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“But it won’t be,” Marine persuaded. “You, me, Pekora, Noel, Flare — we’ll all still stay together.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
There was a firmness to Marine’s voice, like she was stating facts instead of beliefs. It made Rushia think that they were facts, too.
“Okay.” Rushia smiled.
Hey, Dorothea, do you ever stop and think about me?
When we were younger down in the park
Honey, making a lark of the misery
Houshou Marine learned to blink again.
She’d been staring at the same damn scenery for hours now. The same damn road. The same damn trees. The same damn autumn leaves.
To think I’d ever come back…
Marine sighed and closed her eyes — steadying the wild beating of her heart with the constant hum of the bus. It worked, for the most part. But it never stopped the bothersome, nagging feeling in her gut. A feeling that Marine had hoped to tuck away for the rest of the trip. Who was she kidding? She knew full-well that agreeing to this whole charade would no doubt locate some memories from the murky depths of her mind.
Her mistake.
The bus was empty save for a few passengers dotted around here and there, all of whom were arriving at the same destination and none of whom Marine recognized. The town had changed quite a bit since she left.
She turned her head to the seat beside her: Pekora scrolled through her phone, sight focused on the digital screen. Marine spoke, “Jesus, how long is this bus ride?”
“Around thirty minutes more, peko.”
Marine emitted a rather loud groan.
Pekora arched a brow. “Could you at least pretend to be happy to see your old high school again?”
“So you’re telling me to reminisce the terror teachers, the non-stop work, and the terrible lunch food? The joys of youth, am I right?”
“You have friends too, Maririn. You seem to forget that.”
Pekora spoke with a bluntness in her voice. She obviously wanted to say more, but refrained from doing so for whatever reason. Maybe because she didn’t want to spoil the remaining minutes they had left on the ride. It didn’t matter anyways: her words cut deep, deeper than Marine would care to admit.
Marine lowered her eyelids and leaned back on her seat. Cross-armed (and a little guilty), she decided to change the subject. “It’s only been, what, two years since you all graduated? And we’re already having a reunion.”
“Well, you know our schoolmates; ever the nostalgics.”
“I guess. I didn’t even spend my last year here, though.”
Marine gazed outside the bus window once more. No matter how many bottles of alcohol she drank or how many manga panels she drew, she could never detach herself from this place, and all the moments that she’s lived through within it.
“Hey,” Pekora whispered. She rubbed Marine’s shoulder, catching her attention. “Cheer up, will you? C’mon, we’ll get to see everyone.”
Marine faked a smile. Pekora dreadfully irritated on most days, but she had always been an anchor for Marine ever since their time in high school together.
“Are Noe and Fuu on the way?”
“Already there, I think. They’re staying with Noel’s family, peko.”
“Others?”
Pekora paused before responding. “Last I checked, everyone’s coming.”
Marine swiveled her sight downward, playing with her fingers, then she took a deep breath. How can one, single name be so hard to say?
“R-Rushia?”
Pekora’s grip on her phone tightened. “P-peko?”
“Is… is Rushia coming?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Y-yeah. Ruu is coming.”
“Oh,” was all Marine said.
A dense, sharp ache formed inside her ribs, and kept for far longer than she cared for. Just then, she barely suppressed every single memory from pouring in. Barely.
The two didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. Pekora probably figured that her friend wanted to be alone in her own thoughts, anyway. Marine locked her eyes on the bright trees flashing past. She remembered a small bookworm’s hand in hers, in the middle of an empty park, on a day just like this one.
And how she ran away from it all.
It took a few minutes of strolling through familiar streets before the pair arrived at Pekora’s old home.
Marine noticed three differences at first glance: one, the walls were repainted to bear a navy blue color instead of teal; two, the front yard now had a small tree that a variety of bushes bordered, replacing the spot where she and Pekora used to sit and talk for hours at a time; and three, the house shrunk in size (or rather, it seemed a lot bigger a few years ago).
Pekora’s parents had been waiting by the porch for their arrival. Their features lit up upon seeing the two, exchanging warm hugs and greetings moments after. Marine hadn’t seen the Usadas ever since she left, and unlike the house, they hadn’t changed one bit. She quickly thanked them for letting her stay in the room of Pekora’s brother for the week. (He had moved away a year before his sister’s high school graduation.)
A host of intimate sights and sounds greeted Marine’s mind when she entered the interior.
There she was, in one of the rooms, introducing Pekora to her favorite BL doujin during a sleepover.
There she was, in the kitchen, helping Noel bake chocolate the day for Valentine’s.
There she was, on the living room couch, watching bad movies with Flare while everyone had fallen asleep.
And there she was, sprawled on a bed, while a small girl beside her read some sort-of book she couldn’t even pretend to comprehend…
It was far too overwhelming, to say the least.
After settling into the room, removing the essentials from her luggage, and changing into shorts and flip-flops, Marine dedicated the remaining hours of her day to working – only stepping out to eat dinner with the Usadas. The publisher she worked for was lax when it came to deadlines, what with their primary distribution being online and all, and Marine had previously emailed them about attending her high school reunion. But still, she needed to clear her head somehow.
It’s how she’d always dealt with things after she dropped-out of school. Work, and alcohol.
Marine put down her pen after an hour. She hardly finished three panels.
She had trouble even keeping her eyes open. Pekora and her had commuted for the better part of the day. That, and… well, everything else.
The room she stayed in was well-kept, if worn-out. Littered among the picture frames of Pekora’s brother and her family were heaps of video games and anime DVDs, along with an impressive collection of manga – some of which Marine hadn’t even read – stacked into a handful of boxes.
It reminded Marine of her old room.
The ache in her ribs returned, but only for a few seconds.
“I’ll just finish the page later,” she muttered to herself, grabbing a random manga from one of the stacks.
Marine laid down her tired body on the bed. After stretching with all her might, she dozed off within a minute of reading.
It was around 2 am in the morning, and Rushia needed to leave.
She had classes tomorrow – no, in a few hours. She was assigned to give a speech at the morning assembly, something about the values that the school embodied, yada yada. Rushia already knew what to say.
The problem was that she was 300 miles away from the school, with Marine, in a flickering bus stop Lorde knows where. And it was most likely about to rain.
Her poor, worried parents had called her all night. Rushia assured them that she was on her way home; that she was just stuck in a traffic-jam. Marine, too, had used her phone to a great extent, trying to find any form of transportation this late at night. Regret began creeping in Rushia’s mind about even visiting in the first place.
Marine closed her phone and walked up to Rushia, sighing while doing so. “I called Flare. She’s coming with her car.”
Rushia adjusted her glasses. She replied with a soft tone, “Okay.”
The air around the two grew in weight as minutes of quiet ensued. A droplet of rain landed next to Rushia’s shoe, and by then, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“You don’t have to be mad, you know.”
“I’m not mad,” Marine said, brusque as ever.
“No, I know when you’re mad. And you’re mad now.”
“Well, maybe it’s because you decided to drop-in, without warning, on a Sunday! How were you even planning to get back home—”
“No. You do not get to lecture me on this,” Rushia snapped, “Six months, Marine. You haven’t spoken to me for six months. I had to ask Pekora if my fucking girlfriend was even safe!”
Marine looked downward. She had no excuse. Absolutely none.
“I was—”
“Busy? Sure. But you can talk to Noel, Pekora, and Flare, right?” Rushia scoffed. “You have no idea how bad it gets.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. I’m not like you! I can’t survive on a couple of fucks and text messages every few months! You’ve never visited… I mean, Jesus, you don’t even reply to my emails.”
Rushia’s words boiled and serrated around each and every syllable. She had every right to be angry.
It hurt Marine. She wanted to tell her why she was like this. Why it seemed like she was running away from it all.
She wanted to tell her that she dropped-out of school. That she took a risk by working for some little-known, independent publisher. That she found it so difficult to talk to her girlfriend when she was 300 miles away. That she thought Rushia deserved better than whatever the fuck she was offering.
