Chapter Text
Everything happens for a reason. That is what Nene Yashiro, part-time editor, part-time occultist and astrologist, had always believed. It pushed her through rainy days and kept her happier on sunnier ones.
The past week, however, had been nothing but sorrows.
Monday had started off hopeful for her. She woke up on time and blessedly not groggy, and, as part of her daily routine, shuffled her deck of tarot. As a general rule, she made a point only to pluck three cards. Any more than that, and she simply wouldn’t have time to read them all, and that wasn’t even including the occasional rogue card that would shoot out of her hands as she shuffled. Those were always her favourites, as inconvenient to her disorganised schedule as they were. It made her think that fate existed.
That morning, she hadn’t gotten the chance to choose any cards at all. Instead, the Universe chose for her.
Just as soon as she picked up her beloved deck, three cards flew from the deck like popping kernels – and she would have ordinarily just waved it off as poor shuffling on her part had she not seen the cards sprawled out in front of her.
Aoi had introduced her to tarot years ago now. She didn’t take it as seriously, only deigning to pull a card between lunch breaks at the office when the copy printer ran especially slow or when she needed to slate her boredom. Intrigued, Nene asked what those weird, colourful-looking cards were - and the rest was history. What had sparked as a curious fascination kindled into a hobby. A hobby Nene embraced with all her idealistic, romantic Pisces heart.
Early on, Nene learnt that intent was key when pulling from a deck. Would you expect any meaningful answers to come from meaningless queries? Nene had thought no, and tried, intently, to ask her deck all sorts of purposeful questions. When would Touma Nakahara propose? Would it be soon? Where would it be? Was a promotion in her future, and if so, when? How many kids would she have, and did the seven hamsters she planned on getting after settling down count?
Later, she would learn that interpretation was also integral. Pin-point specificity would be nigh impossible to glean from the cards—all 78 of which had so many nebulous different combinations and interpretations that it made her head spin. She read the cards, studied their meanings, and, instead of searching for perfectly accurate, precise answers, tried to keep her mind open.
That Monday morning, she thought of her boyfriend, and fate saw fit to give her three cards: The Two of Cups, Death, and The Hermit.
Nene almost jumped for joy at the first two, squealing. Union and new beginnings. Union and new beginnings!
She knew she shouldn’t get ahead of herself. But images of last week’s date flooded her mind. She was angry at Touma at the time; she’d ordered a creamy risotto, and the first thing he asked as the waiter set it down on the table was just how much fat was in it, and could you please also order a salad, so that your ankles have a fighting chance?
She’d been silent for most of the date after that, keeping to herself, trying to finish most of the salad he’d ordered for her, trying not to point out how he barely touched his portion of greens that came with his ginormous steak. By midnight, her moodiness was starting to chafe against his own, and he apologised. They agreed to walk around the docks to cool off and admire the inky ocean and sky, occasionally veering off the path to make out in an alleyway. She still hadn’t completely forgiven him, but she thought she could, given a good night’s sleep and necking.
Nene almost couldn’t believe it when she saw him standing outside the window of a jewellery store, contemplating a selection of silver rings glittering in the bright light of the display case.
Unions and new beginnings.
With shaking fingers, she thumbed the two cards repeatedly. A warm, giddy feeling bubbled inside her chest. The sensation was so stupefying she had almost forgotten about the third card, the other card picked for her by fate: The Hermit.
She frowned at it, picked it up and considered it. An unassuming teacher, the guide had said if her memory served. Within the context of the other two cards it didn’t seem to fit. It couldn’t have been Touma; he was hardly the scholarly type. If he had anything to say, he’d be loathe to keep it all to himself, preferring to preen and pamper himself with attention. He was anything but unassuming – they had met at a Halloween party where he dressed as Gascon, for pity’s sake. She thought the card might be referring to her, but somehow that didn’t feel quite right either.
Nene pursed her lips, stumped. She grabbed her phone. She meant to text Aoi for her opinion but swore when she saw the time. Work started in thirty minutes.
As she got ready for the morning, hastily throwing on her clothes and shoving on her shoes, Nene hadn’t any presence of mind to clean up the tarot cards from her desk. If she had, she might’ve spotted The Three of Swords at the bottom of the deck, and maybe her hopes for that week wouldn’t have been so high – nor the hideous downfall quite so destabilising.
Nene felt lighter than air. Aoi said she looked like a high schooler, glued to her phone, eyes scanning her screen hungrily for any notifications from Touma. He didn’t generally text much, often only replying to her hours, sometimes days after she did. She understood, though. “Work takes up most of my time,” he explained after she asked, and she never brought it up again. She didn’t want to nag him.
Aoi, who was engaged herself, gave her sage advice. They sat together in her cubicle, squeaky office chairs pulled close together where they sat and talked conspiratorially over their small tubs of mixed berry yoghurt. “If you think he’s planning to pop the question, watch out for any odd behaviour. Super specific date plans, dreamy looks being dreamier than usual, random questions – things like that.”
Nene smiled despite herself. Touma was probably allergic to the thought of dreamy looks. “Not everyone has a guy like Akane.”
“It’s the principle!” Aoi huffed. “Have you guys ever talked about marriage before?” Nene felt her smile falter. “I didn’t think so. I mean, you guys have only been dating for just over six months.”
“You don’t think it’s too soon?” Nene whined, prodding at mushy blueberries with her spoon. Aoi took her lunch from her hands and set her yoghurt on the desk, holding Nene’s hands and squeezing them tight.
“Do you love Touma Nakahara?”
Nene supposed she did. They had only started saying so to each other a few weeks ago. She nodded. “I do.”
“Is marrying him something that would make you happy?”
Nene bit her lip, face warm. “Yes.”
Aoi grinned. “Then I guess you’ll have to catch the bouquet at my wedding.”
The both of them had shared a drunkenly happy grin that petered off into excitable bouts of giggles, plans of venues and menus and décor and seating arrangements. They spent all of their lunch breaks like that from Monday to Wednesday, scrolling through photos upon photos of wedding cakes, veils, lace, satin, rings, silver and gold. The following morning’s tarot had reaffirmed her excitement, and the morning after that as well.
