Work Text:
The sound of Takina’s ragged breathing echoes across her head, tinny and raspy, an angry tinnitus ringing in her ears. Through the haze of too-bright lights and the quiet whispers of hospital staff talking amongst themselves, she feels a bead of sweat drip down her chin, dipping to the hollow of her chest as she swallows past a lump in her throat. The sweat-soaked fabric of her hospital gown layers her in an uncomfortable chill; the tight wrap of scratchy bandages around her shoulder and head leaves her flushed and raw.
An empty bed. A hospital gown strewn over the top of the plush chair by the window. A blood-red, blood-stained uniform in a heap on the ground. Takina’s eyes rove over the scene, desperate. A note, her phone, a clue, anything, anything.
“Takina!” a shout rings across her head, and she whips around to find Mizuki staring at her with sad, sunken eyes, a hand resting on Takina’s uninjured shoulder. She notes, detachedly, that the soft pink of Mizuki's nail polish is chipped and worn. The cuticles on her thumb nail are pushed back and thoroughly chewed.
Takina lets out a noise that is a wheeze and a grunt all at once as her eyes drag back towards the scene in front of her. A touch of firm, gentle fingers against her chin forces amethyst eyes to train themselves back on Mizuki.
“Takina,” Mizuki whispers, and the hurt—the pity—is so clear as to be debilitating. Takina’s eyes burn with unshed tears. Her breath hitches and shudders as her lungs seize, sobs and hiccups bubbling from her lips in an angry, boiling mess of emotion. Mizuki drags Takina into a hug, drawing circles around her back, careful of the mess of bandages around her shoulders. Her nails drag softly across the flushed skin, gentle and cruel and soothing in a way that feels wrong, wrong, wrong. It isn’t the time for leisure, for hugs and for crying like a baby in Mizuki’s arms, but-
“She’s gone,” Takina whimpers, and it is all her fears realized. The words burn as they leave her tongue, because she had done so much to avoid having to say them. Smiles exchanged in the wake of first snow, a scarf snug against the skin of her neck. Heaving breaths as they lay next to each other in the light of the hole blasted through the wall, her phone burning a hole in her pocket. Red across her vision as she breathes deep of her own rage against the vessel of Chisato’s heart.
She had done... so much.
“I failed,” Takina whispers, and Mizuki’s arms tighten around her, this girl who had taken upon herself the weight of Chisato’s life more readily than anyone else—an Atlas for a single heart and still buckling under the weight.
Hospital staff milling about, DA representatives gingerly milling around the room in search of clues, bathed in the cold light of a chill winter morning, a just-woken Takina weeping beneath the mournful gaze of the LycoReco staff crowded around her, Nishikigi Chisato disappears without a trace.
The doctor settles a clipboard on a nearby table with a sharp, plastic clatter.
“Well, the good news is that the rope burn has all but healed during your time in the hospital,” the man says, detached, almost bored. He rubs at the bridge of his nose, holding back a sigh. “I am, however, going to have to ask you to be particularly careful while performing any activity that requires motion of your shoulder. Like any other wound, this must scab and scar, and aggravating it will do no one any good, got it?”
Takina’s gaze shifts from the frost-edged window at the side of the room with a blink. There is a pause during which the doctor observes her with barely hidden exasperation. Takina’s flights of fancy are not new to either of them. The doctor’s words trudge through her brain, sap-slow as they flow into understanding, and she nods before turning her head back towards the window. The doctor sighs, turning towards Mika, who is sat on the faded green fabric of a nearby sofa.
Mika stands up with a grunt, leaning on his crutch as he makes his way to the doctor. He places a hand on Takina’s shoulder as he passes by, soft, reassuring. Takina blinks up at him owlishly before nodding once, slow and unsure; she stands, wiping her clammy hands on the grey of her skirt, hoping the contact might grind away at the crescent-moon marks from where her nails have dug into her palms.
“Ms. Inoue,” the doctor calls right as she reaches the doorway, stopping her in her tracks. Pools of impassive, deep purple stare back him. “I am not that kind of doctor, and thus am not really qualified nor equipped to help you with the kind of issues that are most certainly plaguing you right now. But I strongly suggest that you seek out some form of therapy for the... traumatic events you have undergone recently. The passing of a loved one is never easy.”
Takina grits her teeth, anger flaring. She turns her head away, a curtain of raven black hiding her face from view. Mika sighs.
“She isn’t dead,” Takina mutters.
“But she is gone, no?”
A pregnant silence fills the room. Mika hastily reaches a hand out towards the doctor, pocketing his proffered note with the necessary medicines and creams for treating Takina’s burn while shooting the man a sharp look. He makes his way to Takina, then, and it breaks his heart to see her like this, shoulders hunched, eyes angry at the world, a snarl twisting her features.
“Thank you for the advice,” Mika’s voice rumbles, and there is a moment of hesitation before he wraps an arm around Takina’s shoulders, nudging her gentle and true into the hallway. “We’ll make sure to reach out if we have any questions.”
The walk out of the hospital is quiet and tense, but Mika never lets his arm drop from around Takina’s shoulder. She drifts, listless and seemingly only barely aware of the sparse crowds littering the hallways of the hospital as Mika occasionally nudges her off a collision course. It is saddening, really, to think that these children had taken upon themselves all that the two of them had. Mika’s arm tightens around Takina as they enter the echoing belly of the high-rise parking attached to the hospital.
“Emotion is not a bad thing,” he says as they make their way into the car. Takina, ever attentive, holds her hands out for Mika’s crutch. He places it on her outstretched palms with a nod as she carefully lowers herself onto the passenger seat, placing the crutch behind their seats. The care she puts into it lifts the corners of Mika’s lips. “Emotion drives us. Emotion fuels us.”
Mika slots the car key into place, the engine rumbling to life with a start. The slow sway of the car rocks Takina back and forth as inquisitive eyes fix themselves on Mika, who stares firmly ahead as he joins the line of people checking out from the parking lot.
“Love draws from within us strength we did not know we could muster.” His eyes flicker to her for a moment. “Anger does, too.”
Takina flinches, but her apprehension is brushed aside by a chuckle from Mika. The steering wheel glides across his hands as he turns out of the hospital and onto the lazy traffic of the city.
“I am far from qualified to judge you for the ways emotion has made you act, Takina. You may have failed to save her now, but I have more mistakes racked up through sheer breadth of experience than you ever will. Especially when it comes to Chisato.”
The silence that follows rings in Mika’s ears like dull regret, like the flash of a muzzle under a sunset sky and a heart torn asunder. The irony is enough to kill a man.
“I’m not used to this,” Takina mutters. “Chisato picked me up and dropped me into a world that was so much more than I ever knew, that made me feel things I never knew I could feel. Anger is as new to me as-”
Her lips press into a fine line as she squeezes her eyes shut. Takina presses the heel of her palm against her eyes. Her breath shudders as her lungs fill with cool air from the AC and the world-shattering realization that maybe she and Chisato were not so different in the end, the way both their hearts lay nestled in someone else’s grasp.
“It’s as new to me as love,” she says, and Mika is proud of her, proud of this girl who has managed to break out of her shell, even as she squirms in the aftermath and jagged-edged fragments of it. “I love her.”
“I know,” Mika whispers as Takina begins to cry, tears lit by the silver winter light. He reaches into the center console of the car, pulling out a packet of tissues. The seal is crisp and untouched. Takina spots a receipt in a shadowy corners of the console and wonders if she is that predictable, or if maybe the year she has spent with everyone at LycoReco has simply been enough to be known. Neither is necessarily bad. “I do too.”
The car slows to a stop at a parking lot by the café, and a red-eyed, sniffling Takina steps out while Mika pointedly looks away. They walk, the clatter of Mika’s crutch and the gentle tap of Takina’s always-crisp shoes against the sidewalk the only noise permeating through the hazy midmorning air. A half-empty packet of tissues finds its way back to Mika’s hands as they make it to the entrance of the café.
“This place is dear to you, right?” Takina says, and though she tries to level her voice, she cannot help but to look away from Chisato at the admission that she has labored ever so hard to keep the place Chisato calls a home alive. To care so deeply is a foreign feeling, but she finds she does not mind it, if it’s for her.
Chisato’s head whips around in a blur of soft blonde, backlit by the warm lights of the café. The crimson of her eyes glows a bright gold, and Takina sees the way her face settles on shock for a moment before she hides it behind her bag. The tacky grumpy dog strap blinks and shimmers from the corner of her bag.
“Takina,” Chisato croons, leaning her head from behind the bag, a smile stretching across her lips, unbearably soft. “Thanks.”
A rush of heat works its way from the back of Takina’s neck to the tips of her ears. Yes, for Chisato, she doesn’t mind this at all.
Takina wipes a hand across the dry leaves atop the bench, sitting down with a sigh. Mika lowers himself onto the empty spot beside her. Takina looks up, takes in the sight of the nondescript alleyway of the café; hears, muffled, the sound of Mizuki loading their dishwasher, the sound of a fan running on high as Kurumi no doubt hogs it all for herself. She turns her head towards the Old Radio Tower, towards the still-healing glass dome of Enkuboku. Her shoulder twinges.
“Is it useless to hope?” Takina asks, quiet as the breeze whistling across the street. Her heart feels raw, a gnashing, blood-soaked thing that rages against the quiet of her mind. Once again, she digs her nails into familiar grooves in her palms. “Is it useless to want, more than anything, to find her again, knowing she doesn’t want to be found?”
Mika says nothing for a moment, staring at Takina as she hangs her head back, eyes fixed on nothing but the chipped shingles on the roof above them. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before leaning back with her. A fond chuckle slips from his mouth before he can help it.
“What you want to do always takes top priority, right?” Mika says, reaching into another pocket and pulling something out. He pries Takina’s fingers open and drops something smooth and glass-cool against her palm. “Though of course, that can lead to many failures as well.”
Takina brings her hand up, staring into the grumpy eyes of a scratched, chipped, tacky dog bag strap. A beam of light hits it just so, that the edges of it twinkle and shine. She fists her hand around the little accessory, bringing it down to her lips. Her heart settles, curling in on itself in a ceasefire that leaves her feeling still—not exactly calm, but some halfway point between acceptance and denial, a limbo that she wears as armor and blade.
Mika watches, smiling, as Takina stands up from the bench. The Old Radio Tower stands behind her, the wild tangle of metal holding it up flowing with the deep black of her hair. The air shimmers with heat, and the storm in Takina’s eyes is not gone, but it is... tempered. A flame to a torch. Ah, really, he couldn’t be prouder.
“If it’s for Chisato,” Takina mumbles as her hand trails to the steady thump of blood against the angry gash on her shoulder, “I don’t quite mind that at all.”
If the simple conviction to change the world was enough to do anything at all, everything would be so much simpler, but alas, Takina’s newfound determination does not amount to much more than hot air and marginally more bearable amounts of extreme emotion at any given moment.
