The Spider Lily Turns into a Chrysanthemum
Ichimaku: Chapter 9
Sunday morning arrived quietly in Kyoto.
There was no alarm. No vibration against the nightstand, no footsteps in the hall, no voices downstairs. Only the muted hum of the air conditioner and the pale morning light slipping through the narrow opening between the curtains.
Yoshino woke slowly. For several seconds, she didn’t move.
She stared toward the ceiling, blinking as the last remnants of sleep disappeared, before turning her head toward the other side of the bed.
Shouma was still asleep, like actually asleep.
Not the strange half-sleep he usually seemed to exist in, where the smallest sound could make his eyes open immediately. Not lying there with one arm over his face pretending he wasn’t awake because he didn’t feel like talking.
Dead asleep and Yoshino smiled. He looked completely different like this.
His face, normally so severe even when he wasn’t angry, had softened. His brows weren’t pulled together. His jaw wasn’t clenched. His lips were slightly parted, and several pieces of dark hair had fallen messily over his forehead.
He looked younger, peaceful, almost innocent, and Yoshino stared at him. Then stared a little longer.
How annoying.
Even unconscious, he was handsome.
She rolled onto her side and tucked one hand beneath her cheek.
She had spent years looking at Shouma’s face. She knew every expression he made. She knew the slight narrowing of his eyes that meant someone was beginning to irritate him, the downward twitch of his mouth when he was trying not to laugh, and the completely blank expression he used whenever he was actually furious.
But this face…she rarely got to see this one.
Her eyes traveled slowly over his features, and then last night returned to her.
His voice and his words. The way he’d looked at her.
Yoshino felt heat creep into her cheeks; she pulled the blanket halfway over her face.
Oh my God.
She remembered everything.
Unfortunately.
Or fortunately.
She wasn’t entirely sure anymore. She had been nervous last night. Her nerves had been tangled with alcohol, exhaustion, attraction, and years of things neither of them had ever said aloud.
But she was sober now. Completely sober.
And somehow, instead of panicking, she felt calm. Because there was one thing she couldn’t explain away anymore. Shouma had basically told her that if she wanted to kiss him sober, she could. Yoshino stared at him again.
That’s practically a confession coming from you.
Her mouth curved. She wasn’t going to push him. She wasn’t going to turn breakfast into an interrogation or demand he explain what he meant. They’d spent too many years misunderstanding this feeling already. Today, she would simply be Yoshino. And he could be Shouma.
If something happened, it happened. If there was a moment, she would take it. And if Shouma made the first move, well, she certainly wasn’t going to stop him.
Yoshino carefully pushed herself upright. Shouma didn’t move. She slipped from beneath the blankets, walked around the bed, and stopped beside him.
Still nothing.
She leaned down. For a moment, she simply looked at him. Then she pressed a small kiss against his cheek.
Shouma remained completely unconscious. Yoshino immediately straightened. Her heart hammered anyway.
“You really are dead,” she whispered.
She quietly gathered some clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, she came downstairs wearing loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her hair tied carelessly away from her face.
The kitchen was cool and silent. Yoshino opened the refrigerator.
“Hmm.”
She crouched down. There were eggs. Tofu. Green onions. Mushrooms. Daikon. Miso. Some leftover rice.
She opened another drawer and there was the salmon they bought the day before.
“Okay.”
She began pulling ingredients onto the counter.
Breakfast became a simple traditional spread: grilled salted salmon, tamagoyaki, chilled tofu with scallions, miso soup with wakame and mushrooms, pickled vegetables, and okayu made from the leftover rice.
As the broth simmered, Yoshino stood over the stove stirring the porridge. The familiar smell made something in her chest ache. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this.
Not cooking in general. Cooking for him.
When they were younger, Shouma would eat practically anything she handed him. He’d complain if she made too much, complain if she asked whether he’d eaten, complain if she packed food for him, and then return every container completely empty.
“You’d better actually eat properly when I’m not here,” she muttered while stirring.
The pot bubbled. Yoshino frowned at it, “I mean it.”
Silence. She pointed the wooden spoon toward the ceiling, “No cigarettes for breakfast either.”