That Wednesday evening, as both Nene and Aoi sat in the booth of some diner after work, Nene had gotten a text message. Hers and Aoi’s conversation was mostly the same as it was before – the wedding high was not likely to wear off anytime soon. Aoi had finally nailed down her wedding venue to three possible locations, and she was leaving Friday morning to see them all. They were both eager to keep on discussing different hemlines for wedding dresses before Nene caught a glimpse of the message and who it was from.
Touma.
‘Pick out something nice Friday night for dinner,’ it read. ‘We need to talk.’
Friday night, Nene stood by the same restaurant they had gone to a week prior, hair done up, a spot of lip-gloss on her lips and a dash of blush on her cheeks, dressed in the 2nd cutest dress from her wardrobe. The 1st was this adorable white frilly thing, but Aoi had promptly shut that one down. “Too bridal,” she said, squinting at the dress through their video call. Nene supposed she agreed.
Touma showed up fifteen minutes late to their date. She thought she ought to be a little angry with him about that, but the anxious way he carried himself redeemed him completely in Nene’s eyes. Nene had never seen him anxious before.
They were seated towards the back of the restaurant, overlooking the ocean. The docks curved around the scene and dotted the dark blues and blacks of the outside world with the speckled, orangey light of the lamp posts. A singular candle sat in the middle of the tablecloth-draped table, and the dulcet tones of a jazz number played softly in the corner somewhere.
It was perfect, like something out of a movie. And she was playing her part, too. She laughed when he made a joke. She ordered the salmon instead of the carbonara. Her bangs were cooperating. Touma hadn’t said a single thing about her ankles all night. Even if he hadn’t meant to propose tonight, Nene still thought the date was going great – by their standards, anyhow.
He looked most nervous after dessert – jaw set, brown curls askew and eyes looking askance. Nene’s breath caught when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
Nene frowned internally. His phone?
Touma coughed, scrolled through it a few times, stared at the screen intently, as if he were considering each pixel, and after a deep breath, flipped the screen over to her.
It was a photo of a girl - a very pretty girl. Short, glossy black hair. Perfect, unblemished skin. With a smile so bright and brilliant it made you wonder what could have possibly made her so happy.
And then Nene saw it. There, at the bottom of the screen, twinkling in the sun on her outstretched hand, was a ring. The same ring Touma had been eying right in front of her not even a week prior.
Nene can’t remember much of Saturday, or Sunday. It all passed in one tearful, dark blur. She couldn’t cry to Aoi. She, unlike Nene, actually had a wedding to plan for and would be going off to inspect some of the wedding venues with Akane for the weekend. She’d spent the majority of her time swaddled in her blankets, cheeks perpetually wet, never leaving the comfort of her bed except to eat and piss.
She knew that if she messaged Aoi and told her what happened she would pack up whatever she was doing and drive straight towards her. She wouldn’t even have to ask. But Nene refrained, too embarrassed to even so much as glance at the unread messages left sitting on her lock screen from Aoi, asking how the date had been, and if she had any news.
Late that night, Nene realised she never looked at her tarot that day. It would make for a better pastime than crying, so after wiping her cheeks and shuffling the deck, she picked out three cards.
She couldn’t pick just one question for her cards to answer. Too many swam in her mind. Why did he cheat? Why did he lead her on? Why did he feel the need to give her one last date before shattering their relationship? (She knew the answer to that one; he “wanted her to feel special for one last night,” apparently, to which Nene had left, leaving him to pay the bill by himself). What did she do wrong to make him seek elsewhere? Or worse, did she come second, and he just never thought to tell either of them?
Her mind was an incoherent mess. She hadn’t expected anything substantial to come from her cards, nor to have the capacity to read them properly. Still, she shuffled. She plucked three cards, face down. She felt like laughing when she flipped them over and saw their faces.
Two of Cups, Death, and The Hermit.
Monday morning, she knew she couldn’t get out of work. Her agency was tough on days off, and if she wanted that promotion, she knew it wouldn’t come if she slacked off. She woke up puffy-faced, dispirited, and groggy. She shoved off her blankets, brushed her teeth so hard her gums bled, shoved on her clothes, and stomped out the door, where she typed aggressively at her computer for eight, hazy hours.
By the end of it, she haunted the streets. Half her mind was still stuck on Friday, stuck on the sight of Touma shoving his phone in front of her face, the engagement ring on her finger, and the bottled-up nerves on her boyfriend's face melting into sweet relief – like he was freed from too tight shackles. From her.
She kicked a stray pebble off the sidewalk. She imagined it was Touma’s head, petrified in fear, rolling pathetically across the concrete and hitting an empty beer bottle against the curb. Nene spotted more beer bottles across her feet, then more next to some wooden steps to a porch. Past it, was the entrance to a dimly lit dive bar.
It looked like a portal to some twilight zone – the only spot of colour in the grey, darkening city. There was some music playing, too, floating across the air and inviting her in. Suddenly, she felt like she could use a drink.
So, that evening Nene Yashiro, part-time editor, part-time occultist and astrologist, had only two goals in mind when she entered the stuffy dive bar on the other side of town.
- Try to forget about her horrid, piss-stain excuse for an ex, and,
- Get exceptionally drunk.
A band was playing some rendition of What a Fool Believes when she entered. Nene embraced how grounded she felt, feeling the vibrations of the bass and drums reverberating through the sticky wooden floorboards to her corporate block heels and those stupid ankles of hers. She marched up to the bar. If all went well tonight, she won’t be so grounded by the end of it.
She slumped into a stool and made her first order. As she waited, Nene took to admiring the décor. The room bathed in changing hues of red, purple and green. There was a taxidermy deer head posted against the wall, and Nene felt slightly unnerved as she saw how its features seemingly shifted under the changing lights. Unlike the deer head, the bottles of booze, rum and other assorted spirits that lined up against the bar’s backsplash twinkled pleasantly in the moody lighting. Dozens of antiqued brass and copper picture frames hung on the peeling wallpaper, filled with paintings, old photographs and newspaper clippings.
It was cosy. Warm. Nene thanked the bartender as he slid her first drink to her. She hadn’t even placed an order for a second one yet, but she knew it would be the first of many to come.
There was a man sitting at the next stool over to Nene.
