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Spring
It’s late April when Momota asks Harukawa on a date for the first time, hiding his nerves behind a bright smile. It’s early May when she says yes. This week of deliberation is necessary for her to think things through, provide a risk assessment for her own heart, but all conclusions point in the same direction, bright neon hotel-lights directed at him.
Amami sits on the edge of her bed, his legs crossed, as he either nods or shakes his head at various outfit choices. She doesn’t want Momota to know how much effort she’s putting in, she wants to look casual, but the only way to calm her anxiety is to make sure that she feels she’s making an effort worthy of the man she’s going on a date with. They decide, together, on a pink jumper with a bow, and a checkered skirt. It’s not what she’d normally wear, and she second-guesses herself, thinking that Momota will stop being attracted to her the moment she deviates from her usual combination of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but by the time she’s finished deliberating, Momota is knocking on her door outside.
He’s holding a bunch of sunflowers when she opens the door. Upon seeing her, he gasps, stepping back a bit. Instinctively, she covers her body, looking down at the floor.
“You look beautiful,” he says. She’s taken aback.
“Thanks, I guess,” she replies, “so, where are we going?”
“Rooftop terrace cocktails at the Hilton.”
“Holy shit, going all out on the first date?”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he laughs.
The rooftop terrace opens out into the midday sunshine, a pleasant day with a slight breeze. Momota hands his credit card to the bartender and opens a tab, as they order space-themed cocktails and wonder how first dates normally go. There should be an exchange of information about each other, but they’ve been best friends for two years, so there’s nothing new to air out. Instead, they laugh like they always do.
She wonders why they haven’t done this sooner.
Summer
<To Toujou: 21:09> Hey, so I was wondering if you could help me?
<From Toujou: 21:09> Of course. What’s up?
<To Toujou: 21:10> I told Momota I have a surprise date planned for him…I’m taking him for a picnic in the forest tomorrow BUT I’m trying to make loads of cute food and it’s all going to absolute fucking shite
<From Toujou: 21:11> I’m on my way.
It’s almost ten at night when Toujou arrives at Harukawa’s apartment. The latter is wearing an apron, flour-stained and sweating with exhaustion, although there are no fruits of her labours that are edible enough to give to Momota tomorrow. Over the course of the evening, the two women bake together, with Toujou taking on the majority of the work, teaching Harukawa how to do things like shape pastries into cinnamon rolls, bake cupcakes with the perfect amount of frosting, make little roses out of cooked meat. In the end, the picnic basket looks like it could be on display in a museum, it’s that wonderful. There’s just enough space in the fridge for it to cool overnight, and Toujou bids Harukawa goodbye, telling her to send her fond wishes along to Momota.
Those first date nerves never really left Harukawa. It’s strange, she thinks, because she’s so comfortable the moment she sets eyes on Momota, but the lead up to any of their dates always has her an anxious mess. There’s self-doubt that seeps through her exterior, especially without Amami to guide her along in her outfit choices. Nevertheless, excitement and anxiety go hand in hand, and the next morning, she’s up bright and early, ready for another day with the man she’s starting to believe is the love of her life.
He can’t stop complimenting the food, no matter how many times she tells him that it was mainly Toujou’s hard work, not hers. He tells her not to put down her own accomplishments, not even pausing to swallow the rest of his cupcake as he makes exaggerated noises of delight. The boiling heat of the summer surrounds them, leaking through the trees as unburdened light, until the day weans on into evening and they’re watching the sunset together.
“I’m boiling,” Momota says.
“Me too.”
“Let’s go swimming.”
“Where? Everywhere is closed.”
“The beach is only a twenty minute walk away.”
“We don’t have swimwear.”
“Do we need it?”
“Okay, fair point,” she laughs.
And then they’re walking down the beachfront roads as the coast comes clearer and clearer into their view. The sun has set by the time they arrive, and there’s nothing to hold them back from skinny dipping in the cold saltwater, laughing and splashing each other. There’s something so intimate about nightswimming, and it’s this moment, with the stars above her and Momota lying on his back, held up by the waves, that she’s sure.
She’s sure that she’s in love.
Autumn
Even though the leaves are browning, her spirit for the freedom of warmer months isn’t tamed. They’re at a drive in cinema, sharing a blanket in the front seats of Momota’s car, watching some old horror film from the seventies. He jumps at every tense moment, and she puts her arm around him until they’re touching heads, barely even paying attention to the screen any more.
The plot is irrelevant to them as they’re kissing. Orchestrated narratives fall apart, and the world becomes a Hollywood set once the film has finished production - all that remains is the expanse of love that stretches out far beyond the car park, beyond the fiction, beyond the universe itself, wrapping around every sunset and crowning them as what love truly means.
Autumn isn’t the beginning or the end of anything. It’s just a liminal state, but a pleasant one, where things aren’t quite dying just yet, the circle isn’t near completion, but another rotation around the sun solidifies that they are here. They exist.
And they are with each other.
Winter
They’ve rented a cottage in the forest for a week in mid-December. Outside, the snow barrels, thick and fast, blocking them with just enough firewood and food not to have to worry about being trapped. The weather reports say that the snow will ease off in the next few days, so all they have to think about is how they’re going to spend their time.
Five games of Monopoly down, Momota decides that he doesn’t stand a chance to win against Harukawa. Normally, his competitive streak would cause a fight, but he just laughs every time she bankrupts him, telling her that he’ll definitely win next time. She humours him, and then they’re warming their hands by a roaring log fire, looking for patterns in the colours, flickering up and down, illuminating pinhole marionette shows.
It feels, for the first time in her life, like someone else isn’t pulling the strings of her own predestination. Like she’s supposed to be here, in this exact moment, but it’s by her choice that she is, and not by some overarching narrative-creator who doesn’t care about her happiness. No - right here, right now…this is how things should be.
“I love you,” Momota says. It’s not as nerve-wracking as the first time they said it to each other. Now, it’s familiar. It’s more than what it seems. It’s a promise of home, of not giving up on one another, of spending seasons upon seasons together and never, not once, falling out of love.
“I love you too.”
“So,” he continues, pulling a small box out of his pocket, “I wanna show you that. Harumaki…will you marry me?”
At the setting of the year, the answer has never been easier.