The soup continued simmering, “That’s disgusting,” she paused, “Also coffee isn’t food.”
Nothing.
Yoshino sighed, “I’m arguing with a pot.”
She lowered the heat, “I’ve officially lost my mind.”
Upstairs, Shouma’s eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling. Something smelled good.
His brows drew together.
For several seconds, his brain seemed unwilling to participate. Then he smelled miso.
And rice.
Shouma turned his head. The other side of the bed was empty. He stared at it, and then remembered.
Yoshino…last night, his own words… her face.
Shouma shut his eyes again, “Fuck.”
He remained motionless for several seconds. He had said too much. Way too much. Except…he didn’t regret it. That was the problem.
Shouma rubbed both hands down his face before sitting upright. The smell downstairs became stronger. He pulled on black sweatpants and a hoodie and headed downstairs.
Yoshino didn’t hear him enter. She was standing over the stove, stirring something while quietly humming to herself.
Shouma stopped…he watched her.
Something about the scene was strangely familiar. Painfully familiar. Yoshino in his kitchen. Barely awake, her hair tied up, and cooking.
Like she’d never left.
He walked behind her.
Yoshino noticed his reflection in the stainless-steel hood a second before he leaned slightly over her shoulder and inhaled.
“It smells great.”
She smiled without turning around, “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
Yoshino scooped some broth into a large spoon, “Open.”
Shouma looked at her, “Wait really?”
“Do you want to taste it or not?”
He leaned down and tasted it.
Yoshino watched his face carefully.
Shouma swallowed. Then nodded once, “Good.”
Her eyebrows lifted, “That’s it?”
“What?”
“That’s my review?”
“It’s good.”
“Wow. Incredible. Five stars. Such enthusiasm.”
Shouma reached toward the pot. Yoshino slapped his hand away, “Don’t.”
“I was getting another taste.”
“You’ll get another taste when you eat it.”
He stared at her.
She pointed toward the cabinets, “Start plating.”
Shouma sighed, “Yes, boss.”
“And bowls too.”
He opened the cabinet, “Anything else?”
“Chopsticks.”
“Anything else?”
“Your gratitude.”
Shouma shut the cabinet and looked at her, “Pretty sure I just asked for a second taste. That should tell you I’m grateful.”
Yoshino laughed and rolled her eyes.
They ate across from each other at the kitchen table.
For the first few minutes, neither said much.
Shouma ate exactly the way Shouma always ate: quietly, efficiently, pummeling food in his mouth and with the emotional expression of someone completing a mandatory administrative task.
Yoshino watched him shovel more rice into his mouth.
“Do you like it?”
He looked up, “I’m eating it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t eat it.”
“You eat convenience-store food.”
“Convenience-store food is good.”
“You smoke cigarettes.”
“Also good.”
“Your judgment is compromised.”
Shouma took another bite of salmon.
Yoshino narrowed her eyes.
He ignored her. She smiled despite herself and returned to her food. This was good.
It felt normal.
Yeah this is good, we’re not being awkward.
Except it wasn’t normal.
Because every once in a while, Yoshino would look up and catch Shouma already looking at her. And instead of immediately glancing away like he might have before, he held her gaze for an extra second.
Sometimes two.
Then went back to eating. It was almost imperceptible. But Yoshino noticed every single time.
Last night wasn’t imaginary.
Neither was this.
They were nearly finished when the doorbell rang.
Yoshino immediately stood.
“I’ll get it!”
Shouma looked up and turned to stop Yoshino, but too late. She was already halfway out of the kitchen.
Shouma sighed and pulled out his phone. He opened the camera system app.His expression immediately flattened.
Tsubaki. Standing directly outside his front door.
Shouma stared at the screen.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Of all mornings. Of all possible times.
He had maybe an hour before they needed to start getting ready. An hour.
Plenty of time, especially if Yoshino remembered what he’d said last night. And judging from the way she’d been looking at him over breakfast, she obviously remembered. Shouma had absolutely intended to see where that went.
If Yoshino made an advance, he wasn’t going to stop her. If she didn’t, he was beginning to consider making one himself.
