his confession, which makes this uncomfortable silence even worse. Now I understand why he suggested getting fireworks, and why he's been preoccupied all day – maybe even all weekend. This was all planned, probably in advance. Maybe he even had help from my supposed friends; more secrets kept from me. The timing makes me smile, and I'm glad to see Hisao smiling as well, if only for a moment.
Why I suddenly feel angry doesn't make sense, but I don't think I'm mad at him at all; rather, I'm angry with myself. Rushing forward recklessly is what caused this; I pushed us into this, I'm the one who made it okay to call our relationship something more than friends. Now he's the one pushing the limits, and I'm frozen in disbelief. Iwanako was pushed away by Hisao's distance, and I suddenly feel like I'm being pushed away by his love.
Sitting on this precipice, literally and figuratively, I realize I have to make a choice. Regardless of all the other things I need to tell him, I know he's not just confessing; he expects me to reply in kind, and I want to, I really do. Every instinct is telling me to wrap him in a hug and reciprocate everything he said and more, but that might not be fair. Even if it's the truth, I'd be taking advantage of something he doesn't know, something I haven't been able to tell him, and something that could change how he feels.
Something terrible...
Still, I have to say or do something. The sparkling bursts of color behind him contrast his darkening expression, and add to the sinking feeling in my stomach. While I've been having this internal battle, Hisao's face has lost all mirth, and now he looks somewhere between worried and horrified, which is probably my fault. After exposing himself like this, my lack of a response is probably worse than anything he thought might happen, and I can't help but feel like that's also my fault. Causing that makes me feel horrible, but he really put me on the spot.
I've been such a coward...
[Reciprocate.]
[Just kiss him.]
______________________________________________________
Previous|
Next
Well, there you have it. Thus ends Act 3; following chapters will follow the two separate paths (one at a time) through Act 4. I don't think it's giving anything away saying they will return to Yamaku and face the consequences of Aiko's decision, which will probably make at least some of you happy - I'm actually not going to miss the beach house.
I feel like the decision to ignore Iwanako's letter was an interesting choice, though I know not how it will play out. I can only say you've got me hooked, as if I weren't already. Good job, man.
Proud member of