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He could blame it on the customer that week. A stupid, weak-willed egotist who wouldn’t listen. And, as Watanuki knew well now, after so many years, that it never went well for those who wouldn’t listen.
He could say he’d been off since then, angry, puffing on his pipe and filling the whole place with the miasma of tobacco, (nothing stronger...yet) and refusing to cook, and dressing in the most revealing of kimono’s and silken things that barely stayed on him.
Mokona and the girls looked in on him, tried to ply him with nutrition, and liquids other than alcohol, but, for the moment, Watanuki didn’t think he could even swallow a substance that didn’t burn. He’d said as much to Mokona, who thought he’d be funny and bring him a bowl of spicy chicken and rice (from where he’d gotten it, Watanuki did not know). Watanuki had tossed it at him, unamused, and unwilling to even clean up the mess. That was when he knew it wasn’t the customer.
It had been a particularly bad customer. Yes, that was true. But what was also true was that it had been fifteen years, fifteen years since Yuuko had disappeared. He was glad he didn’t remember the date, but it was around this time of year, he thought. Perhaps. Fifteen years that he’d been alone, stuck in time, like a fly in molasses. It was only a matter of time before he froze into amber, just like this, sprawled on the floor. It wouldn’t even take a thousand years… but it could. He could exist for that long. Not live, no. It wouldn’t be living like that. But, he was turning thirty-two tomorrow, and he could live thirty-two times that more, and never see her face again.
Watanuki breathed out, and flicked his fingers make up a math problem out of the wisps of smoke, recalling one of the few things he remembered from school. Multiplication, how useful. The smoke looped and ringed and spelled out the number, and he huffed at how close his estimation was. 1,024. Funny.
Mokona, lolling in the corner of the room, having given up cleaning the rice from his ill advised joke, perked up, a second before Watanuki felt someone enter the shop. Two someones. Technically.
Maru and Moro’s footsteps ran from the other room, to greet Kohane, and get the food she carried from her to bring to the kitchen. She was on an errand to take care of him, he knew. Mokona had called the Doumeki household earlier today, and spoken to Kohane-chan in a low voice, that it was a bad day, a bad week, and that Watanuki needed someone to come over. Well, Watanuki thought with a frown, what did Mokona know anyway? Maybe this was just how Watanuki wanted to spend his day?
Kohane’s careful steps entered the sitting room, and Watanuki looked up from his place on the floor, nearly tipping his ashes on himself. He’d had to carefully master how to smoke while lying prone, and it required no sudden movements. He tilted his chin, until he could see her upside down, and then he smiled.
“Good evening, Kohane-chan,” he said, sweetly. Kohane, lovely, even with the worried frown on her face, looked down at him.
“Kimihiro-kun, I’ve heard you’re not well,” she said, kneeling - with difficulty, he noticed. Her stomach was growing larger every day, and he could feel the strong spirit of the Doumeki bloodline within her. A daughter, but no one had said that out loud.
He widened his smile, waving his free hand. He wasn’t drunk, nor high, but it was just easier to act like all was fine, because it was.
“There’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” he said, and she looked at the still spilled bowl of rice (it was probably staining the floor by now) and how his robes were exposing most of his legs, and chest.
“Are you sure?” she asked, reaching out a hand, to touch his shoulder. So, so gently. It ached, and he abruptly had to hold in tears.
“I’m sure,” he whispered, and with precision, he snuffed the pipe so he wouldn’t catch anything alight, and set it aside, so that he could put both his arms over his eyes and just… block out the light for a while.
“I’m just fine, Kohane-chan, so please, go back to your husband, and tell him to bring… bring -” But Watanuki couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted Doumeki to bring. He stared past the bright fabric of his sleeves, as it slid in silky folds near his eyes, and over the edges of his glasses, before those tears began to overflow, and he closed his eyes, and removed the fabric, because, it would be a great shame to ruin those silks with salt water.
