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The first day of Yuuko’s last year at middle school began like any other.
Her bedroom soaking up the April sunshine filtering through the curtains, caught somewhere between dawn and day. Yuuko rolled over drowsily, bedclothes cool against warm skin, and opened her eyes. Her uniform (neatly pressed) hung from the wardrobe cheerfully, and her schoolbag (already packed) sat on her desk like a premonition.
“Yuu!” Her mother’s voice was muffled by the door, accompanied by two soft knocks. “Are you up yet?”
Yuuko winced, glancing at the alarm clock: it was half-past six. It was like a curse, or something inescapable, that she was destined to always be late. She’d always be the last one to arrive when she went shopping with friends, sweating and unravelled, the last one to arrive back at the classroom after lunch.
“I’m up.” She swung one leg out of the covers, yawning. “I’m up.” The day wasn’t getting any younger. And neither was she, screamed the new, blue ribbon lying innocently over her school shirt. The light was blinding as she opened her curtains – she persuaded the old window to creak open, coaxing the fresh spring air into the stuffy bedroom, carrying with it the salt of the sea and the buttery scent of blossoming gorse. She inhaled deeply.
When she finally made it downstairs, the house washed a sunny blue with the early morning, there was a plate of breakfast (toast, an egg, a tomato) and a young boy waiting for her at the table.
“Oh.” Yuuko halted in surprise, fumbling with the strap on her bag. “Yuuri. What are you doing here?”
Yuuri didn’t look like he quite knew the answer to that, either. “Uh.” He turned towards Yuuko’s mother, who was bustling around the kitchen, with desperation in his eyes.
“Oh, Yuuko, it’s Yuuri's first day,” Her mother sighs, chopping leeks, “You’re walking him to school! I must’ve told you a thousand times already.”
Yuuko noticed, for the first time, Yuuri’s uniform – matching hers, the fresh shirt tucked in deftly, the new collar rubbing against his neck. His hair was neat, for once, if not slightly windswept from the uphill walk to Yuuko’s house.
“Ah.” Yuuko blinked. “Ah! I’m so sorry Yuuri, I forgot! Have you eaten breakfast?”
He nods. She sneaks him a slice of toast, slathered in gooseberry jam, anyways.
By the time they leave, the cool air has evaporated, replaced by swelling heat. Yuuko fans herself as they traipse their way to Nishigori’s flat, passing from suburbs to the clustered sprawl of buildings in the centre of Hasetsu.
Nishigori Takeshi is already waiting outside, thumbs moving furiously over his Gameboy, wearing trainers instead of the regulation black loafers. Glancing down at Yuuri, who looks ready to combust with nerves, Yuuko hopes Takeshi won’t be too much of a bad influence.
“What’s this?” Nishigori’s interest is piqued as he leans down, ruffling Yuuri’s hair. “You’re following Yuuko around outside of the rink now, too?”
Yuuri squeaks out a protest, batting his hand away. “It’s not on purpose! My Mum said I had to!”
Yuuko musters up the most menacing glare she can. “Don’t be mean to Yuuri on his first day! We’re not going to walk with you if you act like an elementary schooler!” With that, she grabs Yuuri’s hand, tugging him along with her as she stalks up the pavement.
As they make their way to the middle school, Takeshi teasing them from behind, Yuuko pretends not to notice how sweaty Yuuri’s palms are, the flush on his cheeks when she tightens her grip.
As spring stretched into summer, the three of them became even more inseparable.
Yuuko lay on the floor, the sliding doors open to the garden outside. It was simply too hot to move. The buzzing of the cicadas and the hum of the fan were the only sounds of the otherwise silent August day – the end of the summer holidays was always slow, filled with oppressive heat. Yuuko rolls her pen (patterned with strawberries) absent-mindedly over her maths homework.
There’s nobody else in the house. Her parents were at work, and the family cat was nowhere to be found. The ice cubes in her barley tea had long since melted, and her motivation for geometry had disappeared into the cool shade of the room.
Yuuko was just about to drift off, skin pressed stickily to the notebook paper, when she heard a strange pattering over the tatami mats, and the next thing she knew there was a cold, wet nose snuffling her calf.
