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and you held me, my love, / and then went on dreaming / of perhaps a different kind of death.
— miklós radnóti, with your right hand on my neck
Sayaka's liked Kirari from the first moment she saw her.
Which is to say, she's liked Kirari from the first time she saw Kirari gambling; a gamble between Kirari and the then-current school president: a public match that curated even Sayaka's interest. No one else would have ever dared to make a challenge like that, but here is Kirari, a first year transfer student — only a year older than herself; Sayaka marvels at the thought — so unabashedly confident, cool as can be. The surety with which Kirari carries herself, the sleek, lilting tones of her voice. The way her mouth curves into a knowing smirk, eyes sparkling with wide-eyed eagerness.
She goes all in, without a moment's hesitation. She wins — somehow, impossibly — and it's wonderfully glamorous and a little chilling, the enormity of it all. Kirari's smile is sly, mysterious. You will never understand. But you'll still want to try. Leaning on her elbow, legs crossed, flush with victory, Kirari surveys the crowd of breathless observers. For just a second, her gaze settles on Sayaka.
It's only the tiniest of moments; not even a heartbeat.
But seeing her is like falling; Sayaka's instantly charmed.
(how could she not be?)
;;
Kirari's at her desk in her private office, going over the details for this year's debt settlement game. Between the lingering heat of summer — even with the windows open, the breeze does little good — and the monotonous sounds of Kirari's paper shuffling, it's a hazy, drowsy sort of afternoon.
Sayaka is perched on the couch, studying for the upcoming mid-term exams. She doesn't suppose the President minds allocating Student Council time to studying, so long as it doesn't interfere with Sayaka's job as Secretary. Even though Sayaka's so busy now with Student Council matters, it seems a shame to let her academics slide. Especially after she worked so hard for so long.
But today Sayaka can't concentrate. She's distracted, thinking about Kirari's brilliant, piercing eyes. The gray-blue of them, like marble under water. Cold, but pretty. Every so often she chances a look over in Kirari's direction. Kirari's bangs have grown out just a little too long; no matter how many times Kirari tucks them behind her ear, they always fall back into her eyes.
Sayaka thinks about saying something — anything, but her mouth remains closed; it's suddenly a foreign thing to her; she can't find it in herself to speak. She struggles against herself, against her indecisiveness and shyness, and feels her will slipping.
"You've been watching me all afternoon," Kirari says, suddenly, looking up, and it's only then that Sayaka's realizes she's been staring, the book in her lap completely forgotten about.
"Sorry! Sorry," she says quickly and feels her face grow hot with embarrassment.
"It's fine." Kirari looks back down at her desk, the stack of papers in front of her. She toys with the corner of one of the pages, bending it backwards and over. "I'm sure that anything is more interesting than that book you've been reading."
She looks pointedly at the calculus textbook in Sayaka's lap. And then her eyes move back up, meet Sayaka's gaze squarely.
(those brilliant, brilliant eyes)
It's too much; Sayaka has to look away. But the image is burned in her mind, Kirari's lips twitching up into a small smile, looking at her from across the room, and Sayaka wants so badly to look back, but she knows she can't do that.
Not yet, anyway; she doesn't know what she might do or say. It scares and exhilarates her all at once, this feeling so enormous.
(but sayaka knows she'll look again; later and tomorrow and the day after that)
(and she doesn't know if she'll ever stop)
;;
Now, among the endless sea of lilies, Kirari shines in the pale moonlight. Ethereal. A goddess.
When she smiles at Sayaka, Sayaka feels warm all the way down to her toes. For a moment, they are their younger selves; Kirari laughing, tipping her head to brush their noses together. I think you're fascinating. Sayaka, heat rising up her neck to color her cheeks, her heart a trapped bird in the cage of her chest. The first moment Sayaka realized she was in love.
The palm of Kirari's hand is warm and smooth. Sayaka, kneeling, presses a kiss to Kirari's knuckles. Not in subservience, but in reverence. She straightens, standing up, as Kirari waves to Yumeko, cheerfully asking her to come down.
The game is over. But even then, Kirari doesn't let go of Sayaka's hand.
It makes Sayaka smile all the way home.
