French Cup: A Neighborhood Story

Chapter 85: -Kazuya- Perfect

He found me in the alcove. Crying to myself. Unable to hold it in. Thinking about all of their faces. All those people I hurt. He was standing in front of me before I realized. I didn't recognize his dark jeans or sweater. I was so used to seeing him in a suit. 

"Kazuya..." He said so quietly. I realized the state of myself. I hadn't fixed my hair since I'd come in from the outside. It must be disheveled. The tears on my face, already so much salt on there from my earlier tears. My grubby sneakers. I shrank, holding my yellow container tighter to my coat. How sad he sounded. 

I didn't even have to look up before he was hugging me. In such a public place. But, his arms were like a relaxing machine. My shoulders going down as soon as he touched them. Crouching down with me, his chin on my shoulder. My container crushed between us, but that was okay. 

"Um..." I choked back a small sob. Sniffling. "Your cookies... I came to deliver them..." Using the same word that the girl who'd greeted me at the door used. 

He parted from me. A sadness there. His eyes were shining. "A delivery? Just like last time." 

"Oh." 

It was true. The last time I'd been here, I'd given him something, too. He was right. That coincidence would have made me smile, but instead my lips pressed into my mouth. Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. I gasped inside, trying not to cry anymore. It wasn't working. 

His warmth surrounded me again. My face against his warm, cashmere sweater. So soft. His hand held the back of my head, the other one on my upper back. Holding me so gently as I cried. My words were lost in his sweater. Mashed in there.

"I want to go somewhere. I can't be here. I want to hide." My most honest words. 

"Okay."

No difficulty. His ease. As he held me for just a few more seconds, I was finally breathing. Realizing who he was. Having been in a fog, but his hands. These familiar hands on me. His arms. As he parted from me, his face. His hair. Needing him. 

My container dropped to my lap and I grabbed him. Pulling him close. I didn't care where we were. Needing his touch. We held each other for I don't know how long. Crying over his shoulder. Quiet breaths. I knew he felt every one. That he cared about every single one.

He'd locked his hotel room door with several locks. No one would be able to get in. I sat on the bed, sinking down into its plushness. He had my yellow container now, so I didn't know what to do with my hands. Surely he recognized that container. I'd said it was his cookies, too. Needing to force myself to remember these details as I became more scattered. 

He leaned down to his mini fridge, bringing out two fancy waters. Did he have to pay for those? I didn't want him to have to. I wasn't that that important. I didn't deserve it...

"Here," he said. His eyes were still like a puppy dog's, two mirrors of sadness. Wanting to make him feel better, like I'd come here to do. But the more I was around him, the more I realized I'd come here for selfish reasons. 

He handed me a water, and I took it. Holding it to myself as I'd done with the yellow container. Something to do with my hands. Staring at the beige wall, unsure now. Awkward. 

He plopped down next to me, and immediately his arm was around my waist. Pulling me to him. I didn't know what to do. His other arm went around me, too. Holding me like this, just like when we'd been downstairs. His chin on my shoulder, his cheek pressed to mine. Though not visible on his face, he had a scratchiness there as if he hadn't shaven as close this morning. Instead of being jarring, it was strangely even more comforting. This intimacy, his hidden beard. The warmth with this scratchiness was...I couldn't describe it. The warmth in my heart.