Chapter Text
He knew that it was not out of a desire to hurt him, that she had invited him to her wedding. After all, this had very little to do with him, and it was nothing but a masculine and impulsive obsession that told him otherwise. Sin of pride, she would have called it, as though from so far above him, it was no sin when she herself inevitably had to look down to meet his eye. He did not like to believe such things of her. He did not like to believe it – but sometimes, he did.
He wanted to see her before the wedding. He was not the groom, so it would not portend any ill fate upon her. Hitoya was not sure if Jakurai subscribed to any such superstitions. It was already unusual that she had chosen to become a Christian. Who knew what she believed? Perhaps he should have asked her more questions about herself, when he had had the chance. But what good would that have done him? What difference would it have made.
The chapel was small, but the sacristy was ample, and he knew that she would be waiting in there. The door was unlocked.
She was lovely, and to little surprise, she had chosen white. She was not so old fashioned as to feel she oughtn’t. Hitoya was not, either. She would always be pure to him.
Hifumi was startled by the intrusion and drew a deep breath, preparing for a wounded outburst for the sake of shaming the interloper. But before he could speak, the mirror before them revealed the smile appearing upon his lady’s face, and he was silenced by a knitted brow appearing upon his own.
“Hifumi-kun,” she said in her low, husky voice, “could you please grant us some privacy?”
Hifumi hastily finished fastening the white rose he had been securing to her veil, and withdrew. Hitoya hardly noticed the funny little man taking the organist’s entrance to the gallery, climbing the rickety spiral stairs in the back of the sacristy. “I’m going to check the cameras,” he said.
“Jakurai,” said Hitoya. “You look beautiful.”
She smiled with closed eyes, crinkling a face touched by age. That meant nothing to him. She was just as beautiful as that day 20 years ago, when she had first told him that she was a woman. “Thank you for coming,” she said.
Hitoya did not dare embrace her, lest he crush the flowers upon her body. He took her by the hand. Jakurai allowed him this gesture with her usual supple grace.
He could not waste any more time. “Don’t marry him,” he said.
She ceased to smile. Hitoya did not like the lines that appeared on her forehead when she was troubled. It made her look unlike herself. It made her look old.
She seemed to be speechless. That was no matter. Hitoya could speak again. “I love you,” he said. That should clear up the confusion. “Don’t marry him,” he repeated.
“Hitoya…” she said. “I… in another time and place, I would have… Hitoya, if you had, before, if we…” She sighed. She withdrew her hand from his. “I may have loved you once,” she said. “But I love Ramuda today, and I’m going to marry him.”
“But how can you marry him, if you love me!” said Hitoya.
“I did love you, and I still care for you deeply, but surely you see that this is far too late!” She placed her hands upon her flowing skirts of lace. “I have a happy life ahead of me, and I know what I want. I’m sure… I’m sure that you can find the same.”
“Which of us do you love more?” said Hitoya.
Jakurai did not answer. “A ridiculous question,” was all she said, and she turned to follow Hifumi to the gallery. But with her back to Hitoya, she faltered as if jolted by an electric shock, even as her skirt that had billowed from the motion settled back into shape. She turned back to face the man who remained in her dressing room. “Could you please leave?” she said. “I cannot climb the stairs in my wedding dress.”