Submission #1 -- Andromedae, "Ceviche"
.
Title: Ceviche
User ID: Andromedae
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Keiichi, Kotori, Kamui, Fuuma
Words: 7300
Warnings: Discussion of real-life illnesses and issues.
Summary: Kamui returns to Tokyo for the first time…in 2009.
“Yes! Yes! That’s our Marvel! Two meters past halfcourt and look at that shot, can we get an instant replay? Man, the Nationals better be eating their words right about now! How’re those words, Pavlicevic? Tasty! Eat those words!”
The announcers are faceless right now but Kotori knows who they are-they introduce themselves at the start of every game, Sagara and Segawa, and right now, Segawa’s the one cheering the loudest. That’s thanks to the microphone, though. Segawa’s the Marvel’s self-proclaimed Biggest Known Fan and a News personality in his own right-the kind of guy with sound effects and a big, bombastic website where if they used katakana for emphasis there wouldn’t be a kanji on the page. (As it stands, there are, though-the name of the site plays on Fuuma’s name, because the truth part, ma, is the same as the shin in shashin, photograph, and the fuu from fuuin, stamps. So he’s got to use the kanji, shashin fuuin, even though people just call it SHAFU, and that’s the domain, www.shafu.co.jp.)
But even if the microphone’s making Segawa the loudest, doesn’t mean the rest of the place isn’t still cheering. Because it is. All thousands of them, packed in tight-Kotori’s got a good seat not too far from the court with the other people who are family of the players and they’re so loud. And Kotori’s cheering too, enough that it’s making her a little lightheaded.
It’s a really good game. There’s a difference between a good-game-for-the-Apache and a good game, and Kotori knows which of those this one is. The Five Arrows are giving the Apache a hard time, but not too hard a time-games that are so close to tied, so close to the end, are better for both of the teams playing and better for the sport itself. That’s how sports survive, by making the fans afraid that their team is going to lose. Kotori wonders how that works. Is there some way that the league equalizes the teams, or-
“-What now?” That’s Sagara. “How did he miss that?”
How did Kotori miss that? Spacing out again. The game goes so fast-
Instant replay, up on the dangling black console over the court where the scores are. They only replay it because there’s arguing and setup going on in the actual game-that’s the coach pulling Fuuma aside, Fuuma nodding, palming the back of his neck with a towel.
And up at the loudspeakers, Sagara’s explaining, pointing out, “Looks like something up in the stands caught his eye instead of the ball there, Segawa-kun.” Instant replay shows it, Fuuma and one other Apache trying to block in a tangle of big arms and a spatter of sweat (high definition screens, you know)-and Fuuma starts, like someone’s stepped on his foot or thrown a wad of paper at his head or-something. Just looks up. And Kotori has no idea in what direction-
-except that she does, kind of, she’s seen it, up there in the stands but not in a seat and not because he’s cheering because he’s not. Not cheering. Fuuma was looking at the one person not cheering and why does Kotori remember this?
“And that pulled the Five Arrows ahead by two, Segawa-kun-that was an awesome feint, getting right around the Marvel’s side, lets see if we can get that on re-no, we’re starting up again, Monou’s got them starting up from the back after that time-out-”
“-and we’ve got less than two minutes on the clock-did the Five Arrows just make the comeback they need to stay in the running this season? Or are the Apache going to-whoa, look at that! They’ve got three cornering the Marvel, that’s just not fair-and now he’s locked on the far side of half-court, it’s pass or let it go, the clock’s running down and it’s-”
Why does Kotori remember this?
“Damn it did you just see that? Impossible!”
Everyone around Kotori is cheering now, and they’ve just seen what the announcers have seen-Kotori’s seen it before somewhere and can refresh it in her mind like a webpage. Fuuma’s orange jersey flaps, his arm curls out of it like a lever or a drawing or the bough of a tree during a storm. The ball soars out of it, spinning a little, half in slow-motion and half because it’s a wild shot on its own. The other players jump for it, too late. The ball smacks against the backboard on the corner of the square, spins off at an angle and thuds on the rim, then down through the net. Orange on orange on orange. Swish.
It takes Kotori a few seconds to hear just how wild the crowd is going.
It only makes her heart ache literally.
But before the edges of the world start blurring, and even then only a little-before she can’t pick out the cameras and the loudspeakers and the lights from the court-Fuuma is pointing into the stands. High, into the stands. And the cameras are following him, trying to figure out who he just dedicated this shot to, this tide-turning-who’s the lucky person that inspired this feat, and the celebrity’s really gone to his head by now, hasn’t it-
Exactly who it should be. The person Fuuma’s pointing to is exactly who it should be. And exactly how it should be.
Except that Kamui’s face on every screen is in a kind of toothgrit shock. Older, almost frightening in how much that shows. Lowered eyes, but they’re that same old purplish-blue. Lips just slightly parted like there’s an apology behind them that he can’t let out just yet.
But it’s Kamui. And that’s what matters. And it twists the ache in Kotori’s heart into something a bit less literal.
-----
It’s-it’s really him. Standing where he said he’d be, by the plants and columns near the parking lot curb, if just a bit in the shadows-she can’t see his ears or one of his eyes and maybe that’s because of the thing that happened at the end of the game, but-but the cars going by have their brights on and those wash over his face, little by little, and-
-and-
“Kamui!”
Kotori stops short. She hadn’t even realized she’d been running, about to rush him. Her purse whacks her in the side but she doesn’t really feel it, just knows it happens-she shouldn’t hug him. It’s been too long. But bowing is awkward and formalities are wrong and what is she supposed to do? She breathes. Stops. Breathes again. Bows, in the end, just a little, tries not to apologize. “I knew it was you. I’m so glad Fuuma recognized you too!” It’s not an apology but her breath is still short. “Out of the whole crowd.”
“It was…surprising…” he says, doesn’t quite finish. He emerges from the shadows, and he doesn’t bow, and he doesn’t hug her either but his shoulders tilt forward and in.
He looks…good? As in like a good person. Like so many of Kotori’s friends’ young husbands, all put-together and successful without being stuffy. Small, like he should be small-in a polo shirt and slacks and a long brown raincoat with the straps at the waist undone. Like a doctor under the lab coat? Well, he does work in a lab…
Kotori grins, a little too sheepish to close her eyes, though. “Hi!”
Kamui should smile. It does look like he’s trying. “It’s…good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too…” And she can’t help scuffing her shoe a little. It’s coming loose around her stockings, she usually wears thicker ones. (This is one of her date outfits. It didn’t seem right, but it didn’t seem wrong either.) “Ha, I feel kind of intimidated, actually. I don’t know how to address you or anything.”
“Well, it always used to-um. Well.” He’s nervous too. And it sounds so cute. “Kamui is fine.”
“And you’ll call me just Kotori?” She can feel the downturn leaving her grin. “I’m so happy!”
Daddy always says that her smiles are infectious. And it looks like Kamui might be coming down with one.
Except that just standing here smiling at each other is really, really awkward.
“So,” Kotori tries, “um-”
burning for your life! no matter how hard you try, this life will burn out-
“It’s niisan! Hold on, I’ll bet he wants to talk to you too.” She scrambles a little trying to get the phone out of the front pocket of her purse. “Hey, congratulations!”
His voice always buzzes a little on the phone, doesn’t quite sound like him-unless it’s like him talking through a spinning fan. And loud, too, especially when he’s in the locker room. Kotori can hear all the other players in the background, shouting, teasing, interviewing? “Thanks, glad you could make it. Is Kamui with you?”
“Yes, he’s right here.” She looks up, smiles knowingly-Kamui’s got such pretty eyes, she’s glad they’re like that still.
Fuuma asks, “Could you hand me over?”
“Of course!” She does.
Kamui looks a little strange with Kotori’s phone against his cheek, which is a metallic neon purple with mini ‘origami’ cranes dangling from the antenna. “Kamui here.”
He’s soft enough, and so is his breathing, and Kotori’s close enough that she can pick Fuuma out too. Mostly. “Hey, was I right?”
“Yeah.” Kamui hangs his head to the sidewalk. “Yeah, you were.”
“Ha, good, good. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“It’s fine… How have you been?”
“Great, great-we’ll talk more about it later. It’ll take me a while to actually catch up to you, though. Do you know what bar you’re going to yet? Have you eaten?”
Kotori thinks her brother sounds so cute when he’s being all gallant.
Kamui turns a little, to face the street-he’s looking up now, almost, and the white lights of a passing car filter over his face and through his eyes. The shadow under him spins. “No, not yet.”
“Great-I can-Hey, watch it, will you?-Sorry, one of my teammates-I can recommend somewhere a little quieter so we can talk. That okay?”
“Yeah, that’s great.” Kamui doesn’t quite sound it though-maybe he’s just still nervous.
It also occurs to Kotori that maybe she can hear Fuuma because she’s standing too close?
“It’s not too far from the shrine-La Copa. Really good Mexican food. Twenty minutes by car from here-if the cab driver doesn’t know where, it’s up by Kasai station-I’ll reimburse you for the cab if you-”
Kamui doesn’t do the salaryman thing, Kotori realizes-when he speaks into a phone, it’s just talking, no gesture. “No,” he says, “I can handle it,” and he doesn’t even raise his hand like he’s waving that aside.