But she said nothing. And silence loomed over them once more as Marine felt an ache in her ribs surge, like a reminder of all the times she failed the person beside her.
They were two ghosts, at that point, haunting the bodies that they used to love with.
The rain came later, along with Flare driving up the road to take Rushia back.
This place is the same as it ever was
But you won’t like it that way
“Oi! Maririn! Get your ass up.”
Pekora placed both her hands on Marine’s ankle, shaking it – and by extension, Marine’s entire body – back and forth like a cradle. The redhead laid on her side as drool slowly dripped from her agape mouth. She could only mumble something about body proportions and tentacles in response to Pekora’s attempt at waking her.
“Ugh.” Pekora rolled her eyes. Marine and Noel were always the heavy sleepers.
She grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, plumping it using her two hands. She then hurled it straight towards Marine’s sleeping face. Smack. Needless to say, she woke up in a startle.
“Ow!” Marine said as pain surged on her cheek, rubbing her face and sitting upright. “What the fuck, peko?!”
Pekora belted a hearty laugh. Its rapid change of pitch registered in Marine’s ear like clockwork. And she was annoyed, yet thankful, to have heard it again after so long.
“C’mon, Maririn, wake up.”
Pekora slapped her friend’s inner thigh, prompting another exclamation of pain from the latter. Marine growled. Looks like someone’s excited.
“What time is it?” Marine yawned.
“Eight-thirty, peko. We are having breakfast with Mikochi today,” Pekora said. She stood in front of the sizable mirror in the room to arrange her hair.
Marine gave a Cheshire grin. “Ah. So that explains it.”
Pekora turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Marine giggled and made her way to the mirror to also sort her bearings. “You sure want me to third-wheel?”
“Shut up. And I’d rather that than have you coop-up here in the house.”
“Fair. What else is on the agenda today?”
“Party at Coco’s place, peko.”
Party… Coco’s place… Marine thought she had heard the last of those words being uttered together.
“Oh, right.” The redhead tilted her head. “Remind me again why that’s a thing? Didn’t the school organize the event to be on Saturday?”
“It’s the party before the party. To warm us up… or something like that.”
“All of you are just trying to get drunk earlier than planned.”
“They are getting drunk, not me. And you’re not going to do the same, peko?”
Marine squinted. “Touché.”
“What?! You’re not staying for Saturday?” Miko yelled, blaringly enough that the other people in the café stopped to look in direction of their table. Her eyes held a blank stare against Marine, who sipped some of her coffee.
Marine placed the cup back on the saucer and nodded. She had missed Miko’s loud abrasiveness, although she preferred it if the subject of said abrasiveness was someone other than her.
Miko shot a ‘is she serious?’ look towards Pekora, receiving another nod in return. She then chewed on her strip of bacon, crunching it with decisive and aggressive bites, prior to speaking. “But everyone’s going to the reunion party! You’ll be the only one missing.”
“The buses are going out-of-commission next week,” Marine started, “I have to catch the one on Saturday, otherwise I’ll be stuck here for I don’t know how long.”
“I’m sure somebody would be willing to give you a ride.”
“It’s no use, Miko. I don’t think she wants to stay for even a second more, peko,” Pekora said, swallowing a spoonful of rice.
Marine glared at Pekora. “I just don’t want to burden anyone. Besides, I have a meeting with my editor I need to attend.”
“You know, when I read your manga, I thought it was going to be hentai,” Miko stated, “but don’t worry, it’s still good.”
Marine nearly choked on her food. “Thanks, I guess?”
“So the only time I’ll be able to see you drunk and flirty is tonight, huh?” Marine blushed a bit at Miko’s comments. Did people regard her as really that messy? Probably. “Looks like I’ll have to rely on Matsuri for Saturday, eh?”
Miko gave a boisterous laugh while slamming her hands up and down on the café table. And her loud gestures attracted the attention of all the customers yet again.
Pekora’s jaw clenched as the grip she had on her utensils tightened. “Do us a favor and stop that obnoxious laugh of yours. It’s pekoing everyone insane.”
“Hmph.” Miko looked away, her hands on her hips. “Look who’s talking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means: your laugh is a crime against humanity!”
“Screw you!”
Marine often wondered why Pekora held such a deep-seated crush on Miko; it seemed like each and every time they met, they were constantly at each other’s throats.
But then her thoughts traveled to the time they had to peel Pekora away from her bedroom floor when she found out Miko had another date to the prom, or that for all these years, Pekora had sworn-off dating for a reason that was nothing short of obvious (yet never admitted.)
“Oi, Marine!”
Marine blinked to the sight of Miko pointing a finger directly at her. She grunted. “What is it?”
“I’d forgive you for not staying if you sped-up some of those things I commissioned.”
“It takes time, alright? I’m working on it.”
“Remember, I want humongous honkeroonies, like the biggest you’ve ever seen—”
“Can we stop? We’re eating breakfast!” Pekora protested.
Miko held an exasperated expression. “You’re such a prude, Usada.”
“Now you listen here—”
Another row broke out, and Marine contemplated if she would even survive breakfast.
The lights shined a lot brighter back then. Or maybe that was just the sentimentality talking.
Marine and Pekora approached the porch of Coco’s house. The light decorations that hung on its exterior walls resounded under the night sky, their colors ranged from bright red to an almost yellowish-orange – like the mess of fall leaves scattered about the sizable front lawn.
The leaves crackled into pieces upon contact with Marine’s foot. She took heavy, decisive steps, because at that moment, her legs carried the weight of the entire ocean.
Pekora slowed her pace as they walked to the door. She enclosed Marine’s hand in hers, smiled, and squeezed it tightly, before letting go and continuing to walk. A small gesture, but Marine allowed her body to feel a lot lighter from then on.
Marine joined Pekora on the porch. The latter had already rang the doorbell and knocked at least three times. Loud, yet muffled, music emanated from beyond the walls.
The door flung open at a moment’s notice. Not even a second later, someone (or something) barreled straight into Marine, startling her and almost knocking her off her feet. But then she registered the texture of a gray cardigan she shipped-out last Christmas. Marine chuckled and began to reciprocate the embrace.
“I missed you too, Noe, but didn’t we see each other last month?”
“Still,” Noel said quietly as she pulled-out from the embrace. “It’s good to see you.”
“You know how clingy Noel is.” Another voice emerged from the doorway, this time belonging to a cool-blonde head, with dashing white streaks.
Marine formed a watery smile. “Fuu.”
She enveloped Flare in a deep hug. It was warm and comfy in all the best ways; like something a big sister would give after a long separation. Marine caught the whiff of the perfume she had sent her as a (very) late birthday present last April.
This isn’t so bad. The smiles of her friends laid upon her, and Marine thought that maybe, just maybe, coming here wasn’t a mistake.
Flare squeezed Marine’s waist for a beat before pulling away and plastering a kiss on her forehead. “For the sake of our collective sanity, please learn how to answer our messages, Maririn.”
Marine scratched her head. “I’m working on it.”
“You’ve been ‘working on it’ ever since high school.”
“Shut up.”
And the four of them grinned and cackled together, just like they used to. Fragments of memory bled-out from Marine’s mind, but she didn’t attempt to suppress it. Marine didn’t want to ask, either, the one question that burned in her thoughts. She didn’t want to ruin the mood, after all.
Pekora curled her lip at Noel. “Did you already start drinking without us?”
“Eh? What makes you say that?”
“You smell like whiskey and Cheetos, peko.” Pekora covered her nose. “Geez, Flare, get your girlfriend under control.”
Flare chuckled as Noel threw random curses at her friend. Marine then splayed her arm over Pekora’s shoulder, and smirked. “Lighten up, Pekochi. Let’s get some alcohol in that belly and you’ll be singing Mr. Brightside in no time.”
“What are you trying to say? No! I am absolutely not getting drunk!”
It only took one bottle of soju before Pekora and Miko graced the living room table with their dancing, belting-out contemporary pop hits with the ferocity of a punk singer. All in all, the usual menu for a drunk Usada Pekora.
