Work Text:
44: I Covet You
He is a falsely named shopkeeper who can travel dreams and grant wishes. He has a youthful appearance but his manner of conversation often betrays the depth of his experiences, which are marred by heartbreak and the most brutal of regrets. His false last name is written as April First which also happens to be his date of birth; one that he shares with two other people whom he has forgotten so deeply that his heart could not even sense the loss. His false first name is a promise that is unfulfilled, a vow that cannot be kept, a mere wisp of smoke that I often imagine has the same sound akin to that of the sea lapping the shoreline during a lonely sunset.
I love this man, named in error and broken vows as he is, and for everything he should have been and could never be again. I love this man who is all open sores on one hand and faded scars on the other. I love him for all the reasons I can never know and for the reasons that are mine alone. Does he love me too, that I don't dare to wonder. The only thing that matters to me is the memory of his arms as he held me once in an embrace that engulfed every portion of my withering ten-year-old body. He held me together like his arms were made of red strings, and he tightened these threads around me so my organs and other glands don't spill or spoil in their cage.
I remember thinking, "So this is love." It threatens to suffocate the lungs but frees the heart enclosed; it burns the skin but caresses the wounds in the aftermath. I remember thinking, "So I'm a human being". Not a plaything to be toyed and pupeteered with, not a performer on stage who memorized all the lines and must capture applause. I'm a human being and this is love, I told myself, as I wound my own arms around this beautiful man and listened to the way his breathing matched my own as if he's sharing an intimate melody only I alone can sing to.
It was different with the other man, though, the other one who reached out his hand for me to take and has been doing so ever since until I noticed my fingers have grown long enough to entangle them on his. This other man has strength to him, a determined will which cannot be shaken or struck down. As he kept my hand on his palm and squeezed it, I feel my chest expanding and my cheeks flush. This simple gesture was a reassurance for the future, and though it lacked the consuming passion I must have longed for, everything about him is nonetheless an offering for protection and companionship. I accepted this other man without second thoughts.
His warmth, though lukewarm at times, was always familiar and real.
But not nearly as real as the bruises in my heart where my beautiful April Fool punched his way in. He kissed me once where my hairline meets. We were alone in the empty kitchen and I quickly abandoned the task of chopping vegetables the moment I felt those lips linger on the surface of my scalp. Does he think I'm beautiful, I dare to hold my breath as I wonder. I think he was twirling invisible strings once again, drawing me in. But he pulled away from our contact just as easily and he met my gaze with an expression of bafflement and utter sadness. I remember standing at the tip of my toes afterwards, in hopes of appeasing his guilt, reaching for the chance to graze my lips on his.
I remember thinking, "Even just once is enough."
He felt lifeless upon my mouth with the taste of dead ash from his hours of smoking mingling at the edge of his tongue. But I didn’t care. I chased the chill in his kiss, shivering quietly to myself as the accompanying languorous strokes of tongues somewhat heightened the dance neither of us is leading. For what seemed like ages but might have only lasted for a flicker of heartbeats, he broke contact and looked at me now with a deeper sadness that I have known all my life but tried to forget.
Without a kind word, he left me among the piles of irregularly cut vegetables and the pieces of frozen meat that have yet to thaw inside the basin where I left them afloat in the water. I stood there in the corner of the kitchen and shivered again, my eyes beginning to blur as tears leaked, mindless and without my permission.
The next night the other one ran his fingers on my cheeks and apologized, assigning himself the blame when it was clear whose fault it really was. We began to spend the stretch of days together in various tables around the university, uncaring what people would talk about while they watch us. We must have made an odd pair indeed, with several bento boxes consumed between us in a matter of weeks; most of them I made myself while there's one or two he made for me. It had been months after when we both expectantly found ourselves in each other's arms, sharing a kiss inside the temple where he lives. Naturally, we both thought about our beautiful April Fool, and his name alone was at the tip of our tongues as they tangle together in the hopes that we can wash away the aftertaste of the man we desired so dearly but never had.
It was another week before we stood before him, our hands clasped together as we informed him that our relationship has progressed and we intend for it to end in sacred union. I was going to marry Shizuka and it filled me with joy and a single-minded purpose that he also shared. We didn't have to say aloud that this isn't about farewells, that he is also a part of this convenant, perhaps even the only reason for it to exist. Shizuka and I have decided that with our marriage, we would be making vows to our beautiful April Fool as well. And our vow is simply this:
We vow to do whatever it takes to stay by his side even when we are long dead and gone. The key is for us to have children, and each of our descendants is fated to come to his store, so he or she can serve and protect him as long as he requires it.
This is a promise we intend to keep for our beautiful April Fool who is not as alone as he still likes to believe.