And since Kotori knows what her brother’s going to say now, she hears the buzz of it loud and clear: “Then dinner’s on me. Or something. Seriously, you’re the one who came here, I want to treat you right.”
Kamui shivers-Kotori wonders why. “…Thank you.”
Fuuma’s next few words actually go under-Kotori doesn’t try to listen. But Kamui says “Okay” without nodding, then waits-and then, asks, “-Fuuma?”
He’s calling him by just his name.
There’s another pause, a little one, and Kamui says, “Great game.” And then, that’s that.
Kamui closes the phone, slowly-doesn’t look twice at that it’s neon purple-and hands it back to Kotori. If there’s some kind of thrill when their hands brush, he doesn’t seem like he notices-his hands are very dry, Kotori thinks. “La Copa,” he says. Maybe he doesn’t think Kotori heard.
She smiles. “All right, I know where that is. Do we need a cab? Niisan has a car but he usually takes it straight home and then walks if he’s going out.”
“Yeah,” Kamui says. And that’s not a problem, there are lots of cabs, so he just goes streetside and starts along the sidewalk to hail one of them. Kotori follows.
It’s easy enough for him to flag one down at the taxi stand-Kamui doesn’t wave like Kotori does, just raises his hand and makes eye-contact with the nearest driver. A white cab with an orange logo pulls up-there’s a lot of orange tonight?-and Kamui gives the name of the place through the window. Kotori peeks over his shoulder and supplies the actual address and hopes it doesn’t embarrass him. It doesn’t seem to, and it turns out not to be necessary either, since the driver’s using a GPS. Kamui goes around to the other side of the cab to get in-the doors open automatically from the inside when the driver pulls a lever. It is like a date, a little, but would it have been weird for him to open the door for her? Fuuma does that, though, when they use his car.
She tries not to look at Kamui directly as he slides in the other door and puts his seat belt on. She can tell he’s trying not to look at her like that either-just feels little glimpses of his eyes under his hair. And then the doors side down and shut, and the cab’s pulled out into the city itself, and it’s brighter and darker at the same time, patches of spinning and flashing marquees filled with pockets of black (shadows of people and buildings and life) like a word processor. Kotori plays the artist’s game where she shifts so that the darkness is focus and the light’s the background, like in type, and then back to how everyone else sees it, over and over…
Oh right. Um. There should be conversation?
“So, why’d you come back?” She turns to him, smiles, plays the focusing thing again-Kamui’s like a silhouette against the swirling colors outside the window. “Work?”
“Yeah,” he says without nodding, without moving.
“What is it you do, exactly? I mean, the website explained, but…”
He leans into the seat a little, glances out, then back at her… “Theoretical physics...well, it’s about trying to figure out why the world works how it does, representing parts of it based on things we know and variables that we don’t. Math, really. Applied math. So what I do at RIKEN is program a computer to deal with the variables we don’t know while we detect what the constants are. Or sometimes it’s the other way around.”
She still doesn’t really understand it, but. “What are you trying to figure out?”
“What humanity did wrong,” Kamui says.
“That’s so important!”
“Yeah…” …Kotori really thinks she should change the subject about now-Kamui beats her to it. “So what I deal with specifically is called the Maximum Entropy Method. It’s a way of determining whether information can be used or not, in other people’s experiments. Like…like a practice test, sort of, to make sure that you’ve got the right number of questions. Or like making sure a blueprint can actually be turned into a house. Only with us, it’s mapping the density of particular materials to see if they’re applicable to the experiments that are going on in the other divisions.”
Kotori manages an “Okay.” That’s a good way of explaining it and it’s not as scary as it was, but still…it makes her really proud but not really cognizant. People probably feel the same way when she talks about her artwork sometimes. Does he get self-conscious about that the way she does? She should change the subject. “Did you go to college down in Kobe?”
“Yeah. HIT.”
An English school? “HIT? But that sounds abroad…”
“Himeji Institute of Technology. I don’t know how the abbreviation turned out that way…Oh-” He winces, looks apologetic, “-you?”
Kotori giggles. He really is still cute. “I’ve taken classes, I still do sometimes, but I got really sick about four years ago and didn’t quite finish up. But I still paint and I do cloth-dyeing and everything-I have a project back home that’s been dyeing since 2000!”
“It must be beautiful.”
“I hope it will be,” she says, grinning.
The cab stops, just at a light. Kotori listens to and also kind of feels the engine, through the seats and the arm that the window dials are on. Kamui’s looking out his window now too-or he’d be looking if his eyes were more open than they are. It’s like there’s something on or under his skin, something that makes it seem thinner, makes her wonder if those are shadows or veins showing. She plays the focusing game again. He looks tired; he looks like Daddy looks when there’s something out of place in the shrine or someone double-parked on the street outside. Not mad but disturbed, disapproving-oh, she hopes it’s not her fault-
“Oh! Um, I can’t believe I forgot to ask-how’s Aunt Tohru?”
“Mom died ten years ago,” Kamui just-says.
That…wasn’t the right way to take the conversation, was it.
The light changes, the car drives on-it’s only a little ways from here, though. Kotori closes her lips and puts her teeth together inside them, in something not a smile. “Oh, I’m-I’m so sorry.”
There’s Kasai Station out Kamui’s window-the driver turns the cab, heads down the side street. Kamui takes his wallet out of his coat-some of it’s gathered on the hump of the seat between them, and Kotori can see the grey lining once the lights start to settle and they pull into the bar’s parking lot. The doors surge up but the cab’s still running-Kamui hands over a bill and a couple of coins, then slides out. Kotori almost forgets to go too.
It’s a little chillier out now, or out here-back at the coliseum it might have been just the abundance of cars and people and lights. Here in Edogawa it’s much more subdued, and it’s pretty late as Monday nights go-there aren’t many people out, there shouldn’t be. La Copa doesn’t have windows that face the parking lot, but there aren’t many cars in it. Kamui and Kotori get to the door at the same time-it’s diagonal, in a scalloped wall-and it’s decisive, kind of, when Kamui reaches across and opens the door for her.
Ten years…should Kotori feel as bad as she does?
The sudden central heating and the spiciness of the air make Kotori a little dizzy, enough that she leans on the wall until Kamui catches up with her. She hopes he didn’t notice, though. Bright conical lamps hang over the bar, with all the bottles behind them like a much more stable version of the lights outside. It looks larger on nights like this, with only one or two other groups-‘tops’, the waiter calls them, ‘deuces’ or ‘four-tops’-and sports replaying overhead. There’s faint instrumental music playing-classical guitar, more Spanish than Mexican but again, it’s late. Kotori’s been here before, there’s no one to seat them on Mondays, but one of the waiters catches her eye and points all the way toward the back, where there’s a small red leather couch and a black armless loveseat, facing a low table. Fuuma’s usual chair. Guess they know he’ll be coming.
Kotori sidles in, sits on the couch. The orangey wood of the wall across from her is almost reflective. She watches Kamui’s shadow shake a little, taking off his coat-oh. Whoops. Kotori stands up, does the same-and Kamui sits on the couch too, on the side that’s closer to the chair.
“…Was it sudden?” Kotori sits down, folds the coats and hands them to Kamui so he can put them on the black chair. They probably could have checked them. Maybe the waiter’ll take care of that? Is there a coat-check here? “I’m sorry if you don’t want to ta-“
“Yeah, sudden,” Kamui answers-not angry but he is grimacing. “In a fire.”
“I’m sorry,” Kotori says again-then. Oh. Counts. “Oh gosh, you were only fifteen-did you-”
He shakes his head, answers quickly-instinctively? “We were living near Nagasaki at the time. That’s when I moved to Kobe, with her parents’ family.” There’s no menu, not yet, and the glasses aren’t full and he can’t hide his hands-he curls them into fists, not quite rested on the tops of his thighs. “She’d been…talking about that, before she died. So I did it. And I’ve been there ever since, figuring things out.”
“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” Kotori says.
“I hope.”
“I bet she and Mommy are happy together.” Kotori’s smile starts out not entirely real, but it gets that way once she thinks about it-it’s true. “Or I like to think so.” Oh! That’s how she can shift the topic off of this! “You know, I was reading this article on the Internet the other day about how the old onmyouji clans presented themselves to the Emperor, and they asked to bring back the old guild.”
Kamui does look interested. “Did he?”
Kotori shakes her head, plays with her sleeves-the coat wrinkled them a little. “Not yet-the Emperor’s accepted it but the Diet hasn’t. The article’s all about how it’s taken so long-seven years, in a few weeks. They’re probably just waiting for the luckiest day. But if it’s okay with the Emperor, well, I can believe in ghosts and magic.” Time for an infectious smile? “And if that means Mommy and Aunt Tohru are happy, well.”
And yep, it’s contagious again!
She asks him: “Are you happy?”
“I’m happy now,” he says.
Um. “Hey! Our reunion must be a lot like theirs, huh. I mean…well, ten years less. More. I mean-” Flustered-
“It’s all right,” Kamui’s smile, Kotori just now gets, is mostly the same. Mostly. But the same. “I get it.”