“Once a lightweight, always a lightweight,” Marine stated, as if fact. She took a swig of beer from her red cup.
“Tell me about it,” Flare said.
“Bet you a cup of noodles she ends up trying to confess to Miko at the end of the night, but she chickens-out at the end.”
“You’re on.”
Noel, meanwhile, engaged herself through a shot contest against Lamy in the kitchen: first to five, wins. Noel managed to snatch the victory by a mere split second, screaming and taking another shot in a spark of adrenaline.
So the party was going great.
“There’s no stopping Noe either.” Marine turned to Flare. “So, who’s making sure they don’t do anything too crazy?”
“Marine, please…”
“Fuck off, I’m getting smashed tonight.”
Flare sighed as she put her drink down and formed a fist with her hand. Marine did the same as well. The two stared at each other for a brief moment. A fierce battle was about to begin.
“Janken pon!” They both exclaimed in unison.
Flare: paper; Marine: scissors.
“Go screw yourself,” Flare said emotionlessly as she walked towards Noel’s direction.
Marine shouted, “I’ll be thinking about you when I do it!”
Flare stretched her arm upwards, displaying a prominent middle finger, to which Marine could only snort.
By some miracle, Marine actually enjoyed herself far more than she expected to; taking pictures with everyone, talking to old friends (recommending doujin to the close ones), and consuming a considerable amount of alcohol.
She was a tad tipsy by the time the clock struck midnight. Although at that point, pretty much everyone in the party was one of three things: tipsy, drunk, or passed-out.
Every corner she looked, a flash of a familiar visage greeted her. It was astonishing, really; so many people who, for a period of time, Marine saw everyday were voices she hadn’t heard in two or three years, faces she only saw while scrolling through Facebook or Instagram.
People who she worked on projects with, people who helped her with her homework, people who suffered with her through seemingly endless class periods – they were all here, present and in-attendance. And yet after a week, they’ll all be gone again.
Am I drunk yet? Sure feels like it.
The speakers blurted out some Taylor Swift song as Marine treaded from one end of the house to the next, filtering herself through countless shoulders and red cups. She stopped at the games room, and even though her vision started to get blurry, Marine still recognized the form and figure of the snack table: her one, true goal.
From what Marine could tell, there were only five people in the room. Her, two dudes playing ping-pong, and two people making-out in the corner. Or were they whispering? It didn’t matter.
As she grabbed a piece of Lays from the pile, Marine bumped into something that reached the length of her shoulder (and maybe a piece higher).
She crushed the chip she held in a spurt of surprise, and growled moments thereafter.
Okay then, six people in the room. Not five.
“Oi, middle-schooler, watch where you’re—”
Two buns of green hair were what she first saw. And it was enough to take all the breath away from Marine’s lungs and sober her, if for a brief moment. Then, in an instant, before Marine could have even begun to assess the situation in her mind, she found herself face-to-face with them again.
There they were: those damn eyes. Piercingly red, and, as per usual, locked behind two spotty lenses.
Marine hadn’t sketched them in a while.
Those same eyes studied Marine’s face with an unreadable expression, as the other people in the room started to glance and murmur.
An agonizing three seconds passed by.
“Hoshou Marine,” Rushia greeted simply.
Her voice still held a touch of softness, but to Marine, it eclipsed the power of a raging tide – memories gushed forth in a sea of joy, sadness, and regret. All the mistakes she made, all the anxieties she held.
And Marine remembered why she ran away from it all. From autumn leaves and trees, from this town, from her…
“Hoshou Marine,” Rushia said again, as if trying to remember how the name sounded out loud. The smaller girl took another step closer, eyes still locked. “How long has it been?”
“Two years. Maybe more.” Marine stared back helplessly, examining every inch of the face that had haunted her ever since she left.
Rushia pinched the hem of her baggy skull t-shirt, and Marine observed the choker outfitted on her neck, and the skirt that rode down to just above her knees, and the pair of fishnet stockings and large, black boots that occupied her lower body.
It contrasted completely to the sweater-clad girl she used to see back in high school. Sure, Rushia had occasionally worn outfits with a similar flair, but it never fully ingrained into Marine’s subconscious.
“You look nice,” Marine mentioned, not quite knowing what to say next.
Rushia’s lips wormed ever so slightly. And then she laughed.
And the laughter was like hearing an old, cherished song again after so many years – remembrances long tucked-away, but never forgotten. Marine began to laugh, too, the both of them settling into a scene as common as day changing into night.
Which was why the redhead didn’t step back, or walk away, when Rushia took yet another step and closed the distance further. Instead, Marine tugged at her wrist, then embraced Rushia with full-force, burying herself into the hug.
And oh God, there was no better feeling in the world; the touch Marine had longed for through sleepless days and cans upon cans of beer.
“Still short, huh?” Marine murmured.
“Rude as ever I see.”
Marine would have given anything to stay in that position for far, far longer: her hand camped on a tuft of green hair, gently pushing Rushia’s head down, and the other sliding across Rushia’s back. But she knew it needed to end sooner rather than later. It was still all too much to process.
Marine pulled away first, inch-by-inch, a look of regret spreading on her face. Rushia froze for a beat, her hands still in the position of holding on to Marine’s torso. She let out an awkward cough, then adjusted her glasses dejectedly.
A voice broke out in their ears before either of the two could speak.
“Oi oi oi oi! You pishes of shet, peko!”
Pekora stumbled her way into the room, bottle of soju in-hand and closely followed by a beaming Noel and an anxious Flare. She sipped a bit from the bottle and made another cumbersome step, this time almost crashing into one of the ping-pong players. (A crisis Flare had averted through a combination of reflexes and general experience with intoxicated Usada).
“Having a friendsh reunion without me, peko?! I’ll teach you!”
With one wide swoop, Pekora hugged Rushia from behind and began to plant sloppy kisses on her cheek, only stopping for another sip of alcohol.
Rushia giggled at the onslaught she received. “Drunk Pekochi is much more affectionate. Let’s keep her this way.”
Pekora closed her eyes and grumbled something in response. She kept quiet while still hugging Rushia from behind, swaying back and forth with her friend.
“She’s right, you know,” Flare said, “the five shitheads, together again at last.”
“Woohoo!” Noel cheered as she struck a pose that would’ve hit Marine’s chin if she hadn’t dodged it in the last second.
“Noe’s definitely drunk by now, right?” Rushia asked.
Marine observed Noel with what seemed to be the detail of a wildlife documentary. “I predict maybe two bottles more.” The silver-haired girl plainly looked on, apparently not hearing what Marine just said. “Okay, scratch that. About one bottle more.”
“NoeNoesh gonna pass out waaaay before me! Just watch!” Pekora burped from Rushia’s shoulder.
And as she found herself engulfed in a chaos that knew all too well, Marine smiled.
Perhaps, in the refuge she had built with the people that meant the world to her, perhaps she could finally sort the mess in her head out.
With an empty cup dangling from her hand, Marine ended up on the porch, sitting on one of the steps and leaning against the side-railing, while the night winded down to a halt. The party had steadily quieted for the past hour, the atmosphere deluging into a state of intimacy as schoolmates left and the music from the speakers calmed down.
A handful of people were dispersed around the autumn-clad lawn, but it was chiefly just Marine, her thoughts, and the faintest glimmer of sunlight breaking through the night sky.
The sight was eerie; like Marine had entered into a liminal space between two situations of being.
But then again, that had been the whole trip so far, hadn’t it? A toss between the past and the future, between what happened and what could.
A single leaf blew past Marine’s foot, about to travel some unknown, immeasurable distance. She recalled a moment three or four years ago, on the very same porch she was sitting on, when she promised Rushia that they’d stay together, with a voice as firm and sure as a seventeen year-old could manage.
“Mind if I join you?”
She turned and saw Rushia holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a cup for herself, propping the two items up expectantly.
