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It is a lovely spring day, the sun glowing overhead and laughter filling the breeze along with newly-blossoming cherry blossom petals. Haori and Susato sit beside one another on the grass, a blanket spread out beneath them as they enjoy the meal Susato had prepared, as delicious as anything Susato has ever cooked. Their families sit in the distance, just visible in Haori’s peripheral vision. Susato’s father and Haori’s parents talk (gossip) amongst themselves while their daughters watch the flowers.
“They seem to grow more beautiful every year,” says Susato, her eyes on the petals blowing by.
“Indeed,” says Haori, her eyes on Susato.
Perched with her knees beneath her, Susato looks—in a word—radiant. She is of the same age as Haori, only several months older, but next to her, Haori feels like a wilting flower beside the brightest one in the field. No, no—she feels like a flower set back into bloom by Susato, the sun shining above. There is no reason for her to compare herself to Susato in such a negative manner; Susato is not her enemy nor her competitor. She gives her strength in the way any friend would.
Well… maybe not. Haori sips her tea as she regards Susato. Nowadays, her hands tingle when she watches her, and her stomach flutters like the petals twirling around them. Susato is her friend, that much is certain; but the extent of Haori’s feelings toward her—
Haori yelps when a drop of too-hot tea hits her tongue. She sets the cup back down with a jolt, careful not to splash it over the grass or their blanket, and clutches her mouth.
Across from her, Susato gasps. “Haori! Are you all right?!”
For her to raise her voice is rare, and Haori winces at the thought that she has inspired such a drastic reaction. She waves a hand, and once she’s coughed and recovered enough to speak, she wheezes out, “I—I’m fine! I just, um, drank it before it cooled down.”
“That’s not good.” Frowning, Susato tilts her head. Her eyes dart in the direction of their families, glancing at where Mr. Naruhodou has just joined Professor Mikotoba, but they seem too distracted to have noticed. “I’m glad you’re all right now. Make sure to let your tea sit for a moment longer next time, all right?”
“I will.” Haori’s voice trembles a little, but she looks away lest her gaze linger on Susato longer than is appropriate.
While she waits for the steam to dissipate, she steals glances out of the corners of her eyes. Susato is sitting upright, a pillar of strength, warmth radiating out from behind her head. Her pink kimono is but a shade darker than the petals in the air. She really is beautiful, but her physical looks are not what makes Haori’s breath sticks in her throat—no, it’s the gallant posture Susato holds, the way she silently but solidly refuses to give up any of the space she takes up, the subtle confidence and fire in her eyes. She is delicate in a way, but Haori wouldn’t consider crossing her for an instant.
There are, Haori notices, pink petals in her dark hair. Susato doesn’t seem to have noticed. The petals only add to her overall look, but they might grow uncomfortable if they’re left there.
So, with a decisive swallow, Haori reaches out, murmurs, “Sit still, please,” and plucks one out. Then another, then a final one. If her fingers linger on Susato’s head, brushing thick and silky and sun-warmed hair, then it is an accident, she will say—but Susato does not ask, so she finds herself without the need.
Instead, Haori holds a petal up to explain herself, and Susato giggles. “Oh dear. Thank you, Haori.”
“Yes,” says Haori eloquently, grateful she can blame the warmth in the air for the flush high in her cheeks.
*
When they had left the courtroom after Haori’s trial, Haori buzzing from her “Not Guilty” verdict, Susato (“Ryuutarou”) had still been wearing her disguise. Of course she had—there hadn’t been anywhere for her to change back in the courthouse, and it would have looked strange if Ryuutarou had entered but not exited and Susato had exited but never entered. Professor Mikotoba had doubted anyone would be paying that close attention, but he had agreed with Susato’s sentiment that it was better not to risk it.
Still, Haori had glanced at her at every chance she’d gotten to do so. They’d walked side-by-side, Haori falling somewhat behind every now and then. Professor Mikotoba—the prideful gleam in his eyes quite youthful indeed—had walked at a farther distance so they could speak. It had been unnecessary, since neither of them was quite in a mood to talk, but Haori had appreciated it nonetheless, because it gave her the opportunity for this.
Had Susato always been as tall as she stood now? Haori hadn’t known, but she hadn’t dwelt on it. She had known she should have played up Ryuutarou’s identity, but sine Susato had been unveiled, she hadn’t been able to think of her as anything but. Her breath had been stolen away when she’d first seen her lawyer, and again when she had been revealed as Susato.
“I swear that I will remain your ally and fight for your innocence!”
Those words had rung in Haori’s ears for hours. It hadn’t been so much that Susato had looked like a man—she had, at least at first glance, but her true identity had somehow made her seem all the more gallant. A woman discarding her very self for the purpose of defending a dear friend… now that, Haori had known, was bravery.
