Chapter Text
I keep thinking about what she said.
She’s as clueless as me. How “Kaguya” she is.
I thought of calling her Yachiyo’s wrong too; it’s degrading, like that’s all she is, a poser.
She isn’t a poser, but the genuine article isn’t it either…the genuine article is on the moon somewhere.
That’s fucked to think about, really.
Maybe it’s the semantics. Maybe it’s unfair, maybe I’m just an idiot three-dimensional brain trying to perceive four dimensions.
It’s quiet. She was really exited first time on the plane. She had aeroplane ear- I didn’t know I even managed to replicate that, but I told her to yawn to decrease the pressure- she straight up fell asleep. Good on her, it’s only been five of the eleven hours, and we left at midnight. Her head’s lying heavy on my shoulder, I’ve come to loathe it.
Why couldn’t I make it accurate, the weight, everything?
Why is she still fake to me?
I feel my fingers on my lips again. I’d degeneratively dreamt of the day I’d kiss her, and it was always sweet.
Why was it so sour?
Why am I not good enough?
The night’s cool, at least the air conditioning is, it’s starless and cloudy as we clamber over the Pacific.
The shrill notifications from Roka made me delete and block her. I need time away, not time to worry. It feels sinful. Like I’ve stabbed her back again and again.
Maybe sometimes I wish she’d just had a crush on Kaguya. And I could just disappear.
I’m just a weird middle-woman, no?
Again, I try to sleep, head in my hands, lying to the left. Should’ve booked first- economy was all that was left. But then I’d be using Kaguya’s money again. And then I’d be a failure again.
What can I even do?
It’s final approach, it’s early daytime now, and her eyes gaze out the window. She’s in awe. Like she hasn’t seen the sky before. I know she has.
I’m strolling now down the aisles of immigration, and I’m hoping she doesn’t say something stupid. Managed to get her a passport. Somehow, the government bought the “asylum seeker/undocumented immigrant” story. It wasn’t really wrong, just made her look suspicious as heck.
The officer is taking two ganders at her, his eyes ballooning now.
“OH MY GOD- ARE YOU KAGUYA?”
Fuck, right, stardom.
It’s a two-hour autograph session with the staff; apparently, the constant Japanese incomings and outgoings have cemented our status, and I feel lucky I cut my hair unrecognizably beforehand. Like I suddenly gain consciousness after the third blast of the paparazzi camera, and then I can see all around. Not even done with baggage claim, and it’s a wall of fans with merch, hoodies, and then Kaguya’s signing most of them, and I’m jealous. It’s so stupid. They don’t know her. Why is she being so nice? Why am I thinking like this. It’s a doozy of a two-hour session of autographs as we walk to our guide, who Kaguya says she found randomly on the internet (Reddit, no less)
I’m decently surprised it wasn’t a fifty-year-old…no, it was a girl our age, maybe a year or two older. Long-haired, with this stern look, which was assisted by the blackness of her hair. She’s definitely asian, or half-asian with the look of her face…how does Kaguya find these types of people????
“Yo!”
“Hey there.” She’s got this weird grumble of a voice, like someone who’s learnt too many languages to the point their accents are compounding. She takes a judgmental look at both of us. “You must be Kaguya and Iroha.”
“Yes, nice to meet you.”
She’s nodding in reply. She doesn’t even shake my hand. Is this what Westerners are like?? By this moment, she’s already begun the awkward drag of our luggage to her car, her arms are shaking slightly (what the hell did Kaguya even pack?)
“Get in, choose a song, don’t make me kick your ass for your choices.” She coolly throws me her phone as Kaguya pulls me in.
She reminds me of Roka.
Kaguya’s fiercely swiping the phone now, sifting through the playlists and inspecting the taste. The lunchtime sun pans brutally slow, and the soft gaze of the glimmering honks of cars is blessing my ears. The girl’s back in the car with us after a moment. Her black hair flows unevenly on the driver's seat as I can hear her turn the keys.
“So? What’s the verdict, chief?” She speaks perfect Japanese too…Impressive, I guess.
“Oh! This one! This one sounds cool!”
“Out of touch? Fucking really? Ma’am, you don’t look any older than twenty-five- don’t go ageing yourself up with that retro-ass song!”
“W-What!? Is that bad! Please don’t throw me out of this car! Please! NO!”
She cackles this low tone, drinks from this metal flask of sorts and then turns the ignition and floors it.
“Chucking ya out at low speeds’ a waste of my prison time.” She looks away from the road irresponsibly and smiles at us, bewildered in the backseat.