Kotori’s heels press into the floor a little-there’s no rug, just sliders for the table, so nothing gives. “Why did you leave? I mean, I know Aunt Tohru must have been sad, but…”
She sighs; he doesn’t answer right away, just hangs his head but doesn’t quite lose all of the smile Kotori helped put there.
“I was so little,” he does say, though, once a slightly buzzing, central-heating moment is past. “It was probably really complicated.”
Kotori agrees, “Yes…”
And he asks her, now: “Are you happy?”
The waiter arrives with water, menus, and a basket of tortilla chips, so Kotori doesn’t answer. He’s youngish, newish, one Kotori knows by face but not by name. He asks for their drink orders, or, more likely only Kamui’s. Kotori just waves a little and tells Kamui to go ahead. Kamui asks for Ketel One, straight, and Kotori’s not sure what that is.
Once the waiter’s gone, and left menus behind, Kamui asks. “You don’t drink?”
Kotori smiles apologetically. “I’m on so much medication, I can’t. But thanks.”
He takes his menu but doesn’t open it, maybe leans a little closer? Maybe. “-can I ask what for? Are you okay?”
“I told you I got sick a few years ago? Well, turns out my heart’s always been a little weak. Mitral insufficiency. And then I got a, um, spontaneous pneumothorax-that’s when you get-”
“-a hole in your lung and you don’t know why,” he finishes for her.
“Yes.” Kotori sips her water. She likes the ice cubes here, the old kind that starts off square but has hemispheres on the underside. “But they found out why. So, the heart medicine and lung medicine and it all kind of melts together, and then they found out it was pneumonia. And then a few other things here and there. So it adds up.”
Another drink of water later, Kamui’s still just looking. His skin’s as thin as before, in the cab-this close, though, those are shadows. Bags under his eyes? “Sorry.”
“No really, it’s fine,” Kotori says, and it’s true.
The waiter’s back-he slides Kamui something clear and cold, without ice. Oh, so Ketel One’s a kind of vodka. Are they ready to order? Kamui says no, that it’ll be a while.
And then once the waiter’s gone (and he’s taken a small sip of his drink) Kamui looks back at Kotori again, shifts his position so that his knees are on an angle. “Kind of inconsiderate of Fuuma to…well, isn’t Mexican food spicy?”
“I’ve been here before, I can get things not spicy,” Kotori laughs-Kamui looks so soft, so protective, it really is cute! “But thank you for remembering, about my not liking it.”
He nods-are his cheeks brighter?-and looks down to the menu. Kotori does the same with hers, but tries to look at what he’s looking at. And also at him.
Eighteen years. This is getting both more and less comfortable…just being with him is the good kind of strange. Nostalgia, yes, but that’s not a strong enough word for it, not in either direction. Happy with how little has changed, and with how much-sad that some of that connection’s lost, that he’s still Kamui but he might not be the Kamui that held her by the hand in a tree for four hours so she wouldn’t fall out. Or that he might be, but that she’ll never get caught in a tree like that again and it won’t matter.
“…should we just get an appetizer while we wait for Fuuma?”
-She didn’t even notice he’d looked up. Oh. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
He nods, glances back at the menu with just his eyes, then to her again. “Um…how about ceviche? That’s not spicy.”
“Sure. And Fuuma likes it too, and it’s already cold, so we’ll save some for him.”
“You act like this has happened before,” he says, and closes the menu.
She smiles. “Not exactly. But there’ve been times where I’ve gone ahead to the restaurant and waited. Usually when it’s just me, though, I just wait.”
Over at the bar, someone laughs, suddenly and loud-Kamui turns quickly to face it, sliding on the couch a little. Kotori just watches him, though, watches the shadows change when he turns back with a little sigh. “His career really took off, huh.”
“Just out of college.” Kotori curls her hands around the water glass-it’s warmish in here, still. “I’m so happy for him.”
-And the waiter comes back now. Kamui orders the ceviche, but keeps the menu here. Not that it’ll matter since Fuuma knows everything they’ve got, but still.
Kamui’s sips of the vodka are getting a little deeper. “How’s your dad?”
Oh, good. “Daddy’s fine, except for that thing with his arm yesterday. He’s still really strong-I don’t think he’s even had to talk to niisan about taking over the shrine or anything. He’s not so old. Maybe when niisan gets too old to play professionally it’ll come up.”
“Right…”
“That’ll be a while, though. There was this other article yesterday about how they hope he’s around for the 2012 Olympics in London!”
Ka-is something wrong?
Something is wrong.
“Kamui, are-are you okay?” She reaches for his shoulder, but-is it all right to touch him? Eighteen years.
He shakes his head a bit-his eyes are maybe wider, maybe brighter? Or that could just be the- “Yeah, sorry, just-just burned a little on the wrong side.” He puts down the vodka and picks up the water, and drinks it. A lot. Big gasping gulps until there’s nothing but ice. It’s strange to see him with a knot in his throat. “The Olympics? Really?” His voice even sounds a little higher, like this, younger.
Kotori nods, proudly. “Yes!”
“That’s…that’s incredible,” Kamui says, even though he’s still kind of coughing.
“Isn’t it?” She laughs-a little uneasy but he says he’s okay, so…is he okay? “Might’ve gotten to his head a little, but he’s still niisan and I love him.”
Kamui is out of water now…the waiter comes by and refills it. Empty Mondays. “When did he start taking basketball so seriously?”
Kotori wonders, sinks into the cushions a little more. “I’m not even sure…middle school? High school? He’s always been really good at sports, really strong! And then around the end of high school he just got so tall.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a little scary,” Kotori admits.
Kamui just shrugs, though.
Kotori’s a little surprised, actually. “You don’t get all prickly about your height?”
“No, not really…not since I was a kid.” He shrugs again-and his throat must be clearer, because he picks up the vodka and not the water this time. (The tortilla chips, though, those have just been sitting there…) “I guess I got used to it. I mean, I don’t have to be big to be what I am, so it doesn’t matter.”
Oh, then if-hm. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Kamui says.
“A boyfriend?”
“No,” he says the exact same way-not even a smile to say she might be right. (But then again, she’s always just kind of known, and it doesn’t really matter.)
“No time because of work?”
“Good way of putting it…do you?”
“No, neither. I’ve been on a couple of dates but no one really special. But I’m sure there’s someone out there for me. I do want to get married someday, you know, just be with someone I love like that…don’t know if I’m strong enough to have a child, but I could adopt or something.”
“I think you’d be a good mother,” Kamui says-and his cheeks must be almost as red as hers, because hers feel pretty red. But he’s got the alcohol as an excuse and she doesn’t.
“Thanks,” she says, then looks down, then up to the ceiling (more cone-shaped lamps-orange!) and smiles at him, into his eyes. “Remember you and I used to talk about us getting married?”
Um.
…At least the waiter comes by with the ceviche. It looks a little bigger than what Fuuma and Kotori get when they’re here alone, the rings of squid stacked higher and the salsa deeper-and with three little octopi instead of just two. The-orange again? or just red watered down?-the sauce is in a strange pattern, seven jagged points… Kamui drinks more of his water, spears some octopus and brings it over to his little side plate. Kotori does the same-and then realizes that Kamui’s sliding his plate toward her. Like a date. Right.
“That must have been a little forward,” she says, accepting his plate and letting him serve his own. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s really okay.” It doesn’t sound it-again, not angry, but-wistful? “I remember.”
Her laugh comes out a lot shaky, a lot forced. “And then niisan said that you could be his bride.”
So does Kamui’s laugh.
“Well, you’re still short enough?” she offers.
And this one too. Forced, more air than sound.
The ceviche’s mild, tasting more like shellfish and citrus than spices-they marinate it for a long time here, or at least one of the old waiters said they do. That might be a marketing ploy, though. Either way, it’s good-the plate that’s now Kamui’s doesn’t have a little octopus on it, though. Does he not like them?
“This is really good,” he says, once he’s swallowed some squid.
“Yeah, niisan likes it here-”
“No, I mean-” He thumbs the edge of his plate, a little, isn’t looking Kotori in the eyes. “Yeah, the food’s good, but I mean seeing you is good too.”
Silence doesn’t stop being awkward...but now at least Kotori knows-
burning for your life! no matter how hard you try, this life-
Oh, Fuuma! “Hope he’s here...” Kotori mutters, prying open her purse and getting the phone quickly. “Niisan?”
“Am walking into the parking lot just now. Are you at the bar or in the back?”
“The back-they gave us the red couch.”
“Great, see you in a few.”
Kotori closes the phone and puts it back, flicks at the cranes a little. “He’s here.”
Kamui says, “Great,” and just smiles. Just says, just smiles…Kotori does too.
There’s a bit of a hubbub as Fuuma enters-there usually is. One of the waiters and the bartender are congratulating him-Kotori cranes her neck to see-and there’s a little talk. A lot of applause, for a bar with not too many people in it. Kamui stands up, puts his fork down leaning on the plate and goes to get a look. Kotori doesn’t follow, she can see okay from here-Fuuma is charming up the place, sunglasses on and still a little wet from the shower, accepting congratulations all around. Does Kamui shiver a little?