Then Tsubaki appeared.
Like a fucking curse.
Yoshino opened the door. Tsubaki tilted her head, her face immediately brightening into a beautiful smile, “Good morning.”
“Tsubaki?”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
From the kitchen, Shouma muttered, “You are.”
Tsubaki’s smile widened.
Yoshino laughed and stepped aside, “Come in.”
Tsubaki walked into the kitchen.
Shouma continued eating.
She stopped beside the table, “Good morning, Shouma.”
Nothing.
“Shouma.”
He took another bite.
“It’s not nice to ignore me, a ‘good morning to you too’ is simple.”
Shouma finally looked at her, “Why are you here?”
Tsubaki blinked innocently, “How welcoming.”
“Couldn’t you wait until tomorrow?”
“Shouma you know she used to do this when we lived with Gramps in Osaka,” Yoshino answered as she walked back into the kitchen.
Tsubaki nodded, “Exactly.”
Shouma looked between them, “This is my house.”
“And yet somehow,” Tsubaki said, “nobody cares.”
Yoshino covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
Tsubaki took a seat, “Akira woke me up obscenely early. He had to go into Osaka because there are administrative things he needs to finish at his private office before tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Yoshino said.
“He offered to take me.” Tsubaki sits on the chair at the end of the kitchen table with grace and practiced movement.
“And?”
“I said no.”
Shouma stared at her, “So why this is our problem.”
“He left me the Lexus.”
“Then drive.”
Tsubaki smiled, “I don’t like driving.”
“Take a train.”
“No.”
“Taxi.”
“No.”
“Walk.”
“From Kyoto to Osaka?”
“Take your time.”
“Shouma,” Yoshino scolded through a laugh.
Tsubaki folded her hands delicately on the table, “So I thought my beloved cousin and his lovely companion could take me.”
“No—”
“Yes,” Yoshino said simultaneously.
Shouma turned toward her.
Yoshino smiled, “We’re going to Osaka anyway.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“I don’t want to be her Uber.”
Tsubaki gasped softly, “You’re hurting my feelings.”
“You don’t have feelings.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
Yoshino stood between them, looking from one to the other, “Okay. We’re taking Tsubaki.”
Shouma stared at her. Yoshino smiled sweetly.
He exhaled through his nose, “Fine.”
Tsubaki’s smile became triumphant, “Wonderful.”
Shouma began gathering the dishes, “Go get ready,” he told Yoshino.
“I can help clean.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Yoshino hesitated and then smiled, “Okay.” And off she went and disappeared upstairs.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Shouma carried the dishes to the sink. Tsubaki remained seated. Watching him.
Shouma rinsed a bowl, and she continued watching.
He placed it in the dishwasher, and then his shoulders tightened, “Stop fucking looking at me.”
Tsubaki smiled, “I’m not doing anything,” and then she let out a sigh, “What would you prefer I do?”
“Leave.”
“No.”
Shouma shut the dishwasher harder than necessary.
Tsubaki rested her cheek against one hand, “Interesting.”
He ignored her.
“You seem different.”
Nothing.
“Calmer.”
Nothing.
“Almost domesticated.”
Shouma slowly turned his head, “Choose your next words carefully.”
Tsubaki’s smile became positively angelic, “Did Yoshino sleep here?”
Shouma stared at her, “Where else would she sleep.”
Tsubaki’s eyebrows lifted, “ You know Renji has an account with the short-term rental Akiya down the street, which has security, but you wanted her here.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“I suspected.”
Shouma wiped down the counter.
Tsubaki watched him, “Same room?”
“Why are you still talking.”
“Same bed?”
He threw the towel into the sink, “Why are you like this?”
“I was born observant.”
“No. You were born irritating.”
“And yet you love me.”
“I tolerate you because killing you would upset people.”
Tsubaki laughed softly. Then, with the exact same pleasant expression, she asked, “Did you two have sex?”
Shouma froze, and then slowly, he turned toward her, “No.”
Tsubaki blinked, “Really? How disappointing.”
“For who?”
“Me.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
“I was hoping you’d finally make progress.”
“Stay out of it.”