He was talking emphatically about something to the older man next to him. Co-workers, she surmised, going by their similar outfits. Post-office chic, loosened ties; rolled sleeves; coats drawn over the back of their stools. The younger of the two – the one who had caught her attention initially - gabbed on incessantly. He gestured passionately with ink-stained fingers, using shot glasses and straws as props, pointing a bony finger onto the bar when emphasising a point or waving off his increasingly worn-out bar-mate whenever he deigned to interject.
They were an odd pair, Nene thought.
She thinks she heard them talking about stars.
In her addled state, Nene couldn't help but listen in. All sense of decorum had been washed away for the moment, pulled beneath the waves of her drunkenness. The world was soft around the edges. She felt warm. She didn't register anything the man was saying, not really, but the passion with which he spoke intrigued her, so she listened, dazed.
She doesn’t snap out of it until the bartender sets down another glass beside her. Nene looked between him and the drink, confused. She hadn’t ordered another drink.
The bartender jutted his chin out to the star man instead of an answer, then left.
Nene turns to her left and meets eyes with the same man she’d been staring at not even a minute ago. He sat alone, now.
Unblinking, she took a sip from the glass. She’s horrified to discover it was water.
Her surprise must’ve been written all over her face because the star man’s face crinkles with amusement, and he raises his drink – a glass of cheap beer – as acknowledgement.
Nene huffs. She downs the water, then moves to plonk herself on the seat next to him.
He's only just finished taking a swig as she sits. Nene can take him in a bit more properly now, inebriated as she was. He looked like someone who worked in the heart of the city, but he managed to fit in with the rest of the bar’s patrons, dishevelled, the same way every intemperate soul becomes after a few drinks at a bar. His shirt was rumpled, and his hair, choppy and black, was far from tame.
“Why the generous offer?” She said, more like slurred.
The man snorted. The answer was obvious, now having listened to her speak. “I couldn’t help but notice you staring at me,” he replied.
Nene fidgeted. She hadn’t meant to be so obvious – maybe she was even drunker than she thought she was. “You seem to have a lot of fun talking about stars.”
He nodded. “I do,” he said, grinning. His eyes – two devastating, endless pools of amber – bored into hers, searching. “Do you like stars?” The question was written in his stare. It became obvious to her at that moment this man was very passionate about stars.
Nene grinned. “I do.”
He hummed, opting to take another swig of his beer. “Any particular reason you like them?”
“They’re the compass we live by,” Nene sighed.
“Quite a romantic take on it.”
“You don’t consider yourself a romantic?”
The man smiled. “I consider myself a scientist, primarily. Romantic second.”
Nene leaned her chin on her palm, intrigued. “Scientist?”
“Astrophysicist,” he clarified.
Ah, Nene thought, then laughed nervously. “You’ll hate me, then,” she said. She piqued his interest with that - she enjoyed the expectant look on his face before she elaborated. “I like to consider myself a firm believer in astrology.”
The man grimaced. Nene, taking it in stride, laughed. What was pride, anyway?
“Y’know, I feel like I could tell, subconsciously, that that was the case.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I spotted the evil eye bracelet you’ve got on.”
Nene sniffed, agitated. “So not subconsciously, then. You just used your science-wise skills of observation to deduce I am your mortal enemy.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say mortal enemy. I just don’t believe in star signs.”
“And you’re…?”
“Amane Yugi.”
She swatted him. “Your sign," she drawled. Internally, she tested the sound of his name in her head. Amane. A-ma-ne. Amane Yugi. It was a nice name, Nene decided.
The star man – Amane – shrugged, tapping the rim of his beer bottle thoughtfully as if that would stir his memory. “Sagittarius,” he said, finally. “I think. November twenty-fifth?” Nene nodded in agreement, humming.
“I was thinking Capricorn, but that works too.”
Amane scoffed good-naturedly. “How so, Miss Mystic?”
“Well,” she grinned, delighted to find him not as annoyed with her as his profession suggested he should be, “I can see you enjoy quite a bit of back and forth. You’re smart, no doubt. You seem a lot less serious than a Capricorn, too.”
“I’m not exactly sober,” Amane said, shaking his head. “You can’t get a good read on someone who's not sober.”
“Well, there you go,” Nene chirped. “You are decidedly not a native sea goat. I doubt many Capricorn scientists would get drunk on a work night.”
“How would you know what scientists do?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I only know their sign.”
“Oh,” Amane said, nodding in faux understanding, “of course. So, you don’t know any scientists, but you know of me, a scientist, and you know my star sign, so naturally you’ve put two and two together and surmised I am a raging alcoholic once I clock out.”
“Spoken like a true Sag,” Nene sighed musically. “Y’know, there’s no shame in it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m – “ she hiccupped. “A bit tipsy.”
“I suppose you don’t have work in the morning, do you?”
“Oh no, I do.”
“Are you a Sagittarius too, then?”
Nene snorted. “No.”
“Are you a Virgo?”
“Why would you think I’m a Virgo?”
“You’re a girl.”
“How the hell are you a scientist?”
Amane smirked. “My bullshit detector is off the charts, that’s how.”
“If you’re implying ‘off the charts’ means good, it doesn’t,” Nene huffed, scrutinising the perfectly unapologetic apologetic look he gave her. “It isn’t good, anyway. I’m not a Virgo.”
He regarded her for a moment like she was a piece to a puzzle he was yet to solve. “What’s your name?” He asked.
“Nene Yashiro,” she preened. “Pisces.”
“A pleasure.” He grinned. “And is being a professional star bluffer a lucrative job?”
Nene swatted him again. “I’m an editor, if you must know.”
“And what do you edit, Nene Yashiro? The horoscopes in the City Gazette?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” she said. “You ought to be nicer to me. I could write a smudge piece about you.”
“Oh good! I’ll be the hot gossip of bingo nights everywhere,” he laughed. “What am I guilty of? Shoplifting? Delinquency? Loitering?”
“Improper etiquette,” Nene replied offhandedly. Of course, she was lying; he was snarky, but he wasn’t rude outright. And this back and forth they’d quickly developed was comforting, in an odd way. Like aloe vera on a sunburn. Every verbal shrapnel they sent each other’s way a new application on the burns the week had left her.
Amane’s brow shot up to his hairline.
“Improper etiquette,” he repeated. “Even though I bought you a drink?”