Marine nodded and scooted over, a signal for the girl to sit beside her. Rushia perched on the porch’s stairs and placed the whiskey between her and Marine.
The redhead poured herself a helping, enough for Rushia to get an adequate serving, and examined the bottle in her hand. “How does Coco afford so much alcohol?”
“Doesn’t she sell weed on the side?” Rushia suggested as Marine gave a curious look. “Rumors… mainly.”
“Welp, whatever it is, she’s making way more than me that’s for sure.”
“Aw, are the adventures of your little pirate crew not moving enough copies?”
Marine, a smirk forming, whipped her head to face Rushia. “Wait, you read—”
“I do, in fact, read your manga.”
“You like it?”
“I half expected it to be porn.” Rushia took the bottle and set about to fill her cup. “But it’s actually engaging.”
Marine pretended to act amazed. She gasped, “Gee whiz! That’s so sweet of you!”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What about you, then? How’s pre-med?”
“Hell. Just hell.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She quaffed liquor down her veins ahead of continuing. “Hey, look at this way: you’ll be a rich doctor in, what, seven to ten years? Allowing me—”
“To borrow money whenever you need it.” Rushia bit her bottom lip. “Crap. I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Your words, not mine.”
Marine leaned back on her elbows, and the two drank in silence, watching or staring at nothing in particular as mellow winds passed their bodies. It was a routine occurrence for the both of them, albeit one that hadn’t transpired for years.
Marine felt the obligation to fill in the dead air – a topic about something other than the past, other than the heartache they both went through.
But before she could muster anything, Rushia spoke, “You’ve changed.”
Marine leaned forward. “Me?”
Rushia rested her head on her hand. “I don’t know, it’s…” She scrutinized her face for a beat, then inhaled sharply. “Maturity? I guess.”
“I am a working-class citizen, after all.”
“Ugh. Sure, whatever, let’s go with that.”
“You say that, but don’t come crying to me when you don’t know how to file your taxes, Miss Future Doctor. Unless you got the dough of course.”
Rushia scoffed. “Look at this Grade A extortionist over here, hustling her exes like there’s no tomorrow.”
Marine laughed, but considered her next words carefully as a lull in the conversation happened once more. There was no beating around the bush. No matter how hard Marine tried for the past few hours. And she knew that Rushia apprehended this as well: the need for closure.
“I-I’m sorry for what I did. I regret it. A lot.”
Rushia tilted her eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Hoshou Marine.”
“No, really I—”
“Relax. I’m joking,” Rushia said, cutting her off. “We were dumb teenagers. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
The green-haired girl materialized a warm smile and clutched her hand. Marine slumped over. “I know. But still, it was nice.”
“It was nice, wasn’t it? I’m sorry too, for whatever it’s worth.” Rushia paused in deep thought, as if reflecting on all the instances she had spent with the person beside her up until that point. “You think… you think we could’ve made it work now?”
Marine hesitated. “I-I don’t know how to answer that.”
“You’re right. I guess no one can in the end. Everything changes—”
“And yet stays the same.” She looked at Rushia. “Heraclitus, right?”
Rushia fixed her gaze back. “You remembered.”
“Of course. The dude was a fuckin’ weirdo.”
The two laughed in hushed tones, an action that would be repeated throughout the rest of the night as they joked and bantered with one another.
And somehow, at the end of it all, Rushia leaned on Marine’s shoulder, arms interlocked, peering at the heavens. The whiskey bottle placed between them had been discarded to the side, its contents now fully empty.
Droopily, Rushia steadied her chin on the taller girl’s shoulder, all but falling to her side a couple of times in her efforts. Her mouth was a trivial inch away from Marine’s ear.
“Kiss me, Marine,” she whispered, a bit of out-of-breath. “I love you.”
Marine’s throat clenched. Her heart beat wildly. I can’t do this.
“Marine,” Rushia cooed.
“You’re drunk.”
“So what? You’re drunk too. Kiss me.”
Rushia used her hand to turn Marine’s face towards hers, their lips dangerously close to each other. The scent of whiskey invaded Marine’s nose as she breathed the same air as her former lover.
Marine swatted the hand and looked away. “Stop.”
Rushia’s speech became slurred and fragmented. “Your ex is horny right in front of you and that’s all you have to say? No wonder we broke up.” She placed a hand on the other’s cheek, stroking it gently. “Don’t you want to feel me again?”
And this time, Marine turned her head of her own volition. She looked directly at Rushia’s beautiful, imperfect features, and the red eyes that clutched a thousand emotions all at once. She grew tired of always seeing it through the lens of her pen, she needed its soft embrace.
Their lips traveled closer – breaths carrying the fruits of desire and longing.
But then Marine remembered that time at the flickering bus stop, stuck in the middle of nowhere, and the tears of two ghosts masked by the pouring rain.
And no, Marine couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.
She turned away; Rushia leaned in, but her lips only felt the air.
Rushia didn’t act surprised. Maybe she was too intoxicated to realize it. She just sighed, indiscernibly mumbling while repositioning herself on Marine’s shoulder.
Her eyes gave way mere minutes later, and she fell asleep.
Marine’s ribs surged with ache.
“Crap.”
“I just wish you would’ve told me sooner.”
Rushia’s finger traced invisible scribbles on Marine’s naked chest. The redhead didn’t respond to Rushia’s comment, instead placing a peck on her forehead and gripping her even tighter with her arms. How long had it been since they were in this position? Two months? Three?
The bed they laid on squeaked with every tiny movement they made, like its legs were ready to collapse due to the slight stirring of an arm or a leg. Marine wanted a better apartment close to the publisher building, but this was all she could afford. And she cursed herself realizing that Rushia had to contend with shattered lightbulbs and near-broken floorboards whenever she came to visit.
Rushia tilted her head up towards Marine. “Does your dad know you dropped-out?”
“Yeah, he does.”
“Okay.”
Rushia hummed, and continued tracing invisible scribbles. She stood up from the bed a while later, walking to the clothes she left on a chair in the corner.
Marine sat up and watched Rushia get dressed. “You’re leaving already?”
“Yeah. I have an interview with one of the colleges tomorrow.” She put on a Black Sabbath shirt along with dark pants. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to get stuck in a bus stop again, right?”
Rushia said it in a joking tone, but Marine knew there was truth to the statement.
She gave a reluctant smile. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”
Once she finished slipping into her articles of clothing, Rushia flumped down next to Marine on the bed, producing a sound akin to the screech of a Nazgûl. She mouthed a ‘sorry’ to the apartment tenant, who mouthed ‘it’s okay’ in return.
“Is there anything else I need to know?” Rushia asked.
“What do you mea—”
“You know what I mean.” Rushia gave a hard stare. “I’m gonna graduate soon, and things are gonna move fast, really quick.” She clutched Marine’s hands, still looking at her. “So please, tell me if anything comes up, okay?”
Marine abruptly nodded, eyes blinking at a rapid pace. Rushia searched her face for a moment, relaxed into a half-smile, then stood up.
Marine grabbed her hand and pulled her back down to the bed. “Hey, good luck with the interview. You’re gonna nail it.”
“Thanks.”
They kissed, but only for a second.
It was the last time their lips would meet for two years.
You’re a queen sellin’ dreams, sellin’ makeup and magazines
From you, I’d buy anything
Marine curled herself up into a ball the day after the party. She slept for three hours at most, waking up at around seven in the morning then helping the Usadas nurse their daughter’s hangover. The sight of her friend groggily fumbling her trek down the stairs struck Marine with a realization: she didn’t even get that drunk last night. Or at least, not at the level she hoped for.
Well, last night surprised her in a lot of ways. But she didn’t want to dwell on it; she wasn’t quite ready to examine what it all meant yet.
Pekora was fine. A little shaken, sure, but fine nonetheless. Flare probably made the wise decision of cutting off her intake by a significant margin at the party. By noon, she started dressing herself for lunch with Okayu and Korone at the Inugami bakery.
