Lacrimo Crystallinus

Brushing my teeth and hair at the same time has always been my secret talent. I’m putting it to good practice as I stand in front of Satoru’s bathroom mirror, trying not to rush so much that I make a mess of myself. I woke up a little later than I had hoped to, and now I’m in a hurry. After brushing my teeth and taming my hair, I wash my face and put on some mascara. I frown at my reflection, wondering if I should put on some foundation or not. I decide that it doesn’t matter, and hurriedly brush my hair one last time. As I’m doing so, Satoru comes up behind me, his lips gently brushing my shoulder. A shiver runs down my spine and I drop the brush on the floor. Neither of us bothers to stoop and pick it up. His hands run over my shoulders, gently massaging the tenseness from them. My breath is coming a bit more raggedly than I want it to.

“You’re nervous,” he says, although it’s perfectly obvious. I say nothing, settling into his touch. As always, he is warm and comforting, only slightly taller than me and much more muscular. It makes me realize that in the months since being assaulted by Zhang, I never gained any weight. I frown a little, but the thought is chased away soon afterward when his arms wrap around me. I don’t want to look at myself again in the mirror. I turn toward him, instead, pressing my face into his maroon long-sleeved shirt. He holds me for a long moment, and talks lightly around a dazzling smile. “You’ll be late if you keep this up.”

“I know,” I reply, taking one last breath of his subtle cologne and his natural scent. It is wonderful, but he never has told me what it is exactly that he wears. It’s his little secret, I guess. I sigh, letting his smell escape from me before picking up the brush and placing it back on the counter top. On my way out, he smiles and brushes my hair over my shoulder.

“Do you want me to escort you?”

“I can find it,” I insist, although the idea of him accompanying me is a very welcome one. I push the thought away. He has things to do. I have things to do, too. His presence would only make it that much harder to go in alone. I look away so he can’t see how much I really want him to go with. “Besides, you have your own things to worry about. I can handle this.”

His fingertips tilt my chin up into a waiting kiss. I accept it, but pull away before I can give in to my reserve of passion. Flushing, I kiss his cheeks, too, and move to go up the staircase. His hand stops me and I turn, looking into his eyes. They are only slightly concerned. He trusts me.

“Call me if you get lost.” I nod and begin to turn. “Or if someone frightens you.” I nod again and smile at his worry. “Bao,” he says, interrupting my exit one last time. I turn, not in the least frustrated or short of temper. His deep brown eyes are impossible to look away from. The world beyond his eyes seems to take a backseat. “I love you.”

I smile. “I love you, too, Satoru.”

***********************************************************************************************

The school is huge. I should have expected this, I think with a little chastising. I stand in front of the huge double doors. Both have transparent panes of glass rather than anything wooden, which would have been popular in America or Europe. The entire building looks rather modern, full of windows and gentle, sloping metal arches and supports. It is built like a cylinder with several smaller circles circumventing it. The only things attaching the main building to the lesser ones are small, skinny bridges like those between airports and their parking garages. The campus itself is huge and lush, obviously well-maintained. It looks like something out of a magazine.

As I’m ogling the surroundings, two Japanese men pass me, their eyes straying as they talk to each other in rushed Japanese. I can hardly catch even a few words from their conversation and it discourages me for a moment. I’ve been living here for a few weeks, but my learning is slow and inconsistent. Satoru is always patient with me and we laugh at my mistakes together, but there truly is no malice in his jokes. But stepping into Japan’s fast-paced social scene makes me realize how horribly I will fit in even if only because I can’t speak the native language.

Mentally preparing myself for hell, I begin to climb the stairs. Everything goes semi-well for all my classes that day. No one interrupts my gait and Satoru taught me enough Japanese to read the signs in the college. I find my classes easily and sit in the far back. It is not where I would have sat in America, but until I’m more confident with the language, it’ll have to do. I sit there for a few minutes and watch the wide room fill with students. Every seat is taken, even the ones beside me. Each person on my side nods to me once, out of politeness, and quietly readies their materials for class.

The final class of the day is also the most boring one—Civics. I took a mandatory introductory Civics class in high school, and this one is bound to be even worse. Looking around, I realize that the room is packed full of people, though. It couldn’t be that bad if there were so many students, right?

The buzz of conversation is everywhere and the professor is nowhere in sight. The conversation is soon picked up by people who were quiet before, and the sound intensifies in the wide-open room, echoing and bouncing off the walls. The person on my right is sitting at the end of the row, tucked in the very back of the room. He is tall for a Japanese man, and very lanky. His thinness matched with his tallness and glasses make him look slightly awkward. He smiles at me and tries to strike up conversation in Japanese. I respond hesitantly, my voice too quiet in the loudness of the room. Somehow, he either hears me or pretends to hear and fakes it quite accurately. I ask if he knows English well. He says he does. I clear my throat gently and realize for the first time that he is blushing.

“Are you okay?” I ask in English. He coughs.

“Y—Yes, of course. Just a little cold, perhaps.” His voice is very, very deep. It sounds almost difficult to hear because the tone is so rich. “I hope you will pardon me for asking if it offends you, but are you not Japanese?”

“No,” I say, looking at my hands. “I am American, actually. My parents were native-born Chinese, so I suppose I’m Chinese too.”

“Welcome to Japan,” he says with a smile. It is goofy, but endearing. “I am not exactly Japanese, as you can probably tell by my height.” He laughs and I join him. “One of my parents is Russian and the other is half Japanese and half Korean. So I have very little Japanese in my blood. I understand how you feel, if you feel a bit out of place here.”

