The Spider Lily Turns into a Chrysanthemum
Ichimaku: Chapter 4
By the time the last guests began leaving, the Somei house had finally started to quiet down.
Yoshino and Shouma went back upstairs to pack what she would need for the weekend. Yoshino’s suitcase lay open across the floor while she moved between her closet and dresser, throwing in toiletries, clothes, and anything else she thought she might need.
Shouma sat on the edge of her bed and watched.
“You’re staying two nights.”
“I know.”
“You packed six shirts.”
“I like options.”
“You packed four pairs of pants.”
“Options.”
He stopped asking.
Yoshino changed out of the ivory dress and into something considerably more comfortable: mid-rise Skyline jeans, a fitted white V-neck T-shirt, and platform sandals. She pulled her hair back loosely, careful not to undo all of Shouma’s work.
“Okay. Done.”
Shouma stood and picked up her suitcase, “We have to stop at my room.”
“Why?”
“I need to change.”
“Oh. Right.”
His room was only a short walk down the hall.
It looked much the same as Yoshino remembered it, although there was noticeably less inside now that Shouma spent most of his time in Kyoto.
He dropped her suitcase near the door and opened his closet.
Yoshino immediately went to his dresser.
Shouma pulled his shirt over his head.
Yoshino opened the first drawer.
He looked over, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re going through my stuff.”
“Sorry. Habit,” She opened another drawer.
Shouma stared at her.
“I remember doing this since I was in grade school,” Yoshino continued. “You’d always have different knickknacks from traveling, fights, your girlfriends—”
“There’s nothing in there,” he stepped into a pair of black chinos and pulled them up, “Hinata didn’t want anything to do with me after we broke up.”
Yoshino stopped snooping, “Oh, wow. Sorry about that,” She turned toward him, “Weren’t you guys together for like four months? That’s the longest relati—”
“I don’t care.”
Yoshino stopped.
Shouma fastened his pants, “I didn’t love her. She wanted someone who’d be with her twenty-four-seven,” he reached for his belt, “I have work. School. Things I need to do for Renji and you. I don’t have time for frivolous women.”
Yoshino studied him for a second, “All right.”
She knew when to leave something alone. Instead, she walked over to his closet.
Most of the clothes hanging inside were familiar.
She pulled out a black short-sleeve button-up with a subtle navy geometric pattern woven through the fabric. The shirt had a modern resort-style cut: lightweight material, an open collar and a clean, fitted shape without being overly tight.
“This one.”
Shouma looked at it.
“It has lighter fabric. It’ll keep you cool.”
He took it from her.
A smirk appeared, “Thanks.”
While he put it on, Yoshino looked through the rest of his closet.
Then she realized something, “Wow.”
“What?”
“You really only have clothes I either bought for you or picked out for you.”
“Well, yeah,” Shouma buttoned the shirt, “The only time I go clothes shopping is when I’m out with you.”
Yoshino smiled.
That didn’t surprise her.
She’d always enjoyed dressing Shouma. He was easy to shop for because almost everything looked good on him, even when he couldn’t care less what he was wearing.
She’d never understood why his girlfriends rarely lasted. Hinata had apparently broken the record at four months.
Shouma wasn’t mean, exactly. He could simply be difficult to reach. Yoshino knew how apathetic he could seem around other people. He rarely volunteered anything about himself, and conversations tended to end quickly when he wasn’t interested in having them.
But she also knew where that came from. She knew enough about his childhood and what he’d endured before becoming part of Renji’s world to understand why he kept most people at a distance.
“Ready?”
Yoshino blinked.
Shouma was fully dressed.
He picked up a black duffel bag, then reached for Yoshino’s suitcase.
“Yeah. I’m ready,” She followed him toward the door, “So, are you not going to live here anymore?”
“I am. This is still my room,” He lifted her suitcase, “But I have the apartment in Kyoto because of Renji.”
“School?”
“That. Other things.”
Yoshino understood what other things meant.
Shouma turned around to Yoshino, “You might end up having your own place aside from the main house too.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty customary,” She followed him into the hallway, “Gramps did that with my dad, Ane-san, everyone else. Tsubaki too.”
“Mhm.”
“That makes sense.”
Downstairs, Yoshino went to the main meeting room to say goodbye to Renji.
Shouma continued toward the garage.
The little gray kei truck was parked inside. He loaded Yoshino’s suitcase and his duffel into the back, secured both, and climbed into the passenger seat. Yoshino had already declared herself the driver.
While he waited, his thoughts wandered somewhere he didn’t want them to.
Kirishima.
Shouma remembered his face.
His smile. The way he’d behaved around Yoshino in Tokyo.