(It hadn’t helped that Susato had looked very handsome in her uniform. Haori’s heart had beat faster every time she glimpsed the cloak flowing after Susato, or the hat perched over her bundled-up hair, or the shirt and trousers both accentuating and obscuring her figure.)
Haori’s fleeting looks hadn’t escaped Susato’s attention. After a few moments, Susato had stopped, and Haori had been quick to follow, looking over in confusion. A moment of hesitation, and then Susato had asked, “Haori, are you all right? You’re looking a bit flustered.”
Behind them, Professor Mikotoba had coughed, sounding rather like a laugh. Haori had brushed it off in favor of clapping a startled hand to her chin.
“Of course! I am a little dazed still,” she’d said with a breathy giggle, trying not to look at Susato for too long anymore, dashing as she may have been. “The adrenaline of the trial and its aftermath—” and what an aftermath that had been, Haori had thought with a mid-sentence sigh “—is beginning to wear off, I believe. But I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure,” Susato had said, shoulders slackening.
“I am! Are you all right?” Haori had said then, scrunching her eyebrows together. “That trial—I mean—”
If anything, the mention had made Susato look brighter. “It got somewhat scary at times, I must admit. But—I’m very glad about the results. And I’m happy that I could assist you in any way possible, Haori.”
She hadn’t yet dropped the honorific, if she ever would, and Haori had felt a rush of brand new heat to her cheeks at the ever-present politeness in Susato’s tone. She’d clasped a hand to her chest in relief. “I’m happy that you could assist me as well,” she’d said. “Truly, I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. You’re—so gallant.”
“You keep saying that,” Susato had said, almost laughing.
“Well, it’s true! That Susato Toss—” Haori had cut herself off at the sound of another cough behind them, turning to find Professor Mikotoba smiling politely but shifting his feet.
Susato had noticed as well, and she’d given her father a quick bow before turning back to Haori. “We can discuss this back at home,” she’d said in unspoken apology. “Let’s continue on.”
Haori had nodded and scurried after Susato as she’d kept walking. Professor Mikotoba’s heavier footfalls had picked up behind them, but she’d paid them little heed.
Perhaps as a result of her costume—or her time overseas, something that she hadn’t yet spoken of to Haori in person but that Haori hungered to hear more about, from what little information she’d received in letters—Susato had picked up a more confident stride. Her shoulders were broader, Haori had noted, and her steps taken with greater ease. She’d kept her arms folded behind her back instead of at the waist. Despite her comment about not feeling quite comfortable looking as she had, she’d seemed to have settled into it over the course of the trial.
It had made Haori almost aspire to the same. She hadn’t been sure if she’d wanted to go to quite the same lengths as Susato had—and she’d been somewhat certain that she hadn’t wanted to stand in court like Susato—but she wouldn’t have said no to a little of that confidence.
Clouds had gathered above, so there hadn’t been many others out, but they had earned some double-takes nonetheless. They must have made quite the picture: A young pair not far apart, with an older man bearing a striking resemblance to the apparent boy trailing afterward. It had at least been a short trip back to the Mikotoba family home, where Haori had agreed to spend dinner.
There, Susato had changed back into her kosode and hakama. Rather than fixing her hair in its usual style, she’d let it down across her shoulders, a sight Haori had seen before but never noticed as being so striking. Susato had looked elegant and genteel in a more relaxed way than usual. She’d smiled as she’d stepped back into the room as if in reassurance that she was still Susato.
Of course, Haori hadn’t needed the reminder. Even now, she’d thought, she looks so gallant, and she had blushed harder when Susato had asked with concern about her flush.
*
The world in which Haori lives, she knows, is unfair.
Oh, things have been changing as of late—in no small part due to Professor Mikotoba and his apprentices in Mr. Naruhodou and his own daughter—but the world is still cruel in as many ways as it is hopeful. For women, and women like Haori in particular, there are few opportunities in life. She is lucky enough to have her position at Teito Yuumei University. She’ll be luckier still if she’s able to go further in the medical field, but she isn’t holding her breath.
A degree is little more than a pipe dream. In the future, she could take on an apprenticeship overseas, she supposes, as a transfer student. After Susato’s whispers about what England and Japan’s transfer programs had been used for (really, Susato, Haori had hissed even with her hands clasped to her mouth in excitement, is this something you should be telling me?! Isn’t this a matter of—of national and diplomatic security?!), however, the thought makes her the slightest bit queasy. So she’ll wait to see what her life has in store for her.
And as for romance—she has always envisioned herself being constrained to an arranged marriage like her parents’ upon coming of age, unfulfilled but resigned to her fate, perhaps blessed with eventual love like her parents had been or at least vague understanding. Haori has always faced this possibility with grim acceptance, too far in the future to be a real concern.
