how to love . ootori

viii.

not sure how to dedicate on mobile, but whoopsmistake left me some really kind and thoughtful comments, and it made me really eager to update and keep writing!
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THE youngest Uyeda had one bare foot on the grass- her head thrown back unceremoniously and the stars finding a home in her half-lidded eyes- when Kyoya Ootori began to realize how much he truly needed this.

Music could still be heard, faintly, from where they pranced on the outskirts of the festival. The air was dampened with the scent of gunpowder and some fried food Kyoya couldn't quite remember the name of. Not when his focus was entirely on her.

Nothing less than half a kilometer away, children strayed farther to light off fireworks they'd hawked from shady vendors. Even the occasional misfires and the more common echoes of 'fuck' hadn't distracted the girl before his eyes (a vision in blue) -- and, by association, they wouldn't be bothering him any time soon.

When he focused hard enough, he could swear that the ghost of tear streaks lingered, dancing upon the rosy flush of her cheeks. But, spirits or otherwise, they weren't there after he remembered to blink. Nagako had gone to wash her face hours ago.

Kyoya found it odd and somewhat entrancing that she didn't wear makeup. Dumbly, he wanted to believe that she couldn't afford it-- truthfully, he knew she didn't need it.

Nagako yanked off her second sock (the one on her left foot) with the tips of her toes and arched her feet at the pleasant chill that the blades of grass gifted her. Her head refused to leave its upward tilt, captivated both by the stars and the sulfuric mess that was a mortar. 'Dancing Bee', the label had named them. She only knew because, as a child, she would buy the same ones.

When she heard the elusive promise of "going somewhere", it wasn't unreasonable for her to assume that he would take her on a tragically dull ride in the Ootori's stretch. She'd never met a rich person who actually enjoyed street festivals in downtrodden public parks.

Yet there he was, with his glasses reflecting the moon and the twilight and all the radiance that the night had to capture.

The two locked hands in a way neither of them seemed to mind. Kyoya was pleasantly surprised to find the fair in full swing-- he'd only planned to take Nagako to the duck pond; something simple that he knew she'd love. It was one of the only areas surrounding the store that he knew quite well.

"How did you find out that this was here?" She questioned, her eyes wide and unblinking when she looked his way, as if afraid that he would disappear.

"You'd be surprised with how much I can find out." He responded simply and became uncannily conscious of the fiery warmth her hand carried, covered in latex all the while. It was with this that she began to scan the area-- bright lights reminding her all too much of holidays spent alone.

Somehow, after what felt like hours, the sky couldn't will itself to fully darken. If the sun was to set completely, he would take her home. It would be over. They stood suspended in an eternity of twilight, their sky always holding a hint of blue in what should have been a vast blackness.

Her sky was a vivid purple, and his name was Kyoya Ootori.

And out of the corner of her eye she watched the way he smiled at her, softly. And her head refused to budge all the more in fear of locking eyes. Suddenly, she couldn't see and thus didn't mind the four specks of mud that sat on her big toe.

"Your shoes are still on." She commented without turning around to make sure. With the way he'd sigh to himself, Nagako assumed that she was spot-on with the observation. It was very like him.

Kyoya scowled upon noticing a loose thread on his jacket. He didn't pick at it, like Nagako would have.

"I wasn't planning on removing them?" Kyoya said, though it sounded like more of a question.

She didn't realize that a smile wasn't on her face until she felt the ghost of one tugging at her lips.  "You don't sound so sure of yourself there, Ootori-san."

These days, Kyoya was never truly sure of himself, no matter how hard he tried to be. Nagako Uyeda, without trying, would always be one step ahead of him-- just out of reach.

But if anyone could prove that the unattainable wasn't so far away, after all, it was her. And if he was with her, she just couldn't let him fall behind. She wouldn't. 

He refused to unceremoniously scrape the shoes off of his feet in the way Nagako had. Instead, he gazed into her, painfully sideways, and bent down to untie his shoes carefully. It was uneasy, for him both to be so vulnerable, and to have left his shoes out in the open.

But if she so much as hinted at it, he found there wasn't much he refused to do— and for her to stay around, Kyoya knew he would do anything. Maybe, the boredom was finally catching up to him; the dull routine of his bourgeoisie lifestyle nudging him just a bit closer to the end. Maybe it even had to do with the fact that he was accustomed to subservience. Maybe, it was she who made him realize this.

How could he find beauty in such a small thing? More importantly, how could she?

But there the youngest Ootori was, his feet in the grass and eyes trained on the flecks of dirt on Nagako's big toe. And although she wasnt't looking directly at him, she noticed.

"Look up." She said. He did. "Can you recognize any of the constellations?"

He should have been able to. Constellations were a unit in his science lessons, at one point or another. Kyoya could recite the exact alignments of his world's stars at any given moment; could lecture on the futility of the patterns in regards to a person's life. He just had a knack for knowing things like that. At any moment that wasn't this one.

Living in reality is much, much different than looking at a map. But that was all Kyoya Ootori knew. The real thing seemed all too big; he felt swamped under the expanse of space, so much that his eyes refused to break contact with the twinkling balls, lightyears away.

He could have mentioned that the stars don't twinkle, up close. In space, they are silent and unremarkable. But she had a smile on her face.

He shook his head, wordless. Nagako didn't see this, but had an acute sense of what silence indicated. And, as eager as she was to point out the stars, to teach him for a change— she didn't.

There was so much to say, both shared this sentiment, but there simply wasn't enough time. Reality had caught them on film, rendering the two speechless; immobile.

They remained that way for a long while, enduring the sulphuric smells and sounds of the Dancing Bees long after they had died out. Everything became background noise, until the indigo night became a vengeful black, and the festival's lanterns carefully removed by curious, excited strangers.

The night went on, but they didn't.

"Hey," Nagako began, a small whisper, as of afraid of her voice breaking.

Kyoya, in a trance, "Yes?"

"Did you notice that we were holding hands earlier?" Slowly, her hand traced itself down her bare arm and began to fiddle at the latex barrier that was imprisoning her palm, as it had hours before.

His gaze broke from space and began its descent to earth; to her. His face, for a reason Kyoya may claim to be unknown, felt as if he was lying under the sun instead.

"I did." He said, no trace of a whisper, but of a smile.

"Good."

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