Shouma grimaced.
I can’t stand that motherfucker.
His jaw tightened.
He better not show up.
The thought that followed came easily.
I’ll fucking kill him.
The garage door opened.
Shouma looked up.
Yoshino walked toward the truck, opened the driver’s door and climbed inside.
“Okay.”
She shut the door.
“Gramps has officially been informed.”
Shouma looked at her, “You have your phone?”
“No.”
“What?”
“I threw it away before leaving Tokyo.”
Shouma frowned.
“Kirishima was tracking me.”
His expression hardened.
“I’m getting a new phone tomorrow,” she adjusted her seat, “So we’ll get your bike and then we can go do that.”
“Sure,” Shouma had almost forgotten about the tracking.
He looked out the windshield. At least Yoshino had been smart enough to get rid of the phone before coming home.
Smart girl.
She started the truck, “So we have to make sure we’re back here Monday morning.”
“Fine.”
Yoshino put the truck into gear, “Food first.”
“Obviously.”
It was nearly one-thirty in the morning when they left Osaka.
At that hour, the drive toward Kyoto was easier.
The traffic thinned considerably once they moved away from the busier parts of the city. Osaka’s dense buildings and bright signs gradually gave way to quieter stretches of road, warehouses, apartment blocks, and occasional convenience stores still glowing in the dark.
Yoshino kept the windows slightly open.
The May night air was cool enough to be comfortable, and the steady sound of the road filled most of the silence between them.
Neither felt the need to talk.
Shouma sat with one arm resting near the window while Yoshino drove.
The closer they got to Kyoto, the more the surroundings changed. The buildings became lower and the streets narrower. Darkened traditional houses appeared between newer construction, their tiled roofs briefly visible beneath streetlights.
Their destination wasn’t Shouma’s apartment yet.
First, Ponto-chō. That’s how intuitive Yoshino and Shouma were. That was their late night spot.
By the time Yoshino parked the kei truck on a side street, it was well past the hour when most of Kyoto had gone to sleep. Ponto-chō hadn’t.
It was quieter than it would’ve been earlier in the evening, but lanterns still glowed along the narrow alley. A handful of restaurants and bars remained open, their entrances casting warm rectangles of light onto the pavement. Small groups walked between establishments, their conversations subdued by the late hour.
Yoshino looked around, “I missed this.”
Shouma nodded, “Yeah.”
They walked farther down the alley.
Shouma stopped outside a small izakaya. Shatira.
Inside, the restaurant was warm and softly lit.
Light wood covered most of the interior, giving the place a cleaner look. Small bamboo arrangements decorated the tables, and cushioned booths lined one wall.
They slid into a booth facing each other. An older woman approached almost immediately.
She recognized Shouma, “Oh. You’re here late.”
“Yeah.”
“The usual?”
“Please.”
She turned toward Yoshino.
“And you?”
Yoshino looked at the menu.
Her stomach made the decision for her.
“Gyoza. Karaage. Yakitori—the chicken thigh and tsukune. Dashimaki tamago,” she continued reading, “Edamame. And… ochazuke.”
The woman stared at her.
Yoshino looked up, “And rice.”
Shouma snorted.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I haven’t eaten.”
“I can tell.”
The woman laughed, “I’ll bring enough.”
“Thank you,” When she left, Yoshino leaned back, “I’m starving.”
“You mentioned that.”
Shouma reached toward the small bamboo decoration in the center of the table.
He ran one finger absently along the edge of a leaf.
For a while, he said nothing.
Then—
“So what did he say?”
Yoshino looked at him, “Who?”
Shouma gave her a look.
She knew.
“Oh.”
He released the bamboo leaf.
“Should I be worried about him coming back?”
“Kirishima?”
“Yeah.”
Yoshino sighed, “We talked all night.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
She folded her arms on the table, “I told him we’re too different. That if he ever expected me to marry him, the cheating and lying would have to stop. And the controlling shit.”
“What did he say?”
“Mostly Kirishima things.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“He said he’d let me go.”
Shouma’s eyes narrowed.
Yoshino immediately raised a hand, “I know. I know. I told him I don’t need permission.”
“Good.”
“He also said he’d never disappear and that he’s always where I am.”
Shouma’s expression darkened.
“But,” Yoshino continued, “I really don’t think he’ll come immediately. Apparently, he has overseas business for the next couple months.”
“You believe him?”
“About leaving Japan? Yeah. About leaving me alone forever?” She shrugged, “No.”
Shouma looked back down at the bamboo.
Yoshino signed, “Regardless, I’m not worried.”
“Well, if he comes back, I’ll take care of him.”
Yoshino’s expression changed. Not angry, not upset, “How about you don’t?”
