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They strolled down the avenue, small shopping bags swinging at their legs. “Hmm?” Grace dug through her purse, fishing out her chiming phone. “Allô? Ah, oui. Oui. No problem!” She smiled apologetically at Megumi. “Ah, pardon, Megumi! My little brother just called; I need to head home to help take care of some things.”
The indigo-haired chef nodded and smiled at her French friend. “Of course! Besides, we’ve been out shopping for quite a while already. Please tell your family and the folks at the farm I say hello!” “Of course, Megumi!”
“Salut!” “Salut!”
She continued down the lane, admiring the view and the people casually enjoying a late afternoon in Paris. I have an hour till meeting with Shinomiya...should I head home first? He’s studying for some WGO stuff; I don’t want to bother him! But perhaps I can keep him company, or get started on dinner prep so he has more time to study...it does seem a bit unnecessary to stop by home first if I really don’t need to...
*
The keys jangled in her hand as she slipped the key into the lock. “I don’t really need these—“ she had insisted. “Just in case,” he had assured her. A heavy click, and she stepped into his apartment. An abrupt slide of fingers on strings, then, silence. Music?...Live music?...His...guitar? Her footsteps stopped abruptly, then she pushed herself to continue on. “...Tadaima!” Maybe you should have led with that, Megumi! Why didn’t you text him first?!
Shit. She was not supposed to be back for another hour at least. Studying had not been going as planned; he figured maybe a short break was in order. A short break had turned into a slightly longer one, then here he was. Caught. Guitar in hand, full glass and bottle of wine on the table next to him. He hadn’t played in front of anyone in years. Best not to panic.
Shoes now off, she rounded the corner through his dining room and saw him in his chair, alone against the far windows. Although everything else in his home featured clean lines and mid-century modern chic, the Victorian-era chair with its ornate carvings and sumptuous emerald-green fabric still somehow seemed to fit. The guitars hanging on the far wall and the record player shelf probably help make that chair seem a little less out of place, huh? The sun slanted through the huge panes, illuminating the burgundy liquid in his glass and the tips of his coral hair, casting soft shadows across his face. He’s so incredibly handsome right now. Her eyes flicked downward. Not a book or phone or tablet in his hands, but one of his guitars. Huge! Yet it was somehow proportionate to his height, and the sounds coming from it had been mellow and bright.
I knew he played, but I’ve never...I’ve never seen him pick up any of his guitars, not once… She felt like she was intruding. “I’m sorry! I can—I can go in another room, and put on headphones if you’d prefer! There are other things I can do right now too...or I could get started on prep for dinner…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said smoothly. His head tilted toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you grab yourself a glass?” I can salvage this. She settled in, pulling a glass from a shelf and offering it up to the downward tilt of his wine bottle. She paused. The bar stools only a few meters away still felt too distant, too high up. There was nowhere else to sit in this corner. He tapped his hand on the arm of his chair, and she perched gently on it. This feels a bit precarious. I hope I don’t break it… She steadied herself on her toes, weight bearing into the floor.
He took another sip of wine before returning to his guitar, fingers idly sweeping over it a bit before switching songs. Relaxation in his shoulders, and fingers flying smooth and silky over the frets. Clearly a practiced and polished gem. The wine glass swirled slowly in her hands as she watched his fingers, then glanced at his face. The sounds coming from his guitar were glorious, but regardless she admired him all the more—that same seriousness and expressiveness as he usually wore in front of a stovetop, that same dexterity and assuredness in his hands. Each subtle shift brought something new. Angelic? Devilish? It all depended on the way his face was turned, the furrowing of his brow, and how the light decided to play across his face. Damn. So attractive.
And yet, still…
“Sugoi.” He smiled slightly at her praise. A bit rustier on that piece than I’d like, but still, not a bad showing…
She shifted, fingers gently caressing her wine glass stem. “Ano...that other song you were playing…when I first came in...” “—a work in progress, yeah.” “Django Reinhardt?” How did she—? How the hell does she know who Django Reinhardt is?! Hah. Megumi, always full of surprises. “Ah, hai.” She laughed. “I thought maybe! His songs are very difficult, aren’t they?!” He gave a short laugh. “Quite. And his style is notoriously impossible to reproduce.”
“Ano…” It felt a little odd to suggest. But clearly he was working on it when I interrupted him. I don’t mind… “You can keep working on that if you’d like. Um! But. But I can go into another room if that’s better...” She prepared to lift herself from her seat to go, and he paused. It feels awkward and why—? I could just pause, call it a day on this, spend more time with her. But— That stupid, tiny squeeze on his heart whenever she was around.
