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[through smoke and velvet...]
Empires Fall Part 3


By: bunsrevenge, assistance with planning and editing by sssammich. Originally published to AO3.


Koharu looks at Maya, enjoying the Valentine's Day party with the rest of the club. She clutches the bag of chocolates in her hand, realizing how silly her plan is. She's in university, after all: she can't just give chocolates to her crush like a child.

But it's too late- Maya has seen her- so she gathers her courage, smiling brightly as those violet eyes look upon her warmly.

"Koharu?"

It's a distant memory, fading into a confession framed in sakura blossoms.

"Koharu!"

It's the present, and she is alone, years from university and hundreds of miles from Tokyo, naked in a bath that has long since gone cold. The branch from the sakura blossoms is lodged in her throat, permanently choking her. It brings tears to her eyes.

knock knock knock.

"Get out of there before you get sick!"

Sakura. Sakura. Her sister.

It’s spring now, and Sakura’s graduated from her training program, finally returning from Tokyo, four months after Koharu arrived.

"I'm out," Koharu responds, and they both know it's a lie, but at least she's back in the present, not caught up in the could-have-beens and the what-ifs of Tokyo. No, this bleak palette, this unfortunate morning could only belong in Kyoto.

Finally, after another few minutes of working the impetus into her joints, she gets out, goosebumps all over. It’s hard to leave the bath, because despite the temperature, despite her pruney fingers, and despite the fact that she’s wasted half the morning, it’s a comfort - a heavy blanket of water buffering her from the rest of the world.

She dries off her hair, laughing a bit to herself. Kyo-To. To-Kyo. Perhaps it is just her same life reversed. Her life, which had been going fine, great even, upended and moved, a burning fire of two exchanged for a cold bath, alone.

She knows Maya thinks she was in Nara.
She wants Maya to think she was in Nara.
She wants Maya to come find her here, in Kyoto.
What was the truth, anyways, but the words which put people most at ease?

She runs her nails down her upper arms, the pressure leaving red lines on her damp skin. No, no no no no, she chides herself, You need to get yourself together.



She signs on as a freelance journalist with a couple newspapers, and each week she gets sent some open assignments that the regular staff haven’t picked up. Articles with price tags attached to them. She takes at least one each week, changing up her topics, from sports to human interest to culture. This week, she selects an assignment to cover the spring opening of the botanical gardens, so she walks to the station, reading some background and history on her phone as she rides the train.

The gardens are beautiful, but she should have known to pick a different assignment. She knew what time of year it was, after all. The sakura blossoms are in full bloom, and there’s even a swan in the pond in the center. She feels a single tear escape her eye, where she’s been holding them back, wells of water she’s been collecting but willing not to overflow and she paws it away clumsily. She refocuses, knowing if she allows herself to cry now, she might never ever get herself to stop.

She passes a netted area, where a volunteer is tending to a small habitat. She walks closer, and there’s a small bird with a bandaged wing. It’s awkward, the way it tries to move with the bulky gauze, and it doesn’t seem to have any interest in the seeds and cut fruit and insects the volunteer is laying out.

The volunteer smiles at her. “It’ll take a long time, but we’ll get him back into good condition,” she assures Koharu, making Koharu wonder what kind of face she had been making.

“I’m glad,” she nods, unable to tear her eyes away from the bird - currently flightless, puttering awkwardly around the floor of the enclosure. She is reminded of the afternoons she spent rushing to the hospital every day after school as a child - eager to find out news. “When are you coming home? When can you walk again?” The repetitive questions from that era echo in her mind. She wonders what creature hurt this bird.

She interviews the director of the gardens, takes a tour, and finishes her work quickly, before exiting the gates and walking around the block where she can sit on a bench and catch her breath. She wants the sakura blossoms to remind her of her promise with Maya, their proposal, their happiest memories. But instead, their happiest memories are now irrevocably tied with that terrible night and the demise of their relationship.

Sometimes, she thinks her parents suspect her of trying to get caught, as if she was inviting the confrontation that followed. But that was the furthest thing from Koharu’s mind. She wanted to keep her love precious and safe and guarded, close to her chest where only she and Maya could see it.

Perhaps an astute friend could have caught a glimpse and saw the way they shined, or maybe Sakura, for all her shrewdness, might have come to know what Koharu shared with the beautiful photographer. But that beautiful light that she cradled so close, a flame that she tended to for all those years – that was never for her parents to discover. Because of course, the night they witnessed the way she loved Maya, the way Maya caused the smoldering embers to consume all the oxygen in the room – to burn brighter and higher – that was the night her flame was extinguished.



Koharu is in the bath again when she thinks how truly strange it is to completely detach from another person. She’s left things plenty of times: there are dishes she’s sworn never to eat again, and clothes she’s tossed and donated, never to be seen again, but people aren’t quite so simple. A boss she hated at work she still had to contend with for another six months until he was replaced. A friend she had a falling out with in high school caused a rift in her friend groups, but she still had to be civil. They still heard about each others’ updates here and there through mutual friends as well.

So it is rare, she thinks, that she considers her relationship with Maya to be absolutely finished. She has no way of contacting Maya at present. She has moved hours away from the city Maya lives. She will probably never encounter Maya again, same as the bitter gourd which doesn’t have a place on her table. She wonders if that’s all her relationship amounts to: a meal not to her taste. She knows it’s untrue but the inability to do anything about it roots her to the spot.

Koharu lays under the water until she feels her lungs are going to burst. She pictures the blood in her veins turning blue from lack of oxygen, her lungs straining as she denies them what they want most.

Finally, she emerges, gasping for fresh air, leaning back against the cold enamel of the tub. She doesn’t remember what time of day it is. She could be eight, swimming in the river, or she could be twenty-four, trying to forget she exists. She blinks back black spots in her vision and focuses on the small window in the bathroom - the evening sky of a Kyoto summer day outside. She doesn’t remember how long she’s been in the water. She closes her eyes as she lets her breathing slow. She hates how much she still loves the water - after everything it took from her - after it painted all of her worst memories with wet, murky strokes.

She wonders what Maya is doing. She wonders how Maya is? Who is she taking photos of? Is her heart mended?

She hopes Maya is able to meet another woman.
She hopes Maya can’t bring herself to meet another woman.

She hates the selfish parts of herself, her rotten core, the parts that want to bind Maya and keep her from finding happiness even though Koharu can no longer provide it. She picks up her phone from where it sits on the window ledge beside the tub. She doesn’t have Maya’s number, but she’s sure she can get it. Hisame has it. Or Suzu. Even Sakura would know someone with it. Within fifteen minutes she could have Maya’s number. Sighing, she puts the phone down without doing anything.

Better yet, she knows Maya’s family’s apartment. She could go back - the shinkansen to Tokyo only took 2 hours. She could untwist her life, get out of this backwards city.

She laughs at the idea of knocking on Maya’s parents’ apartment door: of Maya’s mother answering and greeting her with confusion. Of Maya, upset with her, or just disappointed. Of Maya telling her that this is all good and well, but she’s actually met another woman. Of everyone watching, again, in shame and embarrassment as Koharu’s parents track her down and drag her away, further traumatizing Maya. It’s August. It’s been 8 months since she left. She can’t just do as she pleases.

“Get out of the tub, will you?”

Sakura kicks the door with her slipper, the light thudding breaking Koharu’s meditation. Sakura has been hired at a major theater in Kyoto, and she’s off to work at odd hours – weekends, evenings, early mornings – building sets, painting props, helping with cue sheets. But between those hours she’s home, sharing a hallway (and a bathroom), with Koharu.

