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“And here we are,” Tsubaki loudly declared, putting her hands on her hips as she puffed her chest out. “Tsubaki’s Cookie Decorating Contest! May the best artist win!”
Watari snorted. “You can’t host an art competition if you have no sense of aesthetics.”
“Shut up!” Tsubaki jabbed a finger in his direction. “I totally have a sense of aesthetics!”
“No, you don’t!” Watari snickered. “Gorilla brain!”
“I’m not a gorilla!”
“Gorilla brain! Gorilla brain!”
Kousei let the rest of their argument — which was, for the most part, a lot of back and forth repetition — wash over him as he stared at the blank sugar cookie on his plate. He knew that cookie decorating was something that Tsubaki’s family did nearly every year around December; back when he was a kid, she would invite him and Watari over to decorate. There was a long time, though, when Kousei’s life got full of piano competitions, where he couldn’t show up. December was a busy month for all performers, after all.
He hadn’t really thought of the cookie decorating tradition since he was six, so it was a surprise when Tsubaki suddenly asked him and Watari in class if they wanted to come over.
Back then, he would decorate his cookies as wombats and cats and turtles and all of the animals from that one kids’ book series that he liked. Now, all he could do was stare blankly at the cookie.
“Kousei?”
Kousei looked up to see Tsubaki watching him carefully.
“What’s wrong?” She continued slowly. “You’re allowed to decorate it any way you want. It’s your cookie.”
“Yeah,” Watari jumped in. “Draw a piano or something.”
“I quit the piano two years ago.”
“Then…” Tsubaki gestured at the air. “Draw a book! You’re always reading books now like some nerd.”
“What do you mean, a nerd?” Kousei frowned. “Besides, isn’t it lame to just draw a book?”
“It’s better than a soccer ball.” Tsubaki said, glaring at Watari, who was in fact, drowning his cookie in white icing for a soccer ball.
“Hey, you said to do something with identity!” Watari said in his defense. “I play soccer! And you’re making a softball — that’s even more lame!”
“No it’s not!”
Once again the two fell into their usual bickering, which Kousei mostly tuned out.
He was jealous of them, really. Tsubaki and Watari both had their own passions that they were enthusiastically chasing. He would watch them in the field often, from the music room that he sat in, stuck with a piano that he couldn’t even hear. Maybe, if the piano cooperated with him, his afterschool time would also be filled with activity. Or, he would be drawing a piano or music notes on his cookie, instead of poking at his still blank cookie.
Of course, he put himself in this fate. He was the one who decided to reject the piano, along with his mother.
“This is your punishment.” the words echoed in his mind; a voice he knew once to be so sweet and loving taunting him, along with the feeling of long, thin fingers, brushing along his back—
Kousei felt his stomach flip over, and immediately put his hand to his mouth as he gagged.
“Kousei?!”
“Not on the cookies!” he heard Tsubaki’s distant yell. “I’ll go get a bucket!”
He heaved once, twice, but nothing came out. Nor did he hear any voices, which made him sigh of relief as he put his hand down.
“It’s fine. I think it’s gone now — I’m fine.” Kousei said slowly, taking breaks to clear his throat.
A solid, warm hand brushed along his back, which made Kousei’s breath hitch as he jumped. But instead of his mother’s bared teeth, he saw the concerned frown of Tsubaki’s mother — her skin which had much more color and life than Kousei remembered his mother having.
“Kou-chan? Are you feeling sick again?” she asked, brushing the back of her hand against his forehead. “We can take you to the hospital, if you want. You know it’s no problem. Takahiko asked us, after all, so there’s no need to hold back.”
Tsubaki’s mom often did this: reminding Kousei nearly every time they talked that he could rely on her, or anyone in Tsubaki’s family. It seemed Tsubaki’s eagerness to help ran in the family. Still, Kousei had already ruined Christmas for them two years ago by vomiting everywhere and immediately passing out. It would be easier if they blamed him, and never invited him over again, but instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect: Tsubaki constantly hovered over him, and her mom was no better.
Kousei shook his head. He appreciated her attempts to comfort him by rubbing his back — really, he did — but the touch only made him more uncomfortable with each passing second.
“It’s fine. I just felt dizzy for a second, but I think it passed.”
“I can walk you home if you want.” Watari said, lightly bumping his shoulder against Kousei’s. “It’s no biggie — it’s just a few steps away.”
“I just need ten minutes in the bathroom.” Kousei said. “I’m feeling much better already.”
Which was, thankfully, not a lie. He was much more aware of where he was now: the cold counter he gripped for support, the warm Christmas lights that decorated the living room, the real hand on his back. He was at Tsubaki’s house, decorating cookies. He wasn’t at the bottom of the ocean, and his mother wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
“Alright.” Tsubaki’s mom said, pulling her hand away. “But just in case I’ll bring you some medicine, OK? I don’t want you getting sick around Christmas time again.”
Kousei hunched his shoulders and nodded. He didn’t think medicine would do much, but it would ease her worries, at least. “OK. Thanks.”
Although he didn’t need it at all, Watari offered his shoulder for support. Kousei tried to brush him off, but he seemed insistent, so he gave in, letting Watari guide him to the bathroom.
“Sick on Christmas again?” Watari asked, in a low whisper. “This happened before?”
Kousei shrugged. “December, in the year that my mom died. The Sawabes invited me over for Christmas dinner. It didn’t go well.”
Watari grimaced. “That’s… rough. Sorry man.”
Kousei hummed, absentmindedly.