“You sure you don’t want to come?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Marine said, lying down on the bed. She smiled to herself seeing how much Pekora had grown in confidence for public outings.
“Alright.” Pekora brushed a strand of her red hair. “Why don’t you go outside and take a stroll? You haven’t been around here in a while.”
“I’ll think about it.”
And with that, Pekora left, leaving Marine to her own devices.
She spent the better part of the day in a cycle of trying to work and then getting distracted by random YouTube videos or the piles of old manga in the room. Marine didn’t care about productivity, anyway – she wanted something, anything to distract herself from the thoughts floating in her brain.
Her phone beeped with a message notification a little past dinner time. She squinted at the electronic screen.
NoeNoe: movie. in 1 hour
Marine frowned and didn’t text anything back. It hardly took five minutes before she sighed and got out of bed.
She still had trouble saying no to Noel.
Both of them had pulled this stunt countless times before, a movie partnership that elicited a text invitation well into the evening and one of them reluctantly agreeing. Marine brought whatever random jacket she packed with her, and attempted to remember the way to the local mall.
Noel had already purchased their popcorn (that Marine will likely end up eating barely ten percent of) and tickets when Marine arrived at the cinema lobby. They acted-out their wordless greeting when it came to the movies: Noel handed her the bag of popcorn and linked their arms together as they entered the theater and located their usual seats, E-11 and E-12, right in the middle of the cinema.
It occurred to Marine that she didn’t even know what movie they were seeing. Oh well. She’d just doze off if she ever felt sleepy.
It turned out to be a romance flick from Hong Kong about strange, heartbroken people seeking genuine human connection, ruminating on questions of love, loss, and memory under the neon-lit streets and worn-out machines of the city.
Or that was what Noel told her afterwards, anyway. Marine fell asleep on her friend’s shoulder halfway through the thing. But she did watch the ending, though. The snack bar worker-turned-flight attendant came back to her hometown, and caught a glimpse of a love that could have been – and could still be.
Neither of them wanted to head home just yet, and so they wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood, past familiar houses and places, Noel making small talk about college life and Marine humming to show that she listened.
The town carried a dreamlike-quality that evening, along with feeling strangely vacuous. Orange and white lights hued concrete streets, and neither the diesel-fueled roar of engines nor the voice of any passers-by occupied their ears. In fact, aside from their chatter and the chirp of autumn crickets, quiet filled their surroundings.
They stopped at a stone bridge overlooking the river that flowed from one end of town to the other. Light posts illuminated the spot fairly well, and Marine saw the leaves that bore the unfortunate demise of falling to the water, eventually washing away down the sewage system. Very mise-en-scène. Probably why a shit ton of her batch’s film projects cribbed shots from the place.
“Remember, we’re all having dinner together tomorrow.” Noel leaned on the stone structure, resting her head on her hand.
“Yeah, yeah I know.”
Marine lifted herself up on the railing and sat down. Her legs, now dangling freely in the air, swung back and forth at irregular motions. How long had it been? All five of them hadn’t gone out together since… well, since she and Rushia parted ways.
“Do you remember what you told me, the day before I confessed to Flare?”
“Hm?” Marine turned her head. She still saw Noel’s serious expression despite it being half-framed under the lights.
“You told me: if there’s any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something,” Noel said, “it’s almost impossible to succeed, but the answer must be in the attempt.”
Marine’s legs stopped swinging, the memory finally coming back. Her head dropped. “Yeah, I remember. Stole it from a movie.”
“Good. Because you need it more than me now.”
And Marine’s breath quickened when she became certain that they weren’t exactly talking about romantic film quotes or reminiscences of the past; Noel’s ulterior motive with the whole late-night cinema invitation shined as bright as a sunbeam.
She was already here, after all. Maybe rattling on about it will help.
“Last night, she — uh,” Marine started, “we both got drunk and she tried to, start something.”
“I’m pretty sure you draw porn, Maririn, I think you can afford to say sex.”
Her face flushed. “My manga’s not hentai! Why does everyone think that?”
“Relax, I’m joking.” Noel snorted.
The redhead exhaled shakily, trying to collect all the fragmented bits and pieces in her mind. Seeing the girls, seeing Rushia, the almost kiss, how she looked under the light of the night sky, their talk, her confession...
“She said I love you, Noe. To my face. Sure, she was wrecked as all hell, but still.”
“Huh.” Noel clicked her tongue. “Have you talked to her about it?”
Marine shook her head, unsure. “No. I don’t know it’s—”
“It’s what?”
“We went through all of that, just to become strangers again. I mean, what if it happens another time?”
Noel clasped her fingers together and repeated, “The answer is in the attempt.”
“Ugh. I hate you.”
Marine got off the railing, annoyed that Noel tricked her into self-reflection once more. They linked their arms together as they wandered, but neither of them spoke a word. Noel offered quiet support instead, as Marine muddled through the percolating notions in her head.
Noon broke on the next day, and Marine decided to take a stroll alone and eat her lunch at the small, local park (after much nagging from Pekora to go outside and get some sunlight). Her one hand brought a wrapped sandwich along with an extra slice of bread to feed some of the birds. She hadn’t even seen the park with her own two eyes since she arrived, a shame since it looked particularly beautiful during the fall season.
It still held the same guise, for the most part. Marine noted the disappearance of a few trees to make room for a medium-sized slide and a swing set, as well as the renovated metal fences that no longer had a speck of rust.
And there, on a newly-built green bench close to the center fountain, sat a four-eyed girl reading a thick, heavy book. Seemingly the sole person who was there.
Marine’s breath hitched. She heard Noel’s voice echo in her ears.
The answer is in the attempt.
She swallowed and moved forward, margin by margin, trying to stop her legs from shaking. Marine approached the bench and cautiously sat down next to Rushia. This alerted the nearby pigeons, many of which flew to another spot in the park.
The birds’ panicked coo drew Rushia out of her book, then she swiftly turned to her side. Rushia only blinked, blushing and adjusting her glasses in the following moments. She then enveloped her face into the big tome again, as if to hide.
Marine snickered. Cute as ever.
“Whatcha reading?”
“B-book,” Rushia blurted out.
Marine raised an eyebrow. “Okay. What kind of book?”
“Fantasy. N-necromancers. And stuff.”
“That’s, erm, interesting.” Marine barely managed to formulate a response, after which the conversation fell silent. It hadn’t been this awkward since they first met.
The pigeon’s coos were all they heard. That, and Marine’s obnoxiously loud unwrapping of her lunch. She didn’t know how or why the Usadas had such big and burly plastic (or even why the wrapping was so complex), but the unpleasant crinkle violated both of their ears for a solid half-minute.
Rushia closed the book and placed it on her lap. “Oh, I can’t do this,” she bemoaned.
“Can’t do what?”
“You know what I mean!”
Marine chewed on her sandwich, now free from its plastic cage. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Uruha Rushia.”
“Shut it.” She crossed her arms and took a deep breath, peeling on eye open to peek at the redhead. “Just… let’s not talk about that night, okay? Don’t even think about it.”
“Fine. My lips are sealed.” It’s probably for the best, anyway.
Seconds of stillness passed wherein Marine ate her sandwich and Rushia read her book, the latter occasionally stealing glances and darting her eyes back and forth.
Rushia peered. “You’re thinking about it.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes you are.”
“What, are you a mind reader now?”
“You’re quiet. You usually talk so much it’s tiring.”
Marine grumbled, “At least I don’t ask my exes for sex when I’m drunk.”
“Agh!” Rushia’s face fell into her hands. “Just change the topic, please?”
She snatched the book from her lap, flipping over its contents. It must have equaled to at least a thousand pages in length. “Shouldn’t you be studying some medical textbook?”
Rushia grabbed the book back. “It’s called a semestral break for a reason,” she huffed, “besides, I don’t have to explain myself to little miss dropout.”
“Wow, you are never letting that go.”
“’Till the grave, baby.”