“Leave me alone,” she calls back, unable to yell, not really. Sakura was right, she really had been in there too long, once again. She really needed to get control of herself. She couldn’t let her little sister be the one picking up the pieces of her fractured life.

“I’m coming in,” Sakura announces, opening the door to reveal that she’s changed into her pajamas, coming off of a day shift at the theater. Her hair is pulled up into a bun on top of her head, and she takes her toothbrush out, getting ready to use it.

Suddenly caught in the act of one of her baths that has gone on for hours, instead of just being chastised from beyond the door, Koharu is ashamed, and stands up, slipping into her robe and toweling off her hair. The warmth has slipped away, and she’s left freezing again.

“You should come out with me this weekend,” Sakura says, spitting out her toothpaste. “I made a friend at the theater who’s really sweet. You would like her.”

Koharu stands up from bending over to arrange her towel. She meets Sakura’s eyes through the mirror. “You mean she’s gay.”

Sakura rolls her eyes, putting her toothbrush away. “She’s gay, yes, but she’s taken. I’m not trying to set you up. I just wanted you to meet a friend I made. But if you’re going to be like… you are… nevermind.”

The velvet curtain between them is pushing into Koharu’s mouth, blocking out her response. She imagines it is red, like the curtains on the theater stage, and it is heavy and thick with dust.



Sakura’s friend is Tomoe Tamao, and she is a stage actress, currently on tour at the theater Sakura works at. She’s cute - shorter than Koharu and her sister, but animated, her movements bright and graceful.

Since she found out the Yanagi sisters are new in town, she insists on taking them to her version of a Kyoto specialty day: a tea ceremony, followed by a walk-through of the art museum, followed by dinner at a reservations-only kaiseki restaurant. Spring is in full bloom, and the heat of summer is right around the corner. Koharu enjoys the feeling of the sun on her skin as she follows Tamao through the cobbled streets of Kyoto.

The tea ceremony is beautiful, though Koharu was never good at seiza, and she constantly is afraid of messing up the small bit of etiquette she’s responsible for. She relaxes a bit at the museum, where she has a small amount of experience, thanks to research she’s done for her journalism work, and due to Maya’s interest in the subject.

Sakura and Tamao joke about the pieces, and she relaxes a little more, grateful that Tamao isn’t the type of person who takes history and culture so seriously that she can’t crack an occasional joke about them. Koharu still feels the curtain around her, heavy and muffling, dividing herself from everyone else, but it seems as if it might be growing a little more translucent.

“You’re in journalism, Koharu-san? I have a friend in marketing with the Shinbun. Let’s exchange numbers and I can get you in touch. She’s a great contact to have, and a good friend!”

At dinner, Tamao’s fiancée Akikaze Rui joins them, so they become a party of four. Koharu's eyes keep catching the rings on their fingers, and she keeps missing as she tries to pick up her small portions of food.

It’s hard to watch them, because they are so in love, and so happy, it’s like staring at the sun. So Koharu turns to her extraordinarily fancy food and contemplates it, and realizes that she doesn’t want a bright and shining love. She can’t have one. It would be incongruous. She had a chance at a bright and shining love and she butchered it, so if she’s ever given the chance to love again, it should be something dull, something that needs careful tending.

She is served another course - some elaborate dish of sea urchin with roe served in another tiny portion - and thinks about how she shouldn’t be here - how unfair it was that her father dragged her away from her whole life in Tokyo, forcing her to try again here in Kyoto. She feels like a fraud. It is like living constantly in pain, with an itch, with news she wants to shout out, and she can’t do anything about any of it. She continues eating dinner, watching the way Tamao moves Rui’s hair so it won’t get in her food, and how Rui grabs onto Tamao’s hand just at the edge of the table. She steadies her hand before she spills her drink.



At the very end of August, Koharu gets in touch with Tamao’s friend, Yumeoji Fumi. True to Tamao’s word, she’s very nice, and they agree to meet for an assignment, where Fumi has some preliminary research for a couple new restaurants in the market district, and Koharu has a review to do of one of the restaurants.

She can’t say she’s ever been much of a culinarian, but she’s the new reporter in town, so she doesn’t have the top pick of assignments. Fumi and she are seated near the window, at a small table, and they order a mixture of the popular items and some that look appealing from the menu.

“I was surprised to hear from Tamao, admittedly,” Fumi laughs. “But I was reading some of your work from Tokyo, it’s very good.”

“Thank you,” says Koharu. “Do you not keep in touch with Tamao?” she asks, suddenly detecting an awkward mood.

Fumi smiles lightly. “Of course she didn’t say,” she laughs and shakes her head. “We used to date,” she continues. “When I had to go to Sapporo for a while, to help my sister… well, the distance didn’t do us any good.” She sips her water. “We were all friends. She, Rui, and I. They just… got closer in that time that I was away.”

“I’m sorry,” Koharu says, “It must have been difficult to come back to that.”

She shakes her head. “It was a long, long time ago. We’re all friends now. It’s just… different than it was before.”

Koharu doesn’t have a response for this. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look back at her own past relationship with this kind of level-headedness, and can’t imagine it.

She types notes into her phone as she eats, careful to look like she’s using social media, and not acting on behalf of the local paper. She doesn’t want the staff to treat them any differently than normal patrons, after all.

The food is good - roasted pork belly, rich soup, seasonal vegetables. She eats well, enjoying everything, enjoying being out of the house. But a quick swap from her notes to SNS as the waitress approaches reveals Hisame’s latest post: a collection of pictures showing old memories from the newspaper club.

As if in a trance, she swipes through, nodding absently as the waitress checks on them. A picture of Suzu with stacks of newspapers, freshly printed, so high she’s at risk of tipping over. A flash of blue ribbon on the edge of the frame. Yes, it’s delicious. A shot of the whole club, making silly faces for the end of the year shot, with some of the boys hoisted on each others’ shoulders. No, just the check, please. A shot of herself, Maya, and Hisame, Maya’s hand resting gently on her shoulder as they double checked the placement of some photos. Yes, actually a glass of sake sounds lovely.

She takes the sake hot, enjoying the way it warms her throat going down, the way it seems to fill her chest. It imitates the feeling of the deadened flame, if only for a minute. When they leave the restaurant, she feels too wound up to write the article, so she asks Fumi if she wants to go to the theater. It’s the first time she’s asked anyone anywhere in months.

They walk to the theater and buy tickets to a matinee show. She doesn’t even know what performance they’re watching. She prays that this time, maybe just this once, she’ll feel something. She sits in a half-empty balcony section and sobers up when she realizes that she’s still Koharu, still unable to grasp the magic that everyone else can set upon when they come to the theater.

The restaurant gets 4.5/5 stars.



It’s the beginning of September, still sweltering hot, when she thinks about why she left and why she doesn’t go back. She returns to the botanical gardens to sit on a bench outside of the enclosure with the bird with the broken wing - for some reason she’s grown fond of him. It’s a secret spot she doesn’t share with Sakura or Fumi or Tamao, it’s hers alone.

She’s just submitted an article on the local horseraces. It was strange, reporting on everything and nothing. Each week she learns something new about a new topic, and then shifts gears as she changes to a new topic the next week.

She had visited the track that weekend to watch the races - something she had never done in her life - surprised by the blend of people she encountered: elite guests and possible celebrities, old money who probably owned the horses racing, and commoners, cheering loudly and buying numbers to bet on the winners. There were also a shadier sort, a desperate sort of people who clung to their tickets as the horses circled the track, seeming as if their lives depended on the outcome of the race. Truth be told, Koharu thought the real story was there, in those people. But she followed her assignment, reporting on the horses.

Now she sits on the park bench sweating during the early afternoon, listless but restless, thinking about that night when her life collapsed.