Is this what Roka’s like now?
Is she like this girl? This grungy, rough tomboyish thing that just doesn’t care?
And all of this over me?
Is this it?
It’s dizzying, the street lamps flickering from last night, street corners still trashed and being cleaned by workers, the girl’s quiet in front. For the confidence, she’s got this odd, unsureness of her.
“So, you’re staying here, in LA, for a few days. Then you’re heading to Texas, Florida, then New York, then home. You don’t mind me askin, why Texas?”
“Well…Those guns you talked about!”
I’m bewildered. I turn to look at the Moon princess next to me, and she’s got this massive smile from cheek to cheek, beaming like she didn’t experience the horrors of war.
“Did I seriously fuckin interest you that easy, Miss Kaguya?”
Something about her saying Kaguya’s name with an honorific feels wrong- like she’s not deserving to do that-
“Yeah! I want to shoot stuff!”
Oh my god, Kaguya, I swear we’ve talked about what you saw in war for so many late nights, and now you’re just willy nilly wanting to shoot stuff.
The girl up front is laughing again.
She adjusts the centre rear-view mirror to look at my face better.
“And who’s the tight-lipped friend of yours, Hah?”
“I’m Iroha.” It’s automatic; it feels like I don’t want her to know more.
She squints, looks at me, then seems to read a few things off my forehead.
“Name’s Valerie”
First live specimen I’ve ever seen with one of those Hollywood American names… At least it doesn’t have a K or an O… good, I guess.
It’s raining now, Californian rain’s something I’ve never seen. I’ve never seen American rain either, I guess. Kaguya’s staring out the window, and we’re silent. Unusual too. I think she knows I have a lot we don’t want to talk about. I hate how smart she is for how stupid she acts.
Why am I pissed with her?
It’s the first time in forever.
Why.
“WHA! You have a gun!?”
“Well, what? Am I supposed to smile at robbers and give them my wallet?”
“And, you’re supposed to shoot them?”
Silence now, why did I have to say that?
Why do I have…
Damn it.
Maybe it was always too short.
Maybe we were always too far apart to argue,
Maybe we were just blessed with some stupid long honeymoon phase
But I never thought I’d actually hate her.
I’d never thought that I’d stare into her face and feel disgusted, pissed.
Never thought I’d ever want to not hear her voice.
It’s like what she said.
Did it matter to my mind?
She hugged me, kissed me.
But it doesn’t matter.
But of the things you let go, you'd be surprised what makes its way... back to you.
What if I don’t like what made its way back to me
What if I want what I let go of?
She says sorry, it made my heart creak, but what else?
Why is she still forcing herself to be Kaguya?
Why does it always feel like she is faking Kaguya?
Why can’t she just not be Kaguya?
Why can’t she just.
And then I’m in the room again.
And my lip is quivering, and my voice is hoarse like I’ve just shouted,
And I can see the translucent artificial tearducts well under her degraded artificial skin, as she weeps. And then she runs.
And then I know it’s what I said. So I sink back deeper into the bed. And the sun dies, and this rain pours outside, and the raindrops cascade onto the shadows, and I’m left in this hazy blue hue. My hue. The Hue of Sakayori Iroha, the only sombre blue that she will live and die in. This dull, depressing shit that.
I sound like Roka now.
I try to get off the bed, but I’m tied by the heart monitor and.
I give up.
The line falls flat.
I give up.
Why.
Then I wake up in this Airbnb. And it’s nighttime already in LA. And I don’t remember what we did all day. My throat feels terrible, so I walk into the hall for water. I don’t even remember the layout. But it’s just a house. Halls lead to living rooms, living rooms to kitchens, and kitchens have water. Usually.
And then there she is. Not Kaguya. Her, Valerie. She’s got her hair in a bun, and she’s cooking. And in the dim copper-hued light, she looks pretty, maybe even prettier than Kaguya and me. It’s weird to think that a face like hers is some punk.
Like Roka.
“So.” She sighs, turns off the stove and brings the newly produced bowl of hot food close and starts eating. “The issue? Miss Iroha?”
She reads me better than Kaguya, or at least she talks more than Kaguya.
“W-What?”
“Ma’am, it’s clear, Clear. That you’ve got some issue with poor ol me.”
“...”
“Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.”
Great… Quotes. Because Quotes never hurt anyone.
“You know that one? I hope my Japanese isn’t too poor to translate. George Eliot, Know her?”
I…
She sighs, puts the bowl down and grabs water, sliding it over the counter.
“Me neither, Miss Iroha. I didn’t read any poems, wasn’t real smart as a kid.”
