A Song For Another Time - A Hikaru Hitachiin Story

Chapter Thirty Eight - Belting Out Sunlight

It took Hikaru and Rose 10 minutes of walking in silence before that familiar head of orange hair popped into their periphery and, just like the magnet set the two of them were, Hikaru practically flew to his brother's side the moment he caught sight of him. The small smile that inched across her face at the sight was practically second nature and, finally, Rose felt like she could breathe. She was on the outside again, watching the beautiful, the unbreakable, from the sidelines where it was comfortable and not stuck in the middle of the storm where, yes, maybe it was calm but it felt like she had to hold her breath for fear of the havoc that would follow.

The twins talked animatedly as they waited for her to catch up — waving hands, wide eyes and all — and when she finally stepped beside them she took special care to keep Kaoru in the middle. Together they began their trek back to the bus stop, stepping practically in tandem. If everything worked out, once they reached the bus shelter, it would be a 35 minute ride back to campus where they would part ways and return to their lives apart. Fifteen minutes she could handle. That was much more manageable than the hour it would take to walk there instead.

Kaoru dominated the conversation as they made their way across the expanse of the Public Garden, caught in an outward debate on whether cotton candy or funnel cakes were the superior American fair treat. Each had their merits, which he went into great detail about (including how cheap they were to make and how authentic the cheap sugar taste was). In between small additions about the lack of variety in candy floss and the durability of each treat, Rose would raise her sights from the ground to Hikaru's face and then immediately cast them down again.

Each time her eyes wandered upward, his gaze was already waiting. Though it was just as quick to flitter away. And so they kept up that rhythmic ebb and flow of never quite connecting but always being aware. Aware of their eyes on each other and the questions floating in the air. Aware that it wasn't just Kaoru in the space between them. Aware that, in between the ticks of a few moments, something warm and electric had wrapped its arms around them, tied frayed and doubting strings of their hearts together and declared that things had changed.

When they boarded the bus to campus, Rose hung back and let the boys fall into the comfort of habit, choosing to sit behind them paired up in a seat rather than move them apart or try to sit beside. Being alone gave her spinning head a moment of reprieve — a brief 15 minutes to replay the day in her head and set aside all the matching pieces to make a clearer picture in her head.

And as she stared out the bus window, into the city lights and glowing lanterns reflecting off the Charles River, she thought about how strange it was that it could feel like the world had shifted overnight. How the trees were budding with new blooms, when just yesterday she could have sworn they were still bare. How the big dipper could be so bright in the sky, when it seemed so impossible to find just a few nights ago. How she could go from being happy with seeing his smile to wanting nothing but that smile for the rest of her days.

She blinked and he was there. Blinked and she wasn't alone. Blinked and she was in love.

The thing about love, though, is that no matter how much it feels like it hits you all at once — or that it feels like it happened in just a moment — real, true love is the accumulation of everything that led you to where you're standing when you're feeling like you've only just discovered it.

It wasn't the dancing flames behind the white cloth of the lanterns or the April breeze or the way the world seemed to live in his eyes at that moment. It was so much more than that. Her affinity for Hikaru had always been somewhere just outside of her periphery in the way that your nose is always in sight but you never see it until you look down. Being with his was like breathing — easy and natural until she took notice. Now, she'd noticed and she couldn't breathe.