The long, hot summer days were the most content Sakura had ever known. Before, the life she associated with Japan was stiff and unyielding; closeted, restricted, boring. Everything was immovable as rock and set in age-old stone. But here and now, Arthur was like a raging river come to sweep all that away in one stroke, as the rushing fury of the ocean obliterates everything in its path. Everything around her was changing with the addition of only one small factor, and it took her breath away.
They spent some evenings in packed clubs, dancing to the beat and flowing with the mass of sweating bodies around them. Arthur seemed so casual in these spaces that Sakura let her hair down more than she usually would; and on their last evening, she suggested celebrating in style at one of the most famous clubs in town. The space was huge, the music was loud, and though she usually kept a strict policy of only a few drinks, halfway through the night Sakura found that her vision was swimming a little bit and she didn’t feel quite in control. It would have been scary and unsettling for her, she who was so used to being perfectly poised, if not for Arthur’s steadying arm around her waist.
They danced until midnight, until Arthur leant in and whispered in her ear, “I think it’s time I took you home, Cinderella.”
She only vaguely remembered the details of the fairytale as they caught a taxi; as his hand rested on her hip and she pulled him in close because yes, she’d wanted this since she first saw him; as his hand tangled in her short hair as he kissed her on the stairs of her apartment building; as he kissed her neck and her shoulders and everywhere and she didn’t care if Chun-Yan could hear them in the room next door.
He packed in silence the next day, after they woke tangled together in her warm sheets, and she felt like the old silence was closing in on her again.
They got a taxi together to the airport, and he took her hand gently and traced a long, slow pattern onto it. “This was the most surreal three weeks I’ve ever had,” he murmured quietly as they stood together in the Departures Hall, after he’d lined up to collect his boarding pass.
“Is that a good thing?” she asked him, her voice a soft whisper.
He looked up into her eyes. “It was a good thing,” his voice was just as soft. “It will always have been a good thing.”
She waited in the car park for three hours, until the plane she guessed was his soared over. She gazed up at it, shielding her eyes from the glare off the tarmac runways; up at the plane that was taking him home. She wondered if what he said was true. She wondered if he didn’t regret coming here.
Or maybe the regret was all about what happened last night. ‘It was a good thing’, he said. A good thing until they had ruined it?
She didn’t know; she couldn’t say.
Only two weeks later she herself was on a plane, jetting back to America to begin her studies again. She met her friends once more, and everything started up; her life seemed back in motion again. Though, with one particular, distinct flavour missing. And she could tell what that was.
They saw each other again in a secluded section of the library, far away from prying eyes. “I hope the rest of the summer wasn’t too awful,” she said sincerely. She had been worrying about him and his siblings. Him being alone, like she was.
He smiled slightly. “It was like living in a graveyard, in comparison.”
She nodded. “Hmm, yes. Tokyo is a very active place.”
The silence stretched between them. “Sakura,” he started, “I know…well…what happened…” He sighed and tried again. “Staying with you was so strange; in a good way, I mean. I don’t quite know what to make of it. It was so, so different to everything I’m used to, and I…” He trailed off and looked away. “I think I just…need some time…”
She understood. Her heart was aching suddenly in her chest, but she understood. “Yes, I understand,” she said, “I don’t mind. Take all the time in the world; I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll find you, if you need me.”
I won’t push you, she thought as he smiled gratefully. I won’t hold you down, she thought as he walked away. Maybe if you fly away now, one day you’ll return.
She held out this hope as they lived their separate lives; as a year passed and they went separate ways. She excelled in her studies, went out with her friends, attained a new passion for watercolour painting. He saw other girls, got famously drunk at parties, published a piece that won him critical notice.
She loved him quietly, held him softly in her heart. They passed each other occasionally, and she would smile and ask him no questions. Just smile.
He was on her mind as she hugged her friends goodbye, after they’d graduated and they were returning home. She thought of him as she boarded another plane, bound back to the bright lights of Tokyo, where she’d fallen in love with him.
She remembered him in the sights and sounds of the city, in the feeling of walking the street or entering a building. Sometimes when she lay on her bed she was convinced she could smell the scent of his hair on her pillows; and one day she visited the park where she had played as a child, and the grass she had thought of when she first saw his bright green eyes.
And one morning when she opened her door to the buzz of the doorbell, he appeared before her eyes like an apparition called up from the past.
“Thank God you still live here,” he said, forgoing any form of greeting, wringing his scarf nervously between his hands. “I thought that you might’ve moved away, it’s been so long…”
She stared at him, drank him in; he seemed tired and careworn, with dark rings around his eyes. “You came back,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “I came home,” he murmured. He moved forward, hesitantly, and reached out, laying a soft hand on her cheek. “I…couldn’t keep away.”
“You didn’t have to come all this way.” She leant into the touch of his hand. “I told you I’d come looking for you.”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “No, I wanted to come home. I’ve never felt more comfortable anywhere than here, in this city, with you.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I’ve never known any girl like you.”
She didn’t want words, though his words were beautiful. She took one step and leant upwards, gripping the lapels of his worn winter coat, disregarding her bare feet on the cold concrete to kiss him slowly, welcomingly. His arms went around her waist, and he held her close until she broke the kiss and pulled him inside.
And he stayed, and she knew he would stay. She had waited for him, while he had fluttered back and forth; and the wind had blown him back to her at last.
Not the OP, but my god this is beautiful. At one point, you had me on the verge of tears. I'm not normally an England/Japan or Fem!Japan reader, but (even as a UKUS fangirl) I can appreciate a lovely, emotional fill when I read it. And, this is one of those. I'm glad I read it.
I love the push and pull between them and the startling assertiveness that fem!Japan has in this story, in daring to go after what she wants but then having enough wisdom to let it go.