Fuuma stops short. “-Kamui.” Kotori watches him-Fuuma takes the glasses down and then completely off, and puts them into one of the pockets of his team jacket. He-grins. He strides over a lot quickly, stands really close to Kamui-doesn’t quite make like he’s about to hug, but. But. “Okaeri.” Welcome home.
It sounds lower, stranger, when Kamui answers. I’m back. “Tadaima.”
In the background, over the bar, the television’s still going on about the Marvel.
“Well, come on!” Fuuma says suddenly, swinging an arm out with more courtesy than panache. Or as much. Or. “Let’s sit down, start talking! Where have you been?” He ushers Kamui back to the couches, waves over for a drink-they know him, he’s having tequila, and Kotori scoots aside so Kamui can sit between them on the corner of the red couch-Fuuma takes the black chair like it’s his, picks up the coats and drapes them over the back. He keeps his on, it’s already open. Kotori takes his hand and snuggles it a little, over Kamui’s lap.
Kamui answers. “Kobe.”
Fuuma grips Kotori’s hand a bit before he lets go-he brushes his fingers close to but not on Kamui’s knee when he does. Kotori caught that. “What’s in Kobe?” he asks.
“My branch of RIKEN. I’m a physicist.”
“Physics! Seriously?” There’s a plate for him-he serves himself some ceviche, takes one of the octopi-and oh. “The ceviche-your idea, Kotori?”
She grins. “No, Kamui’s!”
“Good call,” he tells Kamui, and then grabs one of the tortilla chips and scoops some up, octopus first. “What kind of physics? Lasers, construction…?”
Kamui’s picked up his fork again but hasn’t speared anything. “Theoretical. Maximum Entropy Method applications to density.”
Fuuma pauses and bears his teeth down on a big bite of ceviche and chip. “…I know just enough about that to know that we’re not going to be talking about work very much,” he says once he’s swallowed.
“That’s okay,” Kamui says, scrapes with the fork again. “Probably best if we don’t, anyway.”
“Haven’t talked about physics since the college entrance exams,” Fuuma admits-and takes another scoop of the ceviche onto another chip. “What made you decide to go in to the field?”
Kamui looks like it’s an answer he has to contemplate. Kotori traces spirals in the sauce on her plate, tries not to look like she’s pressuring him but she does want to know the why, too.
He gets to it, but doesn’t quite say it to either. “I had to find a lot of answers, around the time I was applying to school. Guess I just got to enjoy looking for them.”
That’s…maybe an answer?
Fuuma nods, though, like it’s enough for him. Or almost. “So you’ve been all right? You’ve been happy?”
“I’ve been…yeah. I’ve been all right,” Kamui says. “But you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Yeah, I think I have.” He leans back smiling-one of the on-camera smiles, though. “It’s a lot, sometimes. I feel like I’m not being honest with people, you know? I mean, the sport’s honest. But the media isn’t. And since the media’s just as much part of still playing the sport, you know, I have to…”
Kamui nods. “Makes sense. I don’t think anyone can fault you for it, though.”
Fuuma thanks him-Kamui takes a bite of the squid-the waiter swings by with Fuuma’s shot of tequila and is about to go when-
“You drinking, Kamui?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we’re toasting with these and getting another round. He slides Kamui his own glass, and checks “-Vodka?” like it surprises him.
Kamui shrugs.
Fuuma’s got his shot raised-Kamui does the same with what’s left in his glass. Their knuckles are close. “Kotori, you pick the toast.”
She knows it, she’s known it. “To new beginnings!”
“Kanpai!”
-----
“No, it was over this way!”
“You sure?”
“I’m the oldest! Of course I’m sure.”
The way their laughter echoes between the trees makes Kotori wonder if she’s drunk, too. Just from being around them. Kamui’s loosened up so much and Fuuma’s sunglasses have stayed on top of his hair (mostly) and Kotori can smell the bay and the river not too far off, just a little south over the edge of this row of trees.
“No really, I think it would have been closer to the street-”
“You haven’t been back here in twenty years, Kamui-”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who spent four hours hanging onto that tree. I think I’d remember where it is.”
“You’re also smaller. Therefore you’re drunker, ‘cause you had just as much as me and therefore my judgment is less im-un-um-clearer.”
“Clearly.”
Kotori shakes her head, laughs, but their laughter and arguing are louder so they probably miss it. That’s okay, though. Something’s right about this, them arguing and the slight wintry breeze and the hint of a few visible stars, maybe, over the bay. Unless that’s just the haloes of the bridge. But it’s not too cloudy, just humid little wisps that suggest that tomorrow there might be-clouds like the caps of waves, clouds like bird silhouettes. Even if it’s not the right tree, Kotori leans against the nearest one, watches the sky, listens to the boys. Boys, even if they’re men now. It’s so cute.
Kamui sighs, such a big sound for him-he’s more than a little ruddy in the face and his hair’s even messier than it had been back at the Coliseum, and his raincoat’s undone over a less-undone collar. “Seriously, Fuuma,” he says, “I don’t think it’s here.”
“I kept coming back here after you left,” Fuuma says-
Kotori’s heart flutters. And not a little.
It’s like-it’s like even if there could be stars, something just crossed over them, like a zeppelin or a dragon or a satellite. Fuuma’s leaning on a tree too, his hand outstretched sideways and pressed into the bark, and in the team jacket his wearing it’s thick enough and high enough to be another bough. The raised zero patches on the back stand out like bark, but his hair’s too prickly for leaves-and he’s staring toward the same place Kotori just was, or something beyond it.
He says it again, “After you left, and Mom’s funeral. For…I don’t know, a year? Two? It was the kind of thing that starts off being every day and then you skip one, skip a few, miss a week and then just look whenever you’re in the area and remember, you know, Kamui was here. Up, on that branch. Saving my little sister because I wasn’t there to protect either of them.”
Kamui almost flashes closer, “It wasn’t your-”
“I know,” Fuuma says. It’s not a shout, but it could be. “But you know I promised I’d protect you. After that. And I should have, before.”
By the time Fuuma turns, Kamui is already there, far enough that he doesn’t have to look-up-look-up, but like he wants to be closer. “Fuuma. You couldn’t have known that was what you wanted until something made you have to want it. You know that.”
Fuuma shrugs-Kotori can’t see his face from here, so she comes around to make sure-yeah. He’s smiling, just a little, like he’s making fun of himself. Kotori moves a little closer too, so she can see them both.
“I could have,” Fuuma says. “I might have. I’ve always cared about you, Kamui. Might not have know how, then, but I have.”
Maybe he doesn’t even realize it, but Kamui takes half a step back.
Fuuma doesn’t notice either. “So come on, let’s find the tree. Just to make sure it’s still here.” He turns, smiles-lets his hand fall from the bark. “And then you’re coming home with us, okay.”
Kamui hangs his head like he’s about to nod-instead of pulling it up straight, though, he turns, looks toward the bay. “…How long has that Ferris wheel been here?”
Kotori hadn’t realized they’d gotten so close to the clearing-close enough that now, they all have to lean back in order to see the top of it at all, over trees and under wisps of fog like feathers. She answers: “I don’t know, 2000? 2001?”
…Important silences. Important silences that aren’t really silent. The park’s closed, it’s almost midnight, so the wheel isn’t running-but if Kotori tries, she can hear the cars creaking, swinging gently where the wind is just a little stronger than down here on the ground.
Kamui’s probably the first to get it. He shuffles, says, “Let’s go, okay,” steps aside and-
There’s another sound, a sharper one, like a cat pouncing. When Kotori turns around, Fuuma has Kamui by the wrist-is pulling him closer, holding him, his waist, the back of his messy head. “C’mere, Kotori,” he says over Kamui-he’s more than a head taller, so much broader, and it’s easy for Kotori to do what he says and snuggle in too, lean her head on Kamui’s shoulder and her brother’s chest at the same time, wrap her arms around them both. Their coats are a little cold-they’re warm under it, though.
“Forget the damned tree,” Fuuma says-Kotori can feel it against her ear. “You’re back. That’s what matters.”
Kotori feels Kamui shiver-but then his palm presses into her back. Probably Fuuma’s too, but she’s closed her eyes by now, so. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
How long they just stand there like that doesn’t matter either.
Coming untangled is awkward-Kamui shifts (his hair smells really nice), cracks his neck a little, and it’s maybe a signal. Kotori gets it, moves too, lets her arms down and lifts her ear off his shoulder. Fuuma’s the last to let go-even when he’s hugging just Kotori, he never quite knows when-but he’s got the brightest smile when he steps back, toward the street. It’s just a little fake-there’s something he’s not saying, something he’s not sure about.
That’s alright, though. Kotori’s feeling a lot the same.
“Home?” he offers. “I mean-”
“If it’s all right,” Kamui says. Now that they’ve all come apart, Kotori’s not at the right angle to see whether he’s smiling or not.
“I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t,” Fuuma says, and that’s true at least.
Kotori walks up to Kamui, takes his hand-the same hand he saved her with, that time-and starts leading the way back, in the direction of the house.