She’s got this tone. Feels like being run over by a truck! I swear… I never knew I had this many buttons for someone to push. And I can’t believe I actually need to be on good behaviour or she’ll-
“The Gun? Or am I a little reminiscent of someone?”
“A…Bit of both.”
“You get robbed easy around these parts, or, most parts to be honest.” And I see her reach into her jeans and pull out a small slot- probably what they call holsters. And a gun inside. She puts it in a safe. “Especially when you’re diving idols around-”
How…Wait, how did she know that? Did Kaguya tell her?
“Would say ‘Don’t worry’, but the fact I figured out myself without much trouble is a concern” She turns to the pan and inspects it over a few more moments, sighs. “You’re some famous chicks, know that chief?”
What is there to do…
What does she want?
Is she jealous, like Roka?
Why?
“Any takers?” She moves the still semi-scalding pan closer, and the hot air hugs my face. Warmer than Kaguya. The dish inside is familiar; Kaguya’s cooked it before. Carbonara. “I’m not a great cook. But you were asleep at dinnertime.”
I forgot dinner. Did she sit with Kaguya?
What?
Is this… what I wanted? Kaguya whisked away? And then.
She’s staring at me now, this squint-eyed, similar to how Kaguya does it. Yet, it feels like a void, like the darks of her irises suck all the life out of what she’s staring at. “Don’t worry, I just brought your…friend here and got take-out.” She’s silent for a bit, she puts the pan down and grabs a bowl. “You’re paying for the takeout, by the way.”
She pours the contents remaining in the pan sloppily into the bowl, garnishing it with some leftover cheese. It’s a bit pungent. Not the Parmesan we have, definitely.
“You gon speak?”
I look up at her. How… audacious of a girl. God, wish I were this brave. Like, what does she even want? What in.
“Is it about your friend?”
Nod.
“What is it, about your friend?”
Silence.
“You can spill, I’m not one to snitch, unless you’re cheating.”
“It’s just.”
She’s silent now.
“I’m getting frustrated with her. She’s getting on my nerves, and I don’t-”
“How long ya been together?”
“Ten…ish years. Long distance for most of that.”
“You call often?”
“Back then, yes. She moved in a while back”
“When’d ya meet?”
“Last year of high school.”
She’s silent now. She’s thinking over the sounds of pouring a yellowish substance from her flask, her hand slides the bowl closer to me over the marble, and the outside sounds are so dull. “What’s the primary feel, hm? What’s wrong with her in your eyes?”
Roka was never.
No, Roka was. This supportive.
Back.
A long time ago.
“She’s…She just isn’t who she used to be?”
“Allofvus grow, n-”
“I’ve heard that. I’ve said that to her. I’ve lied to myself and tried to use that as an excuse, but it just does not work.”
She’s silent, so it’s my cue to look down into the pearly dulcet white of the carbonara; it looks…good. Like the same thing, but different, maybe a bit slightly worse cause of the smell.
“You want chopsticks, or you want to eat it with a fork. Not tryin to be racist here, I prefer any noodle dish with chopsticks regardless of nation.”
“Yeah…chopsticks sound nice.”
She rummages through the Airbnb cupboards and produces two wooden ones, slides them on the table over to me.
“Actually. Time to impart my yee yee ass wisdom, I guess.”
She scoots onto the countertop and leans over.
Is she trying to turn me into an infidel?
“Pasta’s just like your friend, I guess. You definitely seem not to be fond of Pecorino Romano.” She steals a piece of bacon. “It tastes better, no? You look like you’ve eaten it before.”
Nod.
“Where I’m going is, see this, it’s the ‘same’ dish, at least I say it is, yet you don’t believe it, that’s what it looks like. Becuz, you think it’s changed, degraded. It doesn’t smell the same!” She leans back and dumps the pan into the dishwasher. “Then ya bite in. Then you dig a tiny bit deeper under the surface, and it’s ‘oh shit’ it tastes similar, because it’s the same dish, it’s changed, in detail, but not in intent, not in anything that matters.”
She gets up and starts to leave. Then she realises, and I’m halfway done with the meagre portion.
“Miss Iroha. Remember,” She points her finger, with bent arm, directly at my face. “Don blame wine for ageing beautifully, don be so stuck on what is tasted like at first, and fail to appreciate its complexity after a while”
She leaves behind the corner. Then she’s back.
“Put everything in the dishwasher and turn it on afterwards. Cheerio.”
And she’s gone.
Wait…Dishwasher?
Damn it… I don’t have any idea how to use one.
Darn…