Tsubaki studied him. The teasing in her face changed slightly. Her smile remained, but her eyes sharpened, “You love her.”
Shouma’s expression went completely blank.
Tsubaki knew that face, and then she smiled wider, “Oh.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, Shouma, that’s adorable, and once again, I’m right~”
“You know nothing.”
“You’ve been in love with her for years.”
Shouma turned away.
Tsubaki’s eyes gleamed, “And she has absolutely no idea….Or—” Tsubaki paused.
Shouma hated that pause.
“Maybe she does now.”
He looked at her. Tsubaki’s smile became viciously sweet, “There it is.”
“What?”
“Your face.”
“My face hasn’t changed.”
“It absolutely did.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“You looked terrified.”
“I don’t get terrified.”
“Of course not. You’re Shouma Toraishi. Cigarettes, motorcycles, tattoos, perpetual scowl.” She tilted her head. “But apparently Yoshino smiling at you is enough to destroy your nervous system.”
“Are you fucking done?”
“No.”
He walked past her. Tsubaki followed him with her eyes, “Did you kiss her?”
Shouma stopped. Tsubaki nearly laughed, “You didn’t? Huh.”
He turned, “Why the fuck are you so interested?”
“Because I’ve been watching you two behave like idiots for years.”
“Find a hobby.”
“This is my hobby.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“And yet I’m having a wonderful time. I really need to get into the match making business.”
Shouma headed toward the stairs.
Tsubaki called after him, “Shouma~ you know…she’s probably waiting for you to do something.”
He paused for half a second. That was all Tsubaki needed. Her grin widened.
Shouma continued upstairs.
“Good luck!” she called sweetly.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Tsubaki laughed.
Shouma changed quickly.
He put on some brown chinos, a black short-sleeved button-up, his usual for the spring and summer. He ran a hand through his hair, glanced at himself once in the mirror, then immediately looked away.
He wasn’t dressing for Yoshino. He always wore clothes. That was generally expected when leaving the house.
He walked down the hall and saw Yoshino’s bedroom door was partially open. He knocked once against the frame before entering. She was standing in front of the mirror.
Blue high-waisted bell-bottom jeans hugged her waist and hips before widening below the knee. Her ivory boat-neck top exposed the elegant line of her collarbones, its sleeves ending midway down her arms. Her red high-top platform Converse were sitting near the bed.
Yoshino adjusted her hair, “Do you think this looks okay?”
Shouma closed the door behind him, “Yeah.”
She looked at him through the mirror, “Just yeah?”
“Looks good.”
Yoshino smiled, “Thank you.”
Shouma didn’t answer. He walked toward her.
Yoshino continued looking at the mirror, “So am I driving the Lexus, or—”
She stopped.
Shouma was directly behind her, and her eyes widened slightly. He slid both arms around her waist. Yoshino went completely still.
Shouma pulled her gently against him. Then closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the back of her head…Yoshino’s entire body stiffened. Her face turned bright red, and she stared straight ahead. She was looking at herself, at him, and at the reflection of his arms around her.
Shouma nuzzled lightly into her hair. And then after several seconds passed, another soft kiss.
It was barely there. Shouma’s lips brushed her hair more than kissed it; and then another.
Yoshino swallowed.
Heat rushed through her so quickly it felt like someone had poured fire directly into her bloodstream.
Her eyes lowered. She saw Shouma’s hands were resting over her stomach. Rough hands, with long fingers. The same hands she’d watched grip motorcycle handlebars, fight men twice his size, light cigarettes, and repair engines…now intertwined carefully against her stomach.
Yoshino didn’t know what to do, and thoughts kept racing through her head.
Should I run? Jump? Scream? TURN AROUND? Oh my god Yoshino, do SOMETHING. Anything.
Instead, she whispered: “Shouma.”
“Hmm?” His voice vibrated against her hair.
Yoshino slowly placed her hand over his, “Can you let me turn around and face you?”
“Yes.” His hands separated, but he didn’t release her. Yoshino turned within his arms, and Shouma’s hands moved with her until they settled again around her waist.