It started innocuously enough, with herself and Maya on the couch after dinner, cuddling, their legs entwined. Maya’s arm was around her, she thinks, but she can’t be sure. The whole night became a blur as soon as the door opened, her father- their attorney on the lease and the holder of their spare key- gazing at them from where he was positioned in the doorway, the shocked look on his face first freezing her in place, and then making her jump apart from Maya. He told her later that he was worried because someone in their building had been robbed that day, and she wasn’t picking up her phone.

Even now, she wants to believe him.

Somehow, minutes later, she was sitting across from him in the lobby of her building, the rain pouring just outside, Maya still upstairs. Her father was on edge, fiddling with the wheels of his wheelchair, frenetic. “...Koharu… have you considered how this might appear?” he asks. “Have you thought about your career? Your future?”

“Dad…”

She turned her head out the window, looking at the eerie blackness of Tokyo at night after the rain.

“I know we discussed you staying here when your mother and I retire next month, but I don’t think that’s an option. You should come with us to Nara.”

Perhaps it was at that moment that she realized what this meant, really. Her father opening the door was a shock, but it was not until the suggestion of moving that it hit her: her relationship with Maya might really be falling apart.

She ended up grabbing a few things from the apartment that night, assuring Maya that she just needed some time to smooth things over with her parents. She ended up leaving her ring on the dresser in the bedroom of the apartment, lest it make her parents more upset than they were already bound to be. Perhaps slipping off the ring was what dimmed their flame past what could have been rekindled. Perhaps it was not. But she’ll never know.

The next week was a blur of anger and sadness and fear as she tried to reason with her parents, but most of it was spent in her childhood room as her parents made arrangements to push up the date of the move. She wanted to go to Maya, to return to her old life, not answering incessant questions from her father. She realized somehow she was not getting anywhere in her pleas and they decided her fate when they announced that Nara was being exchanged for Kyoto due to concerns about Koharu not being able to find work in Nara. She was angry, she wanted to lash out, but she didn’t want her father going after Maya, taking any anger out on her, so she just nodded, swallowing her love.

Somehow the lease was terminated and her things moved out of the shared apartment without her having to lift a finger. Somehow, that final kiss and a promise to return become the final memories she had of Maya, and she can’t even remember exactly what was said.



It’s autumn now, a cool crispness to the air as Koharu returns home from delivering an assignment. Koharu can hear Sakura in her room, some American musical’s soundtrack on her speakers playing on low volume as she repeats English phrases.

“What’s up? Want to hang out? Wanna hang out?”

“What are you doing?” she asks, feeling, like always, as if she’s speaking through a curtain, like muffled velvet is separating her from the sister she grew up with. She stands in the doorway of Sakura’s room, watching as her little sister pauses the video, pulling out her earbuds before turning to face her, a light blush dusting her cheeks in embarrassment.

“I’m working on my English,” she says, and despite her embarrassment at getting caught, she says this without shame. “For when I go to America.” Not if. When.

“You don’t care about studying abroad,” Koharu shoots back, feeling argumentative for no good reason. She pictures huge bubbles coming out of her mouth, as if she was speaking underwater. She thinks of the secret they share: now fifteen years old and simultaneously unimportant and looming.

Sakura looks confused. “I love Broadway. I want to work there. Can you imagine?”

Koharu shakes her head. She cannot imagine. For all of Maya’s love of theater, she cannot understand it, still. What is that divine experience that everyone seems to find in theater, that Koharu is unable to capture?

But Sakura does not have time for Koharu’s crisis, at least not at the moment. “Besides. I need to get away from them. One day, I’m going to meet a girl and fall in love, and before I do, I want to be in New York. Far away from them.” Koharu knows Sakura isn’t trying to mock her, she isn’t that type of little sister, but it stings. It’s as if she’s saying: I learned from what happened to you. Mom and Dad are not ruining my relationship.

Sakura puts the earbuds back in, focusing again on her English. “Can’t wait!” she repeats.

Koharu sees the forms on Sakura’s vanity, applications for a working visa. She realizes then that Sakura is being serious, and this isn’t just a whim. Her little sister is making strides towards something she wanted, but what of Koharu? What was Koharu doing in Kyoto, anyways? What was the point of her repeating days?



Koharu doesn’t meet Tamao again until it’s biting cold in mid-autumn, and she’s asked to deliver some finished cue sheets to the theater on behalf of Sakura, who has a cold. Tamao happens to be leaving as Koharu is entering, and helps her find the staff member to bring the papers to. Afterward, she walks back with Koharu to the entrance.

“Actually, I was thinking of doing something fun tonight, since it’s my day off tomorrow. Do you want to come along?”

Koharu is surprised at the proposal. She’s only met Tamao a handful of times, and Sakura isn’t around. “Me?”

Tamao laughs. “Yes, you. You said Sakura’s sick, and besides, she’s just out of school. You’re closer to my age, I think. Rui’s out of town with her friends, so I think we should go out.”

Koharu has no real reason to protest, except that she doesn’t think she’d be good company. So she nods, and follows Tamao to the station. They ride the train towards the university, and she wonders if they’re going to a college bar, or to a dance club, but Tamao opens a nondescript door with an odd logo, and they traipse down stairs into a dimly lit basement lounge.

Her eyes adjust, and she realizes they’re in a hookah bar. Only a few tables are filled, and they’re shown to a couch in the corner, a low table in front of them set up with the water pipe and tubing, a hot coal, and some tobacco.

While the staff is setting up, Koharu looks around the room: Persian rugs, deep red walls with tapestries, dim lighting, and a variety of vintage furniture. She turns back to Tamao, who adds a mouth piece to the tubing and draws from the pipe, the smoke coming out on the exhale in a sexy stream.

“I know it’s no good for me,” she explains, “But it’s my one vice.”

Koharu nods. Tamao doesn’t owe her an explanation.

“Whenever Rui is out of town, and I have a long day of work, I like to come by here, just every month or so.” Another inhale, another exhale. “I like to eat well, I enjoy exercising. I work hard. I love my fiancée. I just want one thing that is my own, one thing that is a little bit bad for me, you know?”

Koharu doesn’t really feel like the curtain is around her anymore. Perhaps time is dulling the effect, or perhaps she is healing. It is more like, at this moment, she is sitting within a sphere of water, preventing her from properly connecting, but visible to only her. “I guess so,” she says, noncommittally, taking a drag of the pipe herself.

The smoke is harsh. She chokes.

“What’s your vice, Koharu?” Tamao asks, leaning forward a bit.

Koharu bites her lip. ’Drowning’ comes to mind first, but she dismisses it. Tamao doesn’t want to hear about how messed up she feels. “I like to spend hours in the bath,” she admits. “It drives Sakura insane.”

But contrary to Koharu’s thoughts, Tamao leans forward further, her hand on her chin in contemplation. “Do you feel dirty?” she asks, a sly smile on her face. “Do you feel like you need to get clean?”

Koharu considers this. “Maybe,” she admits. She certainly has enough sin leaking out of the pores of her skin. “But I think I just like it. I’ve always liked the water. But I can’t go swimming anymore. I… almost drowned as a kid and - I just can’t go back.” She takes another puff from the hookah, this time letting the smoke fill her lungs without choking.

She gets home and her father is still up, which is rare. “Koharu,” he says. “I’m glad you made it out. I’m sure you’ll be able to get used to Kyoto.”

She wonders if he stayed up just for her. She knows he’s only supposed to be in his wheelchair for so many hours per day. She bites her lip, feeling guilty for making him go through this effort of staying up to greet her. For making him worry that she wasn’t doing well in Kyoto. It was true that things were hard, but she knew he was also trying his best.