The past crept on the back of their minds, never leaving or letting go. And so the conversation pivoted that way. They took turns explaining the differences they noticed in the park’s layout and the surrounding area, as well as the things that stayed the same. Like the snacks and milk tea shop just a stone’s throw away, or the mysterious red bicycle still parked at one of the racks ever since Rushia moved to town.
Rushia shook her finger. “Ah, but you’re forgetting about the most important difference here.”
“Which is?”
Rushia pointed to a shabby, white house across the street. The paint on its walls chipped significantly, and the unkempt grass and weeds started to spread over to the sidewalk. It took a while, but Marine eventually grasped it. It was the home of their old Philosophy teacher.
“That’s… Mister Maraviles’ place,” Marine said, looking again to make sure she was certain.
“It’s empty now.”
“What?”
Rushia nodded. “He left about a year ago. Got offered to teach at some university.”
“Huh.” Marine leaned back on the bench. “You know; the project we did together was the only time he gave me a perfect mark.”
“He did have really high standards, didn’t he?” Rushia beamed playfully. She sighed afterwards. “I kinda miss him, though.”
“God, you are a masochist.”
Rushia rolled her eyes. “It’s not that! I don’t know, maybe it’s just the nostalgia.” She bowed, observing her fidgeting fingers. “I guess you never really appreciate something that much until it’s gone, you know?”
Marine’s heart skipped a beat. She turned, and saw the presence of small crimson in the other girl’s cheeks. Still so sensitive. Some of it had definitely worn-off of her.
She gave a weak smile. “Maybe it’s just the nostalgia.”
“You guys visit here pretty often, huh?”
Somehow, they winded up on the sidewalk, going wherever their feet led. Rushia ambled delicate steps, autumn leaves crushing beneath her soles, and Marine followed, hands nestled in the pockets of her jacket.
“Around two or three times a month, I think.” Rushia answered.
Marine grimaced. All the times she mentioned that she was ‘busy’ to anyone who asked… she knew full-well it was just an excuse to not come back to the town for the inanest of reasons – a goddamn breakup. She regretted it. And she also felt cheated on, as weird as it sounded; everyone else got to graduate here and grow with the place, so why didn’t she? Why didn’t her stupid brain just let her visit at least once?
Marine’s shoulders slouched. “I haven’t even breathed the air here in years.”
“Don’t blame yourself. It’s sort of an obligation for us.” Rushia gestured with her head. “Your family moved.”
The redhead chuckled, watching her steps on the ground. “Ah. Our first big argument, remember that? Your eyes were like vitriol.”
“Can you blame me? You kept it a secret for a month.”
“I get it, I get it. The whole thing was my fault.”
“Of the many.”
Marine fell silent. Part of her wondered if everything would’ve worked out if she hadn’t moved. It was a useless notion to entertain, but she did every now and then.
Rushia steadied her walking, and Marine followed.
The front of Rushia’s house stared at them as they turned a corner. Its quaint, charming nature was exactly how Marine remembered it, walls painted a soft green and a small flower garden outside one of the windows. The trees on its side produced an orange-yellow glow that made it look like they treaded on holy ground as they moved towards the front door. There was an implicit agreement, apparently, that both of them were to step inside.
Marine, not saying a word, curiously glanced at Rushia as she fiddled with the lock. Did she lead her here? No. Couldn’t be.
A familiar couch and living room greeted her senses first, as did the renovated kitchen and dining table that stood at the opposite end of the house. And on the left side, as expected, were the stairs that led to the bedrooms.
Marine sat on the couch and took in its glorious comfort all over again. “Where’s your family?” she asked.
“On a trip, somewhere, it’s their anniversary. I think my brother’s at the mall.” Rushia made her way to the kitchen area. She put on the faucet, presumably to wash the pile of dirty dishes and utensils. “You wanna eat?”
“I’d advise saving our appetite for the whole-ass buffet Noe’s gonna order later.”
“How very wise of you.”
Marine smirked. “I have my moments of genius.”
Rushia rolled up her sleeves and initiated scrubbing plates one by one, gently applying soap. Her hands had such a tiny frame – slender, yet handsome. And Marine wanted to touch them again, feel their softness again.
She didn’t know if that was the reason for her standing up and drawing closer and closer to the kitchen, or if it was the work of sheer divine providence, but it definitely felt as if Marine’s body charted a course of its own.
Marine, legs fragile in motion, neared Rushia, and touched the latter’s hand from behind as she turned the faucet off. Rushia spun around in surprise. Her sight locked with Marine’s. She touched Rushia’s hand again, this time nestling it firmly on the kitchen counter.
Their breaths became heavy. As did the thump of their hearts.
“What are you doing?” Rushia whispered, tone wispy as the crackle on ice.
Marine placed her other hand on Rushia’s thigh. She slid it upwards, until it reached the cheek, tucking a loose strand of green hair behind the ear.
Marine inched her face closer. And she could see Rushia’s agape mouth, tongue sticking the tiniest distance out from her lips.
“Did you mean what you said that night?”
Rushia’s eyes studied Marine, both of their lips meeting no partner for an excruciating moment.
Until finally, she said, “Every word.”
And they kissed. Tenderly – their mouths fitting like lost puzzle pieces, finally together again.
Marine maneuvered her hand onto the back of Rushia’s head, pulling her close and deep. It transformed the kiss into something more kinetic, more urgent, more intense. She propped Rushia’s small frame up on the kitchen counter. Their tongues vied for dominance, snapping at each other like the sizzles of a fire. Quick, electric, and delicious.
And oh God did Marine need this. They needed it.
Rushia pulled away, catching her breath. “Um, bedroom?”
Marine only blinked back. She glanced at their surroundings. Pots, pans, plates – all things they could break if they resumed here. The last thing she wanted was Rushia’s mother getting furious at her again.
“Bedroom.”
Their bodies were tangled with one another, under the sheets of Rushia’s bed, when evening rolled in.
Marine heard the soft snores of the small, precious girl she cuddled from behind. Her arm snaked around Rushia’s waist, and she lifted her head a little to steal a complete glimpse of the sleeping beauty. She was more lovely than any portrait anyone could’ve hoped to paint in their lifetime. But really, what else was new? Marine smiled and snuck a kiss on her cheek.
Rushia fluttered for a bit, smacking her lips, but she didn’t wake up.
It was only when Noel texted them (angrily) about an hour later that they both got up, dressed themselves, and hurried to the all-you-can-eat restaurant – giggling their asses off while doing so.
“I can’t eat anymore, peko.”
Pekora’s face collapsed onto the steel, silver table. Her voice was a bellow of disgust, mixing with the hisses and crackles of the charcoal grill situated at the table’s dead center, still cooking multitudes of pork and beef strips. Rushia, who sat next to her, gave off a worrisome appearance and refilled her glass with water. She offered it to her. Pekora immediately took it and gulped the entire glass down in one fell swoop.
Marine laughed. Pekora always gave up after the second round of samgyeopsal servings.
“What are you talking aboutsh?!” Noel said, mouth-full of freshly cooked beef. “We have to take advantashe of the shituashion!”
Flare sighed. “Babe, please chew your food first.”
Noel grabbed her glass of water and poured down what she chewed. She ahhhed in delight, then sustained her tirade. “What I’m saying, Pekochi, is that you can’t just give up after the second round. That’s treason! We have to get our money’s worth here.”
“This shit is cheaper than a movie ticket plus a bucket of popcorn.” Pekora sloped her posture, now starting to whisper. “And all the people here have hated us since high school for some reason. Look.” She showed the small bowl of cheese that their waiter had given them at the start of the meal. “They gave us a solid block of cheese! How the hell is this supposed to be a dip?”
“I guess we should’ve put that on the grill to melt, huh?” Marine said.
“Oh, so now you think of it, peko?”
Rushia used the tongs to place the small bowl on an unoccupied spot on the grill. It begun melting straight away. “C’mon Pekochi. One more round, you can do it. Let’s help Noe devour everything.”