-----
Title: Ceviche
User ID: Andromedae
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Keiichi, Kotori, Kamui, Fuuma
Words: 7300
Warnings: Discussion of real-life illnesses and issues.
Summary: Kamui returns to Tokyo for the first time…in 2009.
“Yes! Yes! That’s our Marvel! Two meters past halfcourt and look at that shot, can we get an instant replay? Man, the Nationals better be eating their words right about now! How’re those words, Pavlicevic? Tasty! Eat those words!”
The announcers are faceless right now but Kotori knows who they are-they introduce themselves at the start of every game, Sagara and Segawa, and right now, Segawa’s the one cheering the loudest. That’s thanks to the microphone, though. Segawa’s the Marvel’s self-proclaimed Biggest Known Fan and a News personality in his own right-the kind of guy with sound effects and a big, bombastic website where if they used katakana for emphasis there wouldn’t be a kanji on the page. (As it stands, there are, though-the name of the site plays on Fuuma’s name, because the truth part, ma, is the same as the shin in shashin, photograph, and the fuu from fuuin, stamps. So he’s got to use the kanji, shashin fuuin, even though people just call it SHAFU, and that’s the domain, www.shafu.co.jp.)
But even if the microphone’s making Segawa the loudest, doesn’t mean the rest of the place isn’t still cheering. Because it is. All thousands of them, packed in tight-Kotori’s got a good seat not too far from the court with the other people who are family of the players and they’re so loud. And Kotori’s cheering too, enough that it’s making her a little lightheaded.
It’s a really good game. There’s a difference between a good-game-for-the-Apache and a good game, and Kotori knows which of those this one is. The Five Arrows are giving the Apache a hard time, but not too hard a time-games that are so close to tied, so close to the end, are better for both of the teams playing and better for the sport itself. That’s how sports survive, by making the fans afraid that their team is going to lose. Kotori wonders how that works. Is there some way that the league equalizes the teams, or-
“-What now?” That’s Sagara. “How did he miss that?”
How did Kotori miss that? Spacing out again. The game goes so fast-
Instant replay, up on the dangling black console over the court where the scores are. They only replay it because there’s arguing and setup going on in the actual game-that’s the coach pulling Fuuma aside, Fuuma nodding, palming the back of his neck with a towel.
And up at the loudspeakers, Sagara’s explaining, pointing out, “Looks like something up in the stands caught his eye instead of the ball there, Segawa-kun.” Instant replay shows it, Fuuma and one other Apache trying to block in a tangle of big arms and a spatter of sweat (high definition screens, you know)-and Fuuma starts, like someone’s stepped on his foot or thrown a wad of paper at his head or-something. Just looks up. And Kotori has no idea in what direction-
-except that she does, kind of, she’s seen it, up there in the stands but not in a seat and not because he’s cheering because he’s not. Not cheering. Fuuma was looking at the one person not cheering and why does Kotori remember this?
“And that pulled the Five Arrows ahead by two, Segawa-kun-that was an awesome feint, getting right around the Marvel’s side, lets see if we can get that on re-no, we’re starting up again, Monou’s got them starting up from the back after that time-out-”
“-and we’ve got less than two minutes on the clock-did the Five Arrows just make the comeback they need to stay in the running this season? Or are the Apache going to-whoa, look at that! They’ve got three cornering the Marvel, that’s just not fair-and now he’s locked on the far side of half-court, it’s pass or let it go, the clock’s running down and it’s-”
Why does Kotori remember this?
“Damn it did you just see that? Impossible!”
Everyone around Kotori is cheering now, and they’ve just seen what the announcers have seen-Kotori’s seen it before somewhere and can refresh it in her mind like a webpage. Fuuma’s orange jersey flaps, his arm curls out of it like a lever or a drawing or the bough of a tree during a storm. The ball soars out of it, spinning a little, half in slow-motion and half because it’s a wild shot on its own. The other players jump for it, too late. The ball smacks against the backboard on the corner of the square, spins off at an angle and thuds on the rim, then down through the net. Orange on orange on orange. Swish.
It takes Kotori a few seconds to hear just how wild the crowd is going.
It only makes her heart ache literally.
But before the edges of the world start blurring, and even then only a little-before she can’t pick out the cameras and the loudspeakers and the lights from the court-Fuuma is pointing into the stands. High, into the stands. And the cameras are following him, trying to figure out who he just dedicated this shot to, this tide-turning-who’s the lucky person that inspired this feat, and the celebrity’s really gone to his head by now, hasn’t it-
Exactly who it should be. The person Fuuma’s pointing to is exactly who it should be. And exactly how it should be.
Except that Kamui’s face on every screen is in a kind of toothgrit shock. Older, almost frightening in how much that shows. Lowered eyes, but they’re that same old purplish-blue. Lips just slightly parted like there’s an apology behind them that he can’t let out just yet.
But it’s Kamui. And that’s what matters. And it twists the ache in Kotori’s heart into something a bit less literal.
-----
It’s-it’s really him. Standing where he said he’d be, by the plants and columns near the parking lot curb, if just a bit in the shadows-she can’t see his ears or one of his eyes and maybe that’s because of the thing that happened at the end of the game, but-but the cars going by have their brights on and those wash over his face, little by little, and-
-and-
“Kamui!”
Kotori stops short. She hadn’t even realized she’d been running, about to rush him. Her purse whacks her in the side but she doesn’t really feel it, just knows it happens-she shouldn’t hug him. It’s been too long. But bowing is awkward and formalities are wrong and what is she supposed to do? She breathes. Stops. Breathes again. Bows, in the end, just a little, tries not to apologize. “I knew it was you. I’m so glad Fuuma recognized you too!” It’s not an apology but her breath is still short. “Out of the whole crowd.”
“It was…surprising…” he says, doesn’t quite finish. He emerges from the shadows, and he doesn’t bow, and he doesn’t hug her either but his shoulders tilt forward and in.
He looks…good? As in like a good person. Like so many of Kotori’s friends’ young husbands, all put-together and successful without being stuffy. Small, like he should be small-in a polo shirt and slacks and a long brown raincoat with the straps at the waist undone. Like a doctor under the lab coat? Well, he does work in a lab…
Kotori grins, a little too sheepish to close her eyes, though. “Hi!”
Kamui should smile. It does look like he’s trying. “It’s…good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too…” And she can’t help scuffing her shoe a little. It’s coming loose around her stockings, she usually wears thicker ones. (This is one of her date outfits. It didn’t seem right, but it didn’t seem wrong either.) “Ha, I feel kind of intimidated, actually. I don’t know how to address you or anything.”
“Well, it always used to-um. Well.” He’s nervous too. And it sounds so cute. “Kamui is fine.”
“And you’ll call me just Kotori?” She can feel the downturn leaving her grin. “I’m so happy!”
Daddy always says that her smiles are infectious. And it looks like Kamui might be coming down with one.
Except that just standing here smiling at each other is really, really awkward.
“So,” Kotori tries, “um-”
burning for your life! no matter how hard you try, this life will burn out-
“It’s niisan! Hold on, I’ll bet he wants to talk to you too.” She scrambles a little trying to get the phone out of the front pocket of her purse. “Hey, congratulations!”
His voice always buzzes a little on the phone, doesn’t quite sound like him-unless it’s like him talking through a spinning fan. And loud, too, especially when he’s in the locker room. Kotori can hear all the other players in the background, shouting, teasing, interviewing? “Thanks, glad you could make it. Is Kamui with you?”
“Yes, he’s right here.” She looks up, smiles knowingly-Kamui’s got such pretty eyes, she’s glad they’re like that still.
Fuuma asks, “Could you hand me over?”
“Of course!” She does.
Kamui looks a little strange with Kotori’s phone against his cheek, which is a metallic neon purple with mini ‘origami’ cranes dangling from the antenna. “Kamui here.”
He’s soft enough, and so is his breathing, and Kotori’s close enough that she can pick Fuuma out too. Mostly. “Hey, was I right?”
“Yeah.” Kamui hangs his head to the sidewalk. “Yeah, you were.”
“Ha, good, good. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“It’s fine… How have you been?”
“Great, great-we’ll talk more about it later. It’ll take me a while to actually catch up to you, though. Do you know what bar you’re going to yet? Have you eaten?”
Kotori thinks her brother sounds so cute when he’s being all gallant.
Kamui turns a little, to face the street-he’s looking up now, almost, and the white lights of a passing car filter over his face and through his eyes. The shadow under him spins. “No, not yet.”
“Great-I can-Hey, watch it, will you?-Sorry, one of my teammates-I can recommend somewhere a little quieter so we can talk. That okay?”
“Yeah, that’s great.” Kamui doesn’t quite sound it though-maybe he’s just still nervous.
It also occurs to Kotori that maybe she can hear Fuuma because she’s standing too close?
“It’s not too far from the shrine-La Copa. Really good Mexican food. Twenty minutes by car from here-if the cab driver doesn’t know where, it’s up by Kasai station-I’ll reimburse you for the cab if you-”
Kamui doesn’t do the salaryman thing, Kotori realizes-when he speaks into a phone, it’s just talking, no gesture. “No,” he says, “I can handle it,” and he doesn’t even raise his hand like he’s waving that aside.