She clicked her tongue. “No, you’re right, that was rude of me; I deeply appreciated the two-dollar cup of water you gave me. That was a very gentlemanly gesture.”
“It was five dollars, actually.”
Nene gaped. “That’s a rip-off.” Then, without prompting, she began digging into her bag, pushing aside the mess that lay inside; two paperbacks; a chocolate wrapper; lip-gloss; her diary; until finally she produced her wallet.
Before she could even offer a hand rose in front of her, cutting her off. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But—“
“Call it an investment in company. My drink buddy left, I’m left alone, want for some conversation, and here you are. I’d say it works out perfectly.”
“So, the water was just for your benefit, was it? That doesn’t seem very gentlemanly to me. What if I was here with someone? What if I had plans?”
He shrugged, unfazed. “Then I’d say goodnight, Miss Mystic.”
She did not say goodnight.
Amane Yugi quickly proved to be the antithesis of everything Nene believed.
He was an avid disciple of determinism. Contrary to hers, his philosophy subscribed to an organised chaos. An action taken that can never be predicted yet will inevitably be taken. Everything happens for a reason, yes, but not by any mysterious powers at play or omnipotent force, rather, the fundamental principles that governed the universe – the very same principles, he aptly reminded her, he spent countless hours studying.
He was back to gesticulating wildly with his ink-stained-hands, two empty bottles of beer poised at his elbows, one to represent the Earth, the other, rotating round the first, was the ecliptic (“the region of sky wherein the zodiac constellations inhabit – this is a real shit representation though, don’t look too hard at it.”).
He rattled off about waves for a good long while, light, radio and gravity, then particles: electrons; neutrinos; quarks; leptons and bosons – suddenly Nene was given a crash course on the fundamental particles before Amane very pointedly made his case. Of all the things he prattled on about that made their way to Earth from the skies, not a single thing could affect someone’s personality. There was simply no scientific or even mathematical basis for it.
“That’s not true,” Nene argued. “Natal charts take a lot of math to create.”
“Even so, my point still stands,” he shot right back. “What kind of math are we even talking about here? Like, little Johnny has three apples, I take two away...?"
Nene shot him an unimpressed look. “No, you jerk. Trigonometry. Geometry.”
“Well, I think Pythagoras would be appalled.”
“Wasn’t Pythagoras an astrologer?”
He sucked his teeth, pained. “…He was.”
She smirked triumphantly.
“Ha.”
“Don’t get too smug, now,” Amane warned. “Back then it was the same thing. Astrology and astronomy.”
“Before the fun police arrived,” she swooned.
He gasped in mock hurt. “You dare to belittle the beauty of our grand, intellectual evolution?”
“So long as it implies that what I do is primitive by comparison, then yes, I do. I bite my thumb at thee, sir.”
“No,” he admonished.
They erupted in a fit of laughter.
“Is there a difference between astronomy and astrophysics?” Nene asked when the both of them had finally calmed down.
“Technically. I mean, astronomy’s an umbrella term,” Amane explained. “It’s mostly synonymous with observations. Astrophysics is a subset of astronomy. It takes those observations and interprets them using physics or any other relevant theory.”
“Like what?”
Amane raised a brow at her.
“What?” she asked again, somewhat unnerved.
A sheepish smile played on his lips. It wasn’t a look Nene had seen yet. It reminded her of a kid who wanted to take some candy but wouldn’t until given permission - a kid who was one more innocuous question away from giving her a full-blown lecture about his work.
He refrained.
“That’s a pretty nebulous question you’re asking there, Yashiro,” he joked.
“See, that’s a classic Sagittarius thing to do,” Nene shot back, trying not to focus too hard on how her brain faltered at the way he said her name. Yashiro, Yashiro, Yashiro.
“Whatever your confirmation bias tells you,” he said, toasting his beer to her.
She scoffed. “That was a compliment, you dolt. I called you funny.”
“You attribute my spectacular humour to my star sign and then call me the deterministic one? Can I not just crack a pun or two out of my own free will?”
“Well, according to you and your dumb quarts—”
“— quarks —"
“— you can’t make any jokes out of free will either.”
“Touché,” Amane sighed. Nene’s nose wrinkled, smelling the beer on his breath. He shuffled his stool closer to hers, not paying mind to the horrific screech the legs made against the wood floors or the sudden flustered way Nene brushed her bangs out of her face as he did so.
They sort of just sat there in silence, not saying anything, until:
“You think I’m funny?”
Her cheeks burned.
“I did.”
A hand to his heart. “Ouch.”
Nene bit her lip. His eyes tracked the movement.
She turned away. This is not that kind of night, she thought, face burning.
Amane coughed.
“Should I order you another water?” He offered.
“If you must,” Nene sighed. “I’d prefer something stronger, honestly.”
Attention caught, he leaned in. “Why’s that?”
A snort. “Who comes to a bar to drink water?”
“Dunno. But I’m curious. I know I said I bought you that water because you were staring at me, and — well, I don’t blame you, I’m a real catch —”
“Uh-huh,” Nene said, fighting to keep the smile off her face. Amane seemed to have similar troubles as he watched her. Something lurched in Nene’s stomach at the sight – something not entirely unpleasant.
“— but I mostly thought it was because you were wasted.”
Nene winced.
“That bad?”
“Naw. The mystery’s solved, now I know you’re a Pisces,” he chuckled. The amused lilt in his voice petered off, and then he added, a little timidly, “Honestly, though… I guess I’m wondering what’s given you cause to get so drunk by yourself.”
"I'm not that drunk," she harped back indignantly.
"Inebriated, then."
"Tipsy."
"Somewhere in between the two."
She scoffed.
Annoyance flared up in her. She came here to forget – that was the cause – and now she’s been reminded. There was that persistent sting again. The burns she accumulated over the past few days began to gnaw away at her sanity. Who was he to suss out her reasons? Who was he to remind her that she had her hopes shot to hell?
Distantly, she registered that Amane was still looking at her, maybe even a little bit worriedly, now, given her prolonged silence.
“Nosy, aren’t you,” she murmured.
He didn’t miss a beat. “I get it from my mother,” he replied, unoffended.
The oddly personal comment he threw at her made her feel it was intentional. I’ve thrown you a bone, it said, now you throw me one too. She couldn’t tell if it was a clever way to get her to open up or purely forged from the rapid-fire atmosphere they kindled. Either way, Nene now knows that apparently, Mrs. Yugi is a nosy woman.