Now, though… although it is impossible for them to marry like other couples, Haori can frankly not imagine living a matrimonial life with anyone but Susato, let alone any man. She does not tell her parents this, but any marriage besides theirs isn’t so much as mentioned in passing in their house.
Haori’s feelings for Susato should be surprising, or at least unsettling—but they are not, not for a heartbeat. They somehow feel as if they’re something she’s always been moving toward; a steady and natural fall, like leaves drifting to the ground.
The problem is what to do about them.
Haori knows a great deal about the human body. She knows how the diaphragm contracts and relaxes to allow air into and out of the lungs, and how breathing often becomes more difficult when nervous, like cherry blossoms are clogging her chest. She knows how bones and muscles are arranged, tendons and ligaments tying the body together like puppet strings. She knows that the large intestine averages over a hundred centimeters long. She knows how the heart pumps blood throughout the veins with every beat, and how its pulse increases when she meets Susato’s kind, dark, twinkling eyes.
…A bit too specific of an example, there, but the point is: Haori is a medical student with a healthy amount of knowledge about human anatomy.
The human mind, however, is another thing altogether. The brain is a part of the body like any other, albeit one Haori has studied in far less detail than other organs, but its operation is much different from the rest of the body. It controls everything: Every movement, every thought. And everyone’s is different. Haori’s is cluttered and frantic, her thoughts sometimes too fast for her to keep up with, and those related to romance have quite the rosy filter indeed.
She doesn’t know quite how Susato’s mind works. It is fascinating enough to witness Susato’s machinations in relation to the law—understanding, at least in full, is out of the question.
But Haori does know that, while she and Susato are different in a number of ways, their commonalities drew them together. Their shared fierceness, for one; the tenacity that prompted Haori to convince Susato to teach her how to perform a Susato Toss, an ability she holds near and dear for its usefulness and sentimentality alike. There is another thing, however: Their fondness for clichéd but pulse-stopping romances.
It is with all of this in mind that Haori decides to woo Susato as she has always meant to be wooed.
*
Haori does not have a plan, per se. Fictional romances are easy enough to settle into—but real life, as Haori knows well, is far more complicated, and therefore she isn’t quite sure where to start.
The scientist in her knows the basic steps she must take, but she’s not sure how they apply in this situation. What is she to hypothesize? What can she observe, and how? What is her experiment, and what is she hoping to learn from it? The clinical methods of research to which she has clung since she first took an interest in medicine seem of little use to her here, or at least she isn’t sure how to adapt them in a way that they’ll be helpful.
As such, Haori comes to a preliminary conclusion: She must reach out for assistance.
That leads her down another series of decisions. Her parents’ situation is far different from hers, and it would be embarrassing to ask them besides. She isn’t close enough to Mr. Naruhodou to know much more about him than the longing looks he sends out windows sometimes, always laughing and saying something about how he’s thinking about a friend when Haori catches him. He might understand, but if speaking to her own parents is too mortifying a concept, then speaking to him is twice as much so. Asking Susato herself—now that would be disastrous.
Thus, though Haori is still embarrassed to have to do this, she settles for the next best thing to these options: Professor Mikotoba.
Once she thinks of this solution, it’s hard to consider that she could have ever thought anything else. He has experience in these matters. He has known Haori and Susato both for years. He is, Haori knows, too kind to judge her for an instant; and perhaps he could understand her better than anyone, with certain things she has heard about him from Susato.
It still takes her a few tries to bring it up. Multiple times, she opens her mouth only to close it, and Professor Mikotoba keeps telling her that she should rest.
But one day in the laboratory, Haori gathers herself and fidgets with the first thing she can grab (a scalpel) to distract herself from the sudden warmth in the room. Then, voice shaking, she manages to ask, “Professor Mikotoba, what sort of things does Susato like?”
He blinks at her in shock. (Perhaps, Susato thinks in retrospect, this wasn’t the best time or location to have this conversation, but she doesn’t know any other time she would be able to speak to him without Susato present.) “Why, I would think you would know better than I at this point, Murasame. And if not, you could simply ask her personally. You’ve been friends for quite some time, have you not?”
“Well, yes, but—” A significant portion of the blood in Haori’s body relocates to her face. “I—I don’t believe this is the sort of thing I can just ask Susato about.”
“Hmm.” Professor Mikotoba considers her for a moment before his confusion clears, giving way to a chuckle. “Ah… I see. You are young, after all.”
“E-Excuse me,” manages Haori, dimly aware that maybe she shouldn’t have this discussion with a scalpel in hand if she doesn’t want a repeat of her trial. Though, on second thought, if it means she would be able to see Susato in that uniform again—
What are you thinking, Haori?! she scolds herself, putting the scalpel down perhaps too harshly.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that in a negative way,” Professor Mikotoba hurries to say, raising both hands in defense. He doesn’t seem scared, at least, only startled. “I quite admire your youthful energy, as a matter of fact. It’s refreshing, to say the least.”
