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The old lake near Maki’s orphanage still freezes the same way it did when she and Himari were kids. Solid at the edges, a little fragile near the centre. If you squint at the ice’s surface in just the right way, you can see little splinters beginning to form… but for the most part, it’s safe to tread on, so long as you stay near the shore.
As children, Himari and Maki and the other girls from the orphanage used to play chicken on this lake. Sliding as close as they could to the centre before they felt the ice start to quiver beneath their feet, then sprinting back to the grass as fast as possible. It was one of the more idiotic games they used to play, and it always ended with Himari in tears, so over time, Maki got tired of it. In the years since Himari’s passing, Maki has avoided this lake—particularly during winter—because she couldn’t look at it without remembering the sight of her old friend’s tears.
She still can’t, really. Maki’s not sure what drives her here despite that, bundled in an oversized winter coat with old mittens that have holes in the thumbs. She treads down the bank, coming to a crouch where the ice meets the edge of the grass. Her boots are sturdy enough that she could probably keep her balance despite the slickness of the ice, but she’s not a kid anymore. It’s doubtful that Maki would be able to get as close to the middle as she used to, and no matter how much assassin training has altered her body, Maki is sure she wouldn’t survive if the ice were to break and deposit her into the frigid water underneath.
Despite these thoughts, Maki carefully makes her way forward, arms extended to keep her balance. The ice beneath her feet doesn’t fracture, but Maki doesn’t test it, moving along the perimeters of the lake instead. She stares across the small pool of water to the other side, where sunlight filters through frosty green blades of grass. She’s never been that far, not on a winter day, without any safe ways to get across the lake in this weather and no reasons to make it over otherwise. Maki’s reluctant to go even now, knowing that that means that Himari also never got to make it that far—but there’s a part of her that’s tempted by it.
The years haven’t really helped Maki broaden her understanding of her own thoughts and desires. She barely understands why she’s here at all. An old yearning, the homesickness for an orphanage that no longer exists. The collapse of the Holy Salvation Society freed Maki from her shackles, but it subsequently led to her old orphanage being shut down, and all the children rehomed. It was for the better. The whole thing was nothing more than a front for the grooming of kids into hardened killers, like Maki. No matter how mixed her memories of the place are.
But it also means that there is nothing left to remember Himari by except this lake. Not even a grave marker. She’s just vanished, like she never existed at all, like she never mattered, except in the depths of Maki’s mind. If she could find some of the other kids from back then—but no. They wouldn’t want to see her, not after everything she’s done… They surely wouldn’t have any interest in revisiting their old childhood games. It’s a completely juvenile line of thinking, one that was surely beaten out of Maki years ago. And yet here she is, mind lingering on it despite her best intentions.
Maki stares across the lake again, this time enthralled by the way the sunlight glitters through the existing cracks at the centre of the water. She can understand why this was so tempting to her as a little kid. The ice is prettier over there, clearer, tempting in a way. Maki finds herself taking a step forward, then another, before planting her heels and reminding herself not to go any further. But if she could make it all the way to the middle…
“Hold up! Wait a second, don’t move!”
A cry from behind her; it’s years of training that prevents Maki from disobeying the voice, all her muscles engaging at once. Her hand twitches for the knife she keeps under the flap of her jacket—difficult as it would be to wield in mittens, it wouldn’t be impossible— but when Maki turns her head, she doesn’t see a gun trained on her, or a police officer. Rather, the man running down the bank is…
Well, a stranger. He looks to be Maki’s age, with magenta fringe tucked under a ridiculous neon pink beanie and a tank top of all things, paired with loose star print pyjama pants that are shoved into haphazardly worn boots. Further up the hill, Maki sees that the front door of one of the nearby houses has opened. This man has clearly come rushing out.
“Don’t move!” the man yells again. Maki does not, more out of bewilderment than anything, watching this very peculiar man reach around his neck and pull up a—camera? It’s a camera. He skids to a stop just inches from the start of the water, and before Maki can even say anything, his camera flashes. Once. Twice. Then he drops it and looks up at Maki with a beaming grin. “All right, you’re good. Sorry, you looked so magic on the ice, I had to grab a picture.”
“What—?” Maki splutters, turning to face him. At the same time, the ice beneath her heel gives a telltale crack. Jolting, Maki hurries her way back towards the shore, darting fast to outpace the shattering ice. The man on the bank abruptly drops his camera—it’s attached to his neck by a cord—and rushes forward with his arms extended.
Maki’s world rushes past her. She registers hands on her elbows, and then her forehead knocking hard into the man’s sternum. They end up lying prone, or rather, the man with the camera is lying prone; Maki is lying on top of him. She lets out an instinctive cough, goggles at the stranger, and then scrambles backwards onto her ass.
“Wh—” is all Maki can manage for a second time. The man sits up, beanie knocked off. His hair sticks out wildly, not unlike a bird’s nest. His eyes are the same colour, just a bit darker than anything, and sparkling despite the collision. He grins when Maki looks at him.