Nene sighed, considering.
She could tell him. What was the harm? That was something some people found cathartic wasn’t it? Confiding in strangers, knowing they would never see each other again.
Nene decided against it. Talking would require remembering, and remembering would require feeling. She didn’t want to do either. She hadn’t so far, thanks to his wit and her spirits. If she started talking about Touma to him now, it would all pour out in one big, ugly torrent from a dam - and that would be embarrassing, especially given how tipsy she was.
The bartender came minutes later with two sodas and a basket of fries. Thankful for the distraction, she leaned over and asked for another shot. Amane sent her a look. She ignored it, plopping a fry into her mouth.
“Thanks for the food.”
Amane shrugged. “Figured it would do us some good,” he said, nonchalant. “Soak up the alcohol.”
Nene said nothing. Us. The blasé way he said it made her think that was purposeful.
The bartender slid her shot to her. She shot it back without preamble. Fire licked her throat; the burn was almost enough to make her ignore the weight of a certain amber stare.
How bizarre this all was, she thought. Not twenty-four hours ago, she was wallowing in self-pity, cocooned in her bed and crying into her pillows. To think, she had a boyfriend up until a few days ago. To think that she had expected to be engaged to him by now!
It struck her that she felt more anger than sorrow: anger at herself; anger at Touma Nakahara; anger at believing her instincts, and how they were so remarkably wrong. Nene couldn't stand being wrong. If her instincts were wrong, then what else was wrong about her? Her beliefs? Her philosophies? Her feelings?
Had she really loved Touma, she wondered? Was she wrong about that, too? Could all the embarrassment she felt have been avoided if she just looked at things from how they were and not to what they could be?
Did she delude herself into a fantasy?
“Yashiro?”
She didn’t dare look up at him. Nene had only just met him, but she had a frightening notion she really would just spill her guts out to this stranger if she did. Because that was what he was, she reminded herself: a stranger. She had to remember that.
Nene somehow found it within herself to speak, cavalierly. “Who was that guy you were talking to?”
“That was my colleague,” Amane said after scrutinising her face for a moment. Her abrupt change of subject was not lost on him, it seemed. “More of a mentor. He was my doctoral advisor up until a few months ago.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“I have a doctorate,” he snorted, bringing his soda to his mouth.
“How surprisingly humble of you,” Nene leered playfully, “not immediately introducing yourself as Dr. Yugi.”
Amane choked on his drink. Coughing like an asthma patient in a plume of smoke, he wheezed into the crook of his elbow, and the teasing smirk on Nene’s face dropped a bit as she saw how red he was becoming. Gingerly, she patted his back, unsure what to do with herself.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” he muttered, though judging by how he covered his face with his hand, he was decidedly not fine.
Sensing an incoming standstill, Nene switched gears.
“What were you and your colleague talking about?”
“Oh,” he said, blinking hard. “It was just work stuff,” he said, not elaborating until he saw the imploring look Nene gave him, and he continued. She would swear she spotted a faint blush on his skin. “We’re drafting a proposal to submit to this committee about to launch this new telescope. We’re gunning to be one of the first teams to use it in a survey.”
“Sounds exciting.”
Amane slouched. “In theory, it does. But proposals are a pain to write, and we’re still figuring out how long we want to observe for.”
“What are you looking for?”
He smiled. It was one of those rare, pure smiles from childhood that hardly ever survived adulthood. “We’re looking for quasars. We think there might be a super old one somewhere in Orion, like, age of the Universe old, but we can’t be certain if we don’t look,” he sighed, “And quasars take a lot of time to look for.”
“And you?” He suddenly asked her, perking up. “Miss Yashiro Nene, Pisces and Mystic? How’s editing?”
“It’s good,” she said, nose scrunching at the honorifics. “I mostly just clock in, type, eat lunch, wonder what shows will be on that night, type some more, then clock out.”
Amane grinned. “How very Pisces of you.” She flicked him on the forehead. “Ow.”
“So you do know some astrology,” she said, scandalised.
“That was more of a shot in the dark than anything,” he said sheepishly. “Is that really what you’re known for? Pisces, I mean? Zoning out?”
“I prefer to call it daydreaming,” she clarified, rousing a snort from him. “And no. We’re one of the more sensitive signs, but we're also the most intuitive.”
Amane cocked a brow at her. “Meaning?”
Nene giggled. Before she could stop herself, she leaned in close, whispering into his ear. “I can read minds.”
When she pulled away, he was pink. “You can’t read minds,” he spluttered.
“No,” she acquiesced, “I can’t read minds. But I can do something better,” she grinned.
Amane, redder than ever, looked horrified.
Nene shuffled the deck in her hands cautiously, trying not to get the cardstock wet from the tiny puddles of condensation on the bar. Though she hadn't used her usual flair, Amane still watched, half impressed, half irritated, like he was watching a magician; mesmerised by the illusion, but doubtful of the realness of it all.
In short, he looked skeptical.
Nene grinned. She hadn't expected anything less.
“Why the long face?” She said innocently, noticing his sour mood.
“Nothing,” he replied, “I just didn’t know I was sitting next to Hoodini.” Nene snorted. “Are we going to be playing Blackjack or something?”
“No.”
Amane frowned. “What, do you Pisces folk not have a good poker face or something?”
“No. Now, if I had a Capricorn or Aquarius rising on the other hand…”
“A what?”
“Never mind.”
Nene shuffled the deck as best she could. Once she was satisfied, she wiped the countertop down with a napkin, placed the deck into the bar, and spread it between them. Amane whistled.
“I want you to think of something – your proposal, for example – and pick three cards.”
Amber eyes flicked between her own and the deck, confused. “Are you going to give me a tarot card reading?”
“Yup.”
“You’re using playing cards.”
Nene snorted. “Yes, well, dive bars have these more readily at hand. And playing cards are perfectly valid to use, thank you. It’s called cartomancy.”
Amane looked unconvinced. He scrutinised the deck. “Okay,” he said cautiously. “I’ll bite.”
Nene grinned.
“Any three cards?” he asked.
“Not just any three cards,” she replied. “Pick three cards you feel the most drawn towards.”
