Lacrimo Crystallinus

I feel Satoru beside me. I smell his cologne, I feel the rise and fall of his breath, and I feel the faint throbbing of his pulse in his wrist. These things seem to be the only things that matter. The plane has been quieter than usual. Perhaps it is because I’m in the first class section rather than the back, where I am used to sitting… where I would have sat over a year and a half ago. It has been so long since I thought like that, I realize. I stare down at the opal ring Satoru gave me months ago. It feels natural, now, to be with him. To sit beside him and feel the slight warmth of his body heat, the loose arm around my shoulders or waist when I least expect it, even the pressure of his lips against my skin as he sneaks a kiss to me during the monotony of the day. It feels so… right.

I didn’t feel like I was leaving everything behind. I feel like I am going on a visit again. But I know this visit would be longer. When we arrive in Japan, I would have larger bags to take with me. I would have to put to use the three years of Japanese classes I took in high school, and it still won’t be enough. I will have to try and make a life here by going to college and working part time somewhere. None of my friends live here. I will have to make new ones. I don’t know which part scared me more—not having anyone besides Satoru and Momo or not knowing anything about the place. I have nothing there but love and the hope for a real future.

My mother had waved and cried a lot. And in the end, she stood alone in the emptying terminal as we stepped onto the plane, leaving everything familiar behind. My father had never come to see me off. Even now, I can’t cry. Deep inside, something feels broken and hollow, but outside that, I am only afraid to face a foreign country with nothing but half-fluent Japanese and a famous singer for a lover. I want my father to matter, but in the grand scheme of things, he won’t.

I have been sleeping since the plane took off. My misery had drained me physically as well as emotionally. Satoru’s shoulder had been too tempting to ward off and, in the end, I had rested my head there. Now he is asleep, and I am awake, thinking of how things turned out. My father’s disapproval wasn’t all that unexpected, but it still stings.

Satoru’s fingers tense slightly, curling around mine as he wakes up. I sit up a little try to smile, for him and for me. His sunglasses are in place, but it hardly hides who he is. Someone recognized him already, and I saw her conferring with her friends about it, but we ignored her. Old habits die hard, though, I suppose. He offers a groggy smile in return, looking out the window at the glittering ocean below.

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When we get off the plane, I let Satoru lead me to the baggage claim. We find our bags fairly easily. Mine are bright red and his are marked with a designer logo. We wheel them out and I am unsurprised to find a limousine waiting. It does make me uncomfortable, however. The driver nods politely to us both, smiling as he opens the doors for us. Satoru lets me go in first before sliding in beside me. The seats are cushy and soft, but it feels strange to have a whole limousine to ourselves. I blush at the extravagance, but Satoru just squeezes my hand and smiles.

The ride is silent and for the first time since our argument in his bathroom, there is a hint of awkwardness between us. I know it is mostly my fault, and I swallow uncomfortably, looking out the tinted windows at the city flying by.

When at last we reach his street, he tips the driver and we step into the narrow street. He takes my hand, squeezes it, and leads me the remaining block or so to his house. He takes out his keys, unlocks the door, and closes it behind us. I am assaulted with cool air from his castle again. It brings me back to my first visit, and I am almost nostalgic. The candlelight was sorely missed in the time I was away.

“Okaeri ne,” he says with a smile, kissing me softly. I smile awkwardly and he takes my hand again, leading me down the steps. It doesn’t feel right, to me, although he says it so easily, so casually… almost as if he believes it himself.

“Iraisshimashita,” I whisper under my breath. The word sits on my tongue like an exotic flavor long after it should be gone.

It doesn’t feel right.

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I wake up sometime in the middle of the night, the full realization that I’m never going home hitting me abruptly. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? I ask myself half-bitterly. Satoru is lying with me, his arm curled around me in sleep. He is warm and reassuring. Candlelight flickers over the walls, washing everything in a warm orange. I feel safe and warm and loved here.

Then I think of Jess and Melody and my mother. I will probably never see my two best friends again. I could still talk to them on Face Book and e-mail or whatever is popular enough to warrant their effort, but it won’t be the same. I will never stand beside my mother, folding the gyoza she fills with ground pork, and pretending to be exasperated at her for making me do the hard part. My eyes fill with tears and I slowly slide out of Satoru’s embrace to sit up with my elbows on my knees. There is so much I took for granted. So many little things that I should have taken the time to appreciate, that I will never have the chance to do again… There was so much time lost.

Will I ever find anyone like Jess or Melody here? The thought that I would have to replace them like laundry makes me hurt. And Satoru… what of his parents? He never spoke of them. His mother could never be like mine, if only because their cultures would never allow it. Maybe she won’t even accept me. As the specter flames leap across the room, I think of how much I have lost in just twelve hours.

And then, silently, I cry.

I want to think, on one hand, that it’s worth it. Satoru’s love is important to me. I cherish it greatly. But on the other hand, I’ve given up my friends, my family, and my past for him. I don’t hold it over his head; he already knows how much I’ve given up to be with him. If I could go back to do it again…

I would still choose him, and the thought makes me want to implode with the weight of guilt.

“Bao,” he mumbles, his voice surprised but glazed over with sleep, “what’s wrong?” He sits up in bed, too, and I can feel his eyes on me.

“I—I’m just—I had a dream.” My voice breaks several times, though, and the lie falls flat, horribly unconvincing.

“Koibito…” He moves across the bed to pull me into his arms. I let him, and I sob softly into his naked chest, feeling weak and stupid and guilty. His hands smooth my hair gently. For a time, he simply lets me cry and holds me. It is better than being reassured with dressed-up lies. When the brunt of it passes, it feels like I’ve been crying forever. I cling to him while the tears keep streaming out.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I say, my voice thick. “I—I’m scared... I know I have you and Momo, but everyone else I know and love is across the world. What if I never see them again?”

His hands caress my back as he holds me to him. “I know how scary it is,” he says solemnly. I turn my head and lean into his shoulder, my arms around his neck. Of course he knows. He was married to two women before, both of which were foreign to him. I feel weaker than before. “But I hope that you will like living here. I hope that you will make new friends and I hope that my family can be good enough for you to love someday. I know it will never be enough to make up for your own friends and family, but we will visit them as often as you like.” He kisses my forehead. “I promise.”

I don’t say anything. After a moment of silence, during which I listen to the breath entering and exiting his lungs, he sings to me softly and I get lost in his melody. But one thing remains in my thoughts like a brand, no matter how hard I try to put it out of my mind.

I want to go home.