Chapter Text
Yumeko knocks on the stall door, “Mary! Are you done?” She asks, voice low.
“Future girlfriend?” Mary cackles, “Come on, Yumeko! Remember, who controls the past, controls the future. Who controls the present, controls the past.—”
“Mary! She might hear—”
“Time check, you’re none of the above!” Mary says, laughing, “just get back there, that’s why I excused myself.”
“Shut up!”
“Future my ass! Settle it already!”
“Fuck off — hurry up,”
“Control the present!” Mary yells dramatically, as Yumeko walks back toward the car, jaw clenched, heart pounding, as if that’s the only thing she can control right now – like if she slows down, even for a second, she might actually think about what she just said.
“Mary’s taking too long.” Yumeko says, sliding into the passenger seat.
And for a moment, neither of them moves. They just stare at each other — not long enough to mean anything, but also not short enough to mean nothing. Just enough for Yumeko to feel it again – the quiet, stupid hope that she keeps trying to kill, and somehow, she never does; she couldn’t.
Yumeko clears her throat, forcing a small laugh, “You know what? Just turn the radio on.”
Kira raises her brow, “And what are we gonna listen to? What’s even on at this hour? Dr Love giving advice?” she says, flatly.
“Wait no! I have an idea!” Yumeko perks up, grabbing something from her bag, revealing an iPod.
“Damn, I missed that.” Kira says, smiling, as Yumeko plugs the iPod into the car stereo.
For a moment, Kira simply looks at her — Yumeko’s face, soft; gentle; smiling — there’s something in Kira’s chest that she can’t quite name yet, as she forces her gaze away, because looking any longer would mean something, and Kira doesn’t do that. She doesn’t let things mean anything. She never let things mean anything.
“Come on, ask something, ask something!” Yumeko suddenly says, looking back at Kira with a huge grin on her face, thumb hovering over the iPod wheel.
Kira’s brows furrow, “you go first, I can’t think of any.”
Yumeko grins, shifting in her seat, her legs tucked slightly under.
“Okay…” she says, thinking, “what about we start by saying ‘what does my future hold… in terms of love?”
Kira huffs a small laugh, shaking her head, “that’s so fucking stupid.”
“Exactly! It’s why it works!” Yumeko shoots back quickly, nudging her arm, “come on, indulge me.”
Kira glances at her, longer than necessary, before sighing, “fine. go.”
Yumeko’s posture straightens, as her heart pounded lightly – she is a little too aware of how loud her heart is beating.
Her thumb finally hovers the iPod wheel, as she forces out a laugh that falls short.
“Okay,” she says, softer now, “what does my future look like in terms of love?”
Kira looks out the windshield, as she stiffens. The way her shoulders shift; the way her fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel, not enough to be obvious, but enough for Yumeko to feel it; to notice it; to catch it; to hold it longer than she should.
Yumeko notices, even when Kira thinks she’s being subtle. Of course she does notice. She always does. She has spent seven years, seven long years learning every little thing about Kira – her pauses, her silences, the way she shuts down, and the things she refuses to say.
“Alright, okay it’s spinning,” Yumeko says, as she turns the wheel of the iPod.
What are you waiting for?
Call my number, knock on my door
Yumeko freezes, as the song starts playing, because deep down, beneath all the jokes, all the deflections, the “I’m fine, really”, there’s just that one stupid, stubborn wish: that Kira would just choose her, not accidentally, not jokingly, not “as a friend”, but her. Clearly, intentionally, for once.
Nandito lang ako (I’m just here)
How I wish you’ll let me know
Kung sino sino pang tinatawagan mo, nandito lang naman ako (Who else are you calling, when I’m already here)
The song continues to play, as Yumeko lets out a quiet laugh, like it’s ridiculous; that the song doesn’t mean anything, like she isn’t sitting right next to the exact person the song is about.
Kira doesn’t say anything either. She tries to force herself to believe that this was just a coincidence; that this doesn’t mean anything. She goes still beside Yumeko, as Yumeko exhales slowly, trying to keep herself in place, because how could Kira choose her? Kira doesn’t choose things like this; Kira doesn’t choose feelings.
They are both startled by the sound of the car door opening.
“Um… hey y’all,” Mary awkwardly says, noticing the shift between the two, as she enters the car.
Yumeko straightens slightly, like she’s been caught in something she can’t name. She clears her throat, nudging the iPod to Kira, “Kira! Ask something!”
Kira lets out a short laugh, shaking her head, trying to brush it off like the last song didn’t have an effect on her at all; like nothing ever does.
“Why don’t you ask?” Yumeko asks, tilting her head, slightly teasing, “you’re no fun.”
Mary squints at the both of them, “okay, what the hell is going on?”
“Ugh, Mary, you ask something instead.” Yumeko says, turning slightly toward the backseat, like she needs the attention anywhere but here, whilst Kira lets out a small breath beside her.
Mary watches them closely. She wants to say something, but rolls her eyes instead, as she didn’t want to get in between whatever the fuck is happening with the both of them, or whatever isn’t happening, and that somehow feels worse.
“Fine,” Mary mutters, “will I find a cute girl in Bruce County?”
Yumeko hums lightly, as she spins the iPod wheel, “let’s see,” she says, slightly teasing.