Life marches on, uncaring and inexhaustible, at café LycoReco. Customers open the door with a shrill ring, and Takina greets them in her fresh-pressed, royal blue uniform with a smile, a ‘Welcome!’, a just-brewed cup of coffee.
Occasionally, someone will order that sugary monstrosity that was Chisato’s special parfait, and Takina will scoff, but her hands will move in a practiced blur as she puts together the single least cost-effective item on their menu with a sad smile.
Ms. Saori shows up every now and then, boyfriend occasionally in tow, and she and Takina always share a coffee while Takina lets her know everything that has happened since her last visit. They sometimes meet at the café where they first talked to her after the gun deal, and there is always a seat by the window waiting for them.
‘I’m sorry for... using you as bait, back then,’ Takina says, eyes downtrodden. The dregs of her coffee pile in a lump at the bottom of her cup as she stares them down, as though they are responsible for the heartlessness characteristic of Takina’s past. ‘I was kind of stupid.’
Saori laughs, a twinkle shining in her eye and off the thin frame of her glasses. She picks Takina’s cup up in one hand, her own in the other. A smile flits across her face that Takina does her best to return.
‘Well, I’m alive, aren’t I?’ she says, a giggle filtering through her lips at Takina’s sigh. ‘It’s obvious to see you’ve changed for the better over the last year, Takina, and I can probably guess why. That makes me happy.’
Detective Abe and his junior stop by when a case proves too much for them, and they need refuge from the stresses of work. They join in on game nights, drink coffee atop the plush cushions on the floor, and Takina gets to know them in ways that the stress of the past year had never allowed. She learns of Detective Abe’s wife and child, his North Stars. She learns of his junior’s fervent desire to get promoted and make money so he can go back into college for another degree. She learns how to get cats down from trees.
‘Thank you for all your help, Takina,’ Abe chortles good-naturedly as they walk back into the cool air of the police station. ‘I know you have school and your job at the café to keep you busy, so it means a lot to me that you’d step up to help every now and then here, too.’
Takina nods, keeping her head clear from the curious paws of the black cat cradled in her arms as it is deposited summarily into Abe’s waiting grip.
‘It’s no problem at all, detective,’ she says, and is almost surprised to realize that she means it. The elated shriek of a child accompanied by a concerned squawk is all the warning they have before the cat is scooped from Abe’s arms by his daughter, his wife sighing before sending Takina a grateful smile.
‘I told my junior this already, but... this is what I fight for, Takina,’ Abe whispers, love shining in his eyes as his family crowds around itself in a bubble of warmth that wrings Takina’s heart painfully tight, like a soggy rag. ‘If people like my wife and daughter can live and laugh like this...’
‘Then it’s all worth it, isn’t it?’
Abe looks at her curiously. Her eyes seem far away, even as they are fixed a scant five feet in front of her. A hand lays over her left shoulder, grip just tight enough to crease the crisp blue school uniform. Her eyes turn to his, and she smiles, a curious thing that carries more than he’s really willing to try to decipher. He returns it, patting her on the back.
‘Yeah, it sure is.’
Takina teaches the foreign language classes, Takina cares for the children at the preschool, Takina delivers coffee grounds to the yakuza office, Takina hosts game night, Takina helps the mangaka with her ever-late storyboards.
Again, again, again, the question rears its ugly head.
‘Thank you for your help, Takina’
‘Thank you, big sis Takina!’
‘You’re a life saver, Takina!’
‘But I can’t help but wonder-’
“Where?” Takina whispers to herself beneath the rush of the shower at Chisato’s old safehouse, scalding water a cascade over her back save for where a patch of gauze rests over her left shoulder. “Where are you, Chisato?”
Takina steps out of the bathroom, fingers carding through damp hair, a thousand thoughts flickering in her head as she begins the now-habitual process of applying burn cream to the wound on her shoulder and spreading ointment over the assortment of small cuts and nicks across her body, a myriad of tiny, painful reminders of the day of the Old Radio Tower and Enkuboku.
Truthfully, she had picked up Chisato’s slack at her various community jobs because she had hoped that somehow, one of them would have clues as to her whereabouts. Maybe Chisato’s bleeding heart had won out in the end—ironic, that thought—and she had visited some of them to fulfill her errands.
“But no,” Takina grumbles as her finger bumps across a receding welt, the cool of the burn cream an uncomfortably constant presence against her skin. “You just had to go and make yourself real scarce, didn’t you Chisato?”
Takina finishes her routine with a sigh, slipping on one of Chisato’s old shirts. Even after all this time, she hadn’t really bothered with buying new clothes. It didn’t feel right, without Chisato there to tell her what looked good. A smile dances across Takina’s lips as she remembers the fervent warmth of her enthusiasm, the ruby red of her blush.
Takina absentmindedly hums a song she heard at the train station earlier that day as she walks into the living room. Her eyes flit to the blank whiteboard by the dining room table, catching on the half-erased outline of a grid. ‘Takina, Takina, Takina’ fills every square, and she scoffs.
She reaches into the fridge, pulling out a pre-prepped meal she had made in the morning before placing it in the microwave. The soft hum fills her ears, and it is a reprieve from the deathly quiet that usually fills the apartment. It’s kind of funny, really, to think about how bothered she is by the silence when she was never anywhere noisy at this time of day anyways. Maybe it’s the fact that this is a place which had once harbored Chisato, in all her whirlwind glory. It doesn’t feel like any room the she has stepped foot in should be quiet and still in the way the apartment has felt over the last couple of months.
The constant drone fluttering across Takina’s mind is broken by the shrill beep of the microwave’s timer, and she quickly opens the door, grabbing her food and some silverware from a nearby drawer before heading to the couch.
There on the table, surrounded by neat stacks of DVD boxes, is a crumpled paper bag. A note, hanging on by the barest hint of glue left on the tape, reads “To Takina <3, my hand-picked recommendations! ~Chisato selections~.”
The scratchy, rushed writing, the silly doodle of herself at the bottom corner of the note, the sheer... Chisato-ness of it, was like a punch to the gut when she first noticed the bag in a corner of her old room. It is easy to forget, amidst the peril and excitement of the day where they first met Kurumi, the first gift Chisato ever gave her.
The movies are... generally okay. They explain a lot, in any case, Takina thinks as she watches some rugged, badass protagonist pull a move that she is sure she has seen Chisato attempt in the middle of much-too-tense moments. But beyond their actual contents, the movies allow her to peek into Chisato’s life in a way she had never bothered to before. Takina spears a vegetable through with her fork as the movie drags on in the background.
Her Lycoris license renewal is coming up, she realizes belatedly. The thought draws a wince out of her. Going back to DA doesn’t carry the same sense of... distinctive lack-of-belonging that it used to, right after her expulsion, but it is not exactly a place ripe with good memories. Regardless, it would be hypocritical of her to drag her feet after all the bellyaching she put Chisato through when it was her turn.
A part of her remembers how insistent she was that Chisato go to her physical checkup. A flash of magenta hair, the muzzle flash of gunfire, Chisato prone on an operating table. Takina sucks a shaky breath in. On-screen, Jackie Chan strikes a flashy pose, letting out a shrill screech as he holds his hands in front of him, fingers held together in the face of overwhelming odds.
Takina laughs, throwing her head back and an arm over her eyes as she remembers the darkened room of the bar, the beep of the bomb hanging off the edge of her pliers, Chisato and her stupid, unfair bullet dodging scaring the manager and bodyguard shitless. She remembers the smooth expanse of Chisato’s palm against hers, the excited lilt of her voice as she celebrates a compliment from Takina. Her shoulders shake as her laughter dies down.
“God, Chisato,” Takina murmurs wetly as a trail of tears slips from beneath her arm, down the skin of her neck, a pinprick of cold. A sliver of warmth fills her voice. “This movie sucks.”
Takina and Fuki do not talk as they change into their sporting clothes.
Fuki stares for a second at the mess of tiny, puckered-pink scars littered across Takina’s back, at the jagged trench of barely healed skin on her left shoulder. Her eyes are filled with something like pity, something like respect, something like regret. Takina does not care to decipher the depths of the emotion there; she just wants her license.
For Fuki’s part, as if Chisato doing it was never enough to drive her up the wall, Takina seems to have grown into herself as a Lycoris so thoroughly over the past year that her physical capabilities were... frustratingly out of reach for Fuki, even despite the raven-haired girl being younger than her. She is obviously no Chisato, but maybe the fact that she’s a more realistic goalpost while still being ahead of her makes it more frustrating. Fuki clicks her tongue in annoyance.
Still, Fuki can’t help but be... well fine, she’ll admit it, she’s worried.
The set of her shoulders as her feet pound down on the treadmill. The way she seems to run with her gaze fixed always, always upwards. The way that even as her breath runs ragged, her feet simply pump harder and harder. Takina runs as though she is permanently desperate.
‘As though every single one of her steps carries the weight of Chisato’s life,’ a voice whispers in the back of Fuki’s head. Curiously enough, it sounds like Erika. She brushes the thought aside.
Takina slaps her hands on the stupid button reflexes machine at a mile a minute. Her head twitches away from every flash of light, and when she finishes, her score 3 points ahead of Fuki’s, she sees the way Takina has to catch herself from slamming her hand into the last button.
(The bright red plastic of the buttons, faded from overuse, glows a sickly fuchsia in places. It makes an anger in Takina she had thought long dead raise its hackles.)
The side-to-side jumps, the high jump, the grip test, the acrobatics test. Fuki stares in muted annoyance at the way Takina throws herself at each and every one of her assessments with abandon. Ragged breaths tear from her lungs, ruffling a few errant strands of hair where they fall across her face. Takina’s eyes seem to glow with a sharp, dangerous... something lurking behind them. It unnerves Fuki.
The two of them sit side by side on a bench outside the athletic assessment area as they await their results. Takina rests her elbows on her legs, taking slow, deep breaths. Her head is down, a curtain of black hiding her face from view. Fuki sighs, standing up and walking towards a nearby vending machine. She slots a dollar into place, waiting for the plastic thump of a water bottle to sound against the metal grate. She slots another. Waits again.
Fuki presses the cool plastic of one of the water bottles against Takina’s arm. Takina flinches, and the storm in her eyes seems to recede for all the time it takes to be shocked at the fact that Fuki of all people is being nice to her. She reaches her hand up, the plastic crinkling beneath her grip as she grabs the bottle.
“Thank you,” Takina mutters, not exactly cowed by the peace offering, but at the very least... calmed by it. Fuki nods, sitting down once more.
Neither of them speak for a while after that. Takina drinks from her bottle until it is about halfway empty, then presses the cool bottom of it against her shoulder, a twinge of discomfort showing on her brow at the contact before it smooths over to relief. Fuki sees the angry, stretched-out skin of the burn and winces.