And since Kotori knows what her brother’s going to say now, she hears the buzz of it loud and clear: “Then dinner’s on me. Or something. Seriously, you’re the one who came here, I want to treat you right.”
Kamui shivers-Kotori wonders why. “…Thank you.”
Fuuma’s next few words actually go under-Kotori doesn’t try to listen. But Kamui says “Okay” without nodding, then waits-and then, asks, “-Fuuma?”
He’s calling him by just his name.
There’s another pause, a little one, and Kamui says, “Great game.” And then, that’s that.
Kamui closes the phone, slowly-doesn’t look twice at that it’s neon purple-and hands it back to Kotori. If there’s some kind of thrill when their hands brush, he doesn’t seem like he notices-his hands are very dry, Kotori thinks. “La Copa,” he says. Maybe he doesn’t think Kotori heard.
She smiles. “All right, I know where that is. Do we need a cab? Niisan has a car but he usually takes it straight home and then walks if he’s going out.”
“Yeah,” Kamui says. And that’s not a problem, there are lots of cabs, so he just goes streetside and starts along the sidewalk to hail one of them. Kotori follows.
It’s easy enough for him to flag one down at the taxi stand-Kamui doesn’t wave like Kotori does, just raises his hand and makes eye-contact with the nearest driver. A white cab with an orange logo pulls up-there’s a lot of orange tonight?-and Kamui gives the name of the place through the window. Kotori peeks over his shoulder and supplies the actual address and hopes it doesn’t embarrass him. It doesn’t seem to, and it turns out not to be necessary either, since the driver’s using a GPS. Kamui goes around to the other side of the cab to get in-the doors open automatically from the inside when the driver pulls a lever. It is like a date, a little, but would it have been weird for him to open the door for her? Fuuma does that, though, when they use his car.
She tries not to look at Kamui directly as he slides in the other door and puts his seat belt on. She can tell he’s trying not to look at her like that either-just feels little glimpses of his eyes under his hair. And then the doors side down and shut, and the cab’s pulled out into the city itself, and it’s brighter and darker at the same time, patches of spinning and flashing marquees filled with pockets of black (shadows of people and buildings and life) like a word processor. Kotori plays the artist’s game where she shifts so that the darkness is focus and the light’s the background, like in type, and then back to how everyone else sees it, over and over…
Oh right. Um. There should be conversation?
“So, why’d you come back?” She turns to him, smiles, plays the focusing thing again-Kamui’s like a silhouette against the swirling colors outside the window. “Work?”
“Yeah,” he says without nodding, without moving.
“What is it you do, exactly? I mean, the website explained, but…”
He leans into the seat a little, glances out, then back at her… “Theoretical physics...well, it’s about trying to figure out why the world works how it does, representing parts of it based on things we know and variables that we don’t. Math, really. Applied math. So what I do at RIKEN is program a computer to deal with the variables we don’t know while we detect what the constants are. Or sometimes it’s the other way around.”
She still doesn’t really understand it, but. “What are you trying to figure out?”
“What humanity did wrong,” Kamui says.
“That’s so important!”
“Yeah…” …Kotori really thinks she should change the subject about now-Kamui beats her to it. “So what I deal with specifically is called the Maximum Entropy Method. It’s a way of determining whether information can be used or not, in other people’s experiments. Like…like a practice test, sort of, to make sure that you’ve got the right number of questions. Or like making sure a blueprint can actually be turned into a house. Only with us, it’s mapping the density of particular materials to see if they’re applicable to the experiments that are going on in the other divisions.”
Kotori manages an “Okay.” That’s a good way of explaining it and it’s not as scary as it was, but still…it makes her really proud but not really cognizant. People probably feel the same way when she talks about her artwork sometimes. Does he get self-conscious about that the way she does? She should change the subject. “Did you go to college down in Kobe?”
“Yeah. HIT.”
An English school? “HIT? But that sounds abroad…”
“Himeji Institute of Technology. I don’t know how the abbreviation turned out that way…Oh-” He winces, looks apologetic, “-you?”
Kotori giggles. He really is still cute. “I’ve taken classes, I still do sometimes, but I got really sick about four years ago and didn’t quite finish up. But I still paint and I do cloth-dyeing and everything-I have a project back home that’s been dyeing since 2000!”
“It must be beautiful.”
“I hope it will be,” she says, grinning.
The cab stops, just at a light. Kotori listens to and also kind of feels the engine, through the seats and the arm that the window dials are on. Kamui’s looking out his window now too-or he’d be looking if his eyes were more open than they are. It’s like there’s something on or under his skin, something that makes it seem thinner, makes her wonder if those are shadows or veins showing. She plays the focusing game again. He looks tired; he looks like Daddy looks when there’s something out of place in the shrine or someone double-parked on the street outside. Not mad but disturbed, disapproving-oh, she hopes it’s not her fault-
“Oh! Um, I can’t believe I forgot to ask-how’s Aunt Tohru?”
“Mom died ten years ago,” Kamui just-says.
That…wasn’t the right way to take the conversation, was it.
The light changes, the car drives on-it’s only a little ways from here, though. Kotori closes her lips and puts her teeth together inside them, in something not a smile. “Oh, I’m-I’m so sorry.”
There’s Kasai Station out Kamui’s window-the driver turns the cab, heads down the side street. Kamui takes his wallet out of his coat-some of it’s gathered on the hump of the seat between them, and Kotori can see the grey lining once the lights start to settle and they pull into the bar’s parking lot. The doors surge up but the cab’s still running-Kamui hands over a bill and a couple of coins, then slides out. Kotori almost forgets to go too.
It’s a little chillier out now, or out here-back at the coliseum it might have been just the abundance of cars and people and lights. Here in Edogawa it’s much more subdued, and it’s pretty late as Monday nights go-there aren’t many people out, there shouldn’t be. La Copa doesn’t have windows that face the parking lot, but there aren’t many cars in it. Kamui and Kotori get to the door at the same time-it’s diagonal, in a scalloped wall-and it’s decisive, kind of, when Kamui reaches across and opens the door for her.
Ten years…should Kotori feel as bad as she does?
The sudden central heating and the spiciness of the air make Kotori a little dizzy, enough that she leans on the wall until Kamui catches up with her. She hopes he didn’t notice, though. Bright conical lamps hang over the bar, with all the bottles behind them like a much more stable version of the lights outside. It looks larger on nights like this, with only one or two other groups-‘tops’, the waiter calls them, ‘deuces’ or ‘four-tops’-and sports replaying overhead. There’s faint instrumental music playing-classical guitar, more Spanish than Mexican but again, it’s late. Kotori’s been here before, there’s no one to seat them on Mondays, but one of the waiters catches her eye and points all the way toward the back, where there’s a small red leather couch and a black armless loveseat, facing a low table. Fuuma’s usual chair. Guess they know he’ll be coming.
Kotori sidles in, sits on the couch. The orangey wood of the wall across from her is almost reflective. She watches Kamui’s shadow shake a little, taking off his coat-oh. Whoops. Kotori stands up, does the same-and Kamui sits on the couch too, on the side that’s closer to the chair.
“…Was it sudden?” Kotori sits down, folds the coats and hands them to Kamui so he can put them on the black chair. They probably could have checked them. Maybe the waiter’ll take care of that? Is there a coat-check here? “I’m sorry if you don’t want to ta-“
“Yeah, sudden,” Kamui answers-not angry but he is grimacing. “In a fire.”
“I’m sorry,” Kotori says again-then. Oh. Counts. “Oh gosh, you were only fifteen-did you-”
He shakes his head, answers quickly-instinctively? “We were living near Nagasaki at the time. That’s when I moved to Kobe, with her parents’ family.” There’s no menu, not yet, and the glasses aren’t full and he can’t hide his hands-he curls them into fists, not quite rested on the tops of his thighs. “She’d been…talking about that, before she died. So I did it. And I’ve been there ever since, figuring things out.”
“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” Kotori says.
“I hope.”
“I bet she and Mommy are happy together.” Kotori’s smile starts out not entirely real, but it gets that way once she thinks about it-it’s true. “Or I like to think so.” Oh! That’s how she can shift the topic off of this! “You know, I was reading this article on the Internet the other day about how the old onmyouji clans presented themselves to the Emperor, and they asked to bring back the old guild.”
Kamui does look interested. “Did he?”
Kotori shakes her head, plays with her sleeves-the coat wrinkled them a little. “Not yet-the Emperor’s accepted it but the Diet hasn’t. The article’s all about how it’s taken so long-seven years, in a few weeks. They’re probably just waiting for the luckiest day. But if it’s okay with the Emperor, well, I can believe in ghosts and magic.” Time for an infectious smile? “And if that means Mommy and Aunt Tohru are happy, well.”
And yep, it’s contagious again!
She asks him: “Are you happy?”
“I’m happy now,” he says.
Um. “Hey! Our reunion must be a lot like theirs, huh. I mean…well, ten years less. More. I mean-” Flustered-
“It’s all right,” Kamui’s smile, Kotori just now gets, is mostly the same. Mostly. But the same. “I get it.”