“You feel that way, too?” I ask, partially relieved, and partially empathetic. “Are you a Japanese citizen? Or are you just studying here?”

“Oh no, I was born and raised here, but I moved to Russia. That is where my citizenship is, but I’m living here temporarily.” He smiles. “What brings you here?”

“My boyfriend.” I return his smile. “And my education, of course, but it would be a lie if I didn’t list him first. He’s very important to me.”

“Is that so?” he asks, seemingly a bit shocked to hear that. “I, too, traveled from my home to be with someone. Of course, it would be strange to say that it’s a romantic reason. My mother is ill, so I have returned to care for her.” He blushes a bit. “I do have a fiancée though. She is Russian, as my father was.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you two,” I say with a great smile. This man’s life almost reflects what I would like my life to be like. I would like Satoru to propose to me someday. The thought of marriage itself fills my heart with joy. Before I can say more, someone steps into the room and the chatter dies down immediately.

“I regret to inform you students that the professor that was to conduct the class today has called in with a severe illness. There will be no class today.”

I turn to the man beside me. He does not seem happy, but nor does he appear displeased. He picks up his backpack and slings it over one shoulder, offering me a hand that I take.

“My name is Henri, I am pleased to have met you.” Before I can say anything about how un-Russian or un-Asian his name is, he rolls his eyes and smiles. “I know, my parents have a grand sense of humor, don’t they?” I chuckle.

“I am Bao. It was nice to meet you, too. It’s good to have a friend in a place as foreign to me as Japan.”

He laughs. “It’s scary right now, but I swear, it’ll grow on you. Give it time. And as for the friend thing, give that some time too. I’m sure you’ll be swarmed in guy—I mean, people—in no time.”

“Right,” I say, blushing a little despite my not being all that flattered.

********************************************************************************************

“Okaeri,” Satoru calls from the dining room as I enter the house. I respond with a quiet “Iraisshimashita” before going downstairs to put my things in their proper place. The backpack feels very heavy, although it didn’t feel quite that bad before. It feels much better to set it down on the floor by the bed. I gather the things to take a bath, stripping off my clothing and wrapping myself in a towel just as the door to Satoru’s room swings open.

“Bao!” he says, slightly surprised. “I thought you had class today.”

“I did, but the professor was ill, so I came home early.” He says nothing for a moment, his face looking completely smooth for a long moment. “Is something the matter?”

“No, no. It’s just that I have company upstairs at the moment. You are welcome to join us, if you like.” His smile seems to sit on his face awkwardly. I decline. If he is so nervous about my being there, perhaps the company he speaks of is his parents or family. He may not be ready to introduce me. At my refusal, he seems neither pleased nor displeased, relaxed or unnerved. He nods, his fingertips skimming my arm before he disappears upstairs.

I clip my hair into a bun and head to the large bathroom.

**********************************************************************************************

“Satoru,” I murmur just loud enough to be heard over the falling water. He says nothing, but I know that he has heard. His breath gently blows across my bangs and across my brow. With warm fingers, he tucks long locks of hair behind my ears. “What is your relationship like with your parents?”

The question shocks him into silence for a moment. “I am not very close to them.”

I trace a finger down the ridges of his stomach muscles, listening to the breath filling and emptying from his lungs. His chest rises and falls, bringing my head with it. The muscles there are surprisingly comfortable. My shadow leaps and pirouettes on the walls as the candlelight flickers high on the ceiling. “Is that why you never talk about them?”

“I suppose so.”

“I—I’m sorry,” I say, realizing that I may be asking too personal a question. Heat might have risen to my face had it not already been hot. “I was only curious why you never talked about them before…”

He smiles, his hand cupping my face sweetly. “There is nothing worth saying about them.” He releases my face and relaxes once more in the pillows, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder blade. “They were devout Catholics. Both were music teachers, and taught me enough about it to get me interested. Of course, a good deal of my interest was competitiveness.”

“So are you saying that, without them, you might never have been a musician?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to say. There are a lot of ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s. A great deal of my life has shaped me, not just my parents, but I think I understand what you are asking. I believe that they had a factor, but not a large one.”

“What about them, though? What are they like?”

He thinks about it for a while and the patterns on my skin stop suddenly. “Strict. My parents were very clear in what they wanted me to do with my life and who they wanted me to be. I do not think they are all that pleased with what I became. And they are very religious, as I said.”

“You don’t seem religious, though. Was that something else that they didn’t quite drill into you?”

He laughs. “You could say that. I don’t believe the same things they do, at least, not completely. Honestly, I would rather not think about those kinds of things.”

“I understand,” I say, kissing his chest lightly. We are silent for a moment, but the question in my head dances on my tongue, willing me to speak it. I ready myself for a less-than-pleasant response. “Will I… Will I ever meet them?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, squeezing me to him briefly. “If you want to, I will invite them over sometime soon. Momo wants to see them, anyway. And I’m sure Tetsuo would be more than interested in meeting you.”

“Tetsuo?”

“My little brother.”

“I… see. I would love to meet them, but only if you want me to. I won’t force you into an awkward situation. You know them better than I do.”

“I don’t know about that. I haven’t spoken to my parents in some time. As I said, we aren’t on the best of terms, and they aren’t exactly delightful company.” He kisses me, his lips soft and warm. “But I will try. For you.” His lips skim my neck, full of promise.

And just like that, all thoughts of meeting his parents get pushed to the back of my mind.