“Like there’s a difference,” he grumbled.
Nene giggled.
Amane reached out to the deck. Lithe, ink-stained fingers loomed over the spread of cards before him. His brows knitted as he reached for one card, then drew his hand back. He reached again, grazing the deck, only to withdraw once more. He groaned, frustrated.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered silently. “I’m a man of science, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Nene chided. “Try not to think too hard about it. Just pick what feels right.”
Amane bit his lip, considering. Then, suddenly, he swiped his first card.
Ten of Clubs. He reached out to take another, but paused, looking up at her for reassurance. Nene nodded encouragingly, and he plucked out another one; Ace of Diamonds.
Nene tried to keep her face impassive.
He barely hesitated to pull the final card. Once he revealed it, Nene felt her breath catch.
Ace of Hearts.
Pleased, Amane set out his three cards before them on the table and presented them to her with a flourish of his hands. “Oh please, great and omnipotent Nene. Divine my future.”
Nene wasn’t as experienced at using playing cards to do readings, but she knew the basics. She took time to explain things to him, clearing her throat. “Normally, in tarot, you’d have the major and minor arcana. Cartomancy is almost the same as tarot, but instead of having 78 cards, you only have — “
“56,” he answered.
Nene nodded. “The suits are representative of the minor arcana,” she continued. “Spades are representative of swords, hearts are representative of cups, clubs are wands, and diamonds are pentacles.”
She tapped her finger against his first card. “Here you have a Ten of Clubs. Since clubs are representative of wands, this card signifies change and action.
“Now your Ace of Diamonds, on the other hand, is really exciting,” she said. “As Diamonds represent pentacles, wealth and confidence, having the Ace of Diamonds signifies the manifestation of these things. If you work hard enough, your proposal will go through.”
“Seems vague,” Amane said, pursing his lips. He smiled ruefully. “Couldn’t you say that about anything?”
“I suppose,” Nene said cautiously. “Would this telescope require you to travel by any chance?”
His smile dropped.
“Because here, the Ten of Clubs, this card means to travel, as well.”
Amane still looked unconvinced. “Do you know where?”
“Well… not exactly, no. But there is your final card, the Ace of Hearts. I’m a bit stumped by it, to be honest, because – well. It’s more obvious in this suit, but hearts signify relationships. Ace of Hearts means the beginning of a new relationship. A… romantic one.”
Nene bit her lip. She couldn’t be sure why she suddenly felt morose at the revelation. Surely, she didn’t feel disappointed that he might be dating someone? Then again, she had no proof he wasn’t already taken. It was silly to assume so, even if he might’ve been forward with her. Far sillier for her to think she might actually like him; this stranger she hardly even knows.
Internally, Nene cried. Her heart was a masochist, it seemed; destined to like people who did not like her.
Nene coughed, nerves aflame. If he spotted the redness in her cheeks, he didn’t comment on it. “I-It doesn’t really make sense in this context,” she carried on. “But we could interpret it as you travelling to a romantic country – somewhere with a lot of romance. France, Italy— ”
“Spain,” Amane finished for her, quietly. Slowly, his eyes met hers, lips parted in astonishment.
Nene could’ve blamed the alcohol for her flush, but she was no fool. She knew immediately why her heart suddenly hammered, and why she felt so satisfied at making this man so impressed with her.
Feigning calmness, she grinned at him.
“See?”
Amane offered to walk her home.
They had talked for hours. Their sodas had long been finished and their basket of fries sat empty in between them, but still, they talked and talked and talked. Nene felt a pleasant buzz the entire night, and she knew it to be some deadly combination of the booze she drank and the presence of this man she only just met. Before she knew it, the ache in her chest was completely gone, and Nene struggled to recall what made her seek oblivion by the bottle to begin with.
At some point, they realised how empty the bar had become, and how late it was. Nene’s eyes practically bugged out of her head at the sight of Amane’s watch, which sat on his pretty wrist innocuously, as if the time hadn’t been nearly one in the morning. They both agreed it was time to leave.
So, there they were.
An astrologer and astrophysicist, walking shoulder to shoulder as they stumbled down the cracked footpath to her apartment.
Even as they stepped into the frigid air of the night, they kept with their parley. This time, they took advantage of the open sky above them. Even with the bright lights of the city, they could still make out traces of some constellations.
“What about that one?” Amane pointed.
Nene squinted. “Sirius,” she answered.
“Yes, Sirius,” he snorted. “But what about below it?”
Nene slowed. It was difficult to spot it at first; wisps of clouds would sometimes blow by and obscure their view, but otherwise, it was a perfectly dark, moonless night. She smiled when she spotted the three stars that formed a belt, then the unmistakable red glow of Betelgeuse.
“Orion,” she answered again.
“Correct.”
Nene felt her smile working up her face as she admired the constellation, marvelling. “Kind of crazy to think you’re going to be looking at that with a giant telescope,” she murmured.
“Here’s hoping.”
“I have faith.”
Amane huffed out a laugh – flattered or disbelieving, Nene couldn’t tell. But it hardly helped her nerves, already shot to hell, now electrified beyond recognition by the sound. Seemingly without rhyme or reason, her heart stuttered at the way he spoke, the way he laughed, the way he scoffed.
“Yes,” he breathed, looking at her in that funny, amusedly fond way. Nene felt high. “I gathered that.” Something reverent passed in the silence that followed. They continued to walk together, comfortable in letting that reverence sit between them, but not too comfortable to address it outright.
“Spain will be nice, I think,” Nene said after a moment. Strange how even long stretches of silence didn’t even feel awkward with him. It could be the alcohol. She hoped it was the alcohol.
Amane hummed. “You think so?”
Nene nodded. “Travelling in general. I think it’s great, getting to explore places all over. I mean, you’re probably not surprised by that,” glancing at him, she saw him shaking his head, smiling. She continued, grinning. “And if your proposal goes through, I’m guessing you’d be paid to do it, right?” She sighed. “It sounds wonderful.”
“It’s not all glamour,” Amane playfully chided, lightly bumping her shoulder with his. “Most nights I’ll be cooped up in some computer room for a few hours freezing my balls off. I’ll sleep late and wake up even later.”
“Still,” Nene swooned. “Spain!”
Amane laughed. Listening to it felt like victory.
