I
decided to annotate this story for a couple of reasons. I’m not 100% certain that the real point of
it was ever clear—too much of the feedback I received seemed to miss the
point. The other reason is that I love
this song, and it’s been in my head lately.
It always makes me want to cry for Miwa.
SMOKE GETS IN YOUR
EYES
by Angela
The
splash of cold air on my face feels good as we step outside the overheated
lodge. I close my eyes and breathe
deeply, savoring the crisp bite of chill in my lungs. Miwa doesn't talk as we walk toward the small ski cabin I share
with Miki. Our conversation had tapered
off a while ago, and for the past half hour we've enjoyed each other's silence.
I
chose this episode because Miwa and Meiko had time alone and seemed to enjoy
each other’s company mutually. Also,
it’s just before the Meiko-gets-her-award episode, which is the return of
Na-chan. I’d hoped that would be
obvious from the start, but I guess I underestimated everyone’s MB
fanaticism. Silly me, I must remember
that not everyone memorizes it like I do.
I
slide my gaze over his face, which is outlined by stars in the cloudless sky
above us. He looks peaceful,
happy. I feel a smile tugging at my
lips. Quiet and happy is an unusual
combination for him.
He turns
suddenly, gracing me with his thousand-watt grin.
I
don't know if it's the cold or that smile that makes my cheeks feel hot and
flushed, but I'm suddenly grateful for the moonless night. I quickly look away--a boy as handsome as
Miwa Satoshi would think I was admiring his looks. I fix my gaze on the snow below us, packed tightly from heavy
traffic. It bothers me that I'd even
noticed his looks.
"Are
you okay, Akizuki?" he asks, his voice teasing.
That
tone. "Fine," I reply,
feeling my eyebrows knit stubbornly together.
A small part of me wants to play along with him tonight, to keep that
contented look on his face, but I know the danger of giving an inch with this
one.
By now in the series, Miwa can read her reactions pretty well. I think he knows very well at this point that she’s not immune to him.
"That's
good," he answers quietly. He
takes my hand and weaves his fingers around mine. I instinctively try to pull away.
He
holds. "Your hands are cold,"
he protests. "You're not wearing
your gloves."
"Neither
are you." But his hands are
warm. His fingers feel large and
comfortable, almost hot against my cold skin.
"Let me go," I argue softly, tugging my hand back.
He
looks at the sky. "Sometimes I
wonder if we don't take two steps back for every step forward,
Akizuki." His voice is somber,
almost wistful. He tucks his hands into
his pockets and looks down at me, his smile gone. "Why won't you let yourself like me?"
I do like him. That's the problem. For
as long as I can remember, I've fallen asleep and awakened to just one face,
one smile. Lately Miwa's laughing eyes
had invaded the space between dreams and waking, and I'm not ready to let him
be the first person I think of each morning.
But
Namura Shinichi isn't mine anymore, I remind myself reproachfully. Maybe it's time to be nice to Miwa.
Stepping
closer to him, I slide my arm through his, letting my fingers curl into the
cold nylon of his jacket. It's been a
long time since I've taken a man's arm--I'd forgotten how nice it could be to
be this close to someone.
He
looks at me, startled. I find that it's
not hard to smile.
"I'm
sorry," I say honestly. "I
haven't made this easy for you."
He
surprises me. He throws his head back
and laughs out loud. "I don't
expect you to," he answers without guile.
He stops walking, pulling a pair of gloves from his coat pockets. I don't protest as he slides them over my
hands. "If you were easy to
catch," he says softly, pulling my jacket cuffs over the top of the
gloves, "I wouldn't bother chasing."
My
heart flutters at his words and gentle tone.
His breath lingers in a little cloud of fog before fading into the
night. I'm suddenly confused.
"Besides,"
he cries out unexpectedly, winding an arm around my middle and yanking me near,
"won't the reward be that much sweeter when I finally have you?"
This was inspired by Miwa of the anime, obviously. In the manga, he wasn’t so stubborn or slick. I think he often gives Meiko outs like this—deliberately pushing things too far so that she can feel justified in her anger. He’s a good guy that way.