Then she looked up. And suddenly everything felt different. She had been close to Shouma countless times. She had hugged him, held onto him on motorcycles, fallen asleep beside him, touched his face, bandaged him, yelled at him, hit him, cried against him, and used him as a shoulder to lean on.
But never like this. Never when they both knew and Shouma looked overwhelmingly masculine this close.
Broad shoulders beneath the black shirt. Strong neck. Dark hair falling imperfectly over his forehead… and his eyes.
Yoshino had always loved his eyes. They were such a dark brown that they often appeared black. Sometimes light caught inside them strangely, giving them flashes of blue-white.
She knew what they looked like when he was angry. Then the darkness seemed to sharpen around a piercing gold reflection, predatory and violent.
But now, they were warm, deep and sweet like dark chocolate as Yoshino stared into them.
Shouma stared back, and neither looked away. His hands tightened slightly around her waist.
He pulled her a little closer, and Yoshino’s arms slowly lifted. She placed both hands against his face.
Shouma’s eyes flickered, and her palms were warm against his cheeks, “Why did it take us so long?”
Her voice is so soft, why do you sound so loving Yoshino? Shouma’s heart slammed against his ribs as he thought this.
He remembers this tone; he hadn’t heard her speak to him like that in years. He was a teenager again. Lying half-conscious in a hospital bed after Renji had beaten him nearly senseless following Yoshino’s motorcycle accident.
He remembered broken and bruised ribs, swollen face and split lips. Tsubaki’s relatives checking him every few hours.
And Yoshino; she would come every afternoon after school. She was always sitting beside him, bringing him food, fixing his blanket, scolding him, looking at him with that exact same tenderness.
The memory softens Shouma’s face. His face moved closer to hers, “I don’t know, Yoshino.”
He swallowed, “But I’m sorry—”
Her hands tightened around his face, “Don’t you dare say sorry.”
Shouma stopped. Yoshino’s eyes searched his, “Shouma, is it really not clear to you that I’ve been in love with you?”
Everything inside him went silent, and his eyes widened. His hands froze against her waist, “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“Yoshino—”
“I’ve been in love with you,” she didn’t look away, “And this time, I’m not going to pretend that I’m not.”
Shouma stared at her. Nothing in his mind connected properly. For years, he’d built their entire relationship around one assumption. Yoshino loved him but as family; as her protector, her idiot childhood companion, her surrogate older brother. That was the line he thought was drawn.
That had always been the line, and he’d built walls around that line. He’d slept with other women because of that line. He’d kept his mouth shut because of that line. He’d watched her leave because of that line.
And now she was standing in his arms telling him…I’ve been in love with you.
His eyes drifted away. Yoshino immediately noticed, “Don’t leave.”
Shouma looked back at her, “I’m not. I’m right here.”
“No, you’re not,” her thumb brushed his cheek, “Your eyes are wandering.”
His brows drew together.
“This is the face you make when you’re in your head.” Yoshino brushed his cheek with her thumb while still holding it.
Shouma stared at her.
Yoshino’s voice dropped, “Stay here with me.”
His grip around her waist tightened, “I’m here.”
She looked at his mouth. Then back into his eyes, “Let me kiss you.”
Shouma forgot how to breathe; he was six feet tall, Yoshino was five-foot-seven. He had spent most of his life being physically stronger than her. He’d fought people without hesitation. Taken beatings without crying, been stabbed, had broken bones, faced Renji’s fury.
None of it prepared him for this.
Standing in front of Yoshino, with her hands against his face and those words hanging between them, he felt small. Like the teenage boy who had once secretly wondered what it would feel like if Yoshino looked at him the way he looked at her.
He’d imagined this…too many times. But fantasy had never bothered teaching him what to do if it actually happened.
Yoshino moved first. She rose slightly onto her toes. Shouma’s eyes slowly closed.
Their noses brushed, his breath warmed her mouth. Yoshino tilted her head. Their lips barely touched—
“TSUBAKI!”
Both of their eyes flew open.
Renji’s voice thundered through the townhouse from downstairs.
“WHERE’S YOSHINO AND SHOUMA?”
Neither moved.
“I THOUGHT THEY’D AT LEAST LEAVE SOME FOOD!”