Noel had just finished her second rice bowl. She raised her hand, finding a waiter, and exclaimed, “One more bowl of rice please!”
And between the spaces and corners of the eight to ten other packed tables at the buffet, Marine swore she spotted a staff member rolling their eyes (or at the very least, bearing the appearance of mountainous disappointment) at Noel’s request. That must be why…
Marine leaned in and spoke in a low voice, “Guys, I think they hate us because Noel’s appetite endangers their supplies.”
“Yeah. That makes sense,” Flare agreed.
Noel crossed her arms and pouted. “Hey!”
Flare mouthed a ‘sorry’ and stuffed a piece of cheese-dipped beef into Noel’s mouth with her chopsticks. Noel’s foul mood dissipated in an instant, and she chewed and hummed happily after that.
Pekora pressed her lips together. “Jesus, save some romance for Saturday, love birds.”
“You’re just jealous you don’t have a date to the reunion party,” Flare said.
“It’s not prom, peko! We don’t need dates.”
“Why don’t you, me, and Marine just go together, Pekora?” Rushia offered.
And as soon as she stopped speaking, silence swamped the table.
Marine’s closed her eyes, and rubbed the back of her neck. Of course she didn’t tell her. Fucking idiot.
The green-haired girl glanced at each one of her friends, all of whom averted her gaze. She frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”
Flare answered, “No, of course not. It’s just, um…”
Rushia shrugged, brows furrowed. “What is it then?”
Marine didn’t like hurting Rushia. She loathed it. All those times she did had burned into the back of her brain, never to be forgotten, eternal reminders of her failures. And Marine was just exhausted, at this point. Because when it wasn’t one reason, it was the other, or the other, or some bullshit like buses needing to be repaired for a whole week.
And maybe that was just it, right? Maybe no matter how hard they tried, it would just never work. Marine knew it as a coward’s comfort, surrendering her fate to the whims of the universe. But she didn’t want to wrap her head around anything else. This rollercoaster of a week had led her right back to the bottom.
“R-Rushia,” Marine started, words flimsy. “I… I’m leaving.”
Rushia inclined on her chair, an indiscernible expression on her face. “Leaving?”
“On Saturday. I’m taking the last bus. I need to get back.”
Noel awkwardly resumed cooking the pieces of meat on the grill. She turned them over with the tongs. Burned. All of them.
Rushia remained motionless, until she shook her head and simply scoffed. “Of course you’re leaving. I should’ve known better.”
Marine squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s what you do. You leave.”
“Let me get this straight, you’re blaming me for the buses being out-of-commission?”
“No, but you knew earlier, right? You must’ve.” Rushia’s jaw clenched, her tone soaked in pure venom. “You came onto me. You fucked me.”
The sound that emanated from the charcoal grill grew into something more violent. Its crackles were guttural and grating, partly due to the fact that Noel had been unconsciously pressing down on the meat the whole exchange. Noel turned the pieces of meat over. Burned, again. All of them. Hell, even the cheese launched into forming a brownish-burn.
“Did you just want to hook up with me? Was that it?”
Marine’s fist trembled as she pointed to Rushia. “You and I both know that’s not true.”
“Then prove to me it isn’t.” Rushia stretched her arm across the table, her hand landing on Marine’s and gripping it tightly. “Prove to me that isn’t the case.”
Rushia stared at her with sincerity, with honesty, with trust. All the things she didn’t deserve. And yet here they were, being offered to her on a silver platter. She just had to do the same.
She just had to do the same…
But the wild swell of pain in her ribs was far too greater – stabbing, gnawing, and pounding at everything it could.
It was all too much. Marine needed to leave.
And so she did. Without so much as a second thought, she exited the restaurant abruptly like a leaf stuck in the wind, going some unknown, immeasurable distance.
It was a little later, and Marine got caught in the rain.
Or, more accurately, she would’ve been caught in the rain if she hadn’t found a makeshift roof. She stood, inclining against the wall, in an alley between two restaurants. Above her head was a slab of excess concrete, jutting out of the wall and blocking the rain from pouring down on her. It created a small, tight space free from the wet, one that could at most fit two people.
Darkness covered the alley; a single white light hung from the building across from her. It illuminated the dumpster below it, stocked to the brim with drenched garbage and trash bags. (Marine empathized greatly with her fellow kin).
And she just stood there, the downpour deafening on her ears. Marine couldn’t even hear any of the cars passing by.
Until, a figure emerged in the corner of her eye.
Rushia appeared, umbrella in-hand, eyes a mix of vexation and sorrow. Water splashed on her shoes when she walked forward. Marine, darting her look away, somberly scooted over, and Rushia placed herself within the rain-free area covered by the concrete slab. She was close to her, now – Marine saw the slight wet in her clothes and hair. They stood there in that alley, drowned by the plummet of rain at their sides, elbows barely grazing each other.
Rushia closed her umbrella and placed it on her side as she wiped the droplets of wet that had covered her glasses.
“You still mad?” Marine asked.
“No,” Rushia answered, face downcast. “It’s exhausting, staying mad at you.”
The redhead’s lips quivered as the light across from them started to flicker before regaining stability again. The back of her head hit the wall, and Marine let out a deep sigh. She wanted to apologize, or comfort her in any way, but she didn’t know how. How do you word years-worth of regret? You can’t.
Rushia exhaled as her breath pulsated. “You are so full of shit.”
“Aren’t doctors supposed to not state the immediately obvious?”
And the small girl released a shaky laugh, sniffing her nose, probably trying to understand how the fuck someone could try to be funny under these circumstances. But Marine only gave a troubled expression at her own joke.
Rushia reached out to tangle her fingers with Marine’s.
She met her surprised face, gaze intense. “Will you stay this time? I need an answer,” she said as her voice trembled.
Marine found herself unable to look away, her mouth-dry and utterly entrenched in those damn red eyes. But she couldn’t say yes. She could never say yes. She didn’t want to make another promise she couldn’t keep.
She detached her hand from the other girl’s grasp, then led her eyes away. “I told you. I’m leaving.”
Rushia stiffened for the briefest of seconds, before simply whispering, “Okay.”
She wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t shocked. How could she be after experiencing so many situations just like this one?
Rushia stood on her toes, and kissed Marine on the cheek.
Opening her umbrella, she left after that.
And as she stood alone, Marine remembered that time at the bus stop – two ghost stranded in the rain. Except this time, there was only one.
“One more,” Marine said, neck drooping downwards. “One more bottle.”
The bartender exhibited a cautious bearing. He discerned the obviously drunk girl before him while he cleaned the counter, before putting down his towel and serving her fourth bottle. Its stench was welcoming Marine with open arms. She took a big gulp – the bitterness was hellish, but she needed to feel something, anything.
The bar was empty, for the most part. A handful of people were scattered back and forth, two sat on the crummy, far-end stools and around three inhabited the worn-down booths, all minding their own business. Just how Marine preferred it. Some old Hong Kong song had been playing from the jukebox for over an hour; she was pretty sure the thing was damaged beyond repair. Wasn’t the sole thing broken here, without a doubt.
It helped her forget how her manga had been cancelled earlier this morning. The publisher said they’d give her another chance, sure, but it’d only be a matter of time before she’d screw that up. A Marine specialty, as it were.
And thus, here she was. In a bar, alone, with her friends 300 miles away…
“I’ll fucking drink to that,” she mumbled to no one in particular. Her hand raised the bottle of cheap beer enthusiastically, then her mouth guzzled a good chunk down.
No one in the bar paid her any attention. They were just as broken as her, in all likelihood, spending Saturday night in the least popular (and cheapest) joint in the city.
Her phone beeped with a message notification. Marine groggily peered at the screen as she stumbled to hold the device upright.
Ruu-ruu: if you cant bother to come to the graduation at least come to the dinner.
Marine blanched, and she sobered for a little moment. That was, what, the fifth message from Rushia today? It was enough for her whole body to tear with great pain. Her forehead dropped to the counter as her hands covered the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly.