“Why are you trying so hard?” Fuki asks before she can stop herself. The confused look Takina gives her drags an angry sigh from her lips. Foot meet mouth, it seems. “Why push yourself so hard for just some... dumb license renewal, is what I meant. I mean, I know I’m not exactly faring much better, but there’s no need to treat this like-”
‘Like the Radio tower,’ she wants to say, but it feels like crossing a line that she’s not quite close enough—might not ever be close enough with Takina—to breach. An awkward silence drapes itself over them again, and good Lord let it be known that Fuki is not made to handle other people’s emotions. She’s thankful to be sitting down, or else she would have fallen over as her second foot had fitted itself snugly in her mouth alongside the first.
“...It frustrates me,” Takina replies after a short while, and Fuki is surprised that she has even achieved that much. Maybe the water bottle offering helped. “I feel how I’ve improved over the last few months, and it’s... it haunts me, in a way.”
The plastic in Takina’s hands crumples as she tightens her grip. “If I was this fast, back then, would it have made a difference? If I could react to things faster, would it have made a difference? If I could jump higher, further, if I could do anything as well as I can right now, would-”
Takina breathes in, slow, shuddering, as she closes her eyes. Fuki can see the count in her head, from one to five. Takina’s nostrils flare softly as she lets the breath out through her nose. When she opens them, her eyes roil and burn, oily and slick.
“Would any of it have made a difference?” Takina mutters, loosening her grip on the water bottle as she looks at Fuki, and for a moment she can almost pretend that look in her eyes is a pleading one. Right. As if Takina would ever look to her like that. “Would she have still felt the need to leave?”
Fuki’s eyes fix on the hazy reflection of light her bottle casts on the floor. She sloshes the water slowly back and forth, seeing the way the shadows shift and change. A fire lights in her stomach. She is not capable of the riptides of emotion that Takina has shown herself adept at harnessing, but she is very good at simmering a steady heat.
A thousand different memories flit through Fuki’s mind. Of growing up next to Chisato, of chasing after her as she blazes a new and incredible path as a Lycoris. A thousand flashes of annoyance, of anger, of jealousy. The sight of Chisato’s back is so deeply ingrained in her that it might as well be printed on the inside of her eyelids.
She recalls Takina, an upstart transfer, gunning down the room as Fuki's radio crackles and crunches in her ear. She recalls the splatter of paint on her forehead as Takina, the wily goddamn devil she is, shoots at her through Chisato. She recalls the way Takina seemed to soften under Chisato’s touch at their visits to the café. She recalls Takina, a grim set to her mouth, hands fisted at her side.
‘I can’t save Chisato here. That’s all there is to it.’
‘Damnit, Chisato,’ Fuki thinks as she stands up from the bench, a fist clenched at her side. ‘You’re too good at leaving people in the dust.’
Fuki’s knuckles tap against the top of Takina’s head with a thump, a gentle reprimand. The younger girl’s head shoots up, eyes inquisitive. Fuki tries to will the heat in her stomach to show in her voice.
“It doesn’t matter if any of it would have made a difference,” Fuki says. She turns her head away as Takina squints at her. “She left you behind. She had to go and be some big damn hero, and now you’re here to pick up the pieces of everything she left behind because cool guys don’t look at explosions, even if those pieces are yours.”
Takina snorts at that. ‘Guess Chisato finally got someone else to watch all her damn movies,’ Fuki thinks. ‘Good for her.’
“So yeah, I get it. You’re upset, you’re angry, you have regrets, but none of those things are doing jack for you right now,” Fuki finishes before locking eyes with Takina. She hopes Takina is too preoccupied with herself to realize that maybe she’s staring at a bit of a mirror right now. “You still haven’t given up on finding her, right?”
Takina shakes her head, and Fuki harrumphs, lifting her fist from where it was still resting against the crown of Takina's head. “Then that’s all there is to it. Stay angry, stay pissed, give everything your 110% even if it kills you; I certainly won’t stop you. But make sure you’re looking in the right direction before you start running.”
Takina stares at her for a moment, gobsmacked. She expected a lot of things out of Fuki, but the strangely earnest encouragement she's receiving was... startlingly low on the list. Takina giggles, chime-tinkle sweet in the stale corridors of DA, and Fuki blushes, a growl rumbling in her chest.
“Thank you, Fuki,” Takina murmurs with a smile on her face, the weight of the world suddenly seeming lighter on her shoulders. “I think I needed to hear that maybe my anger wasn’t as... unsolicited as I had been fearing.”
“Yeah, well you happen to be talking to the one person who is probably angriest at Chisato the most often, so lucky you,” Fuki sighs, crossing her arms as a secretary walks over with their respective sheafs of paperwork. Fuki clicks her tongue as she spots the bright red marker on her and Takina’s papers, both reading “A” at the very top.
“Prodigies,” Fuki murmurs under her breath as Takina slips back into the changing room. “Can’t stand the lot of them.”
The door to café LycoReco swings open, the gentle ding of the bell above the door drawing three pairs of eyes to the door.
“I’m back,” Takina calls, proudly holding her new license in the air, crisp and newly laminated. There is an air about her, like the gloss of her new license has somehow wrought her anew as well.
“Welcome back,” the voices of Mika, Mizuki and Kurumi sound out in unison, and Mizuki is already making grabby hands at Takina’s new license as she hands it over with a small smile. Mizuki lets out an appreciative whistle before handing it back.
“An ‘A’ rating, huh?” she coos, a smug smile plastered across her face. She leans her head on her hand, half-lidded eyes filled with mirth. “Are you sure you still aren’t trying to burrow your way back into the main branch back at DA and make waves as a sparkling new elite, Takina dear?”
Takina carefully places the license in a sleeve of her wallet before tucking it into her bag, nodding once at Mika’s muffled call of ‘Congratulations!’ as he heads into the basement before turning her eyes back to Mizuki. A smile dances across her features, tentative in its optimism and foghorn-loud in its confidence. Privately, Mizuki rejoices; happiness has always been such a good look on Takina, once she had managed to find it.
“For a Second Lycoris to be allowed to take the assessment examination for becoming a First Lycoris, they need a recommendation letter from their unit leader,” Takina rattles off mechanically as she steps into the changing room, pulling her LycoReco uniform off its hanger. “So even if I wanted to, I can’t really do that right now.”
Mizuki deflates at that. Her sigh ruffles the pages of the magazine in front of her, open to a page about popular Okinawan vacation spots. Takina steps out of the changing room, hands busy tying her hair up into her customer service pigtails. Her eyes shine with determination as she places a fist against her hip.
“To be honest, I don’t really want to become a First Lycoris anymore,” Takina says, and if that isn’t a sign of personal development, Mizuki doesn’t think anything will ever be. “But maybe I should still make Chisato fill out the paperwork when we get her back. Just to annoy her.”
Mika, peeking up from the basement, pauses mid-step. Mizuki’s eyes widen, manicured nails ceasing their steady, rhythmic beating on the countertop. Even Kurumi’s eyes drift from their home, fixed firmly on the screen of her laptop. The three of them share a look, before turning back to Takina with matching smiles.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mizuki says, and Takina nods once before turning around to face the door as the bell rings once again, soft brown waves bouncing into the room, a pair of thin-rimmed glasses reflecting the warm café lights.
“Welcome back, Ms. Saori!” Takina says with a bow and a smile. Saori smiles, muttering a quiet ‘thank you,’ before sitting down next to Mizuki as Takina heads into the kitchen to make her regular.
“So, how’re you and Mr. Boyfriend doing, Ms. Saori?” Mizuki inquires from her spot at the bar next to her, and even if she is somewhat jealous, she can’t help but feel happy for the woman, after everything she was almost a part of.
“Oh, really well, actually!” Saori says, a soft grin playing at her features as she accepts a cup from Takina with a ‘thank you’ and a smattering of coins. The sound of Mika’s brew and Takina working the register ease the day into a new beginning as the sun warms the corners of the cozy café. “We’re actually thinking of taking a little trip to celebrate our anniversary soon.”
Mizuki grins, pushing her magazine forward. The sparkling beaches of Irabu Island shine under a sunbeam as she opens it to the page about this lovely little restaurant called “Blue Turtle” nestled right at the south coast of the island.
“Why don’t I help you make some plans, then?”
“Hey, Saori,” Takina says weakly as the other woman looks up from her phone, the adoring look on her face morphing into one of curiosity. “Can I get a copy of that picture?”
Takina steps out of the bathroom, dragging a paper towel across her mouth as she tries to wash the taste of bile from her mouth. The tense atmosphere of the café threatens to send her right back, her stomach twisting itself in knots.
The lights in the store are off, the drizzle of rain smattering against the empty roads outside the café the only semblance of ambience in a world of gray. Mizuki sits at the bar, magazine crumpled in her hand as she chews on a fingernail, brow furrowed in a fierce scowl. Mika stands behind the countertop, dragging a rag across the inside of an already dry cup for no reason other than the monotony of it.
Kurumi runs into the room, bursting through the door of the closet with her tablet clutched in her hands. Her cheeks are flushed, and a tentative smile colors her face as she perches herself on a chair between Mizuki and the newly seated Takina. Mika walks over to the fridge, pulling a jug of chilled tea out.
“It’s official,” Kurumi calls with a sigh as she perches her head on the table. Mika hands her a cup of tea, and she hands him the tablet with all the information she was able to scrounge up in return. “There is currently one Nishikigi Chisato registered on payroll at the Blue Turtle café on Irabu Island, Okinawa prefecture. She was seemingly hired just a little over a month ago, so about a week after Ms. Saori’s visit with her boyfriend, and has been a registered tenant at D’s Grow Resort Infinity Pool Villa for-”
“Four months, two weeks, and 3 days.”
Kurumi stares at the rigid set of Takina’s jaw, at the way her eyes seem to zero in on nothing, blown wide and filled with grief and anger and hope. Kurumi purses her lips, sucking a breath in through her teeth. “ Give or take a few days, yeah.”
Takina steeples her hands in front of her, covering her eyes as she lets out a derisive laugh. “A 3-hour flight,” she says with a twisted lilt to her voice, brambly and raw. Kurumi closes her eyes. “For the last 4 and a half months, Chisato has been a 3-hour flight away at an island resort, and the only reason we found out is because Ms. Saori happened to take a selfie with her in the background.”
Takina’s fist slams into the countertop. The assortment of glasses on the other side clatter and clang together. Kurumi slowly lowers her hastily raised teacup back onto the table. Silence adorns the four of them in the wake of Takina’s outburst, and for a second Kurumi wonders if she will run back into the bathroom, the way her skin shines, sweat-soaked, pale and clammy, the way her hands shake as she clasps them together on her lap.
“I’m sorry,” Takina murmurs dejectedly, swallowing past the thick lump in her throat as she looks at Mika. “It’s just...”
