Episode 89: Like. Love, Love

In the after-school music room, on the accumulated weight of time, we pressed our lips together.

“Uta.”

Shion murmured my name and closed her eyes. I ran my fingers through her silver-gleaming hair, and, still caught by its brightness, took her lips. At the contact, Shion’s body went taut, and the sound of fabric shifting rang out with it. Our warmth exchanged through our uniforms; our skirts overlapped in uneven folds.

Still kissing, I brought my hand around to her back and deepened the embrace. Then the tension left Shion’s body, and slowly, her long lustrous lashes rose and fell.

Our eyes met. Shion caught my gaze in the brightness of her violet-indigo irises, and smiled softly.

“I love your eyes.”

She drew back just far enough to speak — and at this height we were almost nose to nose — and said it without warning.

“I love Shion’s eyes too. They sparkle. From the very first time we met, I thought they were beautiful.”
“From the first time you saw me on television too?”
“Sorry — I don’t remember that part… it was probably a performance scene, so the angle might have cut off your face.”
“What. Uta is so stingy.”
“I’m not sure that’s really my fault?”
“I suppose our fate was only that much after all.”
“You do have a talent for that kind of thing, Shion…”

Right in front of me she unleashed this unreasonable logic, cheeks puffed out in exaggerated protest. Even that was adorable — truly an unreasonable beauty.

“But you like that about me too, don’t you?”
“Yes. I like it.”
“I like you too… Uta.”

And with those words Shion leaned in suddenly and pressed her lips to mine — an impetuous, clumsy little kiss, like a chick pecking. I stroked her hair where it trailed down her back and tilted my face to let the kiss deepen just a little.

Shion put her arms around my back too, strengthened the embrace, and — skilfully keeping only her nose pressed to mine — spoke again.

“Say you like me more.”

Shion’s breath was warm. The loud double heartbeat — two of them, uneven — and from Shion I learn that some words don’t fade no matter how many times you trade them.

“I like you.”

My voice sounded warm too, somehow. Words have no temperature, but something passes through tangled warmth, and sparks at the throat, and I’m still not used to it no matter how many times. That I can’t get used to it — even that is something I find dear, which is a problem.

“More.”
“…I like you.”

Shion seized those words, sealed them the way you’d seal a sound inside, with another abrupt kiss — and before I could even register the startling feeling of it, she repeated:

“I like you too, Uta… so more.”
“I like you… but isn’t this getting excessive?”
“Because unless I check many times, your words go off and have an affair.”
“There it is — words having an affair — mysterious concept.”
“Because, because. Uta goes off and has affairs all the time.”
“…I don’t.”
“You do, you do, you do. You talk so happily with Mama.”
“That can’t be helped… Anon-san is a good person.”
“She is, but—”
“Also honestly, Anon-san does like me quite a lot, doesn’t she.”
“I know… that’s why I can’t relax.”
“It’s all right — Anon-san likes me because she’s glad I’m close with Shion, that’s all.”
“Fine… but just to be safe.”

She said it and closed her eyes. I did as commanded and touched her lips. Then, as though suddenly remembering, I looked up and said:

“Actually — Shion. The first time you met my mother, you called her cute.”

At my words, Shion’s eyes darted left and right — but at this distance there was nowhere to look that offered escape, and she surrendered with a murmur:

“Because she was a little like you…”
“She isn’t, and besides — I’m not particularly cute.”
“You are!”

Shion said it before I’d finished. The embrace tightened and a sweet scent tickled my nose. Bad for the heart. Especially because she squeezed my hand with it. Autumn was well and truly here, and a warmth like this felt wrong. I might have put on my winter uniform jumper a bit early.

“You are cute, Uta. Your eyes are a little sharp, but when you find me they go soft — that’s incredibly cute. And you get flustered so easily… like right now. The way you look away is cute too. And then on top of cute you’re cool, and on top of cool you’re kind. That’s my favourite Uta, so your words and the voice that touches me — all of it, I love.”

She said I look away so I had nowhere to deflect to, no way to refuse it — I had to receive Shion’s words straight on, and then I was drawn into that violet-indigo brightness and my heartbeat went loud and my voice stuck in my throat and I couldn’t say anything at all.

So Shion’s words kept coming.

“I love how your voice goes softer than usual on calls. I love how you fight to stay awake and then go all mushy-voiced. I love that… we can still do calls, even from there, right?”

Love is a strange thing. I had been so caught by Shion’s beauty that no sound would come — and the moment sadness crept into Shion’s voice, words poured out of my throat with ease.

“On weekends, I think we can. Or rather — I want to. You might have lessons, but give me all the time outside of that.”
“I was going to anyway. But what about weekdays…?”
“Japan and Vienna are eight hours apart. When you’re going to sleep, I’m just heading to school — so that might be difficult.”
“…Mm.”
“Also — your school has boarding, right? If we’re on a call when you’re supposed to be asleep, wouldn’t that bother your roommate?”
“…Uta is so mean. Just fix the time difference.”
“I wish I could.”

Shion sulked and buried her face in the curve of my neck, pressing in. Then she mumbled:

“If I can’t hear your voice, I’ll get lonely, and I might not be able to play piano again…”

That voice carried a desperate edge, and given that it had actually happened once, I couldn’t brush it off lightly. And besides — there was no world in which I didn’t want to grant Shion’s wishes. I hurried, looking around the music room for some kind of answer.

The old piano, worn from years of use. The chairs. Even the grain of the floor — memories had soaked into all of it, and Shion’s sound and all the words we’d exchanged seemed to rise up from them. Like the memory of playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star together, singing it—

That memory burst like a firework. Its light guided me. Toward the place where sound and words meet.

I found myself murmuring:

“A song…”

Shion lifted her face at my murmur and tilted her head.

“What about a song…?”
“Not that — I mean we should write one. Together. I write the lyrics, Shion composes the music. If we have a song we made together, maybe you won’t feel quite so lonely…”

I was putting it into words as I went, and the more I said the more it felt like a strange, impulsive idea, and — despite Shion having just pointed it out — I found myself looking away from her again.

Then Shion’s voice reached me.

“That’s wonderful…!”

She pulled me into a tight embrace. Pure white fingers laced through mine. I looked up at her without meaning to.

And Shion’s beauty filled my entire field of vision.

“Uta, I love you.”

From the moment I found her, my ideal had always been Shion.