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It breaks her heart knowing that Peko believes in the concept of deserved solitude.
And not only believes in it, but lives in it – lives thinking that she is destined to be alone, and to always be alone. To live alone. To die alone.
Of course, Pekoyama never states this herself; never lets her guard down for even a smile, that girl – but Sonia Nevermind grew up learning about people (how to talk to people, how to deal with people, how to reason with people, how to read people) and she can tell.
She can see the yearning in Peko’s gorgeous crimson eyes. She can see the quiet inhale and exhale of calming nerves. The clenching of fists. The constant reaching for her sword. The coldness, the resignation. She can see the overwhelming loneliness behind those shielding panes of glass; she can sympathize and she can feel.
Because Pekoyama Peko, to her, is not only cosplay in appearance and inherently foreign to Novoselic culture. Peko is little miss princess Sonia, standing at the edge of her balcony folded in half and sobbing to herself – saying ‘nobody will ever love me for me, nobody will ever want to be with me for me, nobody will ever be mine the way I want them, I’ll be alone forever’.
Sonia sees herself in Peko; in that tall, confident, dutiful walk that hides a soft heart beneath – in that intelligent mind, that silent earnestness, that intrigue regarding the unknown. She sees her unfathomable loyalty – but one that is firm and business-like – not unlike that which Sonia serves her own country. She sees herself, in the stoic Pekoyama, and she unwittingly falls in love.
“How vain of you,” she laughs to herself in a passing window reflection; still sweet, kind, beautiful Sonia Nevermind but also the princess who held onto an unforgiving past. One that hopefully would never resurface for the entire span of her time at Hope’s Peak Academy – both on Jabberwock Island, and, eventually, off. They are, after all, going to find a way to escape. One that doesn’t involve more murder, surely.
“Vain?” Inquires a sudden new voice, even in tone and courteous in manner. “Are you talking about yourself?”
Sonia turns, skirt twirling, and to her delight, finds the very object of her thoughts – and potentially misguided affection – right before her. Sonia breaks into a smile.
(Peko is so beautiful it hurts.)
The other’s gorgeous silver hair dances with the wind, braids loosening with every motion. Her delicate hand lies solid against the wooden door, and the ocean breeze filters into the library through it. Peko’s gaze is stern. Sonia thinks the Japanese are very pretty in general, but Pekoyama is the most stunning Japanese woman she has ever met.
She feels her heart clench.
(This wonderful, perfect human being should be the last to believe that loneliness is her sole fate.)
“Peko!” She exclaims, bridging the gap between them with easy steps. Her bright red shoes clack loud on the floorboards, bracelet jingling merrily from her wrist. “I was certainly hoping that you’d eventually show up around here, and it looks as if my hopes have been rewarded!”
“The library has a very relaxing atmosphere.” Peko admits, posture stiff.
“I veritably agree! Were you perhaps interested in hearing more tales about impressive serial killers? They have many interesting stories,” Sonia says, eyes already shining and hands already tugging at Peko’s warm and slender arm – leading them to the shelves labelled ‘crime’. Peko doesn’t protest, and her blank expression doesn’t change, so Sonia takes it as an agreement.
Their conversation opener seems to have been dropped, which the princess is grateful for, but she can see Peko thinking hard – her eyebrows angle downwards when she’s deep in thought – so she knows the swordswoman hasn’t forgotten about it.
Sonia doesn’t fret. She has as many layers as Peko has concerns about incurable loneliness; and even if Peko is good at reading her opponents’ moves, she’s no good at reading their hearts.
“Sit, sit,” Sonia says, patting a plush chair settled by the bookshelves. “It’s much more comfortable this way.”
Peko opens her mouth to decline, but the princess gently pushes her to the seat – insistent that she take it. She doesn’t think about the tenseness in Pekoyama’s back, and certainly doesn’t think about pulling the swordswoman into a relaxing embrace. They are both businesswomen, in a sense, and their relationship somehow falls under the category of professionalism. It is better off this way. Sonia has never had a friend her own age, and by the looks of it, Peko hasn’t either.
(Her guess is wrong. She wouldn’t know this until much, much later.)
(Too much self-projection turns pure love into narcissism, dear princess.)
“I must say, you’re awfully invested in tales of murder,” the swordswoman comments, crossing her arms in her chair.
“The lives of humans are shaped by destiny,” Sonia replies, flicking through a thick tome she pulled from the shelves. “I would like to learn about the people who believe in fruitlessly defying such destiny. It is a mentality of which I am not so familiar with.”
“Destiny,” Peko echoes. “Indeed. They can try to change the truth, but some people are destined only ever to be means to an end.”
“You do not believe in defying destiny?”
“Like you said, it’s fruitless.”
Sonia smiles, false and polite. “You are right. Humankind is much weaker than one would expect.”
“Yes,” Peko nods. “But they should not fear death so much.”
“I don’t.” The princess confesses, thumb stopping on a page with black-and-white photos; blurry shapes against a city skyline. “I don’t fear death.”
Peko doesn’t press. She just says, in her smooth, velvety voice: “I don’t fear death, either.”
They spend time together. It’s almost become a habit, and their shared hope shards are growing in number; a reversed countdown of sorts. Sonia doesn’t want to think of what might happen when they’ve both reached 6; would the arrangement fall to ash, she wonders, or would Peko still come to see her so they could keep their odd ‘friendship’ alive?