“Cruel,” Mika finishes, lowering a blend of coffee in front of Takina. She takes a deep breath, the smell familiar against the corners of her mind. She lifts the cup gingerly to her lips and recognizes it immediately as the kind that Mika gave her on her first day at LycoReco. She takes a deeper drink of the cup before setting it down, the wind torn from her sails.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
Another pause follows in the conversation, broken only after Mizuki lets out a groan, throwing the magazine down in frustration before stepping up to Takina, eyes aflame. A single finger plants itself right in front of her eyes.
“Screw this!” Mizuki yells, impassive and crude and so very like her that it jars Takina from her nausea, from the thousand errant thoughts whirling about in her mind, the million conversations and million retorts and million different ways to chew Chisato out and tell her that she-that Takina lo- “This is what we’ve all been waiting for, right? This is what you took on all those stupid odd jobs for, isn’t it? It’s the reason we still serve that stupid special, it’s the reason you went to renew your license, it’s the reason for your anger and your sadness but you’re also chasing it because you know she’ll make you happy, right?”
Takina nods shakily, and Mizuki smiles, a fist against her hip as her finger slips beneath Takina’s chin, the ghost of a memory brushing at the edges of her vision as her gaze is turned upwards towards a shaky smile and watery eyes. A touch of warmth fills the café as the midday sun peeks from behind the rain clouds.
“Then isn’t there only one thing left to do?” Mizuki asks, turning towards Mika. Laughter flows from deep in his chest, ragged and raw.
Mika turns towards Takina, back ramrod straight, chest puffed out. He holds Kurumi’s tablet in one hand before locking the raven-haired girl with a critical look. Takina stands up shakily, trying to imitate him as closely as she can despite the mire dragging her thoughts down.
“You have a job, Takina,” Mika rumbles, firm and steady despite the apprehension shining in his eyes. His voice is a balm against her frayed nerves. Her scar throbs uncomfortably. “Tomorrow, you will find and board the first plane to Irabu Island and call a taxi to the southern coast of the island, where you will then locate your target. The target works at Blue Turtle restaurant from noon to 19:30. You are to approach them during their break time at 15:00. Be careful, you know their training and experience well.”
Takina’s chest seizes as her heart soars. The familiarity of procedure lifts the haze from her mind as a buzz settles in her veins, her limbs tensing and releasing as the sun threatens to blind her, warmth spreading across her chest and down her cheeks as she nods. Takina goes to her bag, preparing to go back to her safehouse to prepare the necessary supplies for the trip, to get her plane tickets, there’s so much to do and-
“Takina.”
Mizuki, Kurumi, and Mika all stare at her. A fragile hope settles itself over them, and Takina is in this moment the very tip of the spear that will make it a reality. Mika smiles.
“Make sure you bring my daughter back.”
The rustle of grass against Takina’s forearms is a constant itch that keeps her alert as she stakes out the beaten dirt path leading from the beach to the restaurant. She misses the longer sleeves on her winter uniform, but the constant sun and pleasant temperatures of mid-April Okinawa had proven too stifling for the warmer getup. Her fingers twitch. Takina sneaks a peak at the watch on her wrist, the harsh, red numbers screaming 14:58. A deep breath through the mouth, hold, count to five. Slowly, slowly, out through the nose.
Takina draws her gun from the bag on her shoulders, popping the magazine out. Red-tipped bullets greet her for the tenth time in as many minutes as she slips the magazine back into place with a click. She really hopes she’s not as bad a shot with these as Chisato is after all the practice she’s been doing.
A rustle of grass snaps Takina out of her thoughts. She glances at her watch. 15:00. Her heart picks up into overtime, and she wills her hands to steady as a familiar figure walks the shadowed path to the beach, steps feather-light against the sturdy soil.
Takina shifts, a shuffle of grass and clatter of plastic, and her target stops.
A deep breath through the mouth, hold, count to five. Slowly, slowly, out through the nose.
The two of them burst into action. Takina takes a shot at Chisato, but finds she has already run off the path. Faintly, Takina hears the click of a gun, the shift of a grip, and she moves her head out of the way right as a bullet whizzes past her, splattering with a wet crunch against a tree trunk. Takina’s eyes, sharp and bright against the spotted shadows of the forest, flick in the direction the shot came from. She sees a flash of blonde running towards the beach and gives chase.
An adrenaline she has not felt in months courses through her veins, the sounds of gunfire and Chisato’s bullets splattering against trees ahead and behind and around her. Her legs pump beneath her, sprinting over vines, tree roots, and fallen branches as she tries to keep up. Her lungs burn, the flash of DA’s overhead lights burning at her skin, the bob of Fuki’s hair on the treadmill next to her, the flash of another bullet.
A burst of red blooms against Chisato’s shoulder—her left one. A splatter of blood on the ground, the sick sound of Majima’s boot pressing against Chisato’s back as Takina bursts into the observatory at Enkuboku, heart hammering in her ears, breath rattling in her lungs. The two of them duck behind a tree.
Takina reaches in her pocket for her restraint gun. The sharp sting of the cord, the burn as it rips through her uniform, through her shoulder, the smell of her flesh smoking and shearing nothing, nothing compared to the terrifying feeling of her arm slipping against the floor. She claws at the ground, dragging her hands across it to wipe the sweat, finding purchase in the cracks and grooves as Chisato’s weight settles firmly against the restraints.
A fraction of a second, a moment suspended in time as Chisato and Takina face each other, restraint guns fixed forward. Sweat flies from Takina’s brow, surprise flits across Chisato’s face. As she squeezes the trigger, Takina is awestruck by the way the red of Chisato’s eyes pops against the shadowy greens of the forest, how her skin, pale from blood loss last time she saw her, is flushed a beautiful pink against the thin fabric of her shirt.
A sting against legs, another against her stomach and the arm holding her restraint gun, and the moment breaks. Violet eyes shoot down, then back up, spotting a matching pair of restraints on Chisato. A voice in the back of her head celebrates.
“T-Takina?” Chisato blurts, confusion coloring her voice, and it is unfair how much she has missed the sound of her name tumbling from Chisato’s lips, but the relief in her head is washed away by a wave of vitriol, 4 and a half months of mourning and longing that rip and bite at the feeble restraints that Takina had fitted herself with under the pretense of “moving on”.
“Why are you running away?” Takina answers, annoyance clear in her voice, a frown atop her brow as she hops up and down in an attempt to keep herself upright. The question is two-pronged, and she wishes she could force Chisato to understand it. The two of them approach each other in a pathetic hobble.
“Well, that’s because you’re shooting at me!”
“You were running away!”
‘Again,’ Takina’s head supplies. She grits her teeth.
“One of those shots hit my shoulder! That hurt!”
“That’s a sign you’re getting rusty.” Takina grumbles as they crash together, tumbling to the ground. Her shoulder twinges at the impact. The irony is not lost on her.
“You can just call out to me, you know!”
“I was never trained to do something like that!”
“Are you a moron?”
“You are the moron!” Takina yells, her throat stinging, voice breaking halfway through as she feels the cracks holding the dam of her composure spiderweb across her like a physical thing. Distantly, she realizes the adrenaline might be hopping her up more than she had anticipated.
A switchblade finds its way into her fingers as she digs it from her pocket, cutting away the restraints around her other arm and legs. Nostrils flaring, Takina points the restraint gun down at a squirming Chisato, shooting once, twice more around her free arm and ankles, garnering a dismayed cry in response.
“Hey, Takina? Takina?” Chisato calls as Takina digs for the length of rope she had stashed in her bag. She brandishes it at Chisato with a glint in her eyes. “Takina, you can’t be serious right? Takina? Takina-!”
Takina hits send on the message to Mika, then puts her phone back in her pocket with a sigh. Her fingers twitch as the last dregs of adrenaline drain from her body, leaving her feeling like the personification of a waterlogged rag. Unfortunate, really, considering the hard part is still yet to come. Amethyst meets ruby. A shaky smile works its way across Chisato’s lips, bound to the tree, arms tied behind her back.
“So, uh, hey, gotta give you props for how thorough you were with these knots, y’know? I mean, you know as well as I do that we were trained on how to escape restraints in case of an emergency, but these are a real piece of w-”
“Shut up.”
Chisato’s mouth clicks shut.
Takina steps forward, every movement a dream, every moment cast in the shadow of doubt that she will reach her hand forward and the shade of the canopy will give way to nothing at all, she will wake up drenched in sweat and clad in one of Chisato’s shirts, one that has been used and cleaned by Takina herself so often that it lacks the particular smell of sugar and coffee and gunpowder that she has learned to associate with the her.
Takina falls to her knees in front of Chisato, uncaring of the way her knees scrape along the ground as she reaches a single, shaky hand out. Chisato stares at her, fear flashing across her face, then understanding, then... pity, the most detestable of all looks. She is sick of seeing it in the eyes of those around her. She hates seeing it on Chisato too, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Her palm presses flush against Chisato’s cheek, and Takina marvels at the feeling of heated skin under her hand, at the feel of Chisato, finally real and finally right here in front of her. She raises herself up and over Chisato’s bound legs, straddling her waist. The way the skin beneath her palm seems to go from warm to boiling and the slow spread of red across Chisato’s face goes summarily ignored as Takina leans her head down, resting her head against the hollow of Chisato’s throat.
A pulse, steady and strong. The rush of blood against her ears. Takina’s chest shakes with emotion, her lungs gasping for air as a choked laugh finds its way out of her mouth. Her tears are probably soaking into Chisato’s shirt as she grabs a fistful of it, a world-ending flood that rips through her like punishment, like penance.
Chisato tilts her head down. Her arms shift at her side, aching to wrap themselves around Takina as she shakes like a newly fallen leaf in autumn winds. She wonders, for a moment, if it would even be welcome; wonders, for a moment more, if there is a world where it wouldn’t be, and if she really is a moron for thinking otherwise. It seems that despite all her efforts to the contrary, reality has come crashing down on her, unrelenting, and it is pretty girl-shaped, with raven hair and sharp eyes and a heart that beats for both of them.
“I was very nearly forced to grieve you,” Takina’s voice sounds out against Chisato, and there is a tightness where her words burrow into the barely healed, pink skin over her new heart—one that has nothing to do with the restraints pulled taut against and around her. Takina’s hand trails along the plane of her chest. “And even when you weren’t dead, you forced me to lose you.”
Chisato dips her nose against the curve of Takina’s neck. Her breath ghosts across where she knows the thick rope of scar tissue trailing the curve of Takina’s left shoulder stands in stark relief against the topography of her. Though she wishes she didn’t, she remembers the sound of rope shearing through clothes and skin, the strangled scream that Takina let out a fixture in her worst moments, in those pockets of quiet that stretch on for just long enough to unnerve her in their totality, her heart a muted sigh that rumbles deathly still in her chest. A breath rattles from her lungs, frail and dry.
“I’m sorry,” Chisato mutters, as though it changes anything, as though it is enough. Takina holds her closer, fingers trailing along her neck like a threat. Chisato’s throat bobs.