Shouma looked at her.
“Last time you two fought, you almost died.”
“He almost died too.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“Both of you could’ve died that night.” Yoshino leaned forward, “I need you here. ALIVE.”
Shouma became still. Nothing changed visibly in his face. Inside was different.
I need you here
It shouldn’t have affected him. Yoshino had said similar things before. But she had always been able to do that to him. He’d questioned it more than once. Whether he loved her because protecting her had become part of his duty. Whether it was simply familiarity after so many years together. Or whether the answer was much simpler than either of those things.
She was the only woman who could make his body react before his mind had decided what to do about it.
And still, he couldn’t make himself cross that line.
Maybe he didn’t want to.
Maybe he was afraid of what happened if he did.
That was part of why Kirishima bothered him so much.
During Shouma’s visits to Tokyo, he’d seen the liberties Kirishima took with Yoshino. Standing too close. Touching her too casually. Acting as though proximity to her was something he’d already earned.
Shouma also knew about the women.
He’d watched Kirishima enter establishments with them. Leave parties with them. Different women on different nights. Then he’d go back to Yoshino. The thought disgusted him.
Shouma looked at her, “So did you have sex?”
Yoshino blinked, “What?”
“Kirishima.”
The question had been so direct that it took her a moment to answer.
“HELL NO.”
Shouma waited.
Yoshino looked slightly to the side, “Well.”
His eyes narrowed.
“He hugged me. A lot. And he’s held me before.”
“Yoshino.”
“But a real kiss? Never,” she shook her head, “And definitely not sleeping together. Ew. Not with him.”
Shouma exhaled.
“Good.”
It sounded like an ordinary Shouma sigh.
It wasn’t.
He would never judge Yoshino for whatever choices she made with her own body. He simply hated the idea of Kirishima being one of those choices.
Yoshino noticed something in his expression. Then her eyes narrowed, “Okay.”
“What?”
“If we’re asking personal questions now, it’s my turn.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Tell me what happened with Hinata.”
Shouma immediately looked annoyed, “Yoshino.”
“You interrogated me first.”
“I asked about Kirishima because he’s dangerous.”
“And I’m asking because I’m nosy.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“So?”
He sighed, “What do you want to know?”
Yoshino leaned forward, “How do you court women?”
Shouma stared at her.
She smiled, “I’ve always wondered.”
“I don’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t court them.”
“Then what do you do?”
“They plan everything.”
“Everything?”
“Dates. Restaurants. Places they want to go.”
“And you?”
“I drive.”
Yoshino started laughing, “That’s not dating. You’re an Uber.”
“I also pay.”
She laughed harder, “So you’re a glorified Uber and a piggy bank?”
“Pretty much.”
“You buy them things?”
“If they want something.”
“Food?”
“Yes.”
“Clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever they ask for?”
“Usually.”
Yoshino stared at him, “Shouma, that’s terrible.”
“I know.”
“Do you at least kiss them?”
He looked irritated now.
“You brought up Kirishima.”
Shouma let out a loud sigh, as he adjusted himself on the booth, “Yes. They kissed me.”
“They kissed you?”
“I let them.”
Yoshino stared, “And you’ve slept with them?”
“Some.”
She blinked, “Hinata?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Shouma looked toward the table, “She wanted to.”
“What happened?”
“She cried and threw a bunch of things including a vase. Asked why I wouldn’t.”
“And?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Yes.”
Yoshino gasped without making a noise, “And then?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to think about it again.”
Yoshino studied him, “Then why date them?”
Shouma’s expression became more serious, “Renji gives me names sometimes.”
Yoshino understood immediately, “To get information?”
“See what I can find out.”
She sat back, “So you’re like Kirishima.”
“NO.”
The response came so quickly that Yoshino startled. Shouma’s eyes were fixed on hers.
“I don’t prostitute myself,” His voice remained quiet, “I know he does it for money.”
Yoshino didn’t interrupt.
“And it looks like he enjoys it,” something colder entered Shouma’s expression, “Unlike him, I hate it.”
Yoshino’s face stood still.
“After they touch me, I go to the springs for a full day and scrub them off.”
She stared at him.
“Even when they kiss me, I never close my eyes.”
There was no embarrassment in the way he said it. No pride either. Just fact. And for once, Yoshino could imagine exactly what those women had seen.
Shouma sitting across from them. Shouma letting them touch him. Shouma kissing someone while staring back with those empty eyes.
A chill went down her spine. No wonder they hate him.
She hadn’t realized she’d said nothing for several seconds.
“Shouma…”
“What?”
“Sorry.”
His expression softened slightly, “It’s fine.”