“Oh, Kimihiro-kun,” Kohane murmured above him, as he exposed his face. “What’s the matter? Please, you can tell me,” she asked, moving her soft touch from his shoulder, to his face, wiping back the flow of tears, as they pooled in the corner of his eyes, and snaked down his temple and into his hairline.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know, except that sometimes it was bad, it being undefined, and he was just so… what? There were no words in any language to describe the position he was in. He could write tomes of poetry in Japanese, English, and Icelandic, and it still wouldn’t come close to the reality of his situation, nor the potential memories he’d make in the years to come. He was so scared. The knowledge of fate, and balance and the things he was still trying to figure out each day, each customer, were so heavy to bear.
Beside him, there was a heavy shuffling, and Kohane made little noises of effort. Watanuki opened his eyes, and glanced sideways, so come nose to nose with her. She’d laid down beside him, her hair and dress strewn out behind her, and the round of her belly (not full term, but over half way, and so lively already) was brushing his elbow. He blinked at her, the tears stopping in his surprise, before she smiled softly.
“I wanted to see what you were seeing,” she said softly. Kimihiro closed his eyes again, but something had loosened in his chest.
“Oh, sweet child, there is no one who should see what I am seeing,” Watanuki whispered, and breathed out heavily. A soft hand found his, and he turned his head again. Kohane looked worried, yet so fond, like he was so impossibly hard on himself, and it would all be fine if he just looked at it another way. He wished-, but no.
Then, Kohane leaned forward, and kissed him, catching him halfway between his cheek and mouth. A comfortable kiss, almost motherly for one so much younger than him, but there was still an element of heat, that made him want to lean forward again.
“What was that for?” Watanuki asked, staying very still, so he didn’t lunge forward and kiss Doumeki’s wife everywhere he suddenly thought of kissing. Kohane herself leaned back, and put her hand on his cheek again, her cool fingertips enough to relax him, but also hold him back from anything rash.
“You know, mine and Shizuka’s dearest desire is for you to be well, and happy,” she murmured.
“Is that a wish?” Watanuki half teased, and half asked seriously. What would happen if it was? But Kohane was shaking her head.
“We’ll see this one through, ourselves.”
“The Doumeki way,” Watanuki agreed, remembering all those months that Doumeki couldn’t see the shop, having no use for it. Watanuki sighed, wiping the drying tears behind his glasses, and then pulling them off to clean. They’d gotten ridiculously dirty, with tobacco flecks and tear spots. “You should save your wishes for your family.”
“We are,” Kohane said, and Watanuki understood. Close his eyes. In his younger years, he might have blushed. Then, he opened them, and sat up, pulling his robe more tightly around himself, dragging himself into a semblance of modesty.
“Well. What are you going to tell Doumeki? You a married woman, in the family way, going around kissing other men? Goodness, Kohane-chan, to think.” It was weak teasing, and probably bad form to boot to even imply, but Watanuki didn’t know what to say, wanted to know where that stood. What she was thinking. And, if he’d learned anything over the years as shopkeeper, it was that words could be used in many different ways.
Kohane pushed herself upright, putting a hand on her stomach, looking unperturbed.
“If he asks, I won’t hide it. But, I won’t say if you won’t.”
That told him more than anything what it was. Where they stood. There would be no skirting around an affair here. Watanuki was relieved but also halfway disappointed. But no one said his moral center was on point with society’s after this long. If Kohane had meant anything more with that kiss, then she wouldn’t have kissed him. That’s who she was.
“Kohane-chan is so self-assured.”
“Being pregnant will do that to you,” she smiled. “Did you know that the other day a young man gave up his seat on the train for me? I accepted easily. It was so strange.”
Watanuki felt the urge to chuckle, and it was surprising.
“Well, I believe you brought something to share, did you not?” Watanuki asked, rising to his feet, feeling his body ache and joints stretch as he moved for the first time that day.
“I did,” she said. “Homemade banana bread. I’m trying out a new recipe, and I wanted your opinion.”
Watanuki nodded. “We’ll have to test it out. Do you need help?” For she hadn’t gotten off the floor yet, just sitting and looking up at him.
“Yes,” she said, lifting two hands to be pulled up. Watanuki did so gladly, and then followed after her to the kitchen, where he’d eat her bread, and feel a little bit more alive today.