Bakit wala ka pa (Why aren’t you here yet?)
Kasama ka’y parang nag-iisa (Even when I’m with you, I feel alone)
Pangakong nagmamahal (Promised you loved me)
Aalis ka rin pala (But turns out, you’ll leave too)
Mary’s face falls, sinking back into the backseat, “this fucking sucks!”
Yumeko snorts, as her shoulders relax a little — the tension finally has somewhere else to go; somewhere safer; somewhere that isn’t sitting right beside her, pretending that nothing happened.
“The universe must be so tired of you,” Yumeko says lightly, leaning back against her seat, “maybe it’s telling you to be patient.”
“Or to give up,” Kira adds, dryly.
Mary lets out a gasp, “wow, okay, so I’m surrounded by haters,” she says, slumping back dramatically.
“Ugh, Kira, just ask something!” Yumeko groans, turning slightly toward her, “I’ve been asking you for a while now, you take too long to think.”
Kira exhales quietly, shaking her head. It’s like she already knows what she doesn’t want to say, or worse, what she almost said.
“Relax, relax,” she mutters, glancing slightly at Yumeko.
Then – “your heart…” Kira adds, like she wanted it to sound playful, but ultimately fails, because it sounds too real; like she meant it.
Yumeko stills, just slightly, because Kira doesn’t say things like that. Kira would never say something like that, but the way Kira said it made her think that maybe there was a chance – a chance that Kira loves her too; a chance that she’s not the only one who’s been feeling like this for seven fucking years.
“...it’s yours,” Yumeko says, and for a second, she forgets how to breathe.
The words just hang there, and it felt wrong. There’s a thick silence.
It was getting too close to something real.
Mary freezes in the backseat, as Kira’s breath catches – barely though, then Yumeko huffs out a short laugh, as she looks away, shaking her head.
“I’m kidding!” Yumeko adds quickly, “Jesus, you’re so tense.”
And the moment snaps.
Kira exhales, like she didn’t even realise she was holding her breath, as Yumeko keeps her gaze on the window, because if she looks at Kira now, she won’t be able to pretend that didn’t happen.
“Oh shut up,” Kira mutters.
Mary slowly leans back.
“... what the hell was that,” she mumbles to herself, as Kira drives back on the road.
There’s a small pause, though not uncomfortable, but quiet enough to let everything sit, even if no one wants it to.
“Okay, I’ve thought of a question now,” Kira says, eyes focused on the road.
“Finally,” Yumeko mutters.
“Will Yumeko make it to the graduation ceremony this Sunday?”
Yumeko lets out a dry chuckle, “spinning.”
Ewan (Don’t know)
Hindi ko alam kung bakit ka ganyan (I don’t know why you’re like that)
Di mo ba alam ako’y nasasaktan (Don’t you know that I’m hurting?)
Yumeko stills for a second. She knows it’s stupid. It’s just a song, but the lyrics felt too close to her heart, because it isn’t just about graduation anymore. It’s also about something else, or perhaps, someone else. Everything somehow leads back to the same person, no matter how hard she tries to avoid it.
She exhales, shaking it off before it settles.
Kira bursts out laughing, as Yumeko’s face turns into a fake shock.
“See?” Kira says, still laughing.
“Oh shut up!” Yumeko yells, as Ewan by Imago keeps playing in the background, “Don’t jinx it, Kira!”
Mary snorts from the backseat, “yeah, Kira! Don’t ruin her future! She barely has one!”
“Wow,” Yumeko mutters, rolling her eyes, “thanks for the support here. I love how supportive you guys are.”
Kira chuckles, shaking her head. Her laughter is now softening into something much quieter. It’s easier to laugh, than to sit with whatever just happened.
“Hey, you asked,” she says.
“Yeah, and I regret it already,” Yumeko shoots back.
The song continues to echo through the car. No one changes it.
Yumeko looks out the window, her head resting against the glass.
The road stretches out ahead, dark and quiet. Streetlights pass by in slow intervals, casting brief flashes of light inside the car.
Yumeko watches the reflection instead of the road, and for a second, she sees herself — then, Kira.
She looks away, fast.
Yumeko’s chest feels a little tight. Kira’s eyes are focused on the road. She’s calm, like she didn’t just say something that almost meant something. Almost. Because that’s all it ever is with her – almost.
It’s stupid, because Yumeko knows that it meant nothing. Everything emotional to Kira meant nothing, or at least, that’s what Yumeko keeps telling herself, because the alternative hurts more.
It’s just a reflection; it’s just a song; it’s a moment that didn’t mean anything — but that moment meant everything to Yumeko, because it gave her hope — even if the hope was false hope, and she hates that. Hates that she still hopes, even now; until now.
She presses her lips together, as she lets out a small, quiet breath.
Seven years.
Seven years of this — of reading too much into things; of holding onto almosts; of convincing herself that maybe this time, Kira would choose her; that Kira would allow herself to feel; that maybe, she meant something more to Kira; that maybe this time, it wouldn’t just be another almost.
Yumeko closes her eyes for a second, because no. She knows better than that, and she knows that Kira would never choose to be vulnerable. Kira would never choose her.
She never does; never did — so what would change?
Nothing.
It has always been nothing.
And somehow, maybe that’s the part that hurts the most.