Yoshino’s mouth fell open.
“YOSHINO DOESN’T CARE ABOUT HER OLD MAN, HUH?”
Shouma stared at her. Yoshino stared at him. Their faces were still inches apart.
Then Yoshino’s lips twitched, and Shouma’s did too.
She snorted. Shouma dropped his forehead against hers as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
Yoshino covered her mouth, “Oh my God.”
“Of fucking course.”
“Why is he here?”
“Apparently everyone in Kyoto decided my house was public property today.”
Yoshino laughed harder. Then Renji shouted something else downstairs.
She whipped her head toward the door.
“I’M COMING DOWN, GRAMPS! HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU WERE COMING?”
Her face was furious as she yelled, then she turned back. Shouma was staring at her.
Yoshino immediately smiled. The contrast made him laugh again and for several seconds, neither said anything. Renji and Tsubaki’s muffled conversation floated through the floor. Shouma closed his eyes and took a long breath. When he opened them, his expression was calmer, “It can wait.”
Yoshino’s smile faded into something softer. Shouma brushed his thumb along her waist, “I want it to be perfect for you.”
Her heart fluttered, “Yeah,” she nodded, “I think if we do this now…”
She glanced toward his mouth. Then back up, “I won’t be able to stop.”
A faint flush appeared across Shouma’s face. His gaze dropped to her hands, “I want to be forever memorable.”
Yoshino’s eyes widened.
Shouma looked almost embarrassed by his own words, “Even now,” he murmured, “I can still feel your lips.”
Yoshino touched his cheek, “I don’t care where it happens,” her expression softened, “It’ll be perfect regardless of where we are because it’s you. And only you”
Shouma’s hand came up over hers, and he held her palm against his cheek, “We’re going to talk about what you said…later”
Yoshino swallowed, “Okay.”
“Because I have a lot to say too.”
She smiled, “Good.”
Shouma took her hand and led her toward the door. His fingers reached for the handle.
Yoshino suddenly pulled him backward by his shirt.
“What—”
She pulled him down, and kissed his cheek. Shouma froze.
Yoshino released him with a satisfied little smile.
His eyes were wide.
“I’ll go first,” she whispered. “You come down in two minutes.”
Before he could answer, Yoshino slipped through the door.
Shouma remained standing there.
A second later, he heard her running downstairs.
“GRAMPS!”
“There she is!”
“Why are you yelling through Shouma’s entire house?”
“Because nobody feeds me!”
“You’re a grown man!”
“I’m your grandfather!”
“THAT DOESN’T MAKE YOU INCAPABLE OF OPENING A REFRIGERATOR!”
Shouma slowly lifted one hand over his mouth. His face was burning, and he closed his eyes.
I’ve been in love with you.
His heart slammed again, “Fuck…”
Every emotion he’d spent his life learning how to conceal seemed completely useless around Yoshino. It didn’t matter if it was anger, fear, jealousy, embarrassment and love.
She saw everything, and something else occurred to him. He hadn’t been chain-smoking.Not since yesterday at least.
Normally, he’d already have smoked several cigarettes that morning. Instead he’d eaten breakfast with her. There had been more change in the last forty-eight hours than there had been in years.
Shouma leaned against the doorframe. What would they be like tomorrow? Next month? A year from now?
Would she still be standing in his kitchen arguing with him about cigarettes, and would her shoes still be beside his?
Would he wake up and find her sleeping next to him? Would she still—
“SHOUMA!”
Renji’s voice boomed from downstairs.
“YOU DIE UP THERE?”
Shouma’s face immediately flattened. He straightened his shirt. Ran a hand through his hair.Took one final breath. By the time he reached the stairs, every visible trace of what had just happened was gone.
Or so he thought.
Renji was standing in the kitchen inspecting the empty dishes like a detective arriving at a crime scene, “You ate everything.”
Yoshino leaned against the counter, “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“You could’ve called.”
“And said what? ‘Good morning, Gramps, are you randomly planning to invade Shouma’s house today?’”
Renji grunted, “Would’ve been considerate.”
Tsubaki sat at the table with a cup of tea, looking far too pleased with herself.