“I’ll try, dad.”

“Good. I love you, Koharu.”

“Love you too, dad.” And she does. Perhaps it would all be easier if she loved him less, but even in the wake of the worst year of her life, she can’t bring herself to hate him. “Goodnight.”

She goes upstairs to the part of the house untouched by her parents - the part of the house inaccessible to a wheelchair. She undresses, slipping into a hot bath. Taking in a deep breath, she lets herself sink below the water.

And suddenly she’s eight - the last time she went swimming. She and Sakura are playing at the river’s edge, a few hundred feet from where their parents are setting up the grill for lunch. “I am the best swimmer in the class,” Koharu brags. “I could swim this no problem.”

“Do it, I dare you!” Sakura says. She’s six now, daring Koharu to do anything and everything.

“I don’t have my swimsuit, I can’t!” she says. But really, she knows it’s a bad idea. The rapids are strong, she was only bragging a moment ago.

“I double dare you!” Sakura contemplates. “And I’ll give you my dessert tonight!”

Shaking her head, Koharu kicks off her shoes, jumping in. It’s unlike the pool at school, it’s unlike sinking below the water in the bath. It’s a rush of freezing water - it’s terrifying. Immediately she’s sent downstream, and it’s all she can do to gasp for breath as her head bobs half above water, river water filling her lungs as she gets the smallest bit of oxygen.

She can hear screaming, but it can’t be herself - it had to be Sakura. After what seems like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, her father is there, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her up above the waterline. Tossing her onto the shore.

She gasps for breath desperately, choking on the freezing water still, Sakura’s screams still ringing in her ears.

Koharu is invited to see the results of Sakura’s hard work just before Christmas. She picks up the ticket Sakura reserved for her at will call, and walks into the grand lobby, admiring it. She didn’t get a chance when she came for the matinee show with Fumi months ago. The theater is decorated for the holidays, with boughs of evergreens hanging from the rails of a grand staircase in the lobby. It’s not unlike the theater she used to visit in Tokyo with Maya - but the Kyoto version has a distinct feel, just like everything else here - her alternate life.

She realizes that Sakura has considered her feelings when she is shown to her seat, a quiet section of the mezzanine level, about 100 seats total, but only a quarter filled.

A few businessmen are in the section with her, perhaps in the mezzanine so they can slip out to attend to business, if needed, along with who she guesses are a few family members of the staff members. She doesn’t engage with any of them - she’s here to see what Sakura has created, after all.

Unfortunately, Tamao is performing out of town on tour during this period, so she doesn’t recognize any of the stage actors. But she supposes it’s a blessing - she’s able to focus on her sister’s efforts more. Sakura’s sets are perfect for the setting - an incredible Meiji-era set with backdrops that remind her of scrolls they had looked at in the Kyoto museum, props like a lacquered palanquin, and costumes in period-specific styles and fabrics.

It is incredible that Sakura - ordinary Sakura - could help create something like this, and for the first time, she can imagine her sister succeeding in New York City. She tries to follow the plot, she tries to reach for the tingling sensation of embracing the magic of theater, but she falls short, and settles for admiring Sakura’s work further.

In the second act, she feels herself growing sleepy. The sweater she wore to the theater is heavy, and the lights are dim. She listens to the dialogue as she rests her eyes - the village girl being pulled away from her royal lover - and thinks of her own separation.

Her father discovering them that night. The rain on the sidewalk. His endless questioning that following week until she-

Until she-

It was raining-

She opens her eyes to reveal that the sprinklers are going off in the mezzanine section of the seats. The play has stopped.

She’s soaking wet, and everyone has already evacuated. They hadn’t even tried to wake her from her daydreams.



Sakura informs her that the sprinkler incident was due to one of the businessmen trying to use an electronic cigarette during the show. Because of that, the entire mezzanine section needs to be closed off for the next two weeks while it is professionally cleaned and restored.

Koharu nods absently, not so much annoyed at getting soaked during the show as she was by the nagging feeling that she left with - like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

Sakura makes her promise to come to her spring performance instead, since she didn’t get to come see a full show. Despite Koharu’s assurances that one act was plenty to see Sakura’s work, she cannot be swayed. “I made three acts of sets, and helped with so many costumes, onee!”

So, after hearing a tirade of how many articles Koharu has written that Sakura has read, she agrees.

She’s surprised, most of all, when a few weeks later, she gets a text from Tamao.

Tamao: Busy tonight?

Koharu: Not particularly

Tamao: Great. I’ll meet you at the station by the theater at nine.

Given no room to argue, Koharu confirms this time and changes her clothes, wearing extra layers for going out after dark in January.

“What are you doing?” Sakura asks her, as she’s leaving the bathroom after putting on the minimum amount of makeup.

“Tamao invited me out,” she says, hoping the truth is fine, as she can’t think of a lie.

Sakura tilts her head a bit, and it reminds Koharu of a puppy. “You better not be up to any funny business,” she warns. “I was with her earlier. She told me Rui was out of town for work…”

“It’s not like that,” Koharu assures her. She doesn’t want to spill the secret of Tamao’s vice to Sakura, but she wants to put her at ease. “She’s not my type.”

“Right. She’s not Maya.”

The words are like daggers, and Sakura looks apologetic as soon as she says them, but Koharu holds up a hand as if to say ‘it’s fine’. It’s been over a year since she was forced to come here, over a year since she’d had any contact with Maya. She needed to get used to hearing her name at least.

She meets Tamao as directed, and they go to the same hookah lounge. They’re tucked into the same corner. This time, a trance-like music is playing. It’s slightly busier, but they’re given a modicum of privacy by virtue of the high-backed couch tucked towards a wall with the large tapestry hanging for decor.

“I’m glad you could join me,” Tamao admits. “I really feel like a pathetic woman when I come here alone.”

Koharu thinks about the time she’s spent alone this past year, and wonders if she’d feel less pathetic if she spent more time with another person. “It’s no problem,” she says. “This season… it reminds me of bad memories, so I’m glad I could come out.”

Tamao turns towards her slightly, turning her head aside to exhale before speaking. “Tell me about it,” she implores. “I feel like I barely know about you at all.”

And she shrivels into herself. Because why would Tamao, perfect and beautiful and successful, want to hear about Koharu’s sad life? “It’s kinda a long story, and it doesn’t end nicely,” she says.

“That’s fine,” she says. “I was going to sit here by myself, if you didn’t come along. And besides, my job is to tell stories on stage. They’re not all perfect and beautiful stories. Sometimes they’re dark and twisted, or sad, or pathetic. So if you tell me yours, I don’t mind listening. It might help me as well.”

Koharu has never told anyone about Maya. She has never shared that part of herself. She takes a drag from the pipe and dares to try. She tells Tamao about the newspaper club in university, about the handsome photographer who would take pictures for the articles she would write.

She tells Tamao about how that photographer and she moved in together after graduating, as close friends and roommates, but only they knew there was something more. How Maya ran a small business taking portraits, and children, young professionals, performers, and all sorts would come through her rented studio, and on the weekends she would attend celebrations to take photographs of weddings, coming of age ceremonies, and the like. How Koharu would write a weekly column in two newspapers.

How they were known to each other’s parents, as close friends, as roommates, as assistants in each other's work. Until the night her father found them in a more intimate position.

She tells Tamao how it was raining that night, when they were pulled apart.

She tells Tamao about how her father asked her so many questions.

She tells Tamao about the proposed move.

“What’s there to ask about? What kind of questions did he have?” Tamao asks, pulling on the pipe. The smoke comes out casually on her exhale. “It’s pretty clear what was happening,” she says. She laughs with an apologetic look on her face, as though she’s sorry for making a joke about Koharu’s misery.