“Um—thank you?” Haori can’t stop herself from turning it into a question.
“Of course. Though I’m not sure this is the sort of thing I can assist with, either,” he says with an askance look. “My daughter and I talk quite often, but that topic has never exactly entered our conversations. And after her mother—” He falls silent.
Ah. Of course. Haori’s stomach sinks at the reminder of Susato’s mother’s fate—she hasn’t known Susato long enough to have known Ayame, but she has known her long enough to know what an impact her passing had had on both Susato and her father. Haori bows her head in a quick apology that Professor Mikotoba dismisses with a sad little smile.
She shifts the topic nonetheless. “I—would you happen to know if Susato even, erm, likes—”
She can’t bring herself to finish, but she thinks it’s clear enough where she’s going with it. Professor Mikotoba seems to agree, for he says, “Again, it’s never come up.” His eyes glint, and he thumbs at his mustache. “But I like to think that I know my daughter very well, and if I had to guess—well. If not, she would still take this in stride, I assure you. You have nothing to worry about with Susato.”
Haori had come to his conclusion on her own, but she still relaxes at the reassurance. Timidly, she brings herself to say, “Do you really not have anything to suggest, Professor Mikotoba?”
“I’m afraid not. I wish I could help, but I believe this is something I must leave up to you and Susato.” He strokes his chin. “If you run out of ideas, however, might I suggest you write her a letter? In-the-moment speeches are admirable, of course, but I find that taking the time to compose your thoughts often helps matters.”
Haori blinks. “A letter?”
“Well, perhaps that’s only for old-timers such as myself,” says Professor Mikotoba with a deep laugh. “Then again, I have seen young Naruhodou and Asougi quite intent on their writing materials as of late. Keep it in mind.”
“I—I will. Um, Professor Mikotoba?” He hums, and though he hasn’t given her much in the way of advice, Haori still feels compelled to say, “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”
Professor Mikotoba turns, looking right at her for a long moment. There’s a shrewd look on his face that Haori has seen before but hasn’t been on the receiving end of since he came to see her after her arrest. She straightens on instinct. Her hands clasp together so tightly her white knuckles are visible at the ends of her sleeves. (She’s only glad she isn’t holding a scalpel anymore.) She feels as if she’s being scrutinized, every flaw and asset being brought to light. A terrifying feeling coming from anyone, let alone her professor and Susato’s father.
Then, surprising Haori even more, whatever Professor Mikotoba sees makes him smile. A slow smile, one that comes to his face in steady increments, scrunching up his twinkling eyes and creasing his cheeks. It’s a smile, Haori realizes, he shares with Susato.
Just as Haori is about to ask what is happening, Professor Mikotoba tilts his head back. “Good luck,” he tells her. “You’re already part of the family, so far as I’m concerned.”
That just about makes Haori’s head spin. She opens and shuts her mouth, unable to come up with a suitable response. Professor Mikotoba understands her intent, clearly, but what can she say that will make him understand how much such words mean to her? In the end, she settles for averting her gaze, aware of her deep blush.
Professor Mikotoba’s smile softens. He pats her shoulder, stern but kind, and says, “But enough of that—we can discuss it more off the clock, if you wish. Let’s get back to work now, shall we, Murasame?”
“Yes, sir,” she manages, though he doesn’t call her out for daydreaming throughout the afternoon.
*
Haori wakes to darkness and a soft cushion beneath her head. She did not put it there, but her thoughts are covered in a rosy haze, and so for several seconds after she awakens, she only blinks in mild bemusement at it.
Then her eyes readjust—she’s in her room, and the last thing she can remember is reading a medical textbook provided by Professor Mikotoba, as well as it being light out, meaning it must be evening by now. She must have fallen asleep, then. She hadn’t thought of her reading as that boring, but perhaps Haori has been under more stress than she’d thought as of late.
Haori scrambles to feel around the desk before her fingers close over the edge of her book. Squinting, she can make out a bookmark marking her place. She manages a relieved sigh as she straightens up.
She is swathed in warmth, and it doesn’t take long to identify the source: A cloak is draped over her shoulders. It isn’t hers; with a start, Haori recognizes it as the cape from the uniform Susato had worn during her trial. The intentions of this are lost on Haori until she stretches and recalls, mind working hard to shake the dreamy cotton from its edges, that Susato was meant to come over today.
Haori’s drowsiness gives way to alert panic in an instant. She startles upright and makes for the door. She stumbles out of her room and down the hall. After a brief pause to take a breath and smooth out her hair, she slides open the panel to the living room and finds her parents sitting there, perched on either side of the chabudai, eating and reading in companionable silence. They look up in greeting; still somewhat distracted, Haori bows quickly.
“Has Susato been here?” she asks.