"Idiot!" I tear myself away and resist the urge to
smack him. That's the trouble with this
guy; I let my defenses down for a moment and he thinks it's an invitation to
maul me! I hurry the few meters left to
the cabin, eager to get inside and close the door so I won’t have to look at
Miwa Satoshi until morning.
Ignoring
his protests, I bound up the steps to the porch, fumbling in my pocket for the
key. Miwa's gloves are no help, so I yank
one off, flinging it onto the snowy porch boards.
"I'm
wounded," he pouts, walking casually toward the porch and scooping up the
offending glove.
As I
finally retrieve the key from the depths of my coat pocket, Miwa comes up
behind me. I'm about to unlock the door
when he puts his hands on my shoulders.
I tense, unprepared for the spark of excitement that comes from his
touch.
"Not
yet," he hisses in my ear, motioning toward the window.
Miki
and Yuu are lounging on the carpet in front of the fireplace, surrounded by
fluffy pillows and laughing happily. As
we watch, Miki picks up a pillow and smacks him with it, but rather than
retaliate, Yuu holds her still for a kiss.
A lump
forms in my throat, watching them. I've
never seen such perfect joy in my life.
I can't intrude on that. I look
up at Miwa helplessly.
Why throw
Miki and Yuu into this? A few people
asked, feeling that it broke the mood.
Well, I needed a reason for Meiko to go back to Miwa’s cabin, and I
think by contrasting them with a more secure and perfectly-matched couple like
Miki and Yuu, their own flaws and mismatching would show. I evidently missed the punch on this.
Wordlessly, he guides me
off the porch and back into the snow.
"We'll just have to go to my cabin," he explains as he pushes
me toward the steps of another nearby building. "Since Yuu is with Miki, no one will bother us."
I jerk
my head around to look at him, but his expression seems innocent. No one will bother us how? I clench my eyes shut and hope that somehow
I'll survive the night unscathed.
The
cabin is dark and chilly, smelling of pine and citrusy wood polish. Miwa hurries to the fireplace, expertly
stacking logs and kindling to start a fire.
While he's occupied, I turn on a lamp, casting a yellow glow over the
still-dim room.
The
cabin is just like the one I share with Miki--decorated simply with a bed on
either side and a couch near the fireplace.
A thick rug covers the hard wood floor near the hearth and in a far
corner is a tiny kitchenette with a sink and an old stove. I walk slowly around the room, letting my
fingers trail over the smooth wood moldings and the soft throws tossed over the
sofa.
Miwa
picks up one of the plaid throws, wrapping it over my shoulders as he takes my
coat and hat. "Go ahead and sit
down," he urges, motioning to the plushy sofa. "The fire should take hold in just a minute."
I find
myself happily trusting him as I browse through some books stacked on the
table. He doesn't have that wicked look
in his eyes tonight and I decide that I can be nice to him, after all.
Meiko’s calculation here always surprises me. I meant for her to be more swept away and caught up in the emotions, but seriously, she didn’t make a move without thinking about it in detail first. I like Meiko more than Miwa, in the series, but in this story, it’s Miwa who breaks my heart.
As I
leaf through a translation of Chinese literature, I wonder which of the
occupants could be reading it.
Remembering Miwa’s gushing response to my own story, I assume it must be
Matsuura’s. An uncontrollable cough
burns my throat, startling me. I choke,
looking up in alarm. Smoke billows from
the fireplace, rolling away from the chimney and into the room, filling the
cabin in a matter of moments with its thick, woodsy scent.
Miwa
hurries to open a window, waving his arms to encourage the heavy smoke to leave
the room. I almost laugh, looking at
the pained expression on his face as he turns back to me.
"I
didn't think about the flue," he apologizes sheepishly, running a hand
through his hair.
"It's
okay," I assure him, not hiding my smile.
The air gradually clears, leaving the smallest bit of a smoky haze over
the dim cabin. The fire seemed to catch
nicely--already healthy flames lick the wood, providing a golden glow from the
hearth. "Can I make some hot
chocolate?" I ask, glancing at the stove by the sink.
"Ahh,"
he sighs, sinking into the plushy sofa.
"I'd like that."