Kotori’s heels press into the floor a little-there’s no rug, just sliders for the table, so nothing gives. “Why did you leave? I mean, I know Aunt Tohru must have been sad, but…”
She sighs; he doesn’t answer right away, just hangs his head but doesn’t quite lose all of the smile Kotori helped put there.
“I was so little,” he does say, though, once a slightly buzzing, central-heating moment is past. “It was probably really complicated.”
Kotori agrees, “Yes…”
And he asks her, now: “Are you happy?”
The waiter arrives with water, menus, and a basket of tortilla chips, so Kotori doesn’t answer. He’s youngish, newish, one Kotori knows by face but not by name. He asks for their drink orders, or, more likely only Kamui’s. Kotori just waves a little and tells Kamui to go ahead. Kamui asks for Ketel One, straight, and Kotori’s not sure what that is.
Once the waiter’s gone, and left menus behind, Kamui asks. “You don’t drink?”
Kotori smiles apologetically. “I’m on so much medication, I can’t. But thanks.”
He takes his menu but doesn’t open it, maybe leans a little closer? Maybe. “-can I ask what for? Are you okay?”
“I told you I got sick a few years ago? Well, turns out my heart’s always been a little weak. Mitral insufficiency. And then I got a, um, spontaneous pneumothorax-that’s when you get-”
“-a hole in your lung and you don’t know why,” he finishes for her.
“Yes.” Kotori sips her water. She likes the ice cubes here, the old kind that starts off square but has hemispheres on the underside. “But they found out why. So, the heart medicine and lung medicine and it all kind of melts together, and then they found out it was pneumonia. And then a few other things here and there. So it adds up.”
Another drink of water later, Kamui’s still just looking. His skin’s as thin as before, in the cab-this close, though, those are shadows. Bags under his eyes? “Sorry.”
“No really, it’s fine,” Kotori says, and it’s true.
The waiter’s back-he slides Kamui something clear and cold, without ice. Oh, so Ketel One’s a kind of vodka. Are they ready to order? Kamui says no, that it’ll be a while.
And then once the waiter’s gone (and he’s taken a small sip of his drink) Kamui looks back at Kotori again, shifts his position so that his knees are on an angle. “Kind of inconsiderate of Fuuma to…well, isn’t Mexican food spicy?”
“I’ve been here before, I can get things not spicy,” Kotori laughs-Kamui looks so soft, so protective, it really is cute! “But thank you for remembering, about my not liking it.”
He nods-are his cheeks brighter?-and looks down to the menu. Kotori does the same with hers, but tries to look at what he’s looking at. And also at him.
Eighteen years. This is getting both more and less comfortable…just being with him is the good kind of strange. Nostalgia, yes, but that’s not a strong enough word for it, not in either direction. Happy with how little has changed, and with how much-sad that some of that connection’s lost, that he’s still Kamui but he might not be the Kamui that held her by the hand in a tree for four hours so she wouldn’t fall out. Or that he might be, but that she’ll never get caught in a tree like that again and it won’t matter.
“…should we just get an appetizer while we wait for Fuuma?”
-She didn’t even notice he’d looked up. Oh. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”
He nods, glances back at the menu with just his eyes, then to her again. “Um…how about ceviche? That’s not spicy.”
“Sure. And Fuuma likes it too, and it’s already cold, so we’ll save some for him.”
“You act like this has happened before,” he says, and closes the menu.
She smiles. “Not exactly. But there’ve been times where I’ve gone ahead to the restaurant and waited. Usually when it’s just me, though, I just wait.”
Over at the bar, someone laughs, suddenly and loud-Kamui turns quickly to face it, sliding on the couch a little. Kotori just watches him, though, watches the shadows change when he turns back with a little sigh. “His career really took off, huh.”
“Just out of college.” Kotori curls her hands around the water glass-it’s warmish in here, still. “I’m so happy for him.”
-And the waiter comes back now. Kamui orders the ceviche, but keeps the menu here. Not that it’ll matter since Fuuma knows everything they’ve got, but still.
Kamui’s sips of the vodka are getting a little deeper. “How’s your dad?”
Oh, good. “Daddy’s fine, except for that thing with his arm yesterday. He’s still really strong-I don’t think he’s even had to talk to niisan about taking over the shrine or anything. He’s not so old. Maybe when niisan gets too old to play professionally it’ll come up.”
“Right…”
“That’ll be a while, though. There was this other article yesterday about how they hope he’s around for the 2012 Olympics in London!”
Ka-is something wrong?
Something is wrong.
“Kamui, are-are you okay?” She reaches for his shoulder, but-is it all right to touch him? Eighteen years.
He shakes his head a bit-his eyes are maybe wider, maybe brighter? Or that could just be the- “Yeah, sorry, just-just burned a little on the wrong side.” He puts down the vodka and picks up the water, and drinks it. A lot. Big gasping gulps until there’s nothing but ice. It’s strange to see him with a knot in his throat. “The Olympics? Really?” His voice even sounds a little higher, like this, younger.
Kotori nods, proudly. “Yes!”
“That’s…that’s incredible,” Kamui says, even though he’s still kind of coughing.
“Isn’t it?” She laughs-a little uneasy but he says he’s okay, so…is he okay? “Might’ve gotten to his head a little, but he’s still niisan and I love him.”
Kamui is out of water now…the waiter comes by and refills it. Empty Mondays. “When did he start taking basketball so seriously?”
Kotori wonders, sinks into the cushions a little more. “I’m not even sure…middle school? High school? He’s always been really good at sports, really strong! And then around the end of high school he just got so tall.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a little scary,” Kotori admits.
Kamui just shrugs, though.
Kotori’s a little surprised, actually. “You don’t get all prickly about your height?”
“No, not really…not since I was a kid.” He shrugs again-and his throat must be clearer, because he picks up the vodka and not the water this time. (The tortilla chips, though, those have just been sitting there…) “I guess I got used to it. I mean, I don’t have to be big to be what I am, so it doesn’t matter.”
Oh, then if-hm. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Kamui says.
“A boyfriend?”
“No,” he says the exact same way-not even a smile to say she might be right. (But then again, she’s always just kind of known, and it doesn’t really matter.)
“No time because of work?”
“Good way of putting it…do you?”
“No, neither. I’ve been on a couple of dates but no one really special. But I’m sure there’s someone out there for me. I do want to get married someday, you know, just be with someone I love like that…don’t know if I’m strong enough to have a child, but I could adopt or something.”
“I think you’d be a good mother,” Kamui says-and his cheeks must be almost as red as hers, because hers feel pretty red. But he’s got the alcohol as an excuse and she doesn’t.
“Thanks,” she says, then looks down, then up to the ceiling (more cone-shaped lamps-orange!) and smiles at him, into his eyes. “Remember you and I used to talk about us getting married?”
Um.
…At least the waiter comes by with the ceviche. It looks a little bigger than what Fuuma and Kotori get when they’re here alone, the rings of squid stacked higher and the salsa deeper-and with three little octopi instead of just two. The-orange again? or just red watered down?-the sauce is in a strange pattern, seven jagged points… Kamui drinks more of his water, spears some octopus and brings it over to his little side plate. Kotori does the same-and then realizes that Kamui’s sliding his plate toward her. Like a date. Right.
“That must have been a little forward,” she says, accepting his plate and letting him serve his own. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s really okay.” It doesn’t sound it-again, not angry, but-wistful? “I remember.”
Her laugh comes out a lot shaky, a lot forced. “And then niisan said that you could be his bride.”
So does Kamui’s laugh.
“Well, you’re still short enough?” she offers.
And this one too. Forced, more air than sound.
The ceviche’s mild, tasting more like shellfish and citrus than spices-they marinate it for a long time here, or at least one of the old waiters said they do. That might be a marketing ploy, though. Either way, it’s good-the plate that’s now Kamui’s doesn’t have a little octopus on it, though. Does he not like them?
“This is really good,” he says, once he’s swallowed some squid.
“Yeah, niisan likes it here-”
“No, I mean-” He thumbs the edge of his plate, a little, isn’t looking Kotori in the eyes. “Yeah, the food’s good, but I mean seeing you is good too.”
Silence doesn’t stop being awkward...but now at least Kotori knows-
burning for your life! no matter how hard you try, this life-
Oh, Fuuma! “Hope he’s here...” Kotori mutters, prying open her purse and getting the phone quickly. “Niisan?”
“Am walking into the parking lot just now. Are you at the bar or in the back?”
“The back-they gave us the red couch.”
“Great, see you in a few.”
Kotori closes the phone and puts it back, flicks at the cranes a little. “He’s here.”
Kamui says, “Great,” and just smiles. Just says, just smiles…Kotori does too.
There’s a bit of a hubbub as Fuuma enters-there usually is. One of the waiters and the bartender are congratulating him-Kotori cranes her neck to see-and there’s a little talk. A lot of applause, for a bar with not too many people in it. Kamui stands up, puts his fork down leaning on the plate and goes to get a look. Kotori doesn’t follow, she can see okay from here-Fuuma is charming up the place, sunglasses on and still a little wet from the shower, accepting congratulations all around. Does Kamui shiver a little?