“Good,” Takina mutters, and the world folds into itself as she cups her hands around Chisato’s cheeks, as she pulls her forward whisper-soft into a kiss. Chisato’s fingers long to tangle themselves in flowing midnight locks as they twitch behind her back, but she contents herself with breathing in deep through her nose, filling her lungs with the scent of just-bloomed sakura and cologne that she is certain is borrowed from Mika.
Chisato’s first kiss tastes of the world’s most boring standard-issue lip balm flavor, tears, and a hint of coffee.
It’s with Takina, though, so she finds she doesn’t mind it at all.
The coarse, sandy air of the beach stirs a distant part of Takina’s mind as she waits for Chisato to finish excitedly telling the store owner about her. The light of the vibrant, near-neon yellow of the setting sun blazes across the gentle waves of the island in what could be an imitation—a mockery, really—of the blanket of city lights stretching across a darkened sky, the hint of first snow hanging a chill in the air, breath fogging in front of her eyes, Chisato’s scarf snug around her neck. She recalls the memory much more fondly, now, even as a flash of annoyance flares to life at the thought of an abandoned hospital room, chewed nails, and muffled sobs.
The scratchy wood of her chair snaps her back to reality as Chisato slides a drink across the table. A peace offering.
“Isn’t it pretty?” she asks, eyes fixed on the faraway horizon, the curve of her nose lit by the warm evening light. Smooth glass, cool against her palm, bright against Chisato’s bag, a flash across her mind before she is back in the present.
Takina takes a sip of her drink, humming at the citrus-sweet taste. Her eyes never once leave Chisato. “It really is,” she says, then turns her head to the sea as Chisato sits down across from her, gold flicking towards her and away just as quickly. There is a moment where neither of them say anything, then. She hears Chisato breathe deep, imagines the slow rise of her chest.
“How did you figure this place out?” she says, soft, almost teasing, but it feels more like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Defeat flickers across Chisato’s features, and if Takina was feeling particularly vindictive, she might say it was almost enjoyable to see her squirm.
Well. Chisato doesn’t have to know that though.
Takina gets her phone from the bag at her feet, opening it to the picture of Saori and her boyfriend during their anniversary. Chisato’s eyes flit across the picture, widening as she zooms in on the pearly white sands in the background.
Chisato in a white sundress and a straw hat, twirling and frolicking among the waves. Chisato groans.
“Miss Saori, at some point you’re gonna take a picture of an alien or something,” she mutters, throwing her head back as she slides the phone back towards Takina. “You don’t look very surprised, though.”
“Why should I be?” Takina answers back, eyes narrowed and an edge to her voice that Chisato seems to ignore as she places her elbows back on the table, her head leaning against one of her hands. A lazy smile crosses her face as she points a finger at Takina.
“I could be a ghost, you know?”
Takina puts her drink down, levelling a blank stare at Chisato. Her stomach roils. “You almost were,” she says, uncaring of how harsh it may seem. “Despite everyone else’s best efforts.”
“You mean despite yours?”
“And so what if I do?”
The tension between them stretches and frays. Takina loves Chisato, but she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted to fight her more. Not with guns and fists, because that doesn’t change anything that really matters in the end, but the words on the tip of her tongue are a tightly coiled spring seeking release.
Chisato surrenders with a sigh. She meets Takina’s gaze, apologetic, curious. Takina wonders if she has ever looked at her like this—as if she holds all the answers in the world. Trepidation shadows the depths of Chisato’s eyes as she opens her mouth. Closes it.
A deep breath in. Takina sees the count in her head, from one to five. Out through the nose.
“Why am I still alive?”
Takina’s fingers clench around her glass as she sets it back down on the table. Chisato looks down at the sun-bleached wood with something like apathy in her eyes, as though pretending not to care about the question makes it easier to hear the answer. Takina hates seeing her like this, but there is an order to things here, there is information to gather and risks to weigh. She can’t risk losing her again.
“Before that...” Takina interjects, eyes narrowed. “Why did you disappear?”
Chisato stares at her. A war plays out in her eyes, but Takina has never been one to wait on others before making her move. Chisato leans back, opening her mouth.
“Don’t lie to me,” Takina pleads. It feels pathetic to say the words aloud. It feels demeaning, it feels wrong, to have to dance with her words around Chisato. But she needs to know the truth, and if the way Chisato’s mouth snaps shut is any indication, that wasn’t what she was about to get. “Please.”
Chisato’s fingers drum along the edge of the table, a beat only she can hear. Her eyes flit to Takina’s, then back to the sun as it edges its way down, the very bottom of it rippling along the waves, a kiss laid upon the hazy edge of the horizon as it bleeds into the waters.
“When I woke up in the hospital and saw the bandages over my chest, I knew... I knew some kind of surgery had been performed on me,” Chisato starts, her voice quiet, nearly enough so that the whisper of waves against the nearby shore all but drowns it out. “I also knew that had to mean that Mr. Yoshi was dead.”
Anger through her veins, blood soaking the side of her face, Chisato’s scream as a bullet pierces through Yoshimatsu’s side. Takina keeps her thoughts to herself, even as she is sure they show on her face. Chisato, at the very least, seems thankful for it.
“I didn’t want to live a life gained by ending his, but I also didn’t want to waste what was given to me by, uh...” Chisato glances at Takina. “Well. You understand.”
She does. She wishes she didn’t.
“So, I decided the next best thing was a death in function. I’d slip out of your lives, become someone all of you could look back on fondly as I live far away enough that we’d never cross paths again. As far as the important people are concerned...”
Takina grits her teeth. She wants to slap Chisato, she wants to kiss her senseless and tell her she is never allowed out of her sight ever again. She doubts Chisato would object to either one, the way her shoulders slump with the familiar weight of regret.
“Well, as far as all of you would be concerned, I’d be dead.”
An empty apartment, a bag of movies, a stained whiteboard, an empty bed, a dreary, greyed-out café. Saori and her at a corner table with three seats, Detective Abe giving her double the pay, half of which she always keeps squirreled away in an envelope, the second pointer stashed at the podium at the language classes. Takina says nothing.
Yeah. A death in function.
“Look,” Chisato says suddenly, having the decency to at least look guilty as she points at the beach, where the sun has now half-dipped below the horizon. The slow spread of light over the waves has turned into a flaming reflection of it, a hazy half-circle that blooms into roiling tides. A curtain of blonde hides her face from Takina. “This is my favorite time of day.”
The two of them stare as the sun dips further and further below the horizon, the sky shifting from glorious yellow to a surreal, smoky purple, almost pink. Takina’s eyes land on Chisato, on the way the darkening sky just seems to make her stand out against the gloom, a pop of color, a speck of warmth. Ruby eyes—no, wine-red now, under the cover of near-dusk—meet hers. Takina almost recoils at the naked fondness shining in her gaze. It’s almost like they weren’t talking about Chisato’s death just ten seconds ago. It’s almost like they’re two normal girls, enjoying the sunset on a tropical beach, drinking sweet drinks and talking about nothing as the day fades away. It’s almost like they’re in love, and nothing is wrong with the world.
“And?” Chisato murmurs against the sound of water and Takina’s heartbeat. “Your turn. What’s the meaning of this? ‘Fess up.”
Takina hesitates for a half-second before reaching down to her feet, bringing her bag up into her lap. Nestled in the leather folds is a prim, velvety red box. Takina pulls it out, placing it on the table in front of her. She stares at it with distaste before turning it around and shoving it at Chisato.
“Mika entrusted me with this,” Takina says, and she forces herself to imagine that she is just giving a report, the results of a mission. She bleeds all emotion from her voice as she faces Chisato once more. “After we managed to get you to a hospital, he brought in Yoshimatsu’s suitcase. Inside was a new heart for you... and that box.”
Chisato reaches forward to open the box, fingers dithering at the lip before gently prying it open. Takina watches as Chisato pulls out the piece of cardstock from the mess of shredded paper, “Happy New Birthday” printed in bold, sharp letters.
“Mr. Yoshi...” Chisato whispers, and Takina hates, hates, hates the way her voice manages to pitch into something like longing, like pity, like regret. She wants Chisato to hate him so desperately it hurts. Her chest burns. “You usually wouldn’t put that in there.”
Takina frowns. She almost feels bad for using Chisato’s love of her savior against her. Almost.
“Usually.”
Chisato eases the fold of the card open, spotting nothing. A smile crosses her face. “He really got me there,” she says as a gleam of bronze catches her eye amidst the paper in the box. She digs at it curiously, fingers spreading the packaging apart.
A gleaming, burnished and bronze Alan Child pendant clatters onto the table between them. Takina’s eyebrows shoot up.
Now this, she had not been aware of.
Chisato’s hands hover above the pendant as she glances between it and Takina, between Takina and the sea, between the sea and the pendant. A laugh bubbles from her lips, honey-sweet and lavender-light as she scrapes her chair back, wrapping the thin strap of the pendant around her fingers as she shoots Takina a playful grin before running towards the sandy shore of the beach, leaving Takina in the dust.
Panic clamps across Takina’s heart as she scrambles to her feet, chasing after Chisato with her pulse in her throat, her laughter a beacon that guides her through the dimming light of sunset as she wrestles through a line of bushes and onto the shore. Sand slips into her shoes as she kicks up clouds of it, but she ignores the scratch of it against her eyes, everything falling away as her steps slow and stall.
Chisato, silhouetted against a ball of flame pooling across the sea. Chisato, alive and burning, bursting with passion. Chisato, skin flushed, strands of hair sticking to her cheeks, to the nape of her neck, as she rears her hand back, pendant gleaming in her grip. The line of her body flexes and snaps as she throws it into the sea with a faint splash.
Chisato, here, in front of her, for the first time in months. The realization of it hits her like a freight train for the first time in hours. The thrumming in her chest tingles down to the tips of her fingers as she drags herself forward, step by step, until she is standing just out of reach of the waves, a feeble siren’s song. The uncomfortable itch of sand crunching between her toes, the salty-sweet taste of the ocean breeze; a million sensations that Takina files away desperately, feverishly, as evidence that this is real. Takina stands next to Chisato, bathed in the glow of the moment.
“Are you sure?” Takina asks, seeing the way Chisato’s eyes trail behind the subtle bob of seafoam that marks the pendant in the water.
“I did hesitate a little bit,” she responds, hands on her waist. Takina’s eyes flick to the sliver of exposed skin at the dip of her waist, then back to the curve of her lips, then her eyes as they thin and shine with a smile. “I was told it was really cute, after all.”
A spray of seawater, the deep blue glow of an aquarium tank behind them, the chatter of the crowd washing over her ears at the elation in Chisato’s face as she brings her hands down with a giggle. Her cheeks hurt from the smile that grazes tentatively across her face.
“It’s better if you don’t hide that,” she says, laughter echoing in her voice as she holds her arms behind her back, eyes on the pendant around Chisato’s neck, then on the rosy tint to her cheeks as her chest heaves from the laughter they shared. “It’s really cute.”
