Dream 04 → 'The Love Which Suffers'
Warnings: Spoilers of a not exactly critical nature for the fifth episode of a ten-year-old anime series. Head canon. Nowhere near as angsty as the title might imply.
Dream Effects: A mixture of happiness, regret and love.
I'm sorry.
She's walking to the car when the handle breaks, and the bag's contents are spilled across the dusty surface of the lot. She curses - something mild, she's cursing in Japanese.
Ken hurries to her side, snatching up bottles and packets and a bag of rice, mercifully unsplit. A car honks its horn behind them and she raises her head, a hank of sun-warmed, autumn-gold hair slipping off her shoulder to fall in her face as she waves the driver back, rattling off something that Ken can't quite catch. He retrieves a bottle of soy sauce, lifts the bag from her arms. He smiles, and his smile is awkward.
Her English is a lot better than Ken's is. Ken's is clumsy, a parody. It's funny, really. The older guy (check shirt and big red face, white-guy smell with sun oil and cooking smoke) runs the store jokes with her about it. He likes her. Everyone likes her, she's an easy woman to like and if they wonder what she sees in him, they're not the only ones. The old guy says he's seen them before, these Japanese couples, but it's usually the girl hangs back and smiles and fidgets awkwardly with her hair or her bag while the guy does the talking. She laughs, and only laughs the harder when Ken scowls.
Hey, I learn English!
I know you do. Hon, he's just teasing. Come on.
Come on. The car's secondhand at the very least, it's blue and constantly dust-covered and every single time they argue about who's going to have to drive it. She doesn't like cars any more than Ken does, but the extra space is useful. Or it will be, if they ever--
Dear Yuriko
Hi there, Yuriko
Yuriko, my
Yuriko. I'm sorry.
She's standing by the window. Her mother's written another of those interminable goddamn letters and she's reading it, or rereading it, by the light of a storm. She sighs. Throws the letter to the table. Picks it up again. He tries to put his arms round her: exasperated, unwilling to be comforted, she moves away.
Honestly. She sighs, irritably. Irritably, she shakes her head. Does she think I'm incapable?
Yuriko, she's on the other side of the damn planet. Can't you just--
You're missing the point!
Can't you just chuck it away? It's not like she'll know if you've read it.
You're missing the point, Ken! She waves the letter at him. He closes his eyes, frustrated. She sends me this stuff because she thinks I can't--
For God's sake does it matter what she thinks? She's not here!
It's going to rain. The clouds rumble tentatively, almost experimentally, as if they're trying to work out what it would be like. He'd turn the lights on but what good would that do? She's just in one of those moods, she always is when she goes those letters. Just don't open them, he tells her, but she (why can't you be more like your sister?) she always does and this always happens and what the Hell's the point?
Oh, you just don't understand!
You're right, he says quietly. I don't. I'm tired of this, Yuriko, I'm going to bed.
I can't be with you tomorrow. Please--
--always katsu-don. That's not too out there, is it?
They don't like Japanese food, Ken. Weren't you listening the last five hundred times I said it?
Yeah well I don't like Australian food and I'm not complaining.
Yes, you are.
No I'm not!
Yes you are, you're complaining now--
--please, don't ask me why. I promise you it's not your fault. I just can't go. I wish I could, but I can't.
I'm sorry. I
There are other what-ifs, of course. There's a road and a mountain and a girl and he can't help but wonder what would have happened, what he'd have been like, if he'd ignored that turn-off and gone the other way - or if he'd stayed at home, sat in his room and sulked. He'd very nearly done them both...
You were always way too I should never ha Sorry for all the crossings out. I'm not very good at this.
I'm still glad we met.
Now he sits at the kitchen table (Youji shut up that's from a movie go to Hell) and labors over a letter. He looks at the clock and he's written four lines, and it's half past three in the morning and he doesn't know what to say...
The next time Ken looks up, the clock's not there any more. He's seeing her now as he first saw her, stood in a field of flowers and shaking the hair loose from her helmet. It wasn't love at first sight, nothing as (let's face facts) as corny as that. It was just the feeling, looking at her, that this woman was going to be important. That she wasn't simply going to check him for bruises then, with a smile and a wave, walk out of his life as suddenly and strangely as she had appeared. He wasn't getting out of this one that easily...
Yuriko. She stands there, one hand on her hip and she smiles - she's smiling at him.
She holds out her hand, and he takes it: that's all.
I love you, Yuriko. That's why I can't be there.