“No, I shouldn’t have compared you to Kirishima.”
“I said it’s fine.”
He leaned back.
“I just don’t want to talk about exes. They’re nothing to me.”
Yoshino considered that, “Fine.”
She held out her hand.
“Compromise.”
Shouma looked at it, “What?”
“I don’t bring up your exes.”
“Okay.”
“And you also can’t bring up Kirishima again.”
His expression changed.
“Yoshino—”
“I don’t want to think about him.”
That stopped him.
“This is a fresh start to my life.”
Shouma looked at her hand again.
Yoshino suddenly reached across the table and grabbed both of his hands instead.
She raised them dramatically between them.
Then lowered her voice into her best superhero impression, “It’s the fresh start of our new lives!”
Shouma stared at her. A smirk broke through, “You’re an idiot.”
“Agree to it.”
“Fine.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Shouma.”
“Fine. Fresh start.”
“Of our new lives.”
“Don’t push it.”
Yoshino laughed.
The older woman returned carrying the first dishes.
Yoshino immediately released Shouma, “Oh my God.”
The woman smiled.
The karaage came first, crisp and hot, followed by gyoza browned along the bottoms, skewers of chicken glazed with tare, fluffy dashimaki tamago and bowls of rice. Shouma’s usual arrived separately—a deep bowl of motsu nikomi, the rich broth filled with beef, vegetables and tofu, accompanied by rice and grilled meat.
Yoshino stared at everything, “This is beautiful.”
The older woman laughed, “You really were hungry.”
“I’m about to cry.”
Shouma shifted a few of the plates around, making more room on the table.
“Please don’t cry into the food.”
“I won’t.”
Yoshino immediately reached for her chopsticks.
Shouma looked up at the older woman. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile. “Eat while it’s hot.”
Yoshino and Shouma brought their hands together at the same time.
“Itadakimasu,” they said in unison.
Yoshino wasted no time. She picked up a gyoza with her chopsticks and bit into it.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Shouma had already started eating.
“Shouma.”
“What?”
“This is so good.”
“I know.”
“Why haven’t you brought me here before?”
“You were in Tokyo.”
“Before Tokyo.”
“You never asked.”
“I didn’t know it existed! I know we come here for late night food, but we haven’t been to this one together!”
The older woman laughed as she walked away.
Yoshino reached for the karaage.
Shouma watched her for a moment. She looked happier than she’d looked when talking about Tokyo. Good. He returned to his food.
For the next several minutes, neither of them had much interest in conversation.
Yoshino tried nearly everything on the table, occasionally pushing a plate toward Shouma when she wanted him to taste something. He stole one of her gyoza without asking. She retaliated by taking a piece of grilled meat from his plate.
Shouma looked up at her, “Hey.”
“You took mine.”
“Fair.”
They kept eating.
Halfway through the meal, Yoshino leaned back. Her stomach finally no longer felt empty.
She looked across the table at Shouma, “You really are my favorite person to eat with.”
He looked up from his bowl.
Yoshino laughed, “even though you’re a glutton.”
Shouma chuckled, “So are you.”
“Am not.”
“You ordered half the menu.”
“I hadn’t eaten.”
“You’re still eating.”
Yoshino picked up another piece of karaage, “that’s irrelevant.”
Shouma shook his head. Then his expression softened, “And yeah, let’s keep eating together.”
She smiled, “deal.”
Outside, Ponto-chō had grown quieter.
Inside, beneath the warm lights of the little izakaya, Yoshino reached across the table and stole another piece of Shouma’s food. He let her.
For the first time since she’d returned from Tokyo, there was nowhere else either of them needed to be.
At the far end of the restaurant, the older woman, the bartender, and the busboy had all stopped what they were doing.
They were watching Shouma. None of them said anything at first.
They had seen him come in countless times before; quiet, detached, difficult to read. He was polite enough, but rarely expressive. Most nights, the most they could get from him was a nod, a short answer, or the occasional tired look.
Tonight was different. He was smiling. Not the small, polite smirk they had seen once or twice before, but something softer. Genuine…and it wasn’t only that.
Every few minutes his expression changed with whatever Yoshino said. Mild annoyance. Amusement. A brief look of disbelief when she stole from his plate again. Something almost fond when she started talking with her hands.
The bartender leaned slightly toward the older woman, “I’ve never seen him make that many faces.”
The busboy nodded, “I didn’t know he could.”
The older woman smiled to herself.
Across the room, Yoshino laughed at something Shouma said.
Shouma looked at her and smiled again.
The three of them exchanged another quiet glance.
Whoever the girl sitting across from him was, she clearly knew a version of Shouma they had never seen before.
Where you can yearn. 