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“We have found a suitable partner for you.”
A part of Rantaro has been waiting for this day his entire life.
That makes it sound like this is a good thing, like it’s been something he’s been wanting his entire life, but that can’t be further from the truth. Rantaro has been waiting on this not like waiting for a package to be delivered, but like waiting to get fired, like waiting to be led to the noose, like waiting for the hurricane to hit because he wasn’t able to get out in time, like he knew it was coming but the highways and byways were so full of everyone else leaving that he would never have gotten out, like he thought he would be able to brave the storm but it got bigger and stronger and now that it’s hitting, he’s regretting his choices, except it wasn’t his choice to get to this result, it was his family’s, it was the course of his birth, and who is he to fight against them? His mother and father had an arranged marriage, and look how that turned out for them.
(It actually turned out well for them. Their marriage was arranged before either of them could even crawl, and while their growing up together doesn’t necessarily mean they would be friends, they were. They’d been children playing marriage before they even knew what it meant. It was wonderful for them.
That didn’t mean it would be wonderful for him.)
Rantaro doesn’t gulp, doesn’t sigh, doesn’t frown, just pushes himself from where he’s sitting and turns to his father. “So,” he says, brushing the dirt from his pants, “who is she?”
Peko Pekoyama isn’t quite what Rantaro imagined his future spouse would be like. If he’s really honest with himself, he’d never thought about what his future spouse would be like at all. Imagining her only means figuring out what he wants, and since that doesn’t really enter into this equation, what would be the point? It could only lead to despair. He’s not much interested in that.
“Sure took them long enough, huh?” Rantaro says with a half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I heard you were dating that Kuzuryu guy. He seems, uh. Pretty nice?”
“Mm.”
Just on appearances, Peko feels like everything he isn’t. Formal. Dutiful. Honorable, although he wouldn’t say he was dishonorable. Even her porcelain skin is a stark contrast to his own darker tone. It’s as though his parents searched for his exact opposite and said, Here! The love of your life! As though the whole opposites attract or missing pieces analogies would be perfect for him.
Rantaro’s gaze shifts away. “I’m sorry about the break-up. That must have been…hard.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Peko clasps her hands in her lap and stares out at the landscape in front of them, not once turning to him. “We don’t have to talk about him.”
“Oh.” Rantaro rubs his arm and winces. “Okay.”
The air doesn’t suddenly feel tense, because this whole thing feels tense. But it feels a little more strained. Part of him wants to say whatever, part of him wants to say it doesn’t matter, but it does. They’re going to be married, eventually. Regardless of whether he loves her or not (and right now, he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know her, but he could get there, eventually), he wants to be a good boyfriend. A good partner. A good spouse.
So if Peko doesn’t want him to bring up the Kuzuryu boy, then Rantaro won’t.
It’s as simple as that.
Rantaro sits next to her, spreads his hands out behind him, and stares at the same landscape. It’s easier to focus on the trees, on the houses, on the sparrows fluttering here and there around the telephone wires further out. Sometimes he can hear them chirping, and it brings a smile to his face. “Do you remember when we first met?”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Peko blinks twice. “You mean five minutes ago?”
That pulls a chuckle from him. “I think it’s been more than five minutes.”
“Fifteen, then.”
“Sure, sure. Fifteen.” Rantaro hums. “But I’m not talking about that.”
Peko’s brow furrows, and her head lowers. She grabs her chin and presses her thumb against it as she thinks. “I don’t remember meeting you.”
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Rantaro leans back further on his hands and glances up. This way, he can see the clouds passing over them. He nudges her elbow – feels Peko tense up – and then points above them. “Look. A fox.”
Peko glances up. “That’s a cloud.”
“A cloud that looks like a fox.”
“A cloud that looks like a cloud.”
“Mm.” Rantaro reaches up and draws with his finger around the cloud. “You can see the ears here, and the tail here, and the way it’s darker makes it’s ears look like—”
“I see.”
Rantaro turns just enough to examine Peko’s expression. He smiles, gentle. “Do you?”
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “No.”
But Rantaro just laughs, an easy thing. “You’re still bad at this.” He waits for Peko to shoot a glare at him, then grins. “You’re finally looking at me.”
Peko meets his eyes with that glare. “You’re laughing at me.”
“No.” Rantaro grows sheepish. “Well, yes.” He holds her gaze. “But not in a mean way, I assure you.”
“Mm.”
Peko turns away from him and focuses on the landscape again. She licks her lips, then points ahead of them. “Look.”
Rantaro follows her finger, notes the cloud, and nods. “What do you see?”
It takes a moment, but Peko’s lips curl upward as she says, “A cloud.”