| Fan Fiction |
by mari
*
Word Bank:
Kirei: pretty
Yeah im giving you guys a break :p j/k
*
There was no mistake.
The very room hung with a dense, tangible, nervous energy.
When she’d first trekked to Jun’s apartment, arms crossed tightly beneath her chest as her purse strap repeatedly fell from her shoulder to be replaced again and again, her mind was rigidly set in a blank slate of suppressed emotion. Imagine nothing and you’ll be neither disappointed nor surprised, her aunt once told her. She had been referring to dramas (apt advice for someone who grew up with Kazuchan who somehow manages to predict the ending correctly 10 out of 10 times, although admittedly this is not always much of a challenge), but Erika intuitively applied it now. She was peripherally aware of her feelings; curiosity, anxiety, happiness, dread.
But the first thing she noticed, were his eyes.
They were dark rimmed, smiling as he embraced her; but they hid from her gaze, closing as he breathed in her scent. Erika felt, quite unusually as Jun was always clean shaven and immaculate in his grooming, stubble as he kissed her. When he released her, Erika smiled a bit uncertainly. “Hi,” she said softly.
Jun smiled back, but the expression seemed somewhat strained. He made an offer for drinks distractedly that Erika didn’t listen to but superficially and which neither noticed. On the glass coffee table were several elegant boxes of various dimensions wrapped in a plain black paper, embossed with a shiny enamel sticker. Erika could not, dared not, fathom what they contained.
Finally she broke the tense silence exclaiming jokingly, “Wahh Jun kun! Are these all for me? At least let me have the biggest one.”
A real smile finally broke through. “They are all for you.”
Erika’s eyes shot up, but found she could summon no response. She met Jun’s eyes slowly.
“Open it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Erika reached for the closest box, which happened to be the largest. Using the underside of an elegant, long nail, Erika painstakingly sliced along the tape, unwilling to rip the lovely paper. It was a habit maintained since childhood, when she liked to use the left over colorful paper to make origami and abstract paper creations. Gingerly, she eased off the trim lid.
She caught her breath. Inside the oblong box lay a paper package of pale pink inscribed with only one kanji character (an obscure meaning of poetic significance). A glance at Jun—calm, anticipation? Erika hesitantly pulled the small tight bow restraining the paper, which slid off effortlessly. “Jun…”
Beneath her trembling fingers fine, fragrant, embroidered silk, expertly dyed, pale creamy yellow darkening into lavender, stylized traditional and modern flower designs were tastefully interwoven across the material. She gazed at Jun, tears welling in her eyes, overwhelmed by emotions not yet sorted.
“There’s more.” He spoke the words softly.
She reached for the second largest box. The obi, of a thicker knobbier silk, was dyed pale blue. Unlike the kimono which made use of batik dyeing as well as embroidery, the obi was entirely embroidered with gold, red and purple thread to foil the flowers upon the kimono. It was absolutely stunning.
The smaller boxes revealed other matching accessories; colorful blue sashes, hair ornaments, and thick decorative cord with a charm to go over the obi.
It was the kimono she had never received for her twentieth birthday. At the time her father had suffered from a stroke and the traditional coming of age party had never occurred. Traditionally she would have received her own kimono, either inherited or purchased. Despite the lack of funds and lack of mother, Erika could have still have had her special birthday party and inherited her mother’s kimono, despite her family’s financial struggles. However, in the familial and emotional upheaval during her father’s sickness, Erika passed up the kimono for a proper celebration for Maki’s twentieth birthday.
A longing for the girlhood anticipated event still tugged and pulled at her heart. A longing, unvoiced even to herself, for the mother she lost at a young age, manifested in a silk kimono, lovingly handed down by many mothers to daughters. Her heart bled, for the kimono never given her, for the memory of patient fingers plaiting her hair, tying her child’s kimono for New Years, distant laughter.
But this kimono, not from mother, nor father nor aunt, instead from the man sitting beside her, was beautiful, new and extremely expensive. Her beautiful stranger gazing at her with those compelling dark eyes had just handed her an engagement ring of embroidered silk.
“Jun,” Erika tried again. The words came fast and weak, frightened and confused: “It’s too much. I can’t possibly accept such a thing.” But oh how she wanted it! Her fingers itched to feel the soft silk, to find healing for her bruised heart. How-why would he give her such a thing? She turned to face him. “Why?”