Her parents exchange fond looks just at the sound of her name—they’ve always loved Susato, and her passionate defense of Haori months prior hadn’t hurt matters. “She stopped by earlier,” Haori’s mother tells her. “We told her you were studying, and she came out a few moments later saying you had fallen asleep. She said she would come back to talk tomorrow.”
“We encouraged her to stay and wait,” adds Haori’s father, frowning, “but she told us she had some work to catch up on herself.”
“Oh,” says Haori, both elated and disappointed. She squeezes the cloak tighter around herself. It smells faintly of Susato, Haori finds, as indistinct as that scent is—it’s more of a feeling than a smell, really. The feeling of cherry blossoms dancing in the wind, of a cry of “Objection!” ringing out in a cold courtroom.
Her mother doesn’t fail to notice. “Wasn’t that what Susato was wearing?”
Haori’s face reddens at the feeling of her parents’ knowing glances upon her. She turns on her heel, bare foot catching for a moment on the tatami flooring before she manages to right herself, not bothering to think of how disrespectful all of this is. “I am going to read more and then go back to sleep,” she declares. “Goodnight, Mother, Father.”
“Haori, aren’t you going to eat with us?” comes her father’s amused voice, but Haori is too busy darting back down the hall.
Their chuckles drift down toward her even as she slips back into her room with her hands over her face and her—Susato’s—cloak still draped around her. It’s warm and comforting, if only due to the fact of its true owner.
The thought occurs to Haori that she might be the one being wooed, but Haori dismisses the thought as hearsay. (Perhaps she’s listened to Susato talk about the law far too much. Perhaps she hasn’t listened enough.)
This, she decides, calls for more extensive experimentation.
*
“Susato! I brought lunch!”
Across the room in Naruhodou Law Offices, tucked behind a desk with a frown on her face and her hands folded as she reads a report before her, Susato snaps her head up. Little more than her face and shoulders are visible behind the stack of books and files covering the desk.
Haori will never be fully used to the state of the office. It’s small and cramped, with only enough room for one desk and a couple of cabinets—the exact sort of place Susato would be uncomfortable in, to say nothing of the lack of organization. Susato has been in a constant state of cleaning since Mr. Naruhodou first got the office. Debris in the form of files and unorganized folders already covers the limited space, and even the walls aren’t spared, with some materials pinned up and, of course, the katana mounted above the wall. Mr. Naruhodou’s eyes flare with pride every time it’s mentioned.
It belongs to my best friend, really, he’d told Haori once, color in his cheeks and a broad grin on his face. But I’m holding onto it while he’s in England. And I thought I might have gotten arrested again— this he’d said sheepishly; the story of his prior arrest is a favorite tale of Susato’s— if I kept it on my person, so I just decided to put it here. It reminds me of why I, as a lawyer, fight.
(The way he speaks of Asougi is much different from how Susato does, but it’s no less admiring. There’s something more idyllic to it than Susato’s sibling-like appreciation—something gallant, perhaps, though it affects Haori in a way far different than Susato’s chivalry.)
Altogether, the limited decor clashes, and the stacks of paper do nothing to combat the impression of the office as post-natural disaster. Despite—or perhaps because of—all of that, though, there’s a distinct feeling of home to the place. Every time Haori steps in, she has to take a moment to catch her breath.
Which she does now, dragging herself back to the present, clutching her lunchboxes against her chest. Susato has risen from her seat and is approaching with a weary smile. The afternoon sun streams in through the window (the first time she’d shown Haori around, Susato had said, Did you know England used to levy a tax based upon how many windows a building had? I’m rather grateful we don’t have anything like that here—imagine if our window was covered with bricks) and casts a warm glow around Susato’s silhouette. For a moment, Haori is transfixed.
“Haori?” comes Susato’s voice, high with concern, and Haori finds herself blinking. “Are you all right?”
“Oh! Yes, just fine! I got distracted for a moment.” She makes as if to shield her eyes from the sun, though Susato is far brighter, and holds out her lunchboxes. “Takuan and onigiri, just like they sell at train stations. There’s a park not far from here, correct? I thought we could go and eat together.”
For a split second, Susato’s gaze is conflicted, and Haori is about to bow her head and redact her offer when Susato beams. “Thank you, truly, Haori—that is very sweet of you. I would love to have lunch with you. You packed enough for yourself too, yes?” she adds, looking with sudden worry at the lunchbox beneath hers.
Haori pumps her fist. “Of course!” Then, abashed, she adds, “I believe my parents were somewhat worried when I took my lunch break as an opportunity to cook up a fuss.”
Susato giggles, then pauses. “Oh, will the university want you back soon, then? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work—”
“It’s fine! I worked something out with Professor Mikotoba. As long as I return sometime before sunset to finish out my duties for the day, it should be all right.”