;;
"Hey, Sayaka-chan," Yumemi chirps, from her desk two rows away. "I heard you lost your gamble with Yumeko-chan. Sorry about that."
Sayaka wishes she could tell Yumemi that she doesn't mind it at all, the losing. After all, Sayaka's won something much more important than a stupid game. She feels light-headed, still so buoyed-up with joy from the evening before.
"Ah, well," Sayaka says, trying on a resigned tone. She has to force herself to tamp down her feelings, just a little. For decorum's sake, if anything. "Thanks Yumemite-san. Sorry about your gamble, too."
Yumemi waves her hand dismissively, beaming. "I don't mind. In the end worked out for the best, right?"
Her eyes flit over to the front of the classroom. Sayaka follows her gaze to the back of the room where the class representative is talking with the teacher. Sayaka recognizes her as Yumemi's manager. There's a look on Yumemi's face —
"Oh," Sayaka realizes out loud, flushing a little. Then, "Yes. I know exactly what you mean."
;;
Two days later, a lazy Saturday afternoon.
Things have settled back to normal, for the time being. Sayaka welcomes this quiet reprieve, a chance to sort her emotions out. She's still not entirely sure where things stand between her and Kirari, but she knows what has changed and what has not. She is still Kirari's secretary and all that entails. But there's an evenness to them now. A casual intimacy.
In Sayaka's bedroom, the sun streams through the windows, casting a golden hue over everything. A warm fall day. Kirari drapes herself out luxuriously over the pale lavender duvet. Her jacket hung over the back of Sayaka's desk chair, the top buttons of her shirt undone. Skirt drifting up around her thighs. Kirari is so different here than how she is at school. A vulnerability that Sayaka suspects not many people will ever get to see.
And Sayaka is hopelessly, wonderfully in love.
She kisses Kirari's neck, undoing the rest of the buttons on Kirari's shirt, and slipping a hand inside. She likes the way that Kirari's eyes flutter closed when Sayaka touches her like this. It makes Sayaka feel giddy. She is lighter than air. She is a kite, caught in an updraft; Kirari's hand on her hip is the only thing tethering her to the earth.
Later, Sayaka will rest her head on Kirari's chest, warm with satisfaction, the sheets settled around them. Kirari's fingers trace lazy, looping circles between Sayaka's shoulder blades. Sayaka curls a strand of Kirari's hair around her finger absentmindedly.
Sayaka likes Kirari with her hair down, though it's difficult not to see Ririka this way, despite the slight differences between the two of them. Where Ririka's eyes are sharp, Kirari's are playful. She laughs differently. Maybe, Sayaka thinks, sleepily, she is the only one in the world who can tell them apart. She would know Kirari anywhere. The slope of her neck. The slightness of her wrist. The touch of her hand.
Kirari, smiling into a kiss.
It's enough for Sayaka to know that she's never been so happy in her whole life.
;;
"You know," Kirari begins casually, some days later. "I was thinking about Sachiko. You remember her, don't you, Sayaka?"
They're having lunch in the gardens attached to the President's private office. Lately, Ririka's been absent from Kirari's side more often than not. Sayaka is curious, but she knows better than to ask. She doesn't really want to know. Kirari's will may be Sayaka's will, but it often gives Sayaka a headache. Now, though, the three of them are in the sun, seated at an ornate, iron-wrought table.
Sayaka takes a bite of her shrimp tempura, chewing purposefully. She's not sure she likes where this is headed. It's not often that Kirari brings up past Student Council members. Unfortunately, Sayaka remembers Sachiko all too well; her hot-bloodedness, her pointed jeers.
"Yes," Sayaka finally says, swallowing. "Why?"
"No reason in particular." Kirari hums a small, thoughtful sound. She leans on the table, resting her chin on her folded hands. "She would have loved this election."
"No she wouldn't have," Ririka chimes in suddenly, from the other side of Sayaka. Behind the tepid, mechanical sound of her mask's voice modulator, there's a pitch that suggests something between humor and annoyance.
Sayaka bites back a smile.
"Sachiko loved maintaining the status quo. She would have only gone along with this because it offered a chance to unseat you."