“Vicchan?” She rubs her eyes before sitting up. “What are you doing here?”
The puppy rolled over, tongue lolling out, his brown fur soft under Yuuko’s palm. “You’re too hot?” She says sympathetically, rubbing his belly gently, “I feel you, little puppy. Can you tell me where Yuuri is?”
“Vicchan!” Someone hisses from outside. Yuuko stifles a giggle, brushing down her shorts as she stands.
She peeks around the sliding door into the garden.
It’s a funny sight – Yuuri leans anxiously over their garden gate, looking unsure of whether or not to jump over it, holding an empty lead and a plastic bag. Yuuko hides behind a wooden beam, whispers: “Who dares trespass on my land?”
There’s the sound of something hitting the ground, and a muffled curse. The tell-tale creak of the gate opening. Shoes against dry grass.
“Boo!” Yuuko darts out, fingers pulling back her eyelids. Yuuri looks thoroughly unimpressed.
She hops down onto the grass, “I found your dog,” She pauses, “I was interrupted in the middle of doing some very important homework.”
Yuuri scoffs, “I doubt it. I was going to give you ice cream but now I’ve changed my mind.” He swings the convenience store bag behind him to prove a point.
“What flavour?”
“Strawberry.”
“Excellent!” She holds out her hand.
Yuuri sighs, and even off of the ice, his movements are graceful. Most of the time. He rummages for a second, then produces the strawberry lollipop, squashed slightly.
It’s Yuuko’s absolute favourite.
They sit on the porch, swinging their legs over the grass as they eat their frozen treats. Yuuri buys a different flavour each time – on this occasion it’s mango and pineapple. The sun is relentless, beating down on Hasetsu: the ocean, clearly visible from Yuuko’s hillside house, shimmers invitingly.
She’s just gotten past the strawberry-coated layer to the vanilla ice cream inside when Yuuri makes an announcement.
He takes a nervous bite, swallows slowly. “I’m trying for the Junior Grand Prix next year.”
Ice cream dribbles out of her mouth charmingly as she stares at him, wide-eyed. She licks her lips, not removing her gaze from the back of Yuuri’s head. She tries to compose herself. “I thought you would.”
Yuuri smiles weakly at the grass.
“Are you nervous?” She prompts, shuffling closer.
“Yes,” He falls back against the wood, crossing his arms behind his head. His eyes are fixed on the sky, but not really. He’s staring up at something Yuuko can’t see. “But I’m usually nervous about something or other. I might as well have something worthwhile to be nervous about.” He turns to her, shyly. “Don’t you think?”
She nods slowly. She understands exactly what he means.
“Are you going to go for Juniors?”
Yuuko fiddles with the lollipop stick - it’s already dry against her chipped, purple nails. “Maybe.” She answers carefully.
Later, she’s picking at a loose strand of denim on her shorts, sitting on her bed. It wasn’t like she’d been surprised at Yuuri’s news – it’d been evident, especially in the past year, that Yuuri was talented in ways the others weren’t. His jumps had a touch more fluidity, he’d dance on the ice as if it were the bleached floorboards at Minako’s studio. He’d had his own personal coach since January. Yuuko couldn’t pretend, at least not to herself, that she wasn’t jealous.
There are tears falling from her eyes before she realises – she scrubs at her eyes, furiously embarrassed. Yuuri was her friend. The thought doesn’t stop the tears, which fall faster, hotter, hotter against her cheeks as she sits there helplessly.
So she does the only thing she can do. She creeps downstairs to the phone, picks it up, and dials Takeshi’s number.
Katsuki Toshiya doesn’t even look up from the bar he’s scrubbing as Yuuko enters, groaning loudly. The inn was like a second home to her, now – she’d eat there with Yuuri and Takeshi every Friday, and (only after her 15th birthday) earned pocket money through helping out Mari during busy hours.
“Good evening, Yuu-chan,” Toshiya reached into the mini-fridge and tossed her a juice carton, “Long day at school?”
“Thank you,” The carton was icy cold in her hot palm as she speared it with the straw, flopping down on one of the barstools. “And something like that. How was your day, Katsuki-san?” She drank thirstily, the strawberry juice chasing away the dryness in her mouth.