And she just couldn’t take it any longer. Her will had been all but spent. She didn’t want to hurt Rushia anymore, she didn’t want to cause her any more pain than she already had. Because whatever the fuck she was offering sure as hell wasn’t worth it.
Marine wanted to run away.
So she texted back ‘we shouldn’t see each other anymore’ or something along those lines. Whatever, as long as the point came across, right?
“One more bottle, please.”
And damn Dorothea, they all wanna be ya
But are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers?
The whole of Friday morning and afternoon saw Marine eating a bucket of vanilla ice cream (fifty percent off in the convenience store) on the Usadas’ couch, her body seemingly rooted to the cushions, while she watched crappy Lifetime movies that would play on the television. A sort of Russian Roulette for those under the extreme duress of heartache. She didn’t even want to draw or work, not with her head this up in clouded territory.
Her brain spiraled into nothingness, an endless circle replaying the same scenes over and over and over.
Pekora walked up behind her. She placed her hands on her hips. “Oi, Maririn. How long are you gonna sit on your ass?”
Marine held a finger up to her mouth, sight still nested on the television screen. “Shhh.”
“Did you just shush me, peko?!”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Marine said, eating a scoop of ice cream.
“The audacity of this bitch, I swear.” Pekora glared. “Well, good thing I brought help.”
Marine turned to see Flare and Noel enter the living room. Flare gave a gawky smile, while Noel awkwardly waved her hand and rubbed the back of her neck. Their faces were seared with total shock last night when she hastily left the restaurant.
“What is this? An intervention?” Marine asked, guarded.
“No.” Noel placed her hand on Marine’s head, ruffling her red hair. “We’re not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“We’re just going to be here for your messy ass, whatever you decide on doing,” Pekora said in a strange tone that was a mix of disgust and care. She muttered, “There’s always drama between you and Rushia, I swear.”
Marine sighed as Noel hugged her neck from behind. They were already here, anyway, what else was she supposed to do? She gripped on Noel’s elbows, relaxing into a half-smile, and took in the comfort.
The day drew to a close, and Noel and Pekora prepared dinner with the Usadas. Meanwhile, upstairs in the room, Flare helped Marine pack.
Each piece of clothing they sorted through brought memories of the past week, vignettes of the events that had transpired. And Marine realized just how much had happened over the last few days. It was crazy to think about, heartfelt experiences that she was now tucking away in her luggage bag, becoming memories she’d dare not think about again after last night.
“I could just drive you back, you know,” Flare suggested.
The redhead rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point, Fuu.”
“So you admit it? You are running away?”
Marine paused, but didn’t answer. Flare looked at her, eyes tight and worried.
The blonde temporarily put down the piece of clothing she folded, then dragged Marine to sit with her on the bed. Flare put her hands on Marine’s and gave her a sincere look. The latter responded with a tilted head and a confused eyebrow.
“Marine.” Flare squeezed her hands. “What do you need?”
“I need to get on the bus tomorrow to meet with my edito—”
“No. That’s what you want to do. And besides, video calls and meetings exist, right?” Flare searched her face. “What do you need, Maririn?”
The redhead blinked, trying to formulate a reply. She inhaled, gulped, and strongly frowned. Nothing.
“I-I don’t know.”
“I think you know exactly what you need. You’re just scared of it,” Flare said.
“But—”
She stroked Marine’s cheek. “You are not the same girl I drove up to on that rainy night two years ago. Forgive yourself, and love again.”
Marine’s eyes widened, and they began to water. “I…” Her nose snuffled. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Marine shook her head back and forth in little, repeated motions – her breathing unsteady as a jagged path. Then, she broke. Water streamed down her cheeks, and she fell into the warmth of Flare’s chest. She wept quietly, sobs that were not so much a gushing fountain of emotion but a gentle stream of release.
Flare clutched Marine, stroking her hair. “We’ll be here when you do,” she murmured into her ear.
“You and Noel make it look so easy,” Marine said in between tears.
Flare only chuckled and continued to embrace her friend.
The four of them ate dinner together, a little later, and Marine knew that they shared a certain love that would never leave them. (No matter how much Pekora tried.)
But it’s never too late to come back to my side
The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo
The cars rushed past Marine like a flicker of wind, never to be felt again. She sat alone on the bus stop outside of town, the morning sun glimmering down on her. It lent the trees a golden shine to them, but Marine’s mind could not be farther from the image.
Marine watched as the bus pulled in from the road, crushing leaves that had fallen onto the pavement. The vehicle grinded to a halt right in front of her, then the driver opened the doors. The seats were empty; not a single person planned to ride. Just her, apparently.
And then, that silly little thing slithered inside her: doubt.
She paid it no heed, at first, instead grabbing her luggage and standing up from the seat. But it clawed and clawed as she neared the bus, until it took over her face, and she produced a frown. Why was it so difficult to take one damn step inside? The voices of her friends echoed in her ears.
The answer is in the attempt.
Forgive yourself, and love again.
…
The audacity of this bitch, I swear.
…
Okay, maybe the last one wasn’t nearly as helpful.
“Hey!” the bus driver yelled, alerting Marine. They gestured towards the seats. “Are you gonna get on or what?”
God, she was an idiot. A complete, fucking idiot.
But she was nothing if not stubborn, right?
Marine grinned wildly. “No. I won’t.”
She dashed back into town with her luggage, cackling as the bus drove past her to its next juncture, the wind refreshingly blowing past her body. And as she ran towards the town covered in fall, it glowed beautifully, in her eyes, for the first time in years.
Marine brought out her cellphone and called Pekora. Maybe there was still time to get a dress.
And if you’re ever tired of being known for who you know
You know, you’ll always know me
Rushia didn’t know what to think.
Purple and blue lights covered the school gymnasium in shades and gradients. Celebratory banners had been erected on the walls, welcoming back their batch and the like, along with a stage and multiple tables of food. The air conditioners were at full blast – but despite the chilly air, people danced, people laughed, and people smiled.
Except her, evidently. Rushia stood by herself at the punch table. She couldn’t find Pekora, Noel, or Flare anywhere, and she had been texting them to no avail ever since she arrived at the school. Probably just running late. Regardless, she’d have to entertain herself in the meantime.
Might as well review her textbook. She scowled to herself. Marine was right, she was a nerd.
Rushia closed her eyes, concentrated, and went about reciting important terms from memory rather loudly. “… the pituitary is for releasing hormones. And the hypothalamus is for—”
“Falling in love, right?”
Rushia spun around, adjusting her glasses afterwards due to her sudden burst of motion. And there, right in front of her – Marine. She wore a dark red dress with black frills along the edges, and she smirked mischievously.
Her body stilled. “M-Marine, why are you—”
Marine simply extended her hand. “Dance?” she asked, pointing her head towards the open space.
Rushia focused her gaze on the hand, blinking and discerning its intent. But her brain had different plans. Her body moved subconsciously, almost, as her hand took Marine’s and she was immediately swept away to the dance floor.
They danced, as best they could. Any sort of physical performance was never their specialty. But through every misstep, through every unwieldy sway, through every badly-timed move – Marine continued to try, laughing and smiling while doing so. It made Rushia up her game as well.
They were bound to make mistakes in the far future, bound to suck at dancing for all eternity. But perhaps, as long as they combined efforts, as long as they held each other just like this, they would be able to manage – no, flourish.
The room was like warm velvet around them. The lights, burning diamonds of color, turned the floor beneath their feet into an endless night sky.
And then, Rushia got it.
Their dance slowed. She leaned her head on Marine’s chest, feeling her every inhale and exhale, swaying with her as one.
“Baby, you’re gonna miss that bus,”
“I know,” Marine said. “I love you.”
And Rushia wished to wake up to those words every morning, and sleep in the comfort of them every evening, as the roads of her days went on and on. This time, she was doubly positive.
Hey, Dorothea, do you ever stop and think about me?
When we were younger down in the park
Honey, making a lark of the misery