"Mm." Kirari shrugs, grinning. She reaches for her drink. "That's true enough. I do miss that about her. She was always so single-minded. I suppose it was admirable, in its own way."
"Sachiko certainly did have her obsessions," Ririka comments. "I can't say I've ever comprehended that sort of thing." She tilts her head, considering something. Her black eyes, slashes of night, turn to stare pointedly at Sayaka. "After all, I still don't understand why that girl was so interested in you."
Her words are a strange knife held to Sayaka's throat. Sayaka has the distinct impression that there's a veiled, secondary conversation going on right now. Sayaka's an only child; she still hasn't grown accustomed to the way Kirari and Ririka communicate at times. The subtle nuances of their dynamic, their layered words. Sometimes they may as well be speaking another language entirely.
Sayaka's cheeks grow hot with uncertainty. There's a sudden lump in her throat. Kirari's eyes catch hers; under the table, her knee bumps against Sayaka's knee in acknowledgement. A reassurance.
"Now, now," Kirari scolds teasingly, chuckling. "Don't be so disagreeable, Ririka."
Sayaka stares down at her lunch. It really shouldn't bother her. But for some reason, an anxious, prickly feeling has settled in her chest.
(she knows things — )
"There's the bell," Kirari says at once, a minute later.
When they kiss goodbye, Kirari's mouth is icy cold.
;;
Yuriko's still recovering from being poisoned, but she's been deemed well enough to return to normal club activities. Sayaka finds her in the Culture Club room one afternoon, teaching one of the members how to play the koto. There's no point in participating in the election any further, Yuriko explains to Sayaka, as they sit sipping tea. Yuriko has no votes left and her club members are reluctant to gamble anyway, after what happened.
"It's probably for the best," Sayaka offers kindly. "No doubt it'll all be over soon, anyway. The President's sure to win, after all."
She smiles, feeling a tiny spark of pride at that. Of course, Kirari might not win, but she always gets what she wants — and isn't that really the same thing, in the end? She's always five steps ahead of anyone else. It's one of the things Sayaka likes most about her.
On her way out the door a little while later, Yuriko stops her in the hallway.
"Igarashi-san," Yuriko says, catching Sayaka's sleeve. "There's something else. That time, when you gambled against Jabami-san. I doubted your abilities."
Sayaka opens her mouth to speak, to brush the anticipated apology aside, but Yuriko continues before she has a chance to.
"I doubted you, but Ikishima-san didn't at all. She told me to believe in you. She said you were the only person who could beat Jabami-san. Though you did lose, in the end," Yuriko adds lightly, with tentative, teasing smile. Then, more solemnly, "At any rate, I just thought you might like to know."
Sayaka blinks. Something flutters inside her. "She said that?"
Yuriko nods. "You know, she always told me that I was too scared to take a risk. She was right. So I'm going to take one now." She pauses then, as if to find the right words. "I think . . . the President is very clever. As you know. But Ikishima-san . . . she knew you. She knew exactly who you were. Maybe she's always . . . "
(oh)
Sayaka's mouth is dry.
Another pause. This one longer than the last. Yuriko's mouth is a thin, hesitant smile. "Do you understand?"
;;
(well, hasn't sayaka always known?)
;;
"Who was it?" Sayaka asks.
Midari's gaze is fixed on her phone. "Hm?"
It's been a week since Sayaka's conversation with Yuriko. Sayaka's still not sure what to say or how to say it. She'd come to the Student Council boardroom to try and get some work done — everything is hectic now with the election in full swing, but unfortunately it doesn't exempt Sayaka from her normal secretarial duties.
And, of course, because this was always the way of things: Sayaka opened the door to find Midari, slouching in her usual chair and reading something on her phone. It fills Sayaka with small sense of relief to know that she isn't the only one tired of the election's chaos and longing for some return to normalcy. Sayaka is happy to tolerate the current situation for Kirari's sake, but it's begun to wear on her.
Sayaka skirts the table, coming to sit beside Midari, who still doesn't turn, but does set her phone aside. "You mentioned something to me once before, about a girl in middle school. Who was she?"
