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Yamada Ryo is not a fan of chick flicks.
That is hardly an absurd thing to claim; she thinks it’s pretty obvious someone like her has little interest in movies like this. They’re simply not to her tastes.
Not because she thinks her taste in movies and shows is somehow better than others, that’s not it – even her music taste she would simply describe as “more informed” (though that term did carry its own flavor of smugness with it); but either way, she’s not above liking simple stories that don’t go into the depths of examining the human condition.
To put it bluntly, sometimes she likes watching two superpowered dudes punching the shit out of each other.
Romance? Fine as a subplot, sometimes even decently engaging, but as the main selling point it’s just not her cup of tea.
Still, after Ikuyo has taken her out to a few restaurants she’s always wanted to visit, she can at least humor her when they go to the cinema. Let it be said that Yamada Ryo is not an entirely selfish person.
Besides, she’s paying for the tickets.
There’s a bunch of ads before the film starts, and Ryo makes jokes about as many of them as she can. Ikuyo cracks a few of her own – she’s been getting better at it, and Ryo finds her humor to be pretty cute. It’s from a very different perspective of life, and that’s fascinating.
When the ads are finally done with, the movie begins.
Ryo finds her senses quickly dulled by a slew of tropes being thrown her way. If she’s being honest, it’s not exactly bad, probably even above average, but she finds herself being reminded of why she’s not a fan of romance as the main plot.
Attempting to keep boredom at bay and not fall asleep during a movie date, she cracks another joke. Ikuyo stifles a snort before whispering a dry reply back at her. Ryo smiles.
It’s not a proper back-and-forth, because there’s always a pause before the next time Ryo comments on something, but it still feels like there’s a rhythm beginning to form underneath.
Eventually, Ikuyo stops replying, but Ryo sees the way the corner of her mouth twitches upward every time.
An hour into the movie, Ryo turns to Ikuyo and opens her mouth.
There’s a sparkle in Ikuyo’s eyes. Ryo pauses.
She closes her mouth again.
The story is a bit melodramatic, Ryo idly thinks, but the actors sell it really well. Good direction and acting can do a lot even with a mediocre script.
She blinks and realizes she’s invested.
More time passes, and the climax slowly approaches. Ryo feels Kita’s grip tighten around her hand, and she softly squeezes back.
Still, despite her investment, she feels a little awkward when the actors start crying, and the sniffling from around her in the theatre doesn’t help. She sinks into her seat a little, tongue sitting uncomfortably in her mouth, a strange tingling in her stomach.
She looks at Ikuyo.
She sees her quietly tearing up, and suddenly those uncomfortable feelings are gone. Everything is silent for just a moment, and all that is around them disappears.
When the world comes back, it returns blurry. Ryo is glad that Ikuyo seems to be fixated on the big screen in front of them, so she can turn away and wipe her eyes without her noticing.
She notices, of course, and squeezes Ryo’s hand again, so gentle Ryo almost didn’t feel it. Ikuyo smiles at her – not bright like her usual smiles, no, it’s something smaller, something rarer, like a tiny gem – and Ryo sinks back into her seat, suddenly feeling exhausted as though she’d been running a marathon and just barely managed to reach the goal.
As they leave the theatre, Ikuyo is all bright and bubbly again like usual, gushing about the film. Ryo isn’t sure how much she ended up liking it, honestly; but maybe, romance isn’t all that bad.