He studied her in his fashion, which she once found so discomforting, directly, seriously, as if her words mattered more than anything else. Jun always truly saw her. “Because I love you,” he said simply.
They neither moved nor spoke for several heartbeats, but Erika felt her world crack and turn in that moment. She felt her heart rise, both painfully acute and unbearably happy. And yet she could not speak, only let loose useless tears. Oh but it hurt! Of all questions, answerable or not, she had not dared to ask this one. Did Jun love her? What would she do if he told her?
He covered her lips with one hand, smiling a bit ruefully. “You don’t have to say anything. Just accept this gift.”
And she did.
*
“Jun.”
Erika sat upright in his king sized bed, a swathe of blue sheets draped modestly about her as she gazed at a distant point, a rectangular frame of Jun, an older woman, and a young woman. Curious, she rose from the bed, bare feet padding on the wooden floor to see the photo resting on the far mantel piece. The picture was dated, from college graduation she presumed, noting his apparel. It was the expression which touched her, open, proudly smiling with an arm swung around the girl and the woman. Love was clearly expressed.
She glanced at Jun. He was watching her with half lidded eyes, relaxed against the bed frame, his expression gentle. “It’s my mom, and my little sister. Hmm, about five years ago.”
Erika turned back to the picture. “Is she really your sister?” she said teasingly. “Ehh, kirei ne.”
His voice came, low and amused. “Yes. She’s really my sister. She’s twenty four. Like you.” She heard him rise from the bed and walk to her side. He leaned over to see the picture, draping an arm about her waist. “She lives in Kyoto. Her name is Yui.” He kissed the back of her neck, blossoming warmth against her cool skin. “She works in a traditional kimono store in Gion, and helped me to pick this one for you.”
Erika turned in his arms to face him, bringing her hands against his face, looking in his eyes as he bent to kiss her. “Jun,” she breathed. Her heart was pounding, swaying in time to his kisses against her lip, brow and neck. It would be far easier, Erika thought faintly, to lose her resolve, as she had time and time again, succumbing to passion and his intoxicating embrace. But even her battered will, since coming to Tokyo much more flexible than ever before, could not keep silent. “Jun” she repeated more firmly, pressing her hands against his chest. “There’s something I must tell you.” At last he released her, hands falling to his side, but still gazing at her steadily. She crossed her arms, despite herself feeling slightly defensive, and glanced away. “Jun,” she began again, cursing her sudden trembling. “The truth is…I have not been entirely honest with you.”
There was the sudden scraping of metal against the wooden floor, and Erika involuntarily smiled, as Jun, ever considerate, pulled a chair out for her. As the silence stretched, Jun prompted her, his voice unwontedly gentle, “Alright. Tell me.”
“The truth is in my hometown there is someone I love,” she confessed the words, at once relieved and anxious to have them said. With her gaze fixedly set upon the ground, Erika longed and feared to know Jun’s expression in the agonizing pause which followed her pronouncement. Finally she could endure it no longer, and glanced upwards, peering at him beneath her lashes. However, she could read little from his expression, schooled to a careful blankness. “Are you angry?” she ventured.
He managed a smile, but it was inarguably a sad one. “I’m not angry.” His lips twitched; this time there was real humor. “Though I would say ‘not at all honest’ is a more accurate statement.” However, as if spying her sudden blanch, Jun continued hastily, “I wasn’t accusing you. Actually, I guessed as much, our first date together.” He paused, studying her thoughtfully. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into telling me anything yet. This,” and he gestured toward the ransom of intricately embroidered silk dismissively, “was a gift, no more.” Jun lifted her limp hand in one of his, while the other tilted her chin upward, and he gazed tenderly into her eyes. “I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”
“Jun…” her voice broke, and this time she did not break away as his lips gently parted hers. Withheld tears broke passed her closed lashes, caught in their passage by Jun’s roving lips. Strained emotions, fear and anxiety, melted into fierce passion as Erika recaptured Jun’s mouth with her own, her hands tangling his messy hair, drawing him impatiently. She broke away only to laugh breathlessly, noticing the relative calmness of her lover, as compared to herself, murmuring, “Sometimes I wonder what it takes to break your control.”
She yelped as he picked her up abruptly, falling against his chest. He carried her to the bed, and laid her down slowly. “Oh I think you know.”