How cruel of Chisato, to remember as clearly as she does. Takina forgets, in the novelty of it, that love is a two-way street. She wonders how many tiny, insignificant moments Chisato has chiseled into the walls of her memory in the same way she has. She wonders how many times she has walked the etched halls of them, wonders if she gains strength from them, if she grieves for them, if she hopes for more. But sentimentality can wait for later. Takina summons from within her the forgotten art of apathy as she forces her face into neutrality.
“By who?”
Chisato double takes, staring at Takina for a moment before incredulity overtakes her features. “You,” she says, pointing a finger at the curtain of black hiding Takina’s face. “You! You told me that!”
“Me?” Takina calls back, feigning ignorance. Her heart thrums, humming and thumping against her ears. She turns to face Chisato once more, a small smile playing at her lips. “I’d never say that. That’s embarrassing.”
“Takina, that’s what I’m talking about!” Chisato yells, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around Takina’s waist. The feeling draws a breathless laugh from her as she is lifted into the air, Chisato placing her hands under her legs to steady her as she drapes her arms across the warm skin of the Chisato’s neck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Takina says with another laugh as Chisato starts to spin, the sun and the restaurant and the sea and the trees all spinning and melding together as they suddenly tip over, the sound of water rushing over her ears as Chisato dunks them into the ocean.
For a moment, Takina lets the feeling of weightlessness overtake her. Chisato’s hand finds hers beneath the waves, fingers weaving together as light diffuses throughout the water around them, covering the moment in a kaleidoscopic haze, like stained glass rimmed in gold and cast in the red of Chisato’s eyes. It feels like home, like rest, like the end of a journey and the beginning of something greater. Takina lifts her head from the waves, trailing the hand entwined in hers up to Chisato, sprawled amidst the gently lapping waves, eyes fixed somewhere far, far away.
“What should I do from now on?” she asks, almost awestruck. For once in their lives, despite the fact that startlingly little has actually changed, they find themselves spoiled for choice. The world stretches ahead of them, unforgiving and yet so beautiful in all its possibilities. Takina squeezes Chisato’s hand under the waves, a strand of seaweed binding their fingers together as the tide drags it up.
“Why don’t you start with something you had given up on?” Takina murmurs, and Chisato’s head turns, waterlogged hair slicked back, love—and how glad she is that she can spot it now in the quirk of her mouth and the light of her eyes—lighting her face in gentle hues against the fiery silhouette of her, framed by the sun.
Chisato rolls over, the tickle of seaweed slipping against Takina’s skin receding with the tide as the sun is blotted out behind the mess of waterlogged clothes and dripping wet hair looming above her. One of Chisato’s hands comes to rest against the sand beside her face, the other soft against her cheek. Takina nuzzles against the touch. Shadows hang in the space between them, brushed aside as the distance between them shrinks, foreheads meeting in the center, the pull of an old scar in Takina’s scalp a distant feeling as their breaths mingle and mix.
“Then what better place to start than right here, right now?” Chisato whispers against her, and Takina brings a hand up to brush through the thick of her hair, sticky and stringy from the gold-ochre water surrounding them, brushing a thumb across Chisato’s lips. Chisato mirrors the motion, the pad of her thumb trailing at Takina's bottom lip.
A moment of silence. The whisper of waves. The slip and rustle of wet clothes. A bronze owl pendant drifting away on unforgiving tides.
Takina’s second kiss tastes like citrus and sea salt.
It’s with Chisato though, so she finds she doesn’t mind it at all.
They walk, the scrape of Chisato’s sandals and the gentle tap of Takina’s always-crisp shoes against the sidewalk the only noise permeating the hazy midmorning air. The café slowly comes into focus, looming walls of warm brown casting a shadow over the empty street. The solitary wooden bench, as always, stands its silent vigil as both girls make their way to it, hands clasped between them, fingers locked together.
Takina wipes a hand across the dry leaves atop the bench, sitting down with a sigh. Chisato lowers herself onto the empty spot beside her. Chisato looks up, taking in the sight of the nondescript alleyway, hearing the muffled sounds of the café; Mizuki loading their dishwasher, a fan running on high as Kurumi no doubt hogs it all for herself. She turns her head towards the Old Radio Tower, towards the pristinely repaired glass dome of Enkuboku. Takina stares all the while. She runs a thumb across the back of Chisato’s thumb, heart thumping a steady beat.
“I feel a bit like a child that’s come back after running away from home,” Chisato admits with a shy smile, cheeks the subtlest shade of red. Her hand squeezes Takina’s, a nervous thrum running across them. “I’m probably gonna get just as much grief as one, too, aren’t I?”
Takina hums, pulling the two of them closer together. She tilts her head to the side until it lands on Chisato’s shoulder, taking a deep breath. Late spring, warm air, coffee, and Chisato. It’s intoxicating. She could get used to it. She probably already has.
“I obviously wouldn’t know it as well as you do,” Takina says, a shiver running up her spine as Chisato’s hand wraps around her, dragging up and down her side from the dip of her waist to the curve of her hip. Takina subtly presses an elbow against Chisato’s side, drawing a giggle from her as the offending hand retreats to a secure hold around her midsection. “But family, especially... ours, just seems like the kind of people that would be happy to have you back regardless.”
Takina pointedly ignores the faux shock plastered on Chisato’s face as she stares down at her. They hold the pose for all of three seconds before breaking out in soft laughter, the shake of Chisato’s chest and Takina’s shoulders a welcome warmth. Takina looks up at the sky, covered in hues of cyan and indigo and vibrant azure. A few sparse, thin clouds dot the canvas of blue above them. A gentle wind blows, Takina’s hair billowing behind her, and she can’t help but be reminded of the sky on the day Chisato took her shopping for the first time. The first time she grasped a glimpse of life beyond the DA.
Takina stands up, dragging Chisato’s hand with her, drawing her to her feet. The two of them walk up to the entrance of the café, shoulders pressed together. Chisato takes a deep breath, fingers twitching at her side. Takina slides a hand to her chin, tilting her head to the side, locking their gazes together. Slowly, she rises to the tips of her toes, eyes smoothing shut as their lips meet, chaste and sweet. They pull apart, and Chisato is looking at her like she is something other—a blessing, a miracle. It ties her stomach into knots, the depth of emotion that they seem to harbor for each other—after all, Takina’s pretty sure her own eyes are a sappy mess of melted lavender and cloudy amethyst.
“Thank you,” Chisato whispers against her lips. Takina just smiles and nods.
A pair of hands on the door to the café, another clasped together.
The door opens.
Light, coffee, voices and sounds and dishes and the bubble of a pot brewing and the fan and a magazine clattering to the floor with a gasp and—
And Takina sees the way Chisato’s eyes film over with tears as Mizuki darts from her seat at the bar, throwing her arms around the her a vice grip. She sees the smile Chisato shoots Kurumi, who flashes a grin and a thumbs up at her. Takina hears the hobble of a cane thumping against wood, sees Mika taking slow, shaky steps towards Chisato. Takina tries to pry Mizuki away as subtly as she can, which is to say she drags the her off Chisato by the shoulders.
Mika stares down at Chisato, eyes cloudy, a smile playing at his lips. He reaches a hand behind her head, pulling her into his chest. Chisato’s arms come up, shaky and slow, to wrap themselves around his chest. Muffled sniffles sound from where her head lies nestled against him.
“Welcome back,” he says, rubbing circles on Chisato’s back as she grabs fistfuls of his robes. “O’ foolish, hardheaded, selfish daughter of mine.”
Chisato laughs against him, voice breaking beneath the weight of her tears. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?”
“I would,” Mizuki interjects, and Takina almost clamps a hand over her mouth before she realizes Chisato is laughing again, breathy and broken and so very happy.
“That’s cruel, Mizuki!”
“I don’t totally disagree with her,” Takina mutters to herself.
“Et tu, Takina?”
Chisato extracts herself from Mika’s arms, throwing herself over Takina in all her customary theatrics. Takina just cards her fingers through her hair, a shiver like a contented cat shooting down Chisato’s spine. Mika watches the scene with a smile on his face as he dabs a handkerchief under his glasses. Mizuki grins.
“Are you two sure you didn’t need a little extra time in Irabu?” she teases, shooting knowing looks at the couple, languid and carefree in their affections. Chisato’s cheeks redden, and Takina rolls her eyes. “I mean, a tropical getaway is a pretty nice way to christen your new relationship, hm?"
Takina disentangles herself from Chisato, making her way towards the changing room. “And leave all of you to run this place back down into debt after everything I did?” she calls, digging around the closet for her uniform. “Absolutely not.”
“Ah, you’re no fun,” Mizuki grumbles with a click of her tongue. “At least Chisato has the decency to look embarrassed.”
Takina peeks from behind the door of the changing room. Chisato chuckles, a dusting of pink across her cheeks. “Guilty.”
Takina rolls her eyes. “Get over it quick, or else Kurumi will just show Mizuki the videos she got of us while we were back on Irabu.”
“Wait, videos?!”
“Damnit Takina!” Kurumi exclaims as she hugs her tablet to her chest, flinching back from the fiery look in Chisato’s eyes. “How did you know?!”
“You’re literally the greatest hacker in the world. It’d be remiss of me to assume you don’t constantly have eyes on all of us.”
“Touché.”
Chisato groans, a hand pressed against her face as the banter ebbs and flows, the walls of the café noisy and bright and alive with the sound of family. She’s almost surprised by how easily Takina flits about the atmosphere, how at home she feels compared to the awkward girl that had strolled in here once upon a time with a bandage on her cheek, a chip on her shoulder, and too much to prove. She feels a pair of eyes on her, and she turns to see Takina staring intently at her, one side of her hair propped up in a pigtail, hair tie held between her teeth as she lifts the other side. A smile, wide and true, crinkling the corners of those beautiful amethyst eyes, slides across her lips.
“You should get ready too, Chisato,” Takina says with a chuckle, walking past her and brushing the backs of their hands together. “It’s game night, and we have a full house tonight.”
Chisato salutes, a dopey smile on her face. Takina leans up and kisses her on the cheek before patting her on the back, and Chisato practically skips into the changing room, ignoring the synchronized gags from Mizuki and Kurumi, and the fond sigh that slips from Mika’s lips as he makes his way behind the counter once more, a fresh brew boiling anew.
Later, once Chisato has changed back into the fresh-pressed folds of her scarlet uniform, she will stand by the door with Takina, talking about nothing at all as the day wanes by in a haze of love and light. A customer will open the door of the café with a shrill ring. Chisato and Takina will turn, the rustle of fabric whistling through the air, bright smiles across their faces. Their eyes will meet, magnetic, as Takina makes her way to the back to help Mika with serving, and Chisato will bounce forward with a wave and a flurry of movement.
“Welcome to café LycoReco! Sorry for the absence the last few months, but rest assured that your favorite poster girl Chisato is back for good! Now, what can I get for you?”