He waves a hand, vaguely. “It was busy. Fun! But busy, yes,” Toshiya pointed towards the rooms, “I don’t think Yuuri knows you’re here. You can go and fetch him, if you want?”
Yuuko smiles, giving him the thumbs up. “I think I will.”
The hallway that runs through the middle of the inn is almost windowless. Yuuko creeps like a ninja, her school socks making no sound against the worn tatami – Yuuri’s room is right at the end, the smallest in the building.
She knocks once. Waits. Three times. Yuuri likes his privacy.
There’s a scuffling sound from inside, then the door opens: Yuuri’s eyes peer out. “Ah, Yuu-chan,” He opens the door fully, looking reproachful, “You scared me!”
Yuuko laughs and it’s a melody, “Who else would it be?” She walks past him, spinning around until she spots Vicchan, fast asleep on the bed. She’s here too often for her presence to be exciting to the poodle, who merely opens an eye lazily before burrowing further into the duvet.
“Oh,” Yuuko realises with horror, “I forgot to bring you a juice, too.” Then she turns her head, mouth open to say something else, when—
“What?” There’s a loud clunk as Yuuri rummages in his wardrobe for his skating gear.
“It doesn’t matter,” Yuuko grins, making her way over to Yuuri’s desk. There’s an abandoned science worksheet, blotchy with ink, and three whole empty cans of some energy drink, but that’s not what Yuuko is staring at. “You framed this?”
“What?” Yuuri repeats, bag slung over his shoulder as he turns around. Yuuko really thinks she should film it, one day, Yuuri’s face turning redder than a tomato in a span of three seconds.
The postcard that Yuuko slipped into Yuuri’s schoolbag on his birthday was displayed proudly, a single blue heart stuck clumsily onto the glass frame. Viktor Nikiforov beckoned out to the two, smiling sweetly, ashen hair falling like silk over his shoulders. He sat statuesquely in front of the photo from Yuuri’s elementary graduation, and the photo of their trip to the beach with their rinkmates from last year.
Yuuko squealed with delight. “Yuuri! You’re adorable! I can’t believe you did—”
Then there’s a small hand clapped over her mouth. Yuuri’s expression is of utmost panic, one hand on Yuuko, the other clutching the photo to his chest desperately.
He looks her in the eyes, glasses slipping down his nose, “You can’t tell Nishigori. Or my parents. Ever.” He whispers frantically. Both of them know he’s not talking about the poster.
She shakes her head vigorously, wondering why Yuuri believes she’d ever do that. The response seems to satisfy Yuuri, who exhales as he removes his palm.
They both look at it. Yuuko’s pink lipgloss is smeared tackily over Yuuri’s smooth skin. It had looked nice when she tried it on in the shop, applying it nervously – Cherry’s ‘lipshine’ in the shade “Irresistible.” It sits garishly on Yuuri like dramatic irony.
“Sorry,” Yuuri says lamely, and Yuuko thinks she can see him biting the inside of his cheek, “I’ll go…get ready.” He doesn’t meet her eyes.
He leaves like a whirlwind, leaving Yuuko sitting on his bed, the eye of the storm.
She thinks of Yuuri’s skating, beautiful and flawed. She thinks of Yuuri sitting with the girls instead of the other boys at practice. She thinks of Yuuri and Viktor, the posters of him he asks her to buy him for birthdays. The posters he’ll only ever ask her to buy.
“Oh, Yuuri.” She bites her nails, ruining the carefully applied polish. She doesn’t care at all.
Sitting in that tiny bedroom, she makes a big decision.
She grabs her duffel bag, waves to Yuuri’s dad as she leaves to catch up with his son in the orange sunset.
She’s in the classroom eating sandwiches when the inevitable happens. It’s a first-year, like Yuuri, who barrels into the third-year classroom only two days before they graduate.
The boy, barely up to Yuuko’s shoulders, gasps out, hands on his knees, “It’s Yuuri, Yuuri.”
Yuuko puts down her sandwich, hot, liquid dread climbing into her chest. “Where?”