He stared down at his wine glass, his crossed foot, the lengthening shadows in his living room. So many hours. So many hours he had spent here alone, single brass lamplight illuminating his strung frustrations. Or how he had been guiled away from his only refuge. “Kojiro~” they’d whine. “I haven’t seen you in days, and all you want to do is play the guitar???” He had acquiesced every time. It hadn’t been worth it.
If you can put up with this—well, it’ll be your choice. He shrugged, making a face. “If you want to stay, you can stay. But I told you—it’s a work in progress.” A dark shadow flicked across his face. “Very much so. You’re going to hear lots of the same thing over, and over again. I’m not going to hit every note right. Tch! I probably can’t even hit every note yet. It might get annoying as hell. It’s ok if you get tired of it and want to do something else.”
“Hai. I understand. I’d—I’d enjoy staying actually, if you don’t mind.” Silly Shinomiya. You think you didn’t endure the same thing through hours of training with me?? This is nothing compared to that. He shrugged, sighing and she rose, pouring them both another glass. He smirked inwardly. Hah. You’ll need that.
She returned to sink at his feet, back resting against one of his shins and a chair leg.
“Megumi!” He was a bit exasperated. “You don’t have to sit on the ground. I have other chairs, you know. Or we could move to the couch.”
“Hmm? Oh!” It hadn’t really crossed her mind. “I’m comfortable. Ano...actually, it reminds me of Polar Star. All those parties. Hanging out in Marui’s room.” A soft smile. ”Ok, if you’re comfortable. We can switch whenever you need.”
*
He had started out slowly at first, hesitant and awkward, then began to forget she was there. Hmm. This one section—tricky bastard. Dammit! Such a trouble area. Try again, and try not to fuck up so much this time, kay? I know you can play better than this. He re-started the section. Again.
Missed note. Missed note. Missed note note note note—UGH. “Ugh, noroma!” It slipped suddenly from his mouth, sharp and angular. She halted mid-sip, nearly sending wine down the wrong pipe. She hadn’t heard him use that nickname for her in many, many months, and even then it had only been used teasingly before it disappeared altogether. “Just play slower. Make sure the technique is there before the speed is!” Oh. He’s talking to himself?? Hah. I know how you feel, Shinomiya. But— It was always so much easier to give reminders to others.
She swirled her glass. “You know what you’re doing, you know.” “Huh?” Why can’t I— “You’re really good at the guitar, Shinomiya.” Fine. If that’s the case, why can’t I figure this part out??! She continued. “I mean, at practicing.” Pause. “It sounds strange, but I...I like to hear you practicing.” Great, now she’s mocking me. “I’m sure you do.” I’m sure it’s great fun for you to see my failings plain as day. A long pause, then that stupid squeeze again around his heart. Unraveling. Just a tiny bit. He felt her smile patiently below him.
She shook her head. “It’s all of your hard work. I can hear it. Even when you mess up. The look on your face...even though I can’t see it right now, I know what it looks like. I can picture it. I. I like it…” she trailed off. Seriously?
She giggled. “And the wine might be sinking in too…” She grinned up at him then, and he suddenly realized he was happy. At such a small thing. He tapped her nose playfully with his outstretched index finger. “Oh, so you don’t care how bad I am, as long as I ply you with good wine? We should be all set then, you little lush.” His leg teasingly emphasized his last words against her back. They both revisited their glasses and she laughed and gazed at him again. Sincerity straight to the heart. Dammit. Her fingers pressed against his shin. “That’s not it, Shinomiya.” He smiled, shaking his head, fingers returning to frets. I know, Megumi. I know.
*
Dusk had begun to fall, a merlot glow seeping across the sky and in their blood. A pleasant, slow tipsiness. He stretched his fingers and legs, rising to place his guitar back on the wall. He returned to her and they settled back in, savoring the last of the wine in their glasses.
That’s right, she came over early. “Oi, how was your shopping trip with Grace? Everything go ok?” “Oh! Yes! It was fun! Grace had to leave a little early to help out with some stuff at home. That’s why I decided to come over early…”
“Ah. Pick up anything fun?”
A pink tinge on her cheeks beyond the wine she had been drinking, and the briefest widening of her eyes. “O-oh! Just some new clothes…” She’s hiding something. And after she insisted on listening to my shitty playing for nearly an hour?!
He arched an eyebrow, lips turning up teasingly. “Oh? What kind of clothes?” She turned even more pink. “Cute—cute under things.” It was almost a whisper. Adorable.
I can only imagine. His fingers slid down her blushing cheek, catching her chin, turning it upward. He bent his face toward hers. Now he was the grinning one. “Well, I’d like to see that,” he murmured in her ear. “Puis-je?” I can’t resist. “Oui.”
She took his hand, warm and steady, and they headed toward his bedroom and the waiting shopping bag.