“I see. I’ll have you back before then,” says Susato, all grave, like an interested suitor making an oath to a girl’s parents (a thought that sets Haori’s heart aflame despite the real situation being far different), and they both laugh when she straightens back up.
As promised, they have lunch together in the park, sitting together and sharing stories: Haori about her work in the Teito Yuumei University labs and Susato about her work as a legal assistant and not-strictly-legal attorney, although both are much further behind the scenes than her previous stints. She, too, mentions snippets of her work back in England that Haori has already heard about dozens of times but never tires of. They discuss their families, what they’ve been reading lately, what they think passersby might be up to. They speak of everything and nothing in a way Haori can only do with Susato.
But before long, they pack up, walking slow so as to spend that much longer with one another. As they peruse the streets, they lean closer together, shoulders brushing with each step. It makes Haori’s heart beat like a taiko drum.
After a few steps, Susato gasps and leans into Haori to tuck one arm through hers. Haori has to blink a few times before she’s able to see that Susato is pointing to a food cart in the distance with her other arm. “Look! They’re selling taiyaki.”
“You’re still hungry, Susato?” asks Haori, stumbling somewhat from the warmth of Susato’s arm against hers and her excited voice in her ear.
“My father says I’m a growing girl.”
Haori looks to where the once-nonexistent difference between their heights is already growing. With a mournful frown for the final growth spurt likely behind her and an internal sigh for the thought that Susato could one day be tall enough to tuck her head under her chin, Haori reaches into the box hanging from her obi for a fistful of money.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Susato’s eyes go wide, an expression quite reminiscent of her father. “You already made me lunch—you needn’t pay for my dessert.”
Her arms presses against Haori’s just so, grip tight but not enough so to hurt, and Haori grins even as she blushes. “I want to, though! You have been so gallant for me, so I’d like to be at least a little gallant for you.”
Susato tilts her head. “I’m not sure that’s what that ought to mean.”
“Even so! Allow me, please, Madame Susato.”
To Haori’s delight (and some embarrassment), Susato grows the faintest bit pink at that. “Well, if you insist,” she says, pressing her fingers to her lips, and Haori does indeed.
*
After another day out, which become more commonplace as spring and summer trickle by, Haori and Susato take the streetcar home. It’s not crowded—in fact, there are only three others aboard—but they take their seats together nevertheless, crowding close together as they set off.
The streetcar bumps along the road. The last remnants of light are still glowing across the street, the day’s final rays of sun painting everything amber and pink. Haori ignores the summer skyscape to focus instead on Susato.
For the length of their trip, the world fades to just the two of them. They talk in low tones, heads bent together and laughter hidden behind their sleeves. Their proximity makes Haori blush, though it’s hidden well enough by the sunset’s warm lighting. Susato looks beautiful tinted by it—the sky seems to illuminate her clothing and hair in contrast to her sun-kissed and shadowed skin, making her look all the more striking. It hits Haori again how delicate and strong she is, not a contradiction but a natural combination. Susato is both a sturdy flower and the sun giving it life.
Her beauty is far from the only thing about her that Haori so adores, but she won’t deny her aesthetic appreciation. Mouth half-open, she watches Susato in silence, spurring a lull in the conversation while she studies the curve of Susato’s smile and the softness of her eyes.
Susato is as perceptive as ever. Her laugh fades as she notices Haori’s silence, and with her head cocked, she asks in that sweet tone of hers, “Haori? Is everything all right?”
Haori jolts herself out of it. She bows her head and lets a stream of apologies flow from her, but Susato just laughs, a sound like a bell.
Before they can speak much more, they’re jostled by an awkward movement of the streetcar, arms and legs knocked together. To steady herself, Susato grips the wall with one hand and Haori’s arm with the other. Her grip is tighter than Haori would have expected, another minute show of strength, and she finds herself all the more flustered when Susato pulls away with an embarrassed apology of her own.
Susato’s hand comes to rest on the seat beside her. Her pinkie finger bumps against Haori’s, subtle but—Haori has to assume—deliberate. Susato keeps her gaze forward and her lips sealed, not pulling away even when an ostensibly inappropriate amount of time has passed.
Haori jumps, but she doesn’t so much as think of pulling back. Her finger curls around Susato’s as best it can in their current position.
Susato smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. Haori watches the sunset roll by with newfound appreciation.
When at last they come to a stop, what seems like both a lifetime and a handful of seconds later, the warmth of Susato’s finger leaves. But Haori worries not, for she has it back on their very next trip.
*
Autumn brings with it rain, and quite a lot of it this year. Haori continues her tentative advances toward courtship: Lunches and conversations and awkward touches, though the last come more from Susato than herself.