“The questions? Well… he was asking me about…”

“Koharu?” She sets down the pipe, leaning forward a bit.

“Sorry, that weekend was just a bit blurry. He asked me about…”

Koharu wracks her brain, trying to recall what was so important her father was in and out of her room, what was so important there were questions, and not just swift judgment. It was there, that itch she felt since the Christmas performance at the theater, and she was just millimeters away from scratching it.

She inhales the smoke into her lungs, pretending she’s under the water in the bathtub at home.

And just like that, she’s emerged from the tub water. She’s escaped from the sprinklers at the theater. She’s pushed out from the bubble of water that’s constantly been surrounding her since she left Tokyo.

She’s suddenly eight again, safely on shore, but Sakura’s screams still fill her ears. And she can’t breathe - both from the water clogging her lungs and for the vision of her father, swept further down the river and against a massive rock, emerging, unmoving, into the silty bank.

She’s nine, and Sakura has come to her room, crying from guilt, crying that she wants to tell Mom and Dad that she dared Koharu to jump in the river. That she caused Dad to lose use of his legs. It’s then that they make the promise to keep the secret, both to put Sakura at ease, and to not touch the taboo day with their parents. The secret that has remained untouched for years - long enough that it’s meaningless to everyone but Koharu and Sakura now.

“It was me, it was me, it was all me!” she insists, she swears, until Sakura might even believe the new narrative.

She’s pushed forward in time, through school events with her dad supporting her, through university study sessions with her father’s guidance and gentle reminders to eat well and get enough sleep, through university itself, with her father supporting her decision to pursue journalism, with him paying her living expenses. She grows up doing anything she wants to in her life, except swimming. It’s never stated explicitly, but somehow she knows it’s off limits.

She’s hired at the newspaper in Tokyo, living with Maya, discovered by her father. That weekend, back at her parent’s house, she feels herself drowning for the second time in her life. She feels the danger intrinsically. She needs to prevent harm to anyone else - something she failed to do the first time. So when her father suggests that her relationship with Maya can harm their careers, their future, she doesn’t think much of herself, but she does think of Maya.

And of course, Tamao asked about the question - the all-important question he asked - the one that pitted the truth against the strength of her relationship with her father. And well, she owed him her life.

What was the truth, anyways, but what puts people most at ease?

“He asked me if it was just Maya’s doing, if Maya pressured me into that relationship.”

She can feel the tears on her face, all the water that’s been standing in her way now falling away so easily.

Tamao looks at her wide-eyed, as if realizing that the curtain has only just been lifted.

“I lied, Tamao. I said yes. Oh my God.”

“Let’s go outside.”

Tamao pulls her outside of that den, and the cold winter air is like a slap in the face. But still, she cannot calm down. Without the propriety of being in a parlor, she is losing her mind.

“I lied, Tamao. I lied to my dad. I lied to my mom. They think Maya coerced me. And then I lied to myself, I lied to Sakura, I tricked us into thinking it’s entirely my parents’ fault we’re in Kyoto, and not mine, because I couldn’t answer a simple question saying that I wanted to be with Maya. Oh God. Oh no.”

She grabs at her hair, pulling at it, unsure of what to do, unsure of how to calm down. She lived an entire year as a lie. She can’t think of a single person who was not hurt by her lies, and she was blissfully trying to recover until five minutes ago.

Tamao grabs her wrists, firmly, until Koharu releases the grip on her own hair. “Hey. You need to pull yourself together,” she says.

And Koharu wants to, she really wants to, but her breathing won’t slow down, and her thoughts are racing. Being in the world without the bubble, without the velvet curtain - the world of the truth - really is too painful.

And before she knows it, Tamao’s lips are on hers, her hands still loosely gripping her wrists, forgotten. And Koharu’s mind is blank, aside from the feeling of human affection, the feeling of Tamao’s perfectly soft lips matching hers for four sweet seconds before they pull away.

Her lip is trembling as she stares at Tamao, confused about the action and what it meant. But Tamao shakes her head, smiling softly. “Forget it even happened,” she says. “I just needed you to calm down and stop spiraling, and I don’t have it in me to slap you.” And it’s true. In the aftermath, her breathing has slowed, her tears have lessened, and her thoughts have returned to the present.

“I- …Thank you,” she says, unsure truly of how to respond to the kiss, but grateful for Tamao’s help overall. “I think I need to go home,” she says.

“Are you sure? You can stay at my house if you want, if you don’t want to stay with your parents tonight.”

She nods, accepting the offer, following mindlessly as Tamao leads her to the station, watching as Tamao texts Sakura on her behalf, walking with Tamao from the station to her apartment. All the while, she’s afraid she might vomit from guilt, her mind reeling with the night’s revelations.

She lays on a spare futon in Tamao’s living room after Tamao has gone to sleep, considering the circumstances. The thought of her returning to Tokyo is laughable now - she was the traitor, the villain, she did not deserve to return.

For the first time, she realizes that she hopes that Maya finds happiness without her. Her atonement is giving up on Maya, and living with the guilt that she’s hurt Maya in ways she’ll probably never understand.

She gets Maya’s number from Hisame, who is luckily still awake at this hour. She doesn’t ask questions about why Koharu needs it, which she appreciates.

Koharu: Maya, it’s Koharu. It took me a year, but I understand now. I am sorry I left, I am sorry for the circumstances I left in, I am sorry for not reaching out before now. I’ve come to realize I don’t deserve someone like you in my life, but I hope you can find happiness. I don’t regret any of our time together.

Crying, she drafts and re-drafts the message until she has a result she’s happy with. She sits with the drafted message for an hour before she succumbs, pressing ‘send’, and then giving in to her fatigue and falling asleep.



A few days after she texts Maya, Koharu gets an invitation from Fumi to attend a banquet at the modern art museum. She dresses up, meeting Fumi at the station and taking the train with the blonde with the strange aura. To Koharu, Fumi is someone who persevered, who pushed forward no matter what, but kept innumerable feelings close to her chest. She can’t tell if it’s something she admires or reviles.

They check their coats at the entrance, proceeding into the venue. The reception is rather crowded, with all sorts of media industry people, but the first floor of museum collections is open, and Fumi and Koharu get glasses of wine and take a walk through the galleries.

“Heard you had a rough night last weekend,” Fumi says.

“I thought you didn’t keep in touch with Tamao,” she shoots back, trying to deflect.

“I guess you changed that,” Fumi replies, sipping her wine with a tight smile. She’s looking at a painting on the wall, not at Koharu, which helps make the conversation easier, in a way.

“Yeah, I… lied to everyone,” Koharu admits. “Everything was my fault.”

Fumi shrugs. “Did anyone die?”

“What? …No…”

“Then at worst, you fucked up really, really badly. All you can do is try your best moving forward.”

Koharu sips her own wine, moving on to the next painting. She wonders what Fumi’s past was like. Perhaps Fumi is pragmatic to a fault, but she really doesn’t have any other advice to take.



It’s March when Tamao and Sakura both invite her to dinner, perhaps in an effort to keep her from moping around the house too much. She accepts, mostly to appease them, and, she supposes, in an effort to try following Fumi’s advice. They go to an izakaya near the theater, and Tamao announces her partner for the spring show - an old acquaintance - will be joining them. Koharu’s chest tightens at the premise of meeting someone new in her current condition.