Eventually, they made it to her building. They stood outside the lobby, awkwardly shifting from one foot to another, suddenly at a loss for what to say. Nene watched as Amane fiddled with his collar absentmindedly. It was cute, she thought, how he could switch from cocky to bashful in a matter of seconds.
“Well,” he finally said, rolling on the balls of his feet. “I guess this is it, Miss Mystic.”
Nene bit her lip. She didn’t want him to go, not really, but she knew it was better than to invite him over. It was late, she had work in the morning, and they were drunk.
(And - she thought emphatically – this was not that kind of night.)
“It’s been fun,” she said warmly, hoping her sincerity was clear. “Thanks for walking me.” Looking at the odd tenderness in his eyes, she got the feeling it was.
“Anytime,” he said. She tried not to read too far into that.
“Are you sure you’re okay getting home? Not too tired?”
He nodded. “I’ll call a cab. And I wouldn’t worry about me being tired,” he smirked. “I’m used to being up late.” Nene shoved him. He laughed once more.
This was it. She was either going to turn on her heel and disappear behind the frosted glass door of her apartment building or waltz up to him and demand his number. As of that moment, she already knew what option she wanted to pick. It wasn’t even a choice.
But was it right? To ask a guy for his number not even a week after breaking up with your boyfriend? A prospective fiancé? Granted, the guy she was seeing was cheating on her, but it was not like she’d known for very long, and it wasn't like Nene was feeling particularly heartbroken - she hadn't all night, she realised, and that terrified her. Nene hadn’t been feeling much of anything, except anger and pity… most of which wasn’t directed at Touma it seemed, but herself.
When Nene Yashiro felt, she felt with every fibre of her being. That was what made her so good at reading people and cards. She always prided herself in how she could feel in ways other people seemingly couldn't, and in some cases feel with them. It was her superpower, but she knew it to also be her weakness.
Once, in eighth grade, Nene’s hamster died. She found him one day, belly up and breakfast untouched when she’d come back from school one evening. For the whole term afterwards, she had been inconsolable. She couldn’t look at another carrot or lettuce leaf without bursting into tears.
So why, why, did she feel so light, so untethered to any despair not three days after her breakup?
“You know why,” that snide voice inside of her head whispered. “It’s because you knew he never loved you at all. And you never loved him, either. You just wanted the fantasy."
She choked.
The choice was clear, now.
"Nene?"
Amane was looking at her strangely. Concern etched into his features, and she thought he looked quite handsome like this, maybe even a bit debonair. In the old, orange glow of the sodium lamp posts, he seemed to be carved from gold, his eyes endless. A bright star in the night. The plane of his brow furrowed, and his lips pulled into a slight frown. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Nene laughed wetly, brushing her cheeks to dispose of any evidence before she carefully took out her phone from her pocket. Amane watched the movement, eyes wide. Amber met crimson. She wondered if he liked her eyes the way she did his. She wondered if he could ever learn to like them, maybe even love them, if he somehow wouldn’t mind the fact that half the time they were filled with tears.
Tentatively, she began to speak. “Amane—”
“Nene Yashiro?”
She froze.
There, in the open door of a car was a woman. A woman Nene had seen before, with sleek black hair, a bright, dazzling smile and a radiant, opulent ring on her finger. Except now, that sunny face was now superseded entirely by a furious scowl. Behind her, she could see Touma Nakahara at the wheel of the car. He looked like someone about to watch a wrestling match, riveted by twisted fascination of a bloodbath about to unfold.
Nene felt revolted.
“What are you doing here?” She said to him, completely ignoring his fiancé. She didn’t get an answer. Nakahara had the decency to look away. Suddenly, his fiancé’s face was right up against her own, staring daggers into her.
“Don’t you dare pretend I’m not here,” she growled, roughly shoving a finger into Nene’s sternum. Beside her, she could feel Amane tense. “God knows that’s what you’ve been doing all fucking year!”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb! You’ve been seeing my fiancé, you fat ankled tramp!”
Nene gawked at her, first out of disbelief, then slowly, out of the purest, most vengeful white-hot anger she had ever experienced. It pounced on her in laughs. “Is that what he told you?” She gasped, pointing to Touma, who still sat in the car, pretending not to notice their fight. “That I dated him knowing that he had someone else?”
“That’s exactly what happened!” The girl shrilled. “You’re a home wrecker!”
“I didn’t even know you existed until a few days ago!” Nene laughed incredulously. Briefly, she wondered if Amane thought less of her now. She hoped he didn’t. It probably served her to act with more decorum, to that effect - but how could she, when she was ambushed right outside her house by her ex and his fiancé? “Why are you mad at me?” Nene implored. “He’s the one you should be mad at. He’s the villain here! He cheated on both of us!"
“I was there first,” she growled.
“Again – why are you taking this out on me? If you were first, then that’s worse! I’m not the one to blame here—"
“Says the brat with a victim complex,” she waved off.
“Touma dated me for six months!” Nene yelled, finally fed up. “Six! Not once - not once! - did he ever mention you, or the fact that you were engaged. Please believe me. I would’ve ended things immediately if he had.”
There was a spark of something in the other girl’s eyes – something akin to doubt. It vanished as quickly as it came, but Nene saw it. For a moment, she felt as though she were looking into a mirror. There in front of her stood a girl who was disillusioned, enchanted by a spell cast from honeyed words and false sweet nothings.
She was like her.
“Tell me,” Nene continued, “How many times has he commented about you? Your looks? Your weight? Hair? Face? How many times has he belittled you, ignored you, swallowed you and chewed you up only to spit you out like some worthless piece of gum to walk all over?”
“I— “
“I can already tell it’s been a lot, so don’t answer that. I don’t need to know, because I’ve been through it myself. I know you think he cares about you, and maybe you already know he doesn’t deep down and are just pretending it was all fine like I was, but someone needs to tell you," she snarled. Amane moves to stand between them, but Nene pushes past, walking further and further into the other woman's space. "Let me tell you one more thing before you walk off with that dumb, ugly rock on your finger.” Nene reached up and roughly pulled the girl towards her, where she whispered in her ear. “I was there when he found you that ring. We found it together, after making out on the docks,” she smiled.
She willed for the tears to not stream down her face.
“I thought it was for me.”