Now Midari turns. She meets Sayaka's gaze and holds it for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "But, you already know, don't you?" Midari's voice is honeyed. She smiles. It's that same soft smile Sayaka has seen once before. Almost melancholic. "You don't need me to tell you."
But Sayaka needs to hear the words.
She reaches for Midari's hand. Midari stiffens, just for a moment, before allowing Sayaka to lace their fingers together. Sayaka isn't sure of how long they sit like that, just holding hands. What a strange juxtaposition to that day they had spent together, in Kirari's absence. How desperate Sayaka had felt.
It had felt like being trapped then, as if she was stuck in quicksand and slowly being sucked under. As if she was drowning. That brief afternoon with Midari had felt like being able to breathe again, breaking through to the surface. Midari understood that. Midari understood everything. She knew the sharp pain of rejection. The terrible yearning for something perpetually out of reach.
(here is yuriko's voice in sayaka's head: she knew exactly who you were)
(hadn't sayaka known midari then, too, even if just for a short while?)
How vividly the memory of that afternoon returns to Sayaka's mind. The dove-gray of the sky and the smell of rain and Midari's hurried, breathless kisses. Their little gasps and sighs so loud in the quiet house. The softness of Midari's touch and the heat of her body and the way she looked in the thin afternoon light. The way Midari smiled. How her hair fell in her eyes, and in her sleepy, tumbled state, she could have been any girl at all.
But that was then, before everything happened. Before Kirari held Sayaka's hand among the lilies, before she kissed Sayaka so sweetly in her office, their bodies a tangle of limbs on the couch. Before Kirari, in her bed, beautiful and bright as a summer day. And here it is, the plain truth laid bare: before all that, maybe —
"Sayaka," Midari murmurs. She squeezes Sayaka's hand. "You've always been in love with the President, haven't you? There wasn't any other option."
Sayaka grins. "Yes. You understand that, don't you? You love her too."
Midari shrugs, untangling their fingers. "What I feel for the President is like — it's like I've been struck by lightning, you know? She's the greatest woman in the world. Yumeko, too." Midari sighs dreamily at that.
"Just — the thing is, it's not really love, exactly," Midari continues. "Right? It's just that there's no one better than them. Ah, Sayaka." She laughs, folding her hands behind her head and leaning back in her chair. "How could I ever explain it to someone like you? You're the smartest person I know. But I don't think you'd get it, even if I told you."
(maybe that's true)
They sit in silence for some time after that. Long into the afternoon, until the final school bell chimes. Sayaka's worked her way through a stack of paperwork, Midari's rapid-fire texting — the steady tap, tap, tap of her fingers — the only sound that inhabits the room.
"Guess I'll see you later," Midari says at last, standing and stretching with an undignified yawn. Then, quietly, "Thanks, Sayaka. For keeping me company."
"Oh." Sayaka looks up, surprised. It's possibly the nicest thing that Midari's ever said to her. "You too."
She's still packing up her bag when Midari pauses on her way out, hovering by the door. She's turned away so that Sayaka can only see the left side of her face. A thin sliver of her white eyepatch behind dark, jagged bangs. Her hand lingers on the doorknob. An oppressive silence settles over the room.
"Sayaka," Midari says, very, very softly.
Something unspoken passes between them.
Sayaka crosses the room noiselessly, her bag slung over her shoulder. She reaches for Midari's hand once more, though this time Midari pulls away. "Midari," Sayaka says. It's still strange, saying Midari's name so casually; Sayaka will never get used to it. Right now, though, it's all she can say.
"You were happy enough, right? To just exist in Kirari's orbit." Midari makes a small, muffled sound. A pained laugh. "I understand; no matter how far, even a lonely little planet is still touched by the sun."
"Yes," Sayaka says, gently. "But I couldn't go on like that forever. And neither can you."
She leans her head against Midari's shoulder and they do not speak.
;;
The wind's picked up and the sky's clouded over. Kirari is outside, waiting expectantly at the school entrance, an umbrella on hand. Ririka hovers nearby, leaning on a pillar, engrossed in a book. Kirari's face brightens when Sayaka arrives.
"Come on," Kirari says, and takes Sayaka's hand in her own. "Let's go home."