For the first portion of the meetup, it’s just the four of them: Koharu, Sakura, Rui, and Tamao. And it’s painful to be surrounded by so many people with lights, the restaurant is full of them. Tamao’s is bright and pure, matching Rui’s. The old couple sitting behind them have warm and soft lights, similar to those in the izakaya itself. The bartender holds his light close, the way Koharu used to. Of course there are some with dim lights, or at least Koharu suspects they don’t have any, since these lights are all imagined anyways. But the glowing feeling of love is so strong she feels she can picture it, and perhaps she can – she’s not sure anymore. Maybe she’s finally gone crazy.

But she’s so surprised she almost chokes on her beer when she sees the pink-haired woman walk in. Absolutely devoid of light. Perhaps it would be a sign to run away – ‘a loveless woman is a curse’ sounds like a proverb her mother might say – but Koharu feels drawn to the sameness she feels emanating from this woman.

“Ah, Futaba-san!”

The woman, Futaba, sits down with their group, and Koharu realizes this is Tamao’s new-but-old partner.

“Good evening,” she greets, rather formally for a group of friends, but she’s got a kind smile. Tamao introduces everyone. Her full name is Isurugi Futaba, and she comes to sit between Koharu and Tamao. Koharu’s breath catches for a moment and she wonders if maybe, just for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the elusive wonder that so many seek when they visit the theater.

“You’re a journalist?” Futaba asks her, after she’s gotten a beer of her own and they’ve started in on the food.

Koharu nods. “I am. I… don’t know much about theater, though, I’m afraid.”

Futaba laughs lightly. “That’s fine. I don’t know much about journalism.”

“Not much to know,” Koharu says. “We just research things and write about them.”

“That reminds me, Koharu,” Tamao cuts in. “I wanted to get in touch with Fumi. I think she knows someone who can get you a regular spot covering the theater for the Shinbun if you wanted, and we can all work together this spring!”

Koharu catches Rui averting her gaze for a moment, but she quickly recovers.

“Take it, if you’d like,” Futaba encourages her. “We have a lot of fun at work.”

And just for that, she finds herself nodding.



It turns out that their season of ‘all working together’ is going to be the one and only. Sakura’s working visa comes through, and she’s offered a job as a stagehand for an off-broadway theater in New York City beginning in June. Spring will be her final season in Kyoto.

Sakura breaks the news as they’re getting ready to go to the theater for an evening session - Sakura to help paint sets, and Koharu to do some work on a longer piece she is writing on how the spring production is coming together.

“You’re really taking it?” Koharu asks.

“Of course. You think I spent all that time obtaining the visa and learning English to not take it?” She taps Koharu’s head gently with her knuckles. “Idiot,” she laughs, saying the word in English.

“Wow,” Koharu says, pulling a sweater over her shirt and fixing her hair. “You really are all grown up.”

“Of course I am. You better get yourself together, too. Get out of this house. Either get an apartment here, or go back to Tokyo. There’s no reason to live with mom and dad anymore.”

Koharu nods. She knows it’s true. She sits back on the bed, waiting as Sakura does her makeup. Why had she lied to her father? That was the question she had asked herself since that night out with Tamao, about a month ago now.

What would have happened if she said “No, I wanted this just as much as she did!”

Most likely, her father would have thought she was lying, or she would be cut off from the family. Perhaps nothing would change, and she would still be forced to move. It was impossible to say. But it mattered not, she supposed. Fumi would tell her that it was pointless to dwell on things like that. She was here now, she needed to move forward.

She goes to the theater with Sakura, sitting in the front row of seats as the actors rehearse on stage. Behind them, the stagehands are arranging set pieces and props here and there and making notes about what needs to be changed. She is told that most rehearsals are done in a rehearsal studio, but they like to take to the stage intermittently to get an idea of where they stand in their progress.

She tries to focus on everyone. She tries to get an impression of what the stage hands are doing, what the main actors and the ensemble are doing, the jobs of the directors and other staff. But inevitably, her eyes are drawn back to Futaba, who’s the most remarkable talent she’s ever seen on a stage. And even between scenes, she can’t help but watch the way Futaba brushes her bangs back from her eyes, the way that she holds her thumb against her lips in thought, the way that a smile curves on the edges of her lips as she talks with Tamao.

She also doesn’t have that light, Koharu can tell, but it doesn’t matter. Even in darkness, there is a draw, a pull.

Once or twice, Koharu catches Futaba glancing down at where she’s sitting. She bites her lip as she feels a blush on her cheeks.



Perhaps it shouldn’t come as such a surprise to her when she gets a text message from Futaba, but it does, and she nearly shouts in excitement, bringing the back of her hand to cover her mouth.

She’s eating lunch outside of the Shinbun offices with Fumi, who gives her a suspicious look.

“What’s happened?” she asks.

xxx-xxxx-xxxx: Hi, Yanagi-san, this is Isurugi Futaba. Sorry if this is strange, but I asked Tamao for your number. I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out sometime soon.

She busies herself with entering Futaba’s contact information into her phone as she thinks of a response. Even so, she doesn’t have a good one. Her chest is fluttering. She turns back to Fumi. “I… do you know Isurugi Futaba?”

“The stage actress?”

Koharu nods.

“Like the really famous one?”

Koharu nods again.

“Wants to go on a date with you?”

Koharu shrugs.

“Well you better go!”

Koharu puts her phone down, giving herself a moment before responding, but Fumi isn’t done with her lecture, apparently. “This is the part where you’re about to go ‘but I don’t know, Fumi, I’m not done feeling bad for myself’ and ‘But Fumi, I’m the villain!’ and ‘I don’t deserve happiness ever again!’”

Fumi even uses a moderately good impression of Koharu’s voice for these lines, and Koharu rolls her eyes.

“That’s bullshit,” Fumi continues. “What? Are you never going to be happy again because you made a mistake once? How long do you need to atone for?”

“I don’t know! What are the rules for these things?” Koharu asks, drawing a slight bit of attention from other diners in the cafeteria.

Fumi sighs, moving some food around on her tray. “That’s the point, Koharu. There are no rules. It’s life. It’s your choice what you do. But for what it’s worth, I think you should go.”



So she goes, meeting Futaba at a spring festival. She doesn’t realize it until they get there, but it’s at a shrine that backs up to the botanical garden. And it’s strange: how seeing the sakura blossoms doesn’t hurt like she thinks it would. The swan swimming in the pond makes her smile with nostalgia, thinking of Maya, but it isn’t a dagger in the heart.

And perhaps most encouragingly, the netted habitat, with the flightless bird with the bandaged wing still holds its subject, but he is flitting from branch to branch, and a sign indicates he’s to be released in a few weeks.

Futaba is much more shy than Koharu would have guessed, and they walk through the festival grounds getting to know each other. She finds out that Futaba travels a lot for shows, so she’s in Kyoto part time, but often in Tokyo as well. Futaba was recently in a relationship, but Koharu doesn’t press for details - she recognizes the pained expression in Futaba’s eyes too well: this wound is too fresh, too new.

“I like those games,” Futaba laughs, pointing to a row of stalls with shooting games and a ring toss.

“Let’s do it.”

They compete in several rounds, until they’ve lost all their coins, and they even consider breaking up their larger bills, but only walk away with a small plush of a star with a face on it, which Futaba gives to Koharu. “Take it,” she laughs. “I have so many plushies. My fans give them to me a lot.”

Koharu holds the star against her, knowing it’s childish, but she’s desperate for the light. Even if this light is a fake, fabric star, she’ll accept it, because it was imbibed with Futaba’s feelings. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

They turn down a quiet path through the gardens, walking away from the throngs of people. The sun has set now, and it’s quiet. “Isn’t it funny,” starts Koharu, wondering if Futaba will follow her strange ramblings, “How Kyoto is this backwards place? I keep thinking of it as my alternate life.”