Professor Mikotoba’s scant advice remains at the back of Haori’s mind, something to fall back on should she need it. She grows embarrassed of her own passivity as the leaves shift in hue. She’s happy with their friendship as it is, but something in her still rattles to be closer in another way. Part of her wonders if she should just allow herself to be wooed, but she can’t figure out if that’s Susato’s intention in her kind gestures, or if that’s just Susato—further research, Haori decides, is required, but she has not an idea of how to gather it.
As the weather grows increasingly dreary, Haori and Susato take shelter at each other’s homes, eating lunch together under a warm roof rather than in the park or Professor Mikotoba’s office at the university. Susato isn’t working as much now, but she tells Haori old stories about her and Mr. Naruhodou’s previous cases with sparkling eyes. In return, Haori tells her old stories about her work with Professor Mikotoba.
One day, Susato has just left when Haori hears something outside: Rain pelting the ground. A lot of it, from what it sounds like.
A haphazard plan lights up her mind. Sometimes, science requires logical thought and an intricate plot—but sometimes, human emotion, plain and irrational and spontaneous, wins out.
“Oh! It’s pouring,” comments Haori, if only for her parents’ benefit. She worries her lower lip between her teeth, swaying on her heels. Then, without waiting for either of her parents to speak, she hurries over to the door to pull her shoes on and grab a pair of umbrellas, one of which she brandishes in their direction. “I should go bring this to Susato. I will return soon!”
“Doesn’t she like the rain?” asks her father, but Haori, ignoring the truth in this, is already rushing outside.
To her relief, there’s no one else around to see her winding around side streets to catch up with Susato in time, mumbling under her breath all the while. Her sandals catch on the wet ground. She runs all the faster for it.
At least Susato hasn’t gotten far. When Haori spots her ahead, she calls out for all the neighborhood to hear—and Susato, looking more peaceful than anything despite how her sleeves are almost soaked through, turns at the sound of her name. Her mouth opens in shock. She mouths Haori’s name, but Haori hardly hears it over the sound of her own pulse and her footsteps, which skid to a stop before Susato.
“Hi, Susato,” says Haori, out of breath. Her lungs almost give out the next time she tries to speak, so rather than pursuing the feeble attempt, she shoves an umbrella toward Susato.
Susato seems to not even see it. “You—” Her cheeks are a little flushed now. “Did you just run all that way?”
Haori catches her breath enough to say, on the verge of a squeak, “Yes! I didn’t want you to catch a cold, or anything of that sort.”
“I’m more worried about you than I am myself now,” says Susato, a hand clasped over her mouth.
“It’s okay! I brought an umbrella for myself too!” Haori unfolds hers.
Susato’s hand lowers to tuck itself below her chin instead. “Well, still—”
“Susato,” says Haori, cutting Susato off without intending to. Susato stares at her with plain surprise, and Haori flushes under it. “Sorry!” she stutters out. “I just—I—”
With a mournful aside glance for Professor Mikotoba’s suggestion and all of her half-thought plans, Haori decides to embrace spontaneity. Her heart is beating fast, her breathing is ragged, and her palms are shaking too much to account for any sort of consideration or logic. She balls her fists and squares her shoulders. The stance she adopts is similar to one she might take upon performing a Susato Toss, her fight-or-flight instincts gearing her in another direction altogether; the sudden fierceness seems to take Susato aback.
But, sucking in a deep breath, Haori declares: “I’ll fight for you, too, Susato!”
The whole world seems to stand still for a moment. Haori’s chest heaves with the force of her statement. Susato stares back, blinking, mouth parted. As soon as her shout sinks in, ringing in the air around them, Haori feels the urge to sneeze.
Susato still hasn’t spoken, and there’s a gnawing feeling in Haori’s stomach. She steps closer and tries her luck.
“I can’t fight for you in the same way you fought for me, but I’d like to in any way I can. Because I—I really love you, Susato!” She hadn’t realized just how much until she’d said so aloud, but now she almost gasps with it, though she doesn’t allow her train of thought to be derailed. “I’m not sure when it tipped from liking to loving, but it did. And—and it’s not just about Ryuutarou, but I think that spurred my realization—you’re so gallant all the time, not just in that uniform.”
Haori takes a moment to breathe and clear her dry throat. She realizes now why Professor Mikotoba told her to write these things out. Susato is still blinking in silence, her expression truly blank.
“And, um,” continues Haori, “I just wanted you to know that. I’ve—been trying for several months now, but—” Her heartbeat surges, loud and fast enough that she’s sure Susato must hear it somehow. “If you do, then maybe I could… court you? Or you could court me, or—I suppose we could court one another. I’m not certain how all of that works, to be honest—but. Um. Okay. There it is. What do you think, Susato?”
Her words hang in the air, suspended like the droplets of water clinging to the roofs around them. Haori pants with the weight of it. Her hand is shaking hard enough that she almost drops the umbrella.
She waits, and—
Susato laughs.