Fuuma stops short. “-Kamui.” Kotori watches him-Fuuma takes the glasses down and then completely off, and puts them into one of the pockets of his team jacket. He-grins. He strides over a lot quickly, stands really close to Kamui-doesn’t quite make like he’s about to hug, but. But. “Okaeri.” Welcome home.
It sounds lower, stranger, when Kamui answers. I’m back. “Tadaima.”
In the background, over the bar, the television’s still going on about the Marvel.
“Well, come on!” Fuuma says suddenly, swinging an arm out with more courtesy than panache. Or as much. Or. “Let’s sit down, start talking! Where have you been?” He ushers Kamui back to the couches, waves over for a drink-they know him, he’s having tequila, and Kotori scoots aside so Kamui can sit between them on the corner of the red couch-Fuuma takes the black chair like it’s his, picks up the coats and drapes them over the back. He keeps his on, it’s already open. Kotori takes his hand and snuggles it a little, over Kamui’s lap.
Kamui answers. “Kobe.”
Fuuma grips Kotori’s hand a bit before he lets go-he brushes his fingers close to but not on Kamui’s knee when he does. Kotori caught that. “What’s in Kobe?” he asks.
“My branch of RIKEN. I’m a physicist.”
“Physics! Seriously?” There’s a plate for him-he serves himself some ceviche, takes one of the octopi-and oh. “The ceviche-your idea, Kotori?”
She grins. “No, Kamui’s!”
“Good call,” he tells Kamui, and then grabs one of the tortilla chips and scoops some up, octopus first. “What kind of physics? Lasers, construction…?”
Kamui’s picked up his fork again but hasn’t speared anything. “Theoretical. Maximum Entropy Method applications to density.”
Fuuma pauses and bears his teeth down on a big bite of ceviche and chip. “…I know just enough about that to know that we’re not going to be talking about work very much,” he says once he’s swallowed.
“That’s okay,” Kamui says, scrapes with the fork again. “Probably best if we don’t, anyway.”
“Haven’t talked about physics since the college entrance exams,” Fuuma admits-and takes another scoop of the ceviche onto another chip. “What made you decide to go in to the field?”
Kamui looks like it’s an answer he has to contemplate. Kotori traces spirals in the sauce on her plate, tries not to look like she’s pressuring him but she does want to know the why, too.
He gets to it, but doesn’t quite say it to either. “I had to find a lot of answers, around the time I was applying to school. Guess I just got to enjoy looking for them.”
That’s…maybe an answer?
Fuuma nods, though, like it’s enough for him. Or almost. “So you’ve been all right? You’ve been happy?”
“I’ve been…yeah. I’ve been all right,” Kamui says. “But you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Yeah, I think I have.” He leans back smiling-one of the on-camera smiles, though. “It’s a lot, sometimes. I feel like I’m not being honest with people, you know? I mean, the sport’s honest. But the media isn’t. And since the media’s just as much part of still playing the sport, you know, I have to…”
Kamui nods. “Makes sense. I don’t think anyone can fault you for it, though.”
Fuuma thanks him-Kamui takes a bite of the squid-the waiter swings by with Fuuma’s shot of tequila and is about to go when-
“You drinking, Kamui?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we’re toasting with these and getting another round. He slides Kamui his own glass, and checks “-Vodka?” like it surprises him.
Kamui shrugs.
Fuuma’s got his shot raised-Kamui does the same with what’s left in his glass. Their knuckles are close. “Kotori, you pick the toast.”
She knows it, she’s known it. “To new beginnings!”
“Kanpai!”
-----
“No, it was over this way!”
“You sure?”
“I’m the oldest! Of course I’m sure.”
The way their laughter echoes between the trees makes Kotori wonder if she’s drunk, too. Just from being around them. Kamui’s loosened up so much and Fuuma’s sunglasses have stayed on top of his hair (mostly) and Kotori can smell the bay and the river not too far off, just a little south over the edge of this row of trees.
“No really, I think it would have been closer to the street-”
“You haven’t been back here in twenty years, Kamui-”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who spent four hours hanging onto that tree. I think I’d remember where it is.”
“You’re also smaller. Therefore you’re drunker, ‘cause you had just as much as me and therefore my judgment is less im-un-um-clearer.”
“Clearly.”
Kotori shakes her head, laughs, but their laughter and arguing are louder so they probably miss it. That’s okay, though. Something’s right about this, them arguing and the slight wintry breeze and the hint of a few visible stars, maybe, over the bay. Unless that’s just the haloes of the bridge. But it’s not too cloudy, just humid little wisps that suggest that tomorrow there might be-clouds like the caps of waves, clouds like bird silhouettes. Even if it’s not the right tree, Kotori leans against the nearest one, watches the sky, listens to the boys. Boys, even if they’re men now. It’s so cute.
Kamui sighs, such a big sound for him-he’s more than a little ruddy in the face and his hair’s even messier than it had been back at the Coliseum, and his raincoat’s undone over a less-undone collar. “Seriously, Fuuma,” he says, “I don’t think it’s here.”
“I kept coming back here after you left,” Fuuma says-
Kotori’s heart flutters. And not a little.
It’s like-it’s like even if there could be stars, something just crossed over them, like a zeppelin or a dragon or a satellite. Fuuma’s leaning on a tree too, his hand outstretched sideways and pressed into the bark, and in the team jacket his wearing it’s thick enough and high enough to be another bough. The raised zero patches on the back stand out like bark, but his hair’s too prickly for leaves-and he’s staring toward the same place Kotori just was, or something beyond it.
He says it again, “After you left, and Mom’s funeral. For…I don’t know, a year? Two? It was the kind of thing that starts off being every day and then you skip one, skip a few, miss a week and then just look whenever you’re in the area and remember, you know, Kamui was here. Up, on that branch. Saving my little sister because I wasn’t there to protect either of them.”
Kamui almost flashes closer, “It wasn’t your-”
“I know,” Fuuma says. It’s not a shout, but it could be. “But you know I promised I’d protect you. After that. And I should have, before.”
By the time Fuuma turns, Kamui is already there, far enough that he doesn’t have to look-up-look-up, but like he wants to be closer. “Fuuma. You couldn’t have known that was what you wanted until something made you have to want it. You know that.”
Fuuma shrugs-Kotori can’t see his face from here, so she comes around to make sure-yeah. He’s smiling, just a little, like he’s making fun of himself. Kotori moves a little closer too, so she can see them both.
“I could have,” Fuuma says. “I might have. I’ve always cared about you, Kamui. Might not have know how, then, but I have.”
Maybe he doesn’t even realize it, but Kamui takes half a step back.
Fuuma doesn’t notice either. “So come on, let’s find the tree. Just to make sure it’s still here.” He turns, smiles-lets his hand fall from the bark. “And then you’re coming home with us, okay.”
Kamui hangs his head like he’s about to nod-instead of pulling it up straight, though, he turns, looks toward the bay. “…How long has that Ferris wheel been here?”
Kotori hadn’t realized they’d gotten so close to the clearing-close enough that now, they all have to lean back in order to see the top of it at all, over trees and under wisps of fog like feathers. She answers: “I don’t know, 2000? 2001?”
…Important silences. Important silences that aren’t really silent. The park’s closed, it’s almost midnight, so the wheel isn’t running-but if Kotori tries, she can hear the cars creaking, swinging gently where the wind is just a little stronger than down here on the ground.
Kamui’s probably the first to get it. He shuffles, says, “Let’s go, okay,” steps aside and-
There’s another sound, a sharper one, like a cat pouncing. When Kotori turns around, Fuuma has Kamui by the wrist-is pulling him closer, holding him, his waist, the back of his messy head. “C’mere, Kotori,” he says over Kamui-he’s more than a head taller, so much broader, and it’s easy for Kotori to do what he says and snuggle in too, lean her head on Kamui’s shoulder and her brother’s chest at the same time, wrap her arms around them both. Their coats are a little cold-they’re warm under it, though.
“Forget the damned tree,” Fuuma says-Kotori can feel it against her ear. “You’re back. That’s what matters.”
Kotori feels Kamui shiver-but then his palm presses into her back. Probably Fuuma’s too, but she’s closed her eyes by now, so. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
How long they just stand there like that doesn’t matter either.
Coming untangled is awkward-Kamui shifts (his hair smells really nice), cracks his neck a little, and it’s maybe a signal. Kotori gets it, moves too, lets her arms down and lifts her ear off his shoulder. Fuuma’s the last to let go-even when he’s hugging just Kotori, he never quite knows when-but he’s got the brightest smile when he steps back, toward the street. It’s just a little fake-there’s something he’s not saying, something he’s not sure about.
That’s alright, though. Kotori’s feeling a lot the same.
“Home?” he offers. “I mean-”
“If it’s all right,” Kamui says. Now that they’ve all come apart, Kotori’s not at the right angle to see whether he’s smiling or not.
“I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t,” Fuuma says, and that’s true at least.
Kotori walks up to Kamui, takes his hand-the same hand he saved her with, that time-and starts leading the way back, in the direction of the house.
-----