“Phew! That was a close one. It’s better to come out here earlier if you wanna get out on the ice. After it’s sat under the sun for a little while, it starts to melt.” The man tugs his knees in towards his chest, giving Maki more space with a hand on his camera. “You okay?”
Maki opens and shuts her mouth. Then does so a second time. She’s at a complete loss for words and can only ask, finally, “Why did you take a picture of me?”
The man’s eyebrows furrow. “Didn’t I say? You looked really cool out there. Here,” he flips the viewfinder around so Maki can see, clicking a button on the side of his screen. Indeed, the photo he snapped is almost magical, framed with tree branches and strong beams of sunlight. Maki’s hair has been caught in motion, and appears almost suspended in midair. Maki’s not sure she’s ever seen herself looking so…
There isn’t really a word for it. Maki rubs her cheek, which has gone slightly red. “And you… came running out of your house, just to grab that picture?”
“Oh, it’s not my house,” the man says, like that’s the important part of Maki’s question. “It’s my grandparents’—I’m just staying with ‘em for the holidays. But I used to come and play hockey out on this lake sometimes when I was in high school.” His thumbs flutter over his camera, lower lip jutting out. “Anyways, yeah. I’m a photographer, so it’s pretty much always on my mind. Sorry if that’s weird. I won’t keep the picture since I didn’t ask permission to take it, but you should lemme print out a copy for you anyways. Be a shame to miss out.”
Maki studies his face. She’s getting the sense that this man is a rambler, not that he’s intentionally being dodgy. It’s a little bit endearing as a quality. Or maybe Maki is just finding herself charmed by him because he rushed so much to keep her from falling. Speaking of… Maki glances over his shoulder, then straightens onto her knees, reaching past him for the beanie that fell off his hair.
The man lets out a quiet squeak, almost like he’s stunned. Maki has no idea what that could be about until she pulls back with the hat in her hand, staring up into his flushed face and realising she’d just gotten very close again. Which—they quite literally fell into each other, it shouldn’t be that alarming, but maybe it’s different when it happens so slowly. Maki avoids his gaze, feeling the flush return to her own face, creeping down her neck.
“Sorry,” Maki says, and offers him the hat.
“It’s fine,” he responds instantly. “I should’ve—uh. Lemme try again? Momota Kaito. I’m a freelance photographer. Oh—but I work at the flower shop near my apartment part time, just to help out. What’s your, I mean…”
Maki chances a look back at his face. He’s smiling again, this time almost lopsided, the earlier flush lighting up the apples of his cheeks. He’s cute, Maki is realising, his handsome face made just a little more approachable by the mess of his hair, the silly pattern on his pants. And… really not the kind of person who Maki should get her grubby hands all over, assassin background or no. She doesn’t know how to be around people who are excitable or sincere, who do impulsive things like run out of their houses to grab photos of strangers and save them from eating shit on broken ice.
But.
“Harukawa Maki,” Maki says finally. “I’m not—anything. I’m not doing anything. I mean, not like you.”
Momota raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He turns his hat over in his hand, then slowly gets to his feet. He offers Maki a hand, and she stares at it for a beat before accepting it. (Despite the water, his palm is warm to the touch.) “Somehow I kinda doubt that. You got anywhere to be? I can take ya to get this photo developed. Er—not in the house.” He glances over his shoulder. “Figure you probably shouldn’t do that with a stranger…”
He’s kind of funny, Momota. Maki is sure she could defend herself. But she appreciates his being thoughtful about it regardless. With one last glance at his hand, Maki steadies herself, then releases his fingers. Then she slides her hand into her pocket, trying not to think about the absence of the touch.
“Sure,” Maki says. “I don’t have anything else to be doing today.”
She pairs the statement with a quick look back at the lake, then returns her gaze to Momota. No, there’s really no point in staying here… though maybe there was a point in her coming in the first place. Isn’t there a word for situations like this? One that Himari read in a book once and found romantic. Serendipity. Maki’s not sure how much she buys it.
But, well…
“You can keep the photo,” Maki adds. “Unless you’re going to… sell it, or something. I don’t know.”
“It’d probably be less weird if I was trying to sell it,” Momota muses aloud, before coughing. “I mean, thanks. Yeah, sure. Okay. There’s a spot not far from here, let’s…” He starts to walk, then comes to a stop, tossing a smile over his shoulder at Maki. It softens his eyes, makes him look sort of pretty. Maki glances away so she won’t be caught staring. “Thanks for humouring me. I’ll get you a coffee or something.”
“Hot chocolate,” Maki suggests, “and we’re even.”
“Sounds good.” Then Momota’s grinning at her the way he was earlier, big and toothy, and Maki can’t help but let out a small breath. She might even be smiling herself—but, you know. That’s entirely up to interpretation.