Haori freezes. It isn’t an unkind laugh—it never could be, coming from Susato—but it’s a laugh nonetheless, and the conflicting emotions in Haori, confusion warring with unbridled affection at how lovely Susato’s laughter is.
A moment later, Susato cuts herself off. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh,” she says, still smiling, but she bows to cover it. “I—your speech simply took me by surprise. In fact, I—” She hesitates, covering her mouth for a beat. Then she drops her hand and, through her blush, smiles even brighter—that same confidence Haori had seen in her in that courtroom seems to bloom forth. “I feel the same way. I—I love you too, Haori.”
“Oh,” says Haori on instinct, and then her eyes widen. “Oh!” And she laughs too, because that’s really all she can do besides resist the urge to leap into the air and pump her fist. She’s so filled with giddy energy, she has the faint desire to go find someone to toss. From Susato’s cheek-to-cheek grin, she has the feeling she understands. “Um! Well! I guess we’re—hold on. Please take this umbrella already.”
She holds it forward, and Susato shakes her head even as she takes it. Their fingers brush on the handle. The touch, simple as it is, sends a jolt through Haori’s system and makes Susato’s cheeks redden even further. Susato lets the umbrella hover belatedly over her head.
Haori looks around, eyeing the cloudy sky and dark streets. She’s—not quite sure what to do now.
“It’ll be nighttime by the time you get home now,” she says; she can’t be certain of the time with the current state of the sky, but that seems to be a reasonable estimate. “Would your father mind if—?”
Susato is already saying, “He’ll surely be fine with that. He’s been encouraging me to spend more time with you as of late, in fact. His enthusiasm is… sweet, but somewhat troubling.”
Haori isn’t certain what enthusiasm looks like on a man as solid and mild-mannered as Professor Mikotoba, but she does feel herself smile at the new knowledge. “That might be my fault,” she confesses.
Susato’s eyes light. “Oh? I should like to hear about that, I think.”
“It’s a long story,” says Haori, although it isn’t really, and she adjusts her umbrella. “I’ll tell you while we walk back.”
Their hands intertwine as they return to Haori’s home, fingers hidden beneath their sleeves but grins on full display on their faces, umbrellas raised to shield each other from the downpour as best they can, though it’s really no use now. Laughter drowns out the sound of the rain. As far as they’re concerned, they’re in a bubble that the raindrops cannot penetrate.
When they step through the door, they drop each other’s hands out of convenience rather than anything else, since they need to take off their shoes and put the umbrellas away. Haori’s parents chide her, but they can’t complain too much at the sheer delight radiating off of Haori. They invite Susato to dinner as long as she’s there, allowing her and Haori to sit in the living room together in the meantime.
The clouds part before long, but Haori and Susato pay no mind, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company well after the storm is over.
*
The next batch of cherry blossoms come early. When Haori and Susato and their families go to view them, they’re joined by a party of three from London, ferried in on a steamship, faces put at last to the names Haori has been hearing about for so long. The degree of unfamiliarity with Haori’s parents makes for an awkward few moments, but soon they pass and everyone is laughing and drinking tea together.
Talking as a group is more than delightful, but soon Haori and Susato—settled into their rhythm by now, with a significant amount of trial and error, in the true spirit of the scientist in Haori and attorney in Susato—break from the others. It’s tradition, after all. (And they’ll be able to hold hands without Mr. Asougi teasing Susato or Haori’s parents giving her pointed smiles.)
They take a quiet seat where their families’ voices are still audible. Mr. Holmes, it seems, has taken to telling exaggerated stories of his and Professor Mikotoba’s misadventures, with interjections from young Iris. Haori is sure she’ll hear abbreviated versions from Susato or Professor Mikotoba (who had suggested she call him Yuujin now, a proposal met with embarrassment from all directions and agreed to be reviewed sometime in the very, very distant future) later, but for now, she’s content to focus on Susato.
Here, she can sneak all the glances at Susato she wants and get a smile in response rather than an innocuous question about her flush. Here, she can intertwine their fingers on the grass, an act once so exciting and now commonplace but no less special for it. Here, she can tuck back Susato’s hair as the wind rustles it.
They sit and talk and just spend time together, like every year. Their moments together have always been precious—now, even more so, and Haori is more than happy that the only ways in which this has changed are for the better.
During a pause in their conversation, Susato reaches between them, hand extended toward Haori’s hair. Haori sits still as a statue while Susato’s hand lingers there, fingers brushing the top of Haori’s head. After a moment, she pulls back to reveal the petal clasped between her fingers. Haori’s eyes go almost wide enough to bug out of her head. She hurries to meet Susato’s gaze, which is as warm as ever, filled with simultaneous confidence and self-consciousness.
“I wished to return the favor,” says Susato with a little laugh.
“How gallant,” says Haori, only half-joking, and they both grin as, together, they blossom alongside the flowers.