Work Text:
Sound is the colour I know.
Sound is what keeps me looking for your eyes.
— East Harlem, by Beirut
“Hey, Kumiko,” Reina says. A small, excited smile plays at the corners of her lips. “Come over today. I’ve got something I want you to listen to.”
Kumiko looks up from her backpack, gaze squarely meeting Reina’s, and does not know how to hold back a smile—does not yet know why she would. The sound of stationery shifts around and her classmates’ chatter surrounds her, bouncing off the wooden panels of their classroom like birds dashing through a windbreak. Kumiko takes a pink notebook from her desk and slides it between the others in her backpack, clipping the flap securely in place. She looks back up at Reina and furrows her brows, as if she were thinking about how to respond.
“So?” Reina presses, feet shifting a little. Her eyes, however, never leave Kumiko’s.
Kumiko sneaks a deep, quiet breath; Reina always smells of a sweetness that Kumiko cannot ever pinpoint, but it makes her wish she could breathe it in forever. “Let’s go,” Kumiko answers, letting the excitement rouse her body out of the chair. Reina doesn’t ever ask if Kumiko is busy, and that doesn’t bother Kumiko—much as it probably should.
They take the tram up the hill to Reina’s house. It’s a sweet, fragrant summer afternoon—the kind that makes Kumiko think of boats idling at the harbour and the white sundresses that her sister sometimes wears. She toys with the hem of her nylon skirt as the old car heaves its weight through the tracks, giving them a view of the water. The dazzling light of the sun bounces off a large white billboard and is caught by the red of Reina’s ribboned hairband. Kumiko pictures her in that same frilly white sundress and suddenly feels the heat of the air around her, coiling itself softly through the depths of her heart and alighting on her cheeks, colouring a noticeable blush. She turns away in embarrassment—of what, she doesn’t know—even in those early days, Reina's lovely, brilliant eyes, fixed to the red-orange sunset, would hold sway over the way Kumiko took in the seasons.
Reina shifts her weight again as the tram makes a stop, letting off a few fresh-faced students.
“Hey Kumiko?” she starts, as the doors close.
“Hm?” Kumiko responds but doesn’t turn around, not sure if the red of her face has yet subsided.
“Are you happy?” Reina asks. Kumiko finally turns to her, giving her an airy look.
“What do you mean?” Kumiko asks, laughing. “That’s such a grown-up question. I don’t know how to answer that.”
Reina doesn’t immediately answer, turning her gaze forward, lightly swinging her feet on the seat as the tram car restarts its ascent.
“I am happy. At least I must be,” Reina says, wearing a reserved smile. She turns to Kumiko once more; penetrating gaze, a faint pink peppered across her nose, as she pushes herself against Kumiko's shoulder. “Because I don’t ever really have to stop and think about it.”
Kumiko had learned in school that sound traveled through space as movement—particles of air, like crystal memories of things from the past that never truly vanished. She wonders, then, as her small, young body cuts through the spaces of her daily life—those that Reina had so sonorously fulfilled—if they, too, might not exist in some way or another, forever.