I
start a kettle and find a couple of mugs and some powdered cocoa. "Marshmallows?" I offer, looking
at the squishy bag in the cupboard.
"No
thanks," he says, fiddling with a radio on the table behind the
couch. "I like mine a little bit
bitter."
No
wonder he pursues me. I blush as I
realize how sentimental it is to compare his taste in chocolate with his taste
in women. Pouring the hot water into
the mugs, I study him, wondering what he's thinking about.
Too constructed? I like the metaphor, but it seems loud.
As
though he can feel my eyes on his back, Miwa turns to look at me. His eyes are wide and dark; from across the
room I can't read his expression, but the intensity of it makes my stomach
twist. The scratchy music of a distant
radio station winds its way around us, and I forget about the chocolate in my
hands.
"Akizuki,"
he murmurs softly, up in a graceful bound and taking the mugs from me. "The one thing I regret," he
continues, setting the chocolate on the counter, "is that we never got a
chance to slow dance on Christmas."
That
night had been fun, full of loud music and laughter. Dancing close together wouldn't have made sense. But tonight--the sultry American standard
flows from the tinny radio and straight into me--tonight could be different.
I
don't protest as he pulls me into his arms, not even as he gathers me close
against his body. I don't remember how
to protest. Or how to breathe. The throw around my shoulders falls,
unheeded, to the floor.
"They
asked me how I knew my true love was true," his voice is low and husky as
he sings the foreign lyrics, leaning his head against mine. "Do you know much English,
Akizuki?" he breathes into my ear.
I
nod. I know what the song means. It's about falling in love, about getting
hurt. It's about that feeling that
surges through my chest and burns into me every time I think of him, and more
recently, every time I think of Miwa Satoshi.
And so begins the dancing around-Namura’s-name game. I was aiming for a distracted Meiko, who thinks of Na-chan waaaay too often for any reader to feel secure in her feelings for Miwa. I’m not sure where I fell short, but most of my feedback applauded Meiko’s decision to put Na-chan behind her. Er, she MARRIES Na-chan. This was supposed to fit within canon, not form its own.
I
wonder what it would be like, if just for one night, to forget about the past
and allow myself to react to Miwa. His
wool sweater is scratchy and warm beneath my hands; his breath is hot in my
hair. I can feel his chest, just centimeters
away from mine, sending me those sparks of liquid electricity that I've always
ignored.
"Akizuki."
I look
up at him, unable to mask everything that I know must be written on my face.
His
eyes are luminous, catching the firelight.
My breath catches and I'm dizzy with the closeness of his face, his
delicious mouth. Licking my lips
self-consciously, I remember how sweet his kiss was. My stomach flip-flops as I realize how close I am to kissing him
again.
He
leans close, touching his forehead to mine.
"Meiko," he whispers softly, using my given name for the first
time. His breath smells of mint and
coffee and a little like that long-ago kiss.
I feel woozy and frothy and vibrantly alive all at the same time.
I
close my eyes; his eyelashes are making me want to cry.
"When
your heart's on fire," he breathes along with the music, "you must
realize smoke gets in your eyes."
The song should’ve been a tip off, too. Meiko even says it’s about getting hurt. Maybe I should’ve included all of the lyrics?
I
barely register my leaning forward, pressing my body against his as I stand on
tiptoe to reach him. My mind hardly
notices that I'm the one who presses our mouths together, stilling his words as
the music continues weakly around us.
His
arms tighten around me and my own wind around his neck. His mouth envelopes mine, consuming me with
fervor I've never felt--not even with Namura.
There's urgency in his hands, in his hips that press lean and hard
against mine. My heart thuds painfully
in my chest as it becomes clear that I'm just as desperate for this. I clutch his hair in my fingers and press
against him almost violently.
I
don't know how long we stand like that, kissing and staring and kissing
again. His lips caress my mouth, my
neck, even my closed eyes, learning the contours of my face while I memorize
the firm lines of his back with my hands.
Each kiss is more intimate than the last, until I feel like I'd be
spinning out of control if not for his strong, bracing arms. He pulls his mouth away and looks down at
me, his eyes wondrous and chest heaving.
"Akizuki?" he asks, his voice gentle in spite of the things I
know he must be feeling.