[Ken smiles in his sleep, turning onto his side and knocking the Dreamberry to the floor, where the recording cuts off. He doesn't wake up, so doesn't notice that the small cut flower on his nightstand is glowing faintly.]
Dream Effects: A mixture of happiness, regret and love.
I'm sorry.
She's walking to the car when the handle breaks, and the bag's contents are spilled across the dusty surface of the lot. She curses - something mild, she's cursing in Japanese.
Ken hurries to her side, snatching up bottles and packets and a bag of rice, mercifully unsplit. A car honks its horn behind them and she raises her head, a hank of sun-warmed, autumn-gold hair slipping off her shoulder to fall in her face as she waves the driver back, rattling off something that Ken can't quite catch. He retrieves a bottle of soy sauce, lifts the bag from her arms. He smiles, and his smile is awkward.
Her English is a lot better than Ken's is. Ken's is clumsy, a parody. It's funny, really. The older guy (check shirt and big red face, white-guy smell with sun oil and cooking smoke) runs the store jokes with her about it. He likes her. Everyone likes her, she's an easy woman to like and if they wonder what she sees in him, they're not the only ones. The old guy says he's seen them before, these Japanese couples, but it's usually the girl hangs back and smiles and fidgets awkwardly with her hair or her bag while the guy does the talking. She laughs, and only laughs the harder when Ken scowls.
Hey, I learn English!
I know you do. Hon, he's just teasing. Come on.
Come on. The car's secondhand at the very least, it's blue and constantly dust-covered and every single time they argue about who's going to have to drive it. She doesn't like cars any more than Ken does, but the extra space is useful. Or it will be, if they ever--
Dear Yuriko
Hi there, Yuriko
Yuriko, my
Yuriko. I'm sorry.
She's standing by the window. Her mother's written another of those interminable goddamn letters and she's reading it, or rereading it, by the light of a storm. She sighs. Throws the letter to the table. Picks it up again. He tries to put his arms round her: exasperated, unwilling to be comforted, she moves away.
Honestly. She sighs, irritably. Irritably, she shakes her head. Does she think I'm incapable?
Yuriko, she's on the other side of the damn planet. Can't you just--
You're missing the point!
Can't you just chuck it away? It's not like she'll know if you've read it.
You're missing the point, Ken! She waves the letter at him. He closes his eyes, frustrated. She sends me this stuff because she thinks I can't--
For God's sake does it matter what she thinks? She's not here!
It's going to rain. The clouds rumble tentatively, almost experimentally, as if they're trying to work out what it would be like. He'd turn the lights on but what good would that do? She's just in one of those moods, she always is when she goes those letters. Just don't open them, he tells her, but she (why can't you be more like your sister?) she always does and this always happens and what the Hell's the point?
Oh, you just don't understand!
You're right, he says quietly. I don't. I'm tired of this, Yuriko, I'm going to bed.
I can't be with you tomorrow. Please--
--always katsu-don. That's not too out there, is it?
They don't like Japanese food, Ken. Weren't you listening the last five hundred times I said it?
Yeah well I don't like Australian food and I'm not complaining.
Yes, you are.
No I'm not!
Yes you are, you're complaining now--
--please, don't ask me why. I promise you it's not your fault. I just can't go. I wish I could, but I can't.
I'm sorry. I
There are other what-ifs, of course. There's a road and a mountain and a girl and he can't help but wonder what would have happened, what he'd have been like, if he'd ignored that turn-off and gone the other way - or if he'd stayed at home, sat in his room and sulked. He'd very nearly done them both...
You were always way too I should never ha Sorry for all the crossings out. I'm not very good at this.
I'm still glad we met.
Now he sits at the kitchen table (Youji shut up that's from a movie go to Hell) and labors over a letter. He looks at the clock and he's written four lines, and it's half past three in the morning and he doesn't know what to say...
The next time Ken looks up, the clock's not there any more. He's seeing her now as he first saw her, stood in a field of flowers and shaking the hair loose from her helmet. It wasn't love at first sight, nothing as (let's face facts) as corny as that. It was just the feeling, looking at her, that this woman was going to be important. That she wasn't simply going to check him for bruises then, with a smile and a wave, walk out of his life as suddenly and strangely as she had appeared. He wasn't getting out of this one that easily...
Yuriko. She stands there, one hand on her hip and she smiles - she's smiling at him.
She holds out her hand, and he takes it: that's all.
I love you, Yuriko. That's why I can't be there.
[Ken smiles in his sleep, turning onto his side and knocking the Dreamberry to the floor, where the recording cuts off. He doesn't wake up, so doesn't notice that the small cut flower on his nightstand is glowing faintly.]