Destined

Bitterness

Ko's POV

"There's another thing I want to ask you... If you don't mind," he hesitantly says, looking down.

I freeze. I have an idea of what he's going to say next, and it's not gonna be pretty.

"Did you open the brown bag when my mother passed it to you?" He says quickly, but I can sense a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

"Not exactly--" I start, but he interrupts.

"What do you mean not exactly? That was personal, I can't believe you--you know what? Nevermind, I--" he says, exasperated.

I get a little annoyed. "I swear, I didn't open it. I just saw a little through the crack in the bag, how is it my fault? And for the record, I'm not the one hiding a life threatening medical condition from his coach," I say, fuming by now. I clench my hand, probably murdering little Tsum Tsum Pooh.

He stiffened.

"Sorry for being so harsh on you, it wasn't your fault," he whispered, looking guilty.

He turned away, putting the photograph on his shelf and rose, but I tugged on his shirt.

"You do have asthma right? You were in a middle of an attack the other day, in the locker room," I say cautiously, trying not to agitate him further.

"It's nothing important," he reassured.

"And what if one day you collapsed in the middle of training, and I can't help you?" I asked, my voice cracking a little.

"You don't have to worry about me," he starts, but as he turns around, he falters on his sentence, sitting back down.

"Did I remind you of something bad? I'm very sorry, Koharu," he softly says, putting a warm hand on my shoulder.

I look down, because I'm not sure if I can keep my tears in if I looked up at him.

He's everything my brother ever wanted to be.

A good skater, a loving brother.

And he lost that chance at the age of 15.

The world is so, so utterly unfair.

I take a deep breath, and wipe the corners of my eyes with my sleeve.

No time for tears.

"Yuzuru, I was from the same city you were from. Sendai, in Tohōku region," I carefully start, trying not to show my emotions.

"My brother wanted to be a figure skater. We saved up for months just to learn figure skating. And the very day we went to the rink for the first time, the Great Earthquake struck," I continue, swallowing hard.

I'm not sure if I can continue telling him about my past.

He gingerly reaches for the Original Pooh, his tissue box, and places it into my lap.

"We reached the evacuation center, and he told me that he was okay. He didn't tell me about-- about how he got hit by a metal beam on his head while we were running. He even tried to play the piano to cheer people up. But when he collapsed, I couldn't help him at all--" my voice cracked, sending me into a wave of tears.

Nobody describes the grief of losing someone you love well enough. The empty hollowness you feel in your chest, the nausea and pounding in your head, even though clinically, you're perfectly fine.

It's the hardest thing to go through, and the hardest thing to watch.

And it doesn't go away.

Days later, months later, years later, at every single reminder of that person, you feel like breaking down again. It never stops hurting.

"I'm sorry for seeming so controlling and nosy, but I wouldn't know what to do if you were to collapse in front of me, I, just, I just can't--"

Without a word, he takes me into his open arms. He doesn't tell me to "stop crying" or "I know how you feel, I felt worse", because he truly understood how I must've felt. I was deeply and sincerely grateful for that platonic comfort and touch he provided at that time.

Minutes later, the room quietens down, the occasional hiccup from me. He doesn't giggle, which again, is a relief to me.

"I remembered your brother, you know," he said, soothing me on my back.

"He played many many songs. When I was in that center trapped too, he was my source of hope." He traced my hair, running his fingers down the back of my head.

"I know, you were the mushroom kid in socks, weren't you?" I chuckled a little, pulling myself away from him.

I turned away, wiping my face again, not wanting to let him see me blushing.

I've never touched a boy this close before.

"You remembered me? Boy, that was so embarrassing, the era of the mushroom hair," he laughs, burying his face in a Pooh pillow.

His expression turns serious within a few moments.

"I remember, when he first approached the dusty piano, he started with the first few bars of Chopin's Ballad in G Minor. But he decided that it was too gloomy. But the ballad sounded beautiful, despite his fear and nervousness," he says, clutching Pooh.

He always wanted to master Chopin's Ballad in G minor.

"One day, I'm going to skate to the Ballad for him." Yuzuru firmly says, his dark eyes holding only determination.