Takina finishes drying her hair out with a contented sigh, hanging the damp towel on its hanger before slipping on one of Chisato’s shirts. Even after Chisato had come back, she hadn’t really bothered with buying too many new clothes. Sure, she'd get a new outfit here or there to appease Chisato, but she was quite content to stick to the tried-and-true strategy of pilfering from Chisato’s wardrobe whenever she needed to wear something around the house. A smile dances across Takina’s lips as she remembers the deep flush on Chisato's face the first time she walked out of the shower in one of her shirts, just out of pure habit.
“It’s not fair!” Chisato exclaims as she struggles against the fabric of one of Takina’s shirts. Takina sighs from her spot on the couch. “Why do your clothes have to be just a size smaller than mine! I wanna wear stuff that smells like you too! You shouldn’t be the only one allowed to be that sappy!”
“Careful, Chisato,” Takina deadpans with a glance at the straining fabric. “Complain too much about your boons and karma might deem it fit for you to lose them.”
“Heh. Boons. Boobs,” Chisato chortles. Takina glares at her. “Okay, I deserve that one.”
“I’m glad you’re self-aware,” Takina responds with a shake of her head. “Just go put one of your own shirts on and get over here.”
Chisato acquiesces with a pout, showing up on the couch a minute later and plopping down bonelessly with a groan. Takina side-eyes her for a moment before a thought strikes across her mind.
Chisato’s eyes shoot open as a weight drops on her lap, the smell of coconut shampoo hitting her like a wall as Takina settles in the space between her legs. Chisato smiles, spreading her legs apart before clamping them back together around Takina, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl’s waist and resting her nose against the smooth expanse of the crook of Takina’s neck with a giggle.
“Better?” Takina murmurs, lifting a hand up behind her and dragging the blunt of her nails gently across Chisato’s scalp. Chisato breathes deep, eyes closed, before smiling. Takina feels the way her lips curve against her skin, heat shooting up the back of her neck.
“Yeah,” Chisato mutters. “Much better.”
Takina absentmindedly hums a song she heard at the train station earlier that day as she walks into the living room. Her eyes flit to the whiteboard by the dining room table, catching on the sprawling multicolored grid. Takina and Chisato’s names line the squares in regular intervals. She’ll have to thank Mizuki for that again—maybe Ms. Saori’s boyfriend has a friend he’d be willing to introduce to her?
“You don’t have to look so proud about that every single time you walk into the dining room, y’know?”
Takina turns her head to the side, mirth playing on her lips as she spots Chisato in the kitchen, hanging an apron up as she slots a dish onto the drying rack. The faint smell of stir-fry lingers in the air, and it really must be said that food tastes much better when she isn’t the one that has to worry about making it. Or washing the dishes afterwards, for that matter. And she can shower first.
Takina got exceptionally lucky on the victories for Thursdays.
“Excuse me if I’m more than a little thrilled to get back at you for our first try at chore division,” Takina calls back as she opens a drawer by the TV, staring down at the stacks of DVDs. “What movie do you want to watch tonight, by the way?”
“Ooh, ooh! I already picked it out, second from the top down on the leftmost stack,” Chisato says with a jump in her step as she runs into the bedroom. “Lemme shower real quick and we can start watching.”
Takina hums in response as she hears the door to the bathroom click shut, digging through the stack Chisato had pointed out. The movie looks the same as every other movie Chisato loves: action-packed, totally nonsensical, a title rendered in steely bold letters against a raging explosion. Takina rolls her eyes, sliding the disc into place before running into the room to fetch a hair tie, rummaging around the drawers. She finds one, nestled on top of a receipt. She reaches in and grabs both things, tying her hair up in a high ponytail, sighing as the AC cools the skin on her neck as she lays down on the bed, reading the receipt over.
It was a cheap purchase, all things considered. It wasn’t for either of their birthdays, either. Not for an anniversary or special occasion, not for a date, or at least not planned as part of a date. Spontaneous, irrational, and yet totally and completely natural. A glint in her vision as a moonbeam strikes it at just the right angle. Takina smiles, putting the receipt back into its assigned spot with care, folding the well-creased lines once, twice, and shutting the drawer with a soft thump.
Takina makes her way back to the living room, peeking out from the window and spotting the faraway, multicolored lights of the Old Radio Tower with a twinge of nostalgia before sitting down at the couch, waiting for Chisato, eyes closed, happy to just bathe in the glow of a happiness she had never even imagined being able to grasp for herself and the cool silver light of the moon.
The feel of cool metal against her neck draws Takina back from the brink of half-sleep with a shriek as she slaps a hand against the sensation on her neck. She misses though, so all she manages to accomplish is slapping her own neck and drawing a laugh from Chisato, standing at the back of the couch with her hands held over her mouth, giggles seeping from between her fingers.
“Was that really necessary?” Takina says with a pout, a blush rising to her cheeks as she slaps feebly at her girlfriend’s forearms.
Hm. Still feels weird calling her that. Weird, but not... not bad.
“It’s become clearly evident that this is a relationship formed on petty revenge, so I have to take all the chances I can get, hm?” Chisato croons, walking along the side of the couch and stopping right in front of Takina. The younger girl sighs, standing up and giving Chisato a peck on the cheek as she goes to take the newly vacated spot. Takina sits down in her lap, Chisato’s arms and legs winding about her, nose digging into her neck, hands clasped by her stomach, a gentle, loving pressure.
“You’re lucky I love you as much as I do.”
“Mm, I am, aren’t I?” Chisato whispers, slowly nudging the neckline of Takina's shirt to the side, lips ghosting atop the patchy skin of her scar, drawing a shaky breath from her lungs. Takina discovers, swaddled in Chisato’s arms, that vulnerability is also new to her. She tilts her head to the side, stretching her neck for Chisato, who trails kisses down it and into the sharp edge of her shoulder blade, covering the scar with gently pursed lips, and Takina decides that this, too, is not necessarily bad either. “I never did thank you, did I?”
“What for?” Takina says, leaning back against Chisato and laying a gentle kiss against the underside of Chisato’s throat, against the pulse thrumming in her veins. Chisato pokes her on the side, and Takina squirms.
“You know what for.”
“Mm. Maybe I just want you to say it out loud.”
Chisato draws Takina further into her, leaning her head next to Takina’s. The skin of their cheeks is smooth against each other. A droplet of water from Chisato’s still-damp hair falls onto the white of Takina’s shirt. Chisato’s shirt. Semantics.
“Thank you for never giving up.”
“Mm. It was hard. You were gone for nearly 5 months.”
“Thank you for not letting me go.”
“I don’t think I could if I wanted to. You’re too forceful a presence in people’s lives, y’know? Even if you’re horrible at realizing it.”
“Thank you for forgiving me.”
“Oh, that one was even harder. I was so angry at you, you know. Angry that you left, angry that you didn’t trust any of us, angry that you would waste my efforts and Mika’s efforts and the efforts of the doctors who saved your life.”
Takina breathes in, crisp mint soap and coconut. “But I think I forgot about all that the moment I found you, if I’m being honest. I love you, after all.”
“Thank you for that, too.”
Takina laughs, reaching a hand down and clasping it over Chisato’s. Their fingers lock together, the simple metal bands around their left ring fingers gleaming in the light of the TV, still on the title screen of the movie they’ve yet to watch, cycling through the same bombastic tune and crappily stitched together scene snippets.
It was a cheap purchase, all things considered. It wasn’t for either of their birthdays, either. Not for an anniversary or special occasion, not for a date, or at least not planned as part of a date. Spontaneous, irrational, and yet totally and completely natural. A simple glance to the side, a simple ‘Hey Chisato, do you want to get promise rings?’
A simple ‘Yes.’ A simple 3200 yen.
Chisato fiddles with the ring on Takina’s hand. “You think you’ll regret it?” she whispers, uncharacteristically quiet. Takina doesn’t ask if she means the promise rings, or just them, in general. She simply brings Chisato’s hand to her lips, laying a kiss on the cool metal of the ring where it meets the flushed skin of her hand.
“We’re 17 and 18 years old respectively in a... profession, if you can call it that, that barely expects us to make it to adulthood,” Takina says matter-of-factly. Chisato whines against her, as if urging her to get to the point before she can get much more nervous about it. “But I think we’ve also been through enough together to be pretty sure of the way we feel, both about each other and about our lives going forward, no matter how long or short they might be.”
Takina turns around, straddling Chisato’s hips as she drapes her arms over her shoulders. “I love you enough to run up the Old Radio Tower for you. I love you enough to fight crazy pink-haired hitmen nurses for you. I love you enough to get thrown off a building for you. I love you enough to kill for you, whether you like it or not. I love you enough to climb up a goddamn elevator shaft and tear through my shoulder to keep you alive and chase the ghost of you around Tokyo for 5 months and enough to want to go with you on that stupid Hawaii trip you still haven’t finished packing your bags for.”
“It’s useless to stress about it until the night before! The same things will end up in the bag.”
“Not the point,” Takina says as she rests her forehead against Chisato’s. “The point is that I think I’ve done enough to prove to you that what I feel for you is more than a passing fancy. We’re partners, after all, aren’t we?”
Chisato stares up at her, eyes awed and lips half parted, as though it is only now that she sees what has been in front of her all along, a brick wall that has sprung up from nowhere like some bad Road Runner skit. Still in a daze, Chisato props herself up, rising to meet Takina in a kiss.
The slide of their lips against each other, too, is simple, natural. Chisato’s are a bit dry from the shower. Takina will remind her to put some lip balm on later, when she isn’t preoccupied with branding the sensation of Chisato against her into her memories, when Chisato’s hand isn’t busy burning a path against the bare skin of her hip, trailing the tapestry of scars across Takina’s back.
They pull apart, staring into each other’s eyes, amethyst melting in ruby melting in amethyst. Smiles grace their faces, wingbeat-soft with the butterflies in their stomachs and the silent drone of Chisato’s heart thrumming in her chest. Chisato lifts Takina up and sets her back down into her lap, giggles bubbling like spring water from their lips.
“Looks like I have a lot to make up for if I ever want to convince you then, huh Takina?” Chisato says, cheer coloring her voice in hues of sunset and rainbow lights. “Where should I start?”
“Hmm,” Takina hums as she nestles deeper into Chisato. “Why don’t you start with getting the remote. I left it on the floor.”
“Mean. Mean Takina.”
“God, Chisato,” Takina murmurs sweetly as a trickle of drool slips from Chisato' lips, fast asleep with her head draped over Takina’s shoulder, rings clinking together a pinprick of cold, a sliver of warmth in her voice. “This movie sucks.”
Working in a food truck is an entirely different experience from working at the café proper, and the learning curve proves to keep all of them busy as they adjust to the warm skies and blue beaches of Hawaii, serving customers, learning new brews, advertising, settling into new and hopefully soon-to-be familiar patterns as they move about the cramped interior of the truck.