A friend didn’t like that he went back to “Akizuki” after calling her “Meiko” last time. I dunno—I just couldn’t let him be so casual. He used it once for punch, but now he’s kind of scared. It makes sense to me that he’d fall back on the name he uses more often.
I know
what he's asking and why and I don't care.
I look at this boy who has the power to make me forget everything, to
make me hungry with longing and rage.
He's nothing short of incredible.
He wants me. He loves me. And I've made him wait so long while I've
wallowed and cried and licked my wounds.
Too long. It's time to let go.
I try
to tell him but can find only a choking lump where my voice had been. Instead, I run my inexperienced, shaking
hands over his chest and up to his shoulders.
"Satoshi," I say, the unfamiliar name tripping over my
tongue. "Satoshi, I want . . ..”
Before
I can breathe again I'm swept from my feet, cradled against his solid
chest. In a few short moments I'm on
the bed--Miwa's bed--as he very carefully tucks a pillow beneath my head. I notice that his hands shake. I take one.
Impatient, isn’t he? ^_^ I like that he wants to stake his claim now, while she’s all floaty and romantic. He’ll feel bad about it later, I think, but for now, what choice does he have? Any “yes” would be good enough, right?
"You're
nervous?" I ask him softly, trying to control the tremor in my voice.
He
smiles weakly. "Terrified,"
he confesses, smoothing my hair gently.
I
nod. "Me too." For a moment I'm confused at the relief in
his eyes. Surely a guy as popular as
Miwa Satoshi has been in this position before.
I remember countless girls bringing him gifts and writing notes to get
his attention.
Sliding
into the bed beside me, he kisses me, making me forget about the other
girls. I help him pull my sweater over
my head, fumble with the buttons on my own blouse as he shucks away his own
shirts. The rush of cold air on my skin
makes me shiver; I wrap my arms around my middle in an attempt to protect my
warmth as well as my modesty. Very
gently, Miwa moves my arms to my sides.
My nervousness makes me queasy as his eyes take in my nakedness.
"You're
beautiful," he breathes before pressing his hot skin against me. I almost gasp at the sensation of melting,
of tingly merging as my skin adjusts to his heat, his weight. Our mouths meet and I close my eyes, letting
my hands explore the contours of his shoulders. We taste every exposed inch of each other, learning not to
tremble as we go.
The
urgency returns, and soon it's not enough to kiss and rub and fondle. I want more--more skin to learn, to ease the
ache that's been building since that first kiss. I reach for the button of his pants.
Startled
by the contact of my fingers, he jumps.
He grabs my wrists and holds them away from him, something close to
panic in his eyes. "I've never
done this before," he explains as his face reddens. He looks at the wall, suddenly
disturbed. "It's okay,
though," he continues softly.
"It doesn't bother me that you--"
Making him a virgin was a stretch for me, but I liked it. I like the idea that, even while Miwa plays around, he’s more serious deep down. He really could wait for love, I think—particularly the anime version of his character.
"I
haven't." My insides lurch at the
memory, of that night so similar to this when I threw myself at Namura,
practically begging him to make love to me.
"Sensei," I stumble over my explanation, blinking back sudden
tears, "said it would complicate things." He said that his career was in jeopardy as it was, that a sexual
relationship could get us in too much trouble.
He said that he loved me enough to wait. But he didn't wait. I
clench my eyes shut and try to picture him with Ryoko-sensei, anything to make
me angry enough to stop thinking of him.
Should a girl ever picture her ex in any regard while involved in a love scene with a new lover? No. She shouldn’t have to. This is emphasizes what I was trying to do with Meiko’s emotional state right now.
And
then Miwa is holding me, crushing me against him with his powerful arms. "I'm glad," he whispers into my
ear. He pulls away, cupping my face in
both hands. His eyes are bright and
happy, but his face looks serious.
"Don't think of him," he urges me in a low voice. "Please," he kisses me
quickly. "Be with only me
tonight."
I look
at the radiant face of this boy who offers me more than the other ever
could. I know his feelings--they're
written on his every look, every action.
Miwa can be mine forever, if I just say the words. He will protect me, make me laugh, love me.
