circus
i truly and honestly loved my sister more than anyone or anything else in this world. from day one, we seemed to belong together like it was all part of the natural order.
hirato is always the one who stands tall and proud. out of the two of them, he's the only one who never seems to be afraid, nor does it ever seem like he's weak for any reason. the way what is supposed to be their status quo (fragile after all) is so effortlessly wrecked is why tsukumo finds herself so distressed over him falling ill.
somewhere along the line, she too has been fooled by the illusion and accepted the notion that he must be bulletproof.
it's nothing but a mild case of the flu, says the doctor on board before gently reprimanding her, but even with that knowledge in mind, she can't find it in herself to stop worrying.
tick, tick, tock. the ticking of the clock sounds unnaturally loud to her ears amidst the sounds of mildly labored breathing and the soft buzzing of machinery.
small hands grasp the sheets and tuck them a little tighter around his shoulders.
what strikes tsukumo so strongly with erisyuka, the girl she's been assigned to guard and care for just like she does with nai, is the way she'll stare out through the window of her newly assigned room with such a peculiar look in her eyes for someone so young when she thinks she's being sneaky. tsukumo finds herself wanting to say something, her grip on the tray carrying a balanced breakfast tightening to the point where her knuckles turn stark white, but she holds her tongue, hirato's instructions clear as day in her mind.
with everything that's happened recently, it's very important not to cause erisyuka-san any unnecessary discomfort. formerly allied with their enemies or not, at her core she's still just a young girl who's lost a lot of things all at once.
it makes tsukumo sad to think about how long she must have been kept in the dark regarding her grandfather's affairs. perhaps because tsukumo has a good idea of just how devastating it would be for her to find herself betrayed by the person she trusts more than anyone else in the world (someone tall and dark-haired with stunning violet eyes).
tsukumo remembers her first time at the beach with utmost clarity. she remembers the cool water splashing up against her ankles and the cries of seagulls far above among the clouds. that feeling of sand between her toes is still fresh in her mind, and so is exactly how much she decided on the spot to hate that sensation. last but not least, she remembers running off with a whole bunch of colorful shells in her arms and presenting them so proudly. as if they were all gold and diamonds.
"hirato...! is it true that you can hear the sea if you hold a shell against your ear?"
one of the earliest observations tsukitachi makes when it comes to hirato is that despite first impressions, he is really quite high-strung. always alert and subtly stiff both in body and in spirit as if watching out for something. it's not like tsukitachi to ponder on these things and he finds it both strange and fascinating how these things seem to linger when so few other things do. maybe it's because he finds hirato both interesting and pretty, not unlike some kind of previously unknown jewel.
when she's still very small but also considerably taller than before, tsukumo makes a habit out of holding on to his sleeve at times. it seems like she prefers that to holding hands for some reason that lies beyond hirato's realm of understanding. no, he certainly doesn't understand it, but clearly the gesture brings her comfort, so he slowly makes a habit out of sticking to shirts with long sleeves.
akari has never imagined that he would end up coming to terms with things quite like this. no, in his dreams it was never this miserable. in his dreams there were confessions and feelings being returned. he's imagined that maybe they would both be smiling when all was said and done. maybe he could reach out and touch tokitatsu and for once feel connected, but all those little fantasies have all been shattered by the time he realizes just why there's no answer no matter how many times he rings the doorbell. no matter how hard he knocks.
the act of understanding has never been so painful before.
when she daydreams about putting together a montage for the two of them, it strikes her that she has no photos of him. only of herself.
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