Takina and Chisato’s mandatory English lessons as Lycoris proves to be invaluable in the operation of the café. Sure, temperatures may be entirely too hot for their usual matching kimono uniforms—and Chisato had mourned that fact for a solid afternoon with a grumble and a pout until Takina showed up 15 minutes later with matching thick, woven wrist bands for everyone, claiming that “these can be our new uniforms” with a blush high on her cheeks to everyone’s surprise and no one’s protest—but the appeal of cute poster girls is not exclusive to Japan, and it shows in the way customers trickle over under the golden light of morning sun for coffee or a treat.
Takina pours a man his chilled café au lait, carefully tipping the thermos back as she flashes him a smile and a cheery ‘enjoy!’. He nods at her, taking a sip as he stares down at the newspaper in his hands, and Takina watches with rapt attention from the corner of her eye as her hands continue their well-practiced dance across the table, gathering cups, wiping down spots of cream. The way the man’s eyes widen and sparkle puts a pep in her step as she carries a water bottle outside, handing it to Kurumi, who grabs it near-reverently as she walks around with the menu strapped around her neck.
“She’s so obvious,” Chisato mutters fondly as she hangs the phone up, a call ahead for an order of parfaits that she will probably have to deliver herself, if the steadily growing line of people outside the truck are any indication. Takina will be needed here. “Isn’t it easier to just ask us if we like the coffee she makes to practice instead of waiting for a customer’s reaction every time? That’s nerve-wracking!”
Mika chuckles, passing Chisato a cup as she begins to scoop frozen yogurt in with a flick of her wrist. “I’m sure this has nothing to do with you being upset that she still hasn’t made you any coffee?” he says warmly, passing her the bag of granola. She snatches it from his hands with a grumble.
“Maybe I want my girlfriend to make me coffee in the morning, so what?” she says, a pout on her lips. She scoops a handful of diced strawberries, some bananas, a few blueberries into the cup, placing a cap on it before sticking it into the mini fridge at her feet so it won’t melt while she prepares the other one.
Mizuki snorts from the driver’s seat. “Truly, your plight is monstrous in its severity and daunting in the complexity of its solution. Your fortitude in the face of adversity is a shining example to us all.”
“You’re hilarious, Mizuki. I bet every single shirtless man over 180 centimeters tall with washboard abs is running over himself to ask you out after that zinger.”
“I’m glad you recognize my worth.” Mizuki says with a smug grin as she stares at Chisato through the rear-view mirror. A sigh slips from Chisato’s lips.
Takina walks back into the truck, discarding a now-empty water bottle in the trash bin before turning towards Chisato, an eyebrow raised and a lip quirked. “I heard my name, should I be worried?”
“Oh, not at all!” Chisato croons, throwing herself over Takina with a too-bright smile. “I was just talking about how I was so very tired, and how a warm cup of coffee brewed by my most esteemed, beautiful, talented, girlfriend would be just the thing to pick my spirits back up!”
“Ah,” Takina says, the light of mischief shining in her eyes as she disentangles herself from Chisato with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s such a shame you’re going to have to go deliver those parfaits, then. I might have just acquiesced if that wasn’t the case. You’re gonna drip yogurt, by the way.”
Chisato groans, flicking her wrist to dump another scoop of frozen yogurt in the new cup before it has a chance to drip all over the counter. “Whoever taught you to snark deserves punishment.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re already planning on walking in the sun in the next 2 minutes.” Takina fires back as she saunters past her, a hand ghosting across the bare skin of Chisato’s exposed back as she starts brewing another cup of coffee. “Go on, then. Time is money, and we aren’t getting any less busy.”
“Aye, cap’n,” Chisato replies unenthusiastically, a sloppy salute held against her forehead as she retrieves the first parfait from the fridge, kicking the door closed before wandering into the unforgiving wilds of a Hawaiian tourist beach. Takina hooks her arm by the elbow, dragging her into a quick kiss before patting her on the back.
“Be back safe. And preferably soon.”
“Aye, cap’n!”
Takina pretends not to hear the markedly more noticeable amount of pep in Chisato’s voice, smiling all the while.
“Welcome to café LycoReco,” she greets another customer in near-perfect English as Chisato’s weight dipping off the truck sends it wobbling. “What can I get for you?”
A day’s worth of greetings, coffee, deliveries and banter race by in a blur of scarlet and violet. The sun, a full, vibrant orange, hangs like a medallion over the shores of the beach as Takina pulls the metal cover down over the opening on the side of the truck, slipping a padlock into place with a quiet click. Mizuki turns the keys in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life as the last few loose items in the kitchenette are secured and put away.
“Oh, oh, Takina!” Chisato calls from behind her, standing at the entrance at the back of the truck, shielding her eyes with a hand as she takes in the sight of the setting sun. “We should totally walk back to the villa today!”
Chisato shoots Mika an expectant look, doe-eyed and hopeful. The taller man sighs, a slave to the whims of his daughter as he gives Takina a questioning look. Takina shrugs, a smile across her face. Mika turns back towards Chisato.
“Sure,” he says, digging in his pockets for the spare set of keys for the villa they’ve rented out for their stay in Hawaii. “Just make sure you’re back home at a reasonable time.”
“No promises!” Chisato yells, right as Takina says, “I’ll make sure to have her home by 7, sir.”
Chisato pouts. “Okay, yeah, whatever. We’ll be back before you know it.”
Mika laughs, shooting Takina a meaningful look before nodding his head at the mini fridge in the back of the truck. Takina nods, stepping back into the truck for a moment and digging two sealed cups of chilled coffee from the fridge as Chisato shoots her a curious look. Takina just smiles, handing her one as Mizuki honks the horn on the truck, slowly accelerating away. The two girls watch as the tire tracks fade into the distance, silhouetted by sunset glow, surrounded by the rustle of water and palm trees. Chisato breathes in deep next to her before turning towards Takina, an easy stretching from ear to ear.
“Shall we go, partner?” Chisato asks, reaching a hand down and interlocking their fingers together. Sand seeps into Takina’s sandals, salt in her nose, the sun in her eyes. Another moment seared into her brain, Chisato standing vibrant against yet another sunset. Something about this girl and sunsets. Takina shakes her head and laughs, squeezing the hand woven through hers as she signals with her own cup-laden hand at Chisato’s.
“You should give that a try, by the way.”
Chisato looks down at her cup before shrugging and taking a sip, eyes lighting up the moment the drink hits her tongue. Takina is most definitely biased, but the sight is nothing short of beautiful.
“Woah, wait, this is my favorite of Teach’s blends!” Chisato exclaims, kicking at the sand around her. Her eyes land on Takina’s bashful, but still distinctly proud expression. “Wait, wait, did you make this, Takina!?”
“Mhm,” the younger girl replies. “It’s actually the entire reason I even asked Mika to help me learn how to brew coffee.”
Takina looks to the side, taking in the shocked look on Chisato’s face with something akin to pride. “I just... I wanted to do something nice for you. As a celebration of... making it to Hawaii, I guess. A celebration of our freedom, no matter how little or long it’ll last.”
The two of them continue to walk in silence after that, drinking leisurely from their cups as the sun sinks below the horizon. Dusk passes them by as they dump their empty cups in a trash can. All the while, their hands remain clasped, promise rings gleaming against the golden light, woven bands on their wrists catching against the folds and snags of one another every other step. Takina does not rush the words from Chisato. She knows better, at this point.
Chisato hums a tune, some peppy fusion of a pop song and a waltz that had popped up on one of the foreign radio stations. Her feet shuffle and thump against the sand as she swings Takina’s arm like a metronome. At some point, she lifts their joined hands above Takina’s head with a smile, and she smiles back, rolling her eyes but nonetheless twirling in place under the hand Chisato has held up, before suddenly she finds herself trapped in place by her own arm, Chisato shifting her grip to hold Takina from behind, never once letting go of her hand.
“I love you,” comes a whisper against Takina’s ear, and everything burns away as the words register in her mind. The sun sinks below the horizon, and they are submerged in darkness for all of a second before the bright lights littered around the boardwalk at the edge of the beach flicker to life. Chisato is looking at Takina like she is something precious and magical and... and loved. It feels like enough to leave her raw, like the top layer of her skin has been peeled back and everywhere Chisato’s skin meets hers is pure nerve endings and an electric hum.
“I realized, when you told me about the coffee, that I had never actually told you the words out loud,” Chisato admits with an embarrassed chuckle. “I know the two of us stick to a consistent mentality of ‘actions speak louder than words,’ but I just... It didn’t feel fair, for you to do all of this for me, from the grandest to the simplest of things, without ever hearing the words. Without you knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I love you, Inoue Takina.”
For a moment, it feels like Takina is back at the entrance of that cold hospital room, the world a mess of blurry images and muffled sounds. For a moment, she is once again nothing more than a girl who has lost and is trying desperately not to feel it. But it is only for a moment, and nothing more, as warmth explodes in her chest, a drumbeat that rattles her lungs and sends her into a frenzy of awe and happiness and love.
Takina turns around in Chisato’s arms with a laugh, wrapping her arms around the slim curve of Chisato's waist and lifting her up, ignoring squawked, panicked protests as she shifts her arms down to clasp and rest beneath her legs.
“I’m glad!” Takina yells, loud and true, as she twirls Chisato through the air, feeling a pair of arms slide across her shoulders. “I’m glad I was able to meet you, to love you.”
Takina sets Chisato down with a wet laugh, winded and gold-gleam hair strewn every which way, but her eyes are beautiful, the way they look at her so adoringly. Takina steps forward, pressing their lips together. Tears drip from her cheeks and fade into the sand below, the flow broken only by a swipe of Chisato’s thumb across her cheek. They separate breathlessly, lost in each other, locked in the confines of cut purple and molten red as they laugh, pressed together and dancing once again to a beat only the two of them seem to hear.
The moon shining a silver-lit path, swaying in the middle of a beach in Hawaii, far from all that has made their house and nestled all the same in the embrace of their home, Chisato and Takina are finally, truly free.
“Hey, Chisato.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember what I told you, back in Irabu, about starting to live life by doing the things you had given up on?”
“Mhm. It was pretty good advice, I’ll admit. It got me you, after all.”
“And Hawaii.”
A laugh, clear and bright.
“Yeah, and Hawaii.”
The whisper of waves against the shore. Bodies shifting over the rustle of sand.
“What do you think is next for us? Back in Japan, at least, when this vacation is over?”
The waves recede. Skin against skin, metal on metal, a glint shining in the night.
“Let's go to the aquarium again.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. It is what I meant, though.”
A hum. Pursed lips against thrumming pulse.
“I like the sound of that.”
The shuffle of steps, a muffled staccato one player short.
“You alright?”
Takina turns, facing away from the sea and the moon and the uncertain future ahead of them. For now, all that exists is Chisato and her outstretched hand and the slow walk back to the villa.
Takina weaves their fingers together.
“Yeah,” she says, and for the first time in a very long time, she actually means it. Chisato smiles.
“Then let’s get going, partner.”