For the most part, he did a good job at hiding his… ‘episodes’ as he called them, from Watari and Tsubaki. He didn’t want them to worry. But with how common they were, and how much time he spent with them, both of them noticed. Their attempts to help him made his chest ache with guilt; it wasn’t their problem to deal with. It was his punishment, he reminded himself. He deserved to deal with it alone.
Just five minutes in the bathroom was all Kousei needed to collect himself. He washed his face, checked the mirror for any black cats or the ghost of his mother, washed his face again, and checked the mirror one last time to be sure.
He nearly flushed the pills that Tsubaki’s mom had left him down the toilet, since he didn’t really need them, but the guilt of wasting resources won him over. After that, he washed his face one more time, and checked the mirror for the last time.
No black cats. No ghost of his mom. Only his pale reflection looking back at him, blurred from the lack of his glasses. The white overhead light only made his eyebags even more visible; Kousei rubbed at them. And his hair was a mess, stray strands sticking out from different directions.
But, he was present. He was there.
Satisfied, he went back to the living room, to see Watari and Tsubaki whispering to each other. They immediately stopped when Kousei came in.
Tsubaki opened her mouth. “Do you need—”
“I’m fine.” Kousei said, sitting back in his seat, the still blank cookie waiting for him. There was a bucket now, like Tsubaki promised to get, next to his chair. Precautions, he assumed.
Trying to lighten the mood, Kousei turned to Watari. “What have you made so far?”
“What about my cookies?” Tsubaki asked. “Don’t you want to see mine?!”
“No one wants to see your cookies,” Watari sneered back. “Kousei knows true art when he sees it.”
Tsubaki slammed her hands on the counter. “What did you say?!”
Watari ignored Tsubaki’s fuming, though, and turned to Kousei. “Look at this one! It’s Shiho-chan! Isn’t she cute? I think I perfectly captured her radiant smile!”
“You made your girlfriend?” Kousei replied, exasperated.
Tsubaki gasped. “I can’t believe you wasted the icing I paid out of my allowance on that! It’s supposed to be Christmas cookies
Watari clucked his tongue. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who said that these are ‘passion cookies’. My passion is Shiho-chan. Besides, look at your plate! There’s only softballs and bats!”
“Well, that doesn’t matter!” Tsubaki said. “My passions are very festive. Yours are stupid.”
“But Watari,” Kousei cut in. “If you made your girlfriend, that means you have to eat that cookie now. Isn’t that kind of morbid? It’s like cannibalism.”
Watari slapped his hand in front of his mouth. “Oh.”
Kousei shook his head and turned to Tsubaki. “Don’t worry, I’ll make some Christmas cookies. Can you pass me the red?”
“Are you sure?” Tsubaki frowned, as she passed the red. “You can do anything you want. Anything!”
“It’s fine.” Kousei said, taking the icing and starting to make a circle. “I don’t mind. We need someone to stay on theme, right?”
Tsubaki didn’t seem convinced. Kousei could feel her eyes staring at him as he tried to draw a Santa. His eyes were a tad bit loopy, and his smile looks more like a straight line than a curved one. He couldn’t help it. Drawing was never his specialty — especially humans. He only ever drew animals as a kid.
Kousei felt a nudge on his ribs. He turned to see Watari frowning at him.
“It’s not weird to eat a cookie with your girlfriend’s face, is it?” he asked. “It’s totally romantic, right? If you were a girl, and a guy did that for you, you’d be charmed right?”
Kousei hunched his shoulders. “I’m not a girl, though. How am I supposed to know?”
“Think hypothetically!”
“I don’t know anything about romance!”
Watari clucked his tongue. “You’re not helpful. Well, I think it’s romantic and not weird, and I’ll prove it by texting her right now!” he declared as he took a picture of his cookie, before enthusiastically typing.
Exasperated, Kousei shook his head, and placed his finished — somewhat pathetic — Santa on the plate in the middle, next to Watari’s soccer balls and Tsubaki’s softballs.
“It stands out.” Tsubaki said with a pout. “No personality, no passion.”
“Maybe my passion is Santa?”
“It definitely isn’t.” Tsubaki stated, firmly. “Only weird people get passionate about old men. You should have done the piano.”
The irony was that the pieces Kousei always played were written by old men, so in a way, his old passion for piano was a passion for old men, anyways. But he held his tongue, and laughed instead.
Tsubaki raised an eyebrow at that. “Why are you laughing?”
Kousei shook his head. “It’s nothing. You’re really funny sometimes, Tsubaki.”
Tsubaki furrowed her brows, and blinked. “What are you talking about? Only sometimes? What are you even laughing at?”
“Don’t mind him.” Watari said, his eyes not leaving the screen. “He’s insane.” Then, his eyes sparkled. “Oh! Shiho-chan says it’s sweet and romantic! See! It’s not cannibalism!”
He jabbed the phone in front of Kousei’s face. Kousei didn’t even bother reading the text, though, and gently pushed Watari off. “Yeah, yeah. My bad. I don’t know romance.”
With that, he reached for the white icing, starting another cookie with the intent of making a snowman. The black icing nearby called to him, reminding him of the black and white keys he knew so well. He ignored it though, sticking to his snowman.
Maybe he didn’t have any personalized cookies like his friends, and maybe he was a bit jealous of them. But, the warm conversations of jokes and sweet nothings that he shared with Tsubaki and Watari filled the air. Even if it was just for one evening, it melted away those cold hands that threatened to grip at his throat; pushing the ghost of his past in the back of his mind.
Maybe Kousei couldn’t live passionately, like this. But he could survive, which to Kousei, was an accomplishment in itself.