“By the water fountains- we were, were,” He shudders, but Yuuko doesn’t hear him. Her chair slams against the desk behind her as she sprints out of the classroom, Takeshi hot on her heels -the only thing her brain could process was Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri-
She rounds the corner sharply, her indoor shoes skidding on the mud, her back sweat-slick as she finally spots him.
He’s leaning against the wall. His bag lies beside him, dusty. Something swells in Yuuko’s chest.
“Yuuri, Yuuri, god—” She drops down in front of him, knees hitting the dirt unceremoniously. He doesn’t look at her, his face buried in his arms. She tries to regulate her own breathing, reaching out until her hand hovers over Yuuri’s. When he doesn’t flinch, she twines their fingers together.
Takeshi fidgets behind them anxiously. She musters up the quietest tone she can manage, then shoves it down her own throat.
“Takeshi.” Her voice is calm. “Can you go and buy something to drink?”
Yuuri’s hand twitches under hers. There’s nobody in the courtyard at this hour. Yuuko is glad, at least, for small mercies.
She sits down next to him, never removing her hand, tucking her skirt underneath her thighs.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
A head shake.
Takeshi comes back, holding three cartons of green tea. A good choice, Yuuri thinks, rubbing Yuuri’s back soothingly, pressing the drink into his hand.
It’s not until a week later that Yuuko prises the reason from Mari.
“Yuuri hasn’t been at the club all week,” Yuuko says to the glass she’s drying. There’s a line of laundry hanging between her and Mari, a single line of cigarette smoke connecting them.
“If this is about the incident at school, I don’t know what they said to him. No one can get it out of him.”
Yuuko sniffs, rubbing her eye with her sleeve. “I just…I wish he’d talk to us about it.”
There’s an explosion of laughter from the inn’s dining room. Yuuko can pick out Minako’s laugh from the rabble, low-pitched and sharp.
“Yuuri only talks when he’s ready to talk.” Mari is a woman of few words, Yuuko has learnt over the years. There’s a long sigh from behind the sheets. “Even if he won’t tell us, I think you know what it was.”
Yuuko thinks of the posters lining the walls of Yuuri’s bedroom, the ones he takes down when Takeshi comes over.
“I do,” Yuuko’s voice is soft, “I do.”
During the first two years of high school, Yuuko finds she barely has time to breathe. The sky seems very far away, the sea even more so. She hasn’t gone to the rink in months.
One morning, her mother presses a bag of peaches into her hand. For the Katsukis, she says, you can drop them off after school.
Katsuki Toshiya looks up in surprise when Yuuko opens the door to the inn softly, toeing off her shoes. He has more grey in his hair than before.
“My, Yuuko-san! It’s been a while.”
“I’m sorry.”
He waves a hand, “Don’t be. You’ve grown.” And it’s true. She’s taller than her mother, now.
“I brought you peaches,” Yuuko holds out the basket warmly, a disguised olive branch. It had been Hiroko’s birthday last month: Yuuko hadn’t remembered.
Toshiya’s smile is genuine, she thinks. “Thank you. I’ll go and tell Yuuri.” He takes the bag, gently sets it on the counter, then plods off into the inn.
There’s a floor-length mirror in the entry way. Yuuko stares at herself. Her legs are long, willowy in the places where they seamlessly join her rounded hips. She shifts, and watches the shadow of her chest. It’s like watching a forest grow – slowly, slowly, then all at once.
“Yuuko?” Yuuri has one foot in the foyer, one in the hallway behind it. He’s taller than her, now. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other.
She beams at him, and it feels real again. “Yuuri!”
He’s wearing a coat, she notices, and he sees where her gaze is directed. Yuuri holds up a lead by way of explanation: “Do you want to walk Vicchan with me?”
It’s a bright, green forest. She exhales, “I’d love to.”
He keeps a noticeable distance as they trek down the shore, the wind whipping their hair everywhichway, the salt stinging their eyes. At least Yuuri has glasses to protect him. She tells him this, and he chuckles.
“So, you and Nishigori?” He stares ahead, hand tightening over Vicchan’s lead.
She smiles into her scarf, wrapping her arms around herself. “I suppose it was a long time coming.”
A snort. “That’s an understatement. I always had to sit and endure your flirting.”
Yuuko giggles, delighted, “We flirted?” The tension melts, she bumps Yuuri’s shoulder playfully.