Shouma entered.
Renji looked at him.
“Mornin’ Shouma.”
“Boss.”
Renji pointed at the stove, “Nothing left, huh?”
“No.”
“You couldn’t save me salmon?”
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
Renji clicked his tongue, “Both of you are useless.”
Yoshino laughed. Shouma glanced at her. She glanced back.
One second. That was all.
But Tsubaki saw it. Her eyes moved from Yoshino to Shouma. Then slowly narrowed.
Shouma caught her staring and scowled at her.
Tsubaki lifted her teacup and hid her smile behind it.
His eyes sharpened.
She mouthed silently: Almost?
Shouma’s jaw clenched.
Tsubaki’s shoulders began shaking.
“What are you laughing at sweetheart?” Renji asked.
Tsubaki innocently rests her face on her hand, “Nothing Renji, it’s just so refreshing to be here with Yoshino and Shouma.”
Shouma walked past her.
Under his breath, he muttered: “I hate you.”
Tsubaki whispered back sweetly: “I know.”
They left for Osaka later that afternoon.
Renji had come separately and returned ahead of them, claiming there were things he needed to handle before dinner. Which left Shouma driving. Yoshino in the passenger seat, and Tsubaki in the back.
The moment Shouma started the engine, Tsubaki leaned forward between the seats, “Can we listen to music?”
“No.”
Yoshino connected her phone, “Yes.” Then ‘Bonafide’ by I’MIN played.
Shouma looked at her.
She smiled.
He looked forward again, “Traitor.”
“You’ll survive.”
Tsubaki settled comfortably into the back seat, “She’s good for you.”
Shouma’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Tsubaki.”
“What?” Yoshino turned, “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Shouma said immediately.
Tsubaki smiled, “It means exactly what I said.”
Yoshino looked at Shouma.
He stared at the road, “Ignore her.”
“Why?”
“Because she enjoys creating problems.”
“I enjoy revealing existing ones,” Tsubaki corrected.
Shouma reached for the volume and turned the music up.
Tsubaki leaned back, “this song really doesn’t help your situation so why turn up the volume.”
Yoshino looked at Tsubaki with a puzzled look but turned back to look at the scenery outside the window. Kyoto slowly disappeared behind them. The drive toward Osaka became a mixture of Tsubaki’s relentless commentary, Yoshino’s laughter, and Shouma repeatedly threatening to leave his “cousin” at the next service area.
But beneath all of it, something new existed between Yoshino and Shouma. At red lights, their eyes met. When Yoshino reached toward the center console, her fingers occasionally brushed his. Neither pulled away quickly anymore. In the background, ‘Soledad y el Mar’ by Natalia Lafourcade and Los Macorinos started playing.
As the calm song played, Tsubaki became distracted by her phone, Yoshino rested her hand beside Shouma’s on the console. Her pinky touched him and Shouma glanced down. Yoshino continued looking out the window as though nothing had happened.
Slowly, Shouma shifted his hand, and his pinky hooked around hers. Yoshino’s mouth curved up.Neither said anything, and neither needed to.
Tsubaki looked up from her phone. Her eyes immediately dropped toward their hands. Then lifted toward Shouma.
Shouma caught her gaze in the rearview mirror.
Tsubaki smiled.
He narrowed his eyes but didn’t move his hand from Yoshino’s. Tsubaki looked back down at her phone, and for once, she said nothing.
By the time Osaka’s skyline rose around them, the afternoon light had begun turning warmer. Tomorrow, work will begin. The construction of the medical spa would start. Renji’s plans, the gumi, responsibilities, people and complications would come back.
Tonight, Renji wanted everyone together for dinner before everything officially started Monday morning. Yoshino watched the city through the window. Then she glanced toward Shouma. He was focused on the road, one hand resting loosely against the steering wheel.
His face was unreadable again, calm, serious, typical Shouma. But his other hand remained beside hers. Their pinkies were still intertwined.
Yoshino smiled and looked back toward Osaka. She didn’t need the kiss today, not anymore.She knew it was coming. And somehow, waiting for it, knowing what was waiting on the other side, felt even more exciting.