The girl seemed to have enough. She pushed Nene off her, and before she could even register what was happening Nene saw a hand flying to her face. She scarcely had the time to shut her eyes and brace for the impact.
Only the blow never came.
She opened her eyes to the white expanse of Amane's shirt. He stood, with a tight grasp on the girl's wrist, and a look so icy it would make hell freeze over.
“You need to leave,” he told her calmly, but the violent way his fist shook betrayed him. His restraint was being held onto by a thread.
Either the girl didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Let go of me!” She barked, shoving him off her roughly. “Who are you anyway? Oh, don’t tell me,” She cooed. “Are you the rebound?”
Amane’s shoulders tensed. “Leave,” he gritted out. “Or I’ll call the police. I won’t ask you again.”
“Why? Were we interrupting something?”
“Minami!” Touma called out from the car. Nene saw him narrow his eyes to Amane, giving him a dirty once over before he looked back towards his fiancé again, beckoning her to his car.
She looked as if she wanted to say more, but instead just scoffed. She turned on her heel, stomped back to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Just before she slammed the door, Nene saw her ring catch the light.
When Nene’s eyes flicked back to her, Minami looked pleased.
The next few minutes passed by in a foggy haze. Nene felt much like those clouds that had drifted above them in the sky - weightless, without direction or purpose. She vaguely registered Amane's hand at her lower back leading her into the lobby; his low murmurs, asking what floor she was on, what room, and suddenly Nene felt herself being gently guided to sit onto her old, rickety armchair. She could just make out the outline of his legs through her tears before he ducked into her kitchen. He came back moments later with a box of tissues and a mug of tea.
"I hope you don't mind," he said lowly. Nene smiled gratefully as she took some tissues and the mug from him. He sat on the ground beside her feet, knees pulled up by his arms and his chin resting on his shoulder, watching her worriedly.
For a few moments, they sat there, quietly, listening to the distant wails of ambulances and the swoosh of the occasional car echoing through the night. Nene ought to have cringed at how loud her sniffles were, or the unladylike slurps of her tea, but somehow, she knew Amane wouldn't mind.
After a while, he spoke again. "I'm... sorry that happened to you," he said. "I know - I know we just met, and you probably wouldn't want to hear this from a stranger, but - I really am sorry. You didn't deserve that."
“You don’t know that,” she said, smiling sadly into her mug. "You hardly know me."
"I know enough," he supplied. Nene supposed that after the ambush he just witnessed, he did. At present, he even knew more about her current situation than Aoi.
"Is... that why you were at the bar?" He asked, then quickly remedied, "Don't answer that. We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."
Nene shook her head. "It's fine," she croaked. "If I told you, you'd probably just tell me I told you so, anyways."
Amane blinked at her. "What?"
Shame rose within her. "I-I do a reading," she began, "a tarot card reading, every day. For myself. A week ago, I saw him eyeing some rings... and well... I might've gotten my hopes up too high.”
"Yashiro..."
"What's worse is, I think I knew, deep down, that I hadn't interpreted my cards correctly. I knew – I knew it didn’t resonate but I ignored it. I mean, there was another card, like your Ace of Hearts, that just didn't fit within this stupid, fairy tale narrative I'd concocted for myself, and I - I just ignored it. I can't believe—" She felt the tears spring in her eyes once more. "I can't believe I let myself think--"
Before she could finish her sentence, Nene felt herself being pulled down into a warm embrace. If she hadn't been a hiccupping, sobbing mess, she might've had the presence of mind to care. But she didn't. Nene let herself be comforted. She didn't stop his hand gently carding through her hair. She didn't stop the mindless shapes being drawn into the small of her back. She didn’t stop the soft assurances spoken into the night. She simply let it all be.
After some time, they found themselves leaning against the armchair on the floor, resting against one another. Nene checked the time on his watch. It was just after two in the morning.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, once her tears dried and her voice no longer wobbled. Slowly, she rose to sit beside him.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he replied.
“You don’t have work tomorrow?” She asked.
Amane shrugged. “I can tough it out. Besides,” he grinned, leaning in just that little bit closer, “I never paid you for the reading. Think of this as a thank you.”
“That’s not fair,” Nene breathed. Her gaze flicked to his shirt – the collar was damp with her tears. “You paid for my drinks. And the fries. You walked me home."
“Let’s not dwell on who did what.” His eyes softened. Nene could smell the alcohol in both their breaths. They were so close. Warmth radiated off him. “Just. Let me do this.”
In that single, terrifying moment, Nene thought he might kiss her. Even more terrifying, she realised, is that at that moment she would let him.
“It’s late,” she said. “We’ve both got work.” Amane’s eyes slid shut, and his head slumped against the chair behind him, nodding.
“I shouldn’t keep you,” he said, rousing beside her like he was going to leave.
“No,” Nene quickly placed her hand on his chest to keep him still. “No, no—it’s fine,” she stammered. “I can’t send you out. It’s too late, now.” Amane’s face reddened, and Nene startled as she realised how that sounded, scrambling off him. The skin where her palm had touched him burned. “I’ll go get you some blankets. My couch should be comfortable enough.” She reached down to pull him off the floor, and he took her hand gratefully. His skin felt clammy.
“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand.
Nene shook her head. “It’s the least I can do.” Removing his hand from hers, she walked off to grab some blankets.
After Nene got ready for bed, she closed the door to her bedroom with a soft click. Just before she took her hand off the handle, she thought she heard a murmured goodnight from the other side.
Despite how drained the day made her, Nene found it difficult to fall asleep.
Bile woke her up a few hours later. Nene was vomiting, face half hung over the toilet bowl as she remembered that there was another person in the apartment. If her running to the bathroom hadn’t woken him up, her loud gagging certainly would have. Panicked, she quickly freshened up, pushed through her queasiness and stuck her head out the bathroom door to peek at the couch. It was empty, save for a pillow and a neatly folded blanket.
He was gone.
Nene sighed, relieved. Just as she wondered she he could be, she spotted a note on her coffee table, along with a blister pack of tablets.
‘Thanks for letting me crash,’ it read in scrawly letters. ‘Hope you’re not allergic to aspirin.’
Nene smiled, smoothing the note over with her thumb, but wilted when she realised, he hadn’t written his number.