Futaba laughs lightly, but Koharu can tell she doesn’t think it’s funny at all. They walk a bit further before Futaba replies. “Whenever I come here, I feel like a different person. And when I’m on the stage, I feel like I’m a different person. Sometimes I wonder if there’s a ‘genuine’ Futaba left.”

Koharu knows a musing like that doesn’t have a simple reply, so she moves the plush to one hand, using her free hand to grab onto Futaba’s, grasping it tightly. She can feel Futaba reciprocate, and it is like her moment with Tamao - grounding human contact, but it is something more. She can feel it, the warmth blossoming deep within her, feelings of attraction that had been suppressed for over a year. She wants more of Futaba, she wants to be closer. She wants to peel back the layers, to sink deeper.

She wants something for herself. Perhaps her atonement is over, or perhaps her atonement is to pursue someone who isn’t sure she exists at all. But there is no turning back now.



Koharu is at the theater, here and there, as the spring production unfolds, interviewing the staff, watching as the play comes to life. Her series of articles is published throughout the spring in the newspaper, until the opening day, when the tickets are sold out.

Sakura reserves tickets for Koharu and Fumi in a box, and Koharu dresses up to attend, telling herself it’s not because Futaba will be on the stage below. It’s difficult to imagine that this is the final time she’ll see Sakura’s work for a long time, one of the last days she’ll see Sakura for a long time, and it makes her more emotional than she expects.

Fumi sits beside her, asking questions about Sakura’s training, and of course, about her date with Futaba. She’s grateful when the play starts, and she doesn’t have to answer.

As always, Sakura’s work is fantastic. This play is a Victorian style, and her set work and her help with costuming is top notch. But Koharu can only look at the sets when Futaba is offstage, for when she is on stage, she draws all of Koharu’s focus. She truly is another person onstage: perfectly assured, every movement controlled, her delivery of each line perfect. Koharu feels it: the magic of the stage, being poured directly into her chest.

She stares with rapt attention for all three acts, laughing when she’s supposed to, crying when she’s supposed to, ignoring Fumi’s smirk at her out-of-character displays of emotion.

After the play, she cleans up her face in the bathroom, says goodbye to Fumi, and follows Sakura’s instructions to meet her in a corner of the lobby, where Sakura takes her to the restaurant where Tamao, Futaba, and several of the other actors and stagehands are drinking.

“This is Sakura’s sister?” someone asks. “Convince her to stay!” they implore. “We will miss her too much if she leaves for New York!”

She is invited to sit and join them, and Futaba slides over to let Koharu sit beside her, leading to Tamao raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I didn’t realize you two were so close,” she teases, and some of the others giggle as well.

“Mind your business, Tomoe-sama,” Futaba says, pouring a cup of sake for Koharu.

All-in-all, it’s a rowdy but enjoyable time, celebrating the first night of the spring show, and the last night of Sakura’s tenure at the Kyoto theater. The next week, Koharu will be sending her off to America, she realizes. She downs her sake.

After the drinking party, they spill out into the street, the sun now completely down. Arrangements are made for some people to meet up at another venue for more drinking, while some are heading home. Futaba walks out beside her, and they are now away from the gaze of Tamao, who has been joined by Rui at some point during the festivities.

“I’m glad you came,” Futaba says. “I wasn’t really looking forward to drinking alone.”

Koharu thinks this is a strange thing to say about drinking among dozens of people, but at the same time, she understands. “I’m glad I came, too,” she admits.

“I’m going to be working in Tokyo this summer, but I hope I can see you again,” Futaba says.

Koharu nods. She realizes she would like this as well, but as if this is a sign, she knows what she has to do now. “I would like that,” she says. “Good luck this summer.”

She bids Futaba goodbye, watching as she straps on a helmet and kicks off, driving away on her motorcycle.

It’s dark now, and she walks home with Sakura, both of them sobering up from the alcohol on the streets of Kyoto as they wander home.

“You’re really going?” Koharu asks, knowing already it’s the truth.

Sakura skips ahead a bit, adjusting her trademark ponytail before she turns back, walking backwards to face Koharu as she continues down the road. “I am. You’ve gotten me this far. I need to leave Japan. I need to do the next part on my own.”

Koharu smiles, shaking her head a bit. She thinks of every time she’s fought with Sakura, all the years she’s been away for school or with Maya. “I haven’t done anything at all.”

Sakura smiles, and stops walking. She approaches Koharu and hugs her. Maybe it’s the alcohol still working its way out of Koharu's system, but Koharu holds on tight, and she can feel the secret that has bound them for fifteen years plus countless memories they have that no one else can understand weaving them together. ’Yes, my dad is the one in the wheelchair.’ ‘No, I can’t come swimming, sorry!’ ‘Do… do you like girls?’

“I’m really going to miss you,” Koharu confesses. “You better do well in New York,” she teases, smiling through the tears that have fallen without notice onto her cheeks.

Sakura nods, smiling as well. “Of course.”



It’s early into the summer, a few days after Sakura’s departure, when Koharu approaches her father. He’s in his study, as he often is, despite officially being retired.

“It was me,” she says, without preface, the words stirring distant memories. She wonders if it does the same for her father.

“Pardon?” he asks, placing his pen down and closing the ledger he was working in. He’s tucked behind his desk in his wheelchair, giving the illusion he’s just sitting in an office chair. That he could stand at any time if he wished. But she can’t imagine such things anymore, she knows the truth too well, too deeply. She is the cause of such a tragedy, after all…

Koharu takes a deep breath. She needs to do right by Maya. Doing so is doing right by her father, she knows this. Deception is no way to live, but that doesn’t make this easier. “You asked me if Maya tricked me into a relationship, or if I was just going along with things for Maya’s sake, and I agreed. But that was a lie.”

She remains standing, too restless to sit, half certain still she might dash from the room. “I wanted the relationship just as much, maybe more than Maya. I was the one who pursued her in the first place. I asked her if she wanted to move in together. I… loved her.”

Her father looks at her, his face serious and set in consideration. After a few moments, he nods somberly. “I understand. It’s… not easy for you to be with a woman, that’s my concern. I was- I still am- thinking of you. I want to protect you from harassment, from discrimination, from someone taking away opportunities from you.”

Koharu feels her tears coming again. She thinks of her father, jumping in that river without a moment’s hesitation, to save her from drowning, how he has always only wanted to help her. “I know,” she says, her voice ragged from emotion. “But despite the risk, the chance for love is more important.” She pauses, sniffling.

“Dad, I would give my life for you. I- I owe you my life. But I… I can’t hide who I am. I need to be able to love who I wish, or I don’t think I’ll ever find happiness. No matter what the consequence to my career, or standing or whatever.”

He looks at her, his jaw set half between a grimace and a smile as a tear wells in the corner of his eye as well. It’s the most emotional she’s perhaps ever seen her father. It takes all her willpower not to avert her gaze. “Alright. Of course I want what’s best for you, including your happiness.”

Koharu nods. It was strange: to have come so far. She feels exhausted, but also frustrated. With herself mostly. She wonders if her relationship with Maya could have been salvaged, if she had been able to communicate better with her father a year and a half ago. But at the same time, she knows she was a different person then, and so was her father. She sits down in one of her father’s office chairs, the strength in her legs giving way. She realizes in that moment that the truth, the real truth, absolutely does put her at ease.

Her relationship with Maya is dead - it is too late to salvage anything. But she has managed to save her relationship with Sakura, with her father, with herself. She has managed to meet Tamao, Fumi, Futaba. Perhaps she can continue to move forward, despite making a terrible mistake. No one wrote manuals on atonement, she realizes.