Yuuri’s smiling too. “Non-stop.” He tells her.
“And look at you, Yuuri! Senior division next year!”
For a moment, Yuuko thought she’d said the wrong thing: Yuuri’s face falls, but then he turns towards her, giddy.
“Can you believe it?”
Yuuko feels an old excitement stirring. She puts her hands on his shoulders firmly. They’re broader than they were before. “You’re going to be so great.” She tells him, flicking his nose.
It’s cold and miserable and December when Yuuko breathes again for the first time in months.
The waiting room is homely, cushions dotting the threadbare sofas, stacks of magazines on the coffee table. But that’s not the daunting part.
There’s a rack of leaflets on the wall:
- What Should My Diet Be During Each Trimester?
- Taeko Honda shares her tips for maintaining a youthful body after having children!
- Natal Care: the things you Need to Know
- What is Post-Natal Depression?
- The Comprehensive Guide for Water Births: Kotoko Usui
All the other women in the room are much, much older. Yuuko keeps her face turned towards the ground. Her knuckles are white against her handbag.
“Kobayashi Yuuko?” The voice stutters out through the speakers.
Besides her, Takeshi squeezes her hand comfortingly. “You’re okay?”
Yuuko smiles brightly, standing up. Her heart beats uncomfortably fast in her small chest, like a bird trying to fly away. Instead—
She flicks her hair out of her eyes, tugging on Takeshi’s hand. “I’m okay.”
It’s late, and she probably shouldn’t be doing this, she thinks.
The streets of Hasetsu seem brighter as she speed-walks down the street, one hand swinging by her side and the other resting over her midriff. It was beginning to show, the curve obvious underneath her tight blouse.
She halts, breathing heavily, in front of one block of apartments. The light streaming from the 5th floor windows tells her all she needs to know.
She knocks once. Waits. The door flies open, revealing a flustered Yuuri. He slumps upon seeing her, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Yuuko? What are you doing here?”
She strides past him, sniffing as she looks around the ballet studio. “Did Minako really give you your own key?”
Yuuri switches off the music player, and the quiet collapses around them.
“Is that so hard to believe? She’s at her bar, if you wanted to speak to her.”
There’s no chair in the ballet studio. Yuuko pities Minako’s students as she sits on the hard floor, stealing Yuuri’s water bottle. “No. I wanted to speak to you, Yuuri!”
“Me?” Yuuri bends into an elegant fondu.
“You need to come back to the inn. We’re all celebrating.” Yuuko watches him, slightly entranced – it’s different, off of the ice. She takes a large swig of the water.
“Celebrating what?”
“You. And me.” She grins, pleased with herself, as Yuuri raises his eyebrows in confusion.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Yuuko stands again, walks over to the window. The stars shine brightly above them, the cool summer air tinged with laughter from restaurants below. It’s really very pleasant.
“Your training offer,” She sings, “Detroit.”
He joins her at the windowsill, stretching sore arms. Laughs a little. “I can’t believe I got it. Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Everything.” Yuuri nudges her arm. She gulps – it’s either now or never.
“I’m pregnant.” She doesn’t know why her voice sounds so surprised when she finally says it, but it does, and she doesn’t know why there are tears spilling down her cheeks, but there are. Maybe it’s the hormones.
Yuuri’s expression morphs from shock to joy like the winter melts into summer, and then he’s hugging her and it feels a little bit like relief and a lot like home. “Congratulations,” He buries his head in her shoulder, and Yuuko thinks about how even though he’s bigger than her now, their dynamic never changes. “You’ll be an amazing mother.”
She giggles, patting his back inelegantly before pulling away and watching Yuuri’s eyes fill with wonder as they flit down to her belly.
“Do you want to touch?” She guides his hand gently.
He concentrates for a few seconds. “I can’t feel anything.”
“Of course not. I’m not even at the second trimester.” She scoffs, drying her eyes on her cardigan.
Yuuri’s smile is small. “But it’s warm.”
The traffic is loud outside. Their family is waiting for them back at the inn. Tomorrow it’ll be sunny again. “Yes,” She agrees, placing her hand next to his, “Yes, it is.”