"Only
you," I whisper, letting my fingers touch his soft lips. This boy will be true. "I see only you."
And I don’t think this is lying, but rather it’s wishful thinking. Meiko would’ve loved to be able to love Miwa—I think that’s made pretty clear in the anime. But the fact of it was that she wasn’t able to love him—not more than she loved Na-chan.
We
remove the rest of our clothing slowly and I absorb the masculine, smoky scent
of him. I'm moved by the intimate way
naked bodies tangle, and I realize that after tonight, Miwa Satoshi and I will
be indivisible. His body, his face--I
let my hands touch and memorize every part of him, trying to imprint on my mind
that we would belong to each other.
The
actual lovemaking is awkward, with fumbling and apologies and strange
maneuvering. Still, as I hold on to
him, wondering at the new sensations and spiraling pleasures, it's his face
that makes tears gather in my eyes. No
amount of reading or education could have prepared me for the emotional
onslaught that comes with his quirky smile and constant blush. No one could have told me about the tiny
crease of concentration between his eyebrows or the way his hair tickles my
forehead when we kiss.
At the time I wrote this, I was too shy to really write lemons, so I thought I’d focus on other aspects of the scene—aspects that didn’t make me blush so much as I wrote . . .
Soon
I'm losing myself in his penetrating eyes as balmy sensations wash around
me. The initial pain long gone, I wrap
my legs around his body and urge him closer.
I want Miwa to become a part of me, to merge with me so I'll see myself
in his eyes. I want his to be the first
name on my lips when I talk with Miki--the only name. I want him to erase Namura, so I won't ever wonder what this
could be like with him.
"Meiko,"
Miwa whispers close to my ear. His
voice is hoarse and urgent. "I
love you, Meiko!"
I open
my mouth to respond but my throat goes dry.
My heart hurts in my chest and I'm suddenly very dizzy. I grasp his shoulders more tightly, willing
the room to stop spinning. He tenses
above me, crying out my name as his body dissolves into shudders.
He
gathers me up in an affectionate embrace and nuzzles his head against my
shoulder, pulling a heavy blanket over our heated bodies. For a long time neither of us move. My limbs feel clumsy and heavy and my brain
is clouded by sleepy confusion. He
smells so familiar now, from the scent of his body to the smoke in his hair; I
know I'll never forget the smell. I
like the way his warm torso leans against mine, the way his long legs and arms
wrap around me protectively. I feel
safe and unbroken. Just like with--
I
banish the intrusion of Namura's memory.
Na-chan again. I think it’s pretty clear that this story isn’t a nice one. Meiko isn’t giving even a fraction of what she’s taking here, and it’s not fair to Miwa.
"You're
mine now," Miwa murmurs, pressing his lips into my hair. His warmth envelops me, making me woozy with
his closeness even as his words make my stomach churn. His mouth finds my ear, his tongue sending
teasing shivers through my skin.
"Akizuki
Meiko is my girl," he whispers, not even attempting to disguise the joy in
his tone. "And I'm going to love
her for the rest of my life."
Once
again I try to answer, try to form the words that had been so easy with the
other. "Miwa," I say instead,
nuzzling against his chest affectionately.
I care so much for this boy in my arms that it hurts. He makes me ache deep inside myself where
everything hurts, but each day, with each new smile, he makes the ache less.
Tears
spring into my eyes, burning as they send cleansing rivulets down my
cheeks. The song from before unaccountably
comes to mind--a line that had somehow been lost among the sweet, new
kisses. So I smile and say, "When a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your
eyes." I know that something
inside me died that evening, but maybe, if I'm uncommonly lucky, Miwa Satoshi
will bring another part of me to life.
I guess I shouldn’t have ended it on a positive note, with Meiko lying to herself like this. . . . She’s crying though, and I thought it was clear that they’re not the joyful kind, but maybe I missed the punch on that. I’m totally unsatisfied with this ending—I think I was in a hurry to have it done with. My endings usually end up sub-par due to impatience.
Anyway, thanks for reading my annotated version. I hope this either clarified my intentions
with this story or justified your reading of it. Comments are, of course, always welcome.