That's still damn painful though, knowing from personal experience. It's cold comfort to watch someone else and letting them have their space and just hoping.
You normally don't see England characterized as a commitment-phobe but it makes quite a bit of sense. He holds people at arms-length with snark and sneers but really, he's quite the vulnerable one.
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For Your Butterfly Heart - 3/4
(Anonymous) 2013-01-27 09:31 pm (UTC)(link)They spent some evenings in packed clubs, dancing to the beat and flowing with the mass of sweating bodies around them. Arthur seemed so casual in these spaces that Sakura let her hair down more than she usually would; and on their last evening, she suggested celebrating in style at one of the most famous clubs in town. The space was huge, the music was loud, and though she usually kept a strict policy of only a few drinks, halfway through the night Sakura found that her vision was swimming a little bit and she didn’t feel quite in control. It would have been scary and unsettling for her, she who was so used to being perfectly poised, if not for Arthur’s steadying arm around her waist.
They danced until midnight, until Arthur leant in and whispered in her ear, “I think it’s time I took you home, Cinderella.”
She only vaguely remembered the details of the fairytale as they caught a taxi; as his hand rested on her hip and she pulled him in close because yes, she’d wanted this since she first saw him; as his hand tangled in her short hair as he kissed her on the stairs of her apartment building; as he kissed her neck and her shoulders and everywhere and she didn’t care if Chun-Yan could hear them in the room next door.
He packed in silence the next day, after they woke tangled together in her warm sheets, and she felt like the old silence was closing in on her again.
They got a taxi together to the airport, and he took her hand gently and traced a long, slow pattern onto it. “This was the most surreal three weeks I’ve ever had,” he murmured quietly as they stood together in the Departures Hall, after he’d lined up to collect his boarding pass.
“Is that a good thing?” she asked him, her voice a soft whisper.
He looked up into her eyes. “It was a good thing,” his voice was just as soft. “It will always have been a good thing.”
She waited in the car park for three hours, until the plane she guessed was his soared over. She gazed up at it, shielding her eyes from the glare off the tarmac runways; up at the plane that was taking him home. She wondered if what he said was true. She wondered if he didn’t regret coming here.
Or maybe the regret was all about what happened last night. ‘It was a good thing’, he said. A good thing until they had ruined it?
She didn’t know; she couldn’t say.
Only two weeks later she herself was on a plane, jetting back to America to begin her studies again. She met her friends once more, and everything started up; her life seemed back in motion again. Though, with one particular, distinct flavour missing. And she could tell what that was.
For Your Butterfly Heart - 4/4
(Anonymous) 2013-01-27 09:35 pm (UTC)(link)He smiled slightly. “It was like living in a graveyard, in comparison.”
She nodded. “Hmm, yes. Tokyo is a very active place.”
The silence stretched between them. “Sakura,” he started, “I know…well…what happened…” He sighed and tried again. “Staying with you was so strange; in a good way, I mean. I don’t quite know what to make of it. It was so, so different to everything I’m used to, and I…” He trailed off and looked away. “I think I just…need some time…”
She understood. Her heart was aching suddenly in her chest, but she understood. “Yes, I understand,” she said, “I don’t mind. Take all the time in the world; I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll find you, if you need me.”
I won’t push you, she thought as he smiled gratefully. I won’t hold you down, she thought as he walked away. Maybe if you fly away now, one day you’ll return.
She held out this hope as they lived their separate lives; as a year passed and they went separate ways. She excelled in her studies, went out with her friends, attained a new passion for watercolour painting. He saw other girls, got famously drunk at parties, published a piece that won him critical notice.
She loved him quietly, held him softly in her heart. They passed each other occasionally, and she would smile and ask him no questions. Just smile.
He was on her mind as she hugged her friends goodbye, after they’d graduated and they were returning home. She thought of him as she boarded another plane, bound back to the bright lights of Tokyo, where she’d fallen in love with him.
She remembered him in the sights and sounds of the city, in the feeling of walking the street or entering a building. Sometimes when she lay on her bed she was convinced she could smell the scent of his hair on her pillows; and one day she visited the park where she had played as a child, and the grass she had thought of when she first saw his bright green eyes.
And one morning when she opened her door to the buzz of the doorbell, he appeared before her eyes like an apparition called up from the past.
“Thank God you still live here,” he said, forgoing any form of greeting, wringing his scarf nervously between his hands. “I thought that you might’ve moved away, it’s been so long…”
She stared at him, drank him in; he seemed tired and careworn, with dark rings around his eyes. “You came back,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “I came home,” he murmured. He moved forward, hesitantly, and reached out, laying a soft hand on her cheek. “I…couldn’t keep away.”
“You didn’t have to come all this way.” She leant into the touch of his hand. “I told you I’d come looking for you.”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “No, I wanted to come home. I’ve never felt more comfortable anywhere than here, in this city, with you.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I’ve never known any girl like you.”
She didn’t want words, though his words were beautiful. She took one step and leant upwards, gripping the lapels of his worn winter coat, disregarding her bare feet on the cold concrete to kiss him slowly, welcomingly. His arms went around her waist, and he held her close until she broke the kiss and pulled him inside.
And he stayed, and she knew he would stay. She had waited for him, while he had fluttered back and forth; and the wind had blown him back to her at last.
Re: For Your Butterfly Heart - 4/4
(Anonymous) 2013-01-29 01:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: For Your Butterfly Heart - 4/4
(Anonymous) 2013-03-01 09:34 pm (UTC)(link)That's still damn painful though, knowing from personal experience. It's cold comfort to watch someone else and letting them have their space and just hoping.
You normally don't see England characterized as a commitment-phobe but it makes quite a bit of sense. He holds people at arms-length with snark and sneers but really, he's quite the vulnerable one.