It’s not until midsummer when Futaba sends her a message. It’s seven months after the first time she’s encountered Futaba, and four months since the festival when they first spent time alone together.

Futaba: I’m in town tonight. Want to spend time together?
Futaba: If you’re free, I mean.

Koharu smiles, reading the messages.

Koharu: I’m free. I was actually going to try something tonight…

And in an hour, she stands facing Futaba, the stickiness of the summer evening not so bad in their current attire, and much less oppressive now that the sun was nearly down.

“Are you serious?” Futaba asks, raising an eyebrow as they stand on the deck of the public pool, boasting extended hours for summer. There’s hardly anyone here this late, though, which was Koharu’s plan: she’s been scoping the pool out for a couple weeks, and purposely chose this late hour, when hardly anyone was around. “You want to go swimming?”

Koharu nods. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Futaba smiles, a little roguish. “No, sounds good, after the day I’ve had.” She tosses her towel onto the beach chair beside them, running across the deck in an obvious negligence of the rules, and jumps into the water with a splash. She resurfaces a moment later, flinging her bangs back with her hand, and treading water deftly. “Come on, it feels great!” she encourages.

Koharu bites her lip. This was what she wanted. This was the final step. She lays her towel on the chair, alongside Futaba’s.

Futaba’s in the deep end, and she gathers her courage and jumps in before she can think too much about it. The water is cold but still - more like a bath let go too long than like a rushing river, and before long she can feel herself floating back to the surface.

But as she emerges, she’s treading awkwardly, and it’s all she can do to keep her chin above the water. ’Of course’, she thinks. She hasn’t swam in over fifteen years, she’s bound to be out of practice. This body is much larger, unfamiliar. She kicks awkwardly, moving her arms too fast in a panic. Nervousness clutches her chest. The bottom of her face slips below the water level, and water trickles into her mouth. She redoubles her efforts. She needs to get to the edge.

But then there’s a hand on her arm, gently pulling her the last few feet to the wall where she can hang on, allowing her heart to calm down. “Thank you,” she gasps, ashamed at herself for nearly drowning again, the first time she tried swimming after all those years.

“No problem,” Futaba says, her tone light. “I was surprised,” she admits. “You invited me swimming. I didn’t think you would be terrible at it!” She laughs.

And Futaba’s laugh is not mean-spirited, it’s easy-going, it’s contagious. Somehow, despite the panic of a moment ago, Koharu finds herself laughing as well. She laughs for longer than she intends, holding to the wall of the pool with one hand all the while. “Me either,” she admits.

Futaba moves some of her hair from her face, and Koharu can’t help but watch Futaba’s eyes as they stare at her face. They’re close, in a shadowy corner of the pool, and maybe it’s Futaba who leans in first, but Koharu leans in as well, their lips coming together. The kiss is warm against Koharu’s lips which are cold from the pool, and tastes a little of chlorine, but it’s replaced after a moment by new sensations, new tastes: Futaba. And kissing is unfamiliar after so long, but it’s good - too good. This kiss with Futaba - bobbing in the corner of the municipal pool - it lights Koharu’s flame brightly, and she can feel it from her head to her fingertips to her toes, but they break apart after only a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” Futaba says, her gaze lowered. “I think I got ahead of myself.” She bites her lips, and Koharu wonders if she feels the same, if it felt good but maybe it shouldn’t have - or if Futaba has her own orbit, her own demons that Koharu can’t imagine.

“It’s alright, I did as well,” Koharu says, her heart still pounding.

They get out of the pool soon after, and shower and change to get dinner. They’re in the changing rooms drying their hair when Koharu sees it: a scar on Futaba’s forehead, normally covered by her bangs. She watches Futaba carefully arrange her bangs over it as she dries them, until she is the same Futaba she met by the entrance, the same Futaba she has been out drinking with, with kind eyes and clear skin.

She talks with Futaba during dinner, and it’s nice - to talk with someone, just about anything and nothing. She shows Futaba a picture she received from Sakura in Times Square, and Futaba’s eyes widen as she recognizes a famous Broadway actor beside Koharu’s little sister. She tells Futaba about her recent move, taking over the lease left by Fumi’s old roommate, and she hears about Futaba’s auditions: the one she had in Kyoto earlier that day, and an upcoming one in Tokyo. She tries not to get her hopes up that Futaba might get the Kyoto role and nights like this might happen more regularly, that this could begin to feel normal. She just tries to accept this night as it is.

When they leave dinner, they walk back to the public pool, just a couple blocks away. Futaba’s bike is parked there. She glances at it, and then at Koharu. “I can walk you home,” she offers. “I.. don’t have a second helmet for the bike.”

But Koharu stops in the lot. There’s no reason to make Futaba walk her all the way home, just to come back here. “I’m fine to get myself home, but thank you,” she says. She wonders if it will be the last she sees of Futaba. She hopes not.

Futaba nods. “If you’re sure. I don’t mind at all, really.”

Koharu debates taking her up on the offer, just to extend their time together, but it’s getting late, and she doesn’t want to make Futaba have to ride the bike once she gets tired. “I’m sure. Maybe another time.”

Futaba smiles, grabbing her helmet and securing it, flipping up the visor so she could finish their conversation as she gets on the bike. “Another time,” she echoes, backing out the bike. “I’ll be in Tokyo for a while, but I always end up in Kyoto again, one way or another.”

“I’ll be here,” Koharu says, knowing she doesn’t dare set foot in Tokyo again. She owes Maya that much, at least.

With a last wave, Futaba flips the visor down, kicking off and taking off on the bike. Koharu waits until she’s out of sight before turning away, walking back the cobbled road toward her new home.



Once home, Koharu unlocks the apartment door, stumbling over the still-unfamiliar entryway step and realizing she may still be a little drunk from the couple rounds of beer they had with dinner. She flips on a light and sighs at the neat rows of boxes along the far wall - her side of the apartment - that still needed to be unpacked. She had only moved in the day before, but she had abandoned her unpacking tasks on a dime to spend time with Futaba.

She calls out Fumi’s name, but there’s no reply. She walks further in and sees a note - Fumi was invited to an event for the councilor’s reelection, and won’t be expected back until late. Koharu steps out onto the balcony. It’s fully dark now, and the third floor of this apartment, with its location on a hill, gives her a small view of the city. She leans on the rail, watching cars in the distance, listening to the rev of motors, trying to pick out the sound of Futaba’s motorcycle, even though she knows Futaba is long gone now.

She settles back into a chair just as her phone rings - a message from Sakura. It’s a selfie - bleary-eyed and puffy-faced as Sakura rises early, ready to take on another day in New York. She smiles a bit, realizing only then how far they’ve come - both of them living on their own, trying to move forward.

The air is warm - summer is just coming into its height - and she sits for a while, sending texts back and forth with Sakura, and planning out the best way to start unpacking in the morning. After a while she goes inside, tiptoeing - an old habit from the year living back with her parents - and finds the box labeled ‘bathroom’. She unpacks her towel and other necessities, and draws a bath in Fumi’s apartment bathroom, now her bathroom as well.

She sinks into the water, letting it wrap around her like a familiar warm embrace. She thinks of Maya, or at least an imagined Maya, trying to push on as well back in Tokyo. She thinks of Tamao, of Fumi, of Sakura, of her father. She thinks of Futaba, and the tiny beat of excitement in her chest is no longer frightening. For once, it doesn’t seem appealing to stick her head under the water, to dissociate and imagine herself being anywhere and anytime and anyone other than herself in the here and now. She gets out of the bath before it goes cold, puts on her pajamas, and falls asleep easily, comforted by the now-familiar sounds of Kyoto.