The afternoon sweeps by with ease. After the initial lull of worry and muted concern, Sonia launches into a wide, fantastical story about the terrifying yet fascinating Genocider Syo, and Peko nods accordingly, hands wrung tight in her lap. Her eyelashes are long and enchanting when she blinks, slow and deliberate, as if telling Sonia to go on after the princess pauses methodically in her storytelling.
Hinata Hajime – a typical protagonist, Sonia muses, had their terrible story been fictional – drops in at some point, but when he sees them, he only smiles, waves, and leaves soon after.
Sonia is not sure what Hajime sees, but she hopes quietly that it’s some form of love.
She hopes, and hopes, and convinces herself; that the comfort she finds in rambling to Peko is mutual. Peko is a good listener. Sonia has told Peko a lot more than she’s told anyone in a lifetime. She doesn’t know why – beyond the fact that they are so alarmingly similar underneath the surface – but she feels as though Peko understands.
(She doesn’t. Pekoyama doesn’t value herself enough to relate to anybody; and certainly not royalty like Sonia Nevermind.)
But Sonia has come to learn something, and that is that Peko – the same Peko that believes in her own deserved solitude – does not seek to love. Or if she does, then she does not seek her love. To Pekoyama, Sonia cannot love her, because Peko doesn’t even consider that a possibility.
She is a fawn in romance; a bumbling, innocent thing, and she tells Sonia that interestingly enough, Hajime has spoken to her of the concept of love before. It perplexes Sonia, so she goes off to ask Hajime of the topic herself, and she wonders why Hajime looks so sad sometimes when he speaks about it.
“You had spoken to Pekoyama of the subject previously?” Sonia asks, and Hajime has his hands on his hips.
“I have.” He answers. “She’s very keen to learn. So are many people here, I’ve found.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that…” Hajime rubs the back of his neck. “Everyone here on the island… they seem to have no idea what love really is.”
Sonia’s horizons widen then – being an observer, a leader, and she hadn’t noticed this at all – and she looks out for the others, and thinks. She looks out for Peko, who sometimes takes long walks on the beach trying to learn how to smile, and thinks.
(Sonia wants to take long walks on the beach with Peko too, she hears at the back of her mind, but shoves these thoughts back – far, far away where she can no longer hear them.)
She never ends up talking to Peko about love after that.
It’s fine anyway, because Peko’s curiosity is sated by someone else. It’s common knowledge that Peko isn’t much for conversation, but Sonia knows that Hajime has a knack for making people talk.
In fact, it is through Hajime that Sonia soon learns of Peko’s childhood friend, and her dreams (dreams that she’d never let form completely anyway) crumble.
“She’s in love with them, whoever they are,” Hajime informs her, because he’s not one to keep his thoughts to himself. “I don’t think she even notices it herself. But she talks about them as if they are her entire world.”
“I see,” Sonia clips, a tinge bitter. “A childhood love, how sweet.”
“And you?” He asks, eyes calculating. His eyebrows dip in concern. “You’re in love with someone, aren’t you?”
“How forward, Hajime,” she laughs daintily.
“It’s not any of my business, really,” Hajime admits. “Just. I’m here, you know? I’m here for you if you need me. I’m probably the only one who’s not too much of an idiot to listen, to be honest.”
“I am in love with somebody,” Sonia says, lacing her fingers together and coming to a decision. This destiny, she decides, is hers. “But by tomorrow morning, I will not be.”
“Peko?” He whispers, and the name almost vanishes in the breeze. He gazes at her knowingly, unspoken words flashing across his face – pity, maybe, or perhaps understanding – and then looks to the ground. He doesn’t mention a thing about girls liking girls, which Sonia is ever grateful for. “It’s hard, being in love.”
“Harder when it’s absolutely unattainable.” Sonia agrees.
“Harder when there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Harder when you know they’ll never love you back.”
“Harder when you know they never loved you at all.”
Hajime looks at Sonia again, and Sonia looks back. They smile, gently, the smiles of the heartbroken.
“Were you in love with Peko, too?” Sonia chances, brushing a lock of long blond hair behind her ear.
“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “I’m not, anymore. But I am in love with someone else. I hate it. It’s a real pain.”
Sonia smiles again, and pats him on the shoulder. “Tomorrow, we will not be in love anymore.”
“Yeah, okay,” Hajime replies. “Tomorrow, we give up.”
They watch the sunset together, because they’re a pair of melancholic teenagers that can’t deal with feelings and can’t resist falling in love with what’s beyond their control. Defying destiny, Sonia thinks. Nobody can defy destiny.
To her soft regret, Sonia pretends that she’s sitting with Pekoyama, those sharp red eyes trained on her alone, and a hushed voice saying, “I love you.”
She feels herself shudder, and the sting of tears burns the back of her eyes.
“Cry now,” Hajime’s voice cuts through the air, shattering every illusion her mind had conjured. “Just not tomorrow. Don’t cry tomorrow.”
And Sonia lets herself sob quietly, feeling weak and powerless for the first time in a long time.
The next morning, when she wakes up, she’s fine. Giddy, even. There’s a dull ache in her head, but she ignores it, and thinks about everything but Pekoyama Peko. It’s almost time for breakfast, so she arranges her hair bow and gets ready to leave.
On the way out, she looks at herself in the mirror and says, “Good work.”
Sonia wonders if the anticlimax somehow means something; if maybe, perhaps, that she is the one fated for deserved solitude. She wonders why she doesn’t care, anymore.