Rooftops At Sunrise

5

For two months, Aoi spends her time doing homework, then obsessively drawing pictures of landscapes she's never seen in person before, until her wrists are throbbing with pain, and she finds herself giving up her short-lived dream of becoming an artist.

Her mother scolds her for not being more careful. Her father merely shrugs, then pats Aoi on the shoulder, softly, as to avoid hurting his daughter. "I would do the same, too, sometimes," he tells her, "if I were in your position."

That night, they do not fight over medical bills. Instead, Aoi's mother accuses her father of putting strange ideas into Aoi's mind.

"Don't you see she is supposed to rest?"

"Why did you tell her that?"

"Because of you, she will get even sicker!"

Aoi worries for her future. She knows she isn't good for nothing—and yet, nothing is good for her.

She does not think it is the world's fault, though, nor is it hers either.

The young woman is lost.

She does not even know what it is, that she is looking for.

*

A month before her trip with Damian, Aoi is cleaning her room. As the young woman does her best to blink the dots out of her vision, every time she bends over to pluck a stray pillow up and away from wooden floorboards, something taps at her bedroom's window.

She pauses. A voice in the young woman's head tells her she should technically be feeling at least a tad bit of fear at the noise—for it is quite the unusual occurrence in her day to day life—yet, lately, Aoi has found herself being afraid of different plagues.

Fading away without ever having truly existed, to name one.

Aoi checks the hallway through her half-open door, first and foremost, to make sure her parents are home so that, if need be, she can call for help. Relying on others, in her opinion, is something to be pitied, however, she has gotten used to it over the years—not out of choice, but necessity.

Of course, when Aoi realizes who it is that has thrown tiny rocks at her window, she frowns, immediately closes her door, then opens her blinds, and hisses, "Damian, what the heck? What are you doing? Did you think you were in a movie?"

"Nah, if I had to guess, I'm in a book."

"It's ten on a weekday, Damian—go home."

"But I wanted to talk to you!"

Aoi's fingers tense against the windowsill.

Damian hooks a hand around the back of his neck. He tilts his head downward, then stares at his feet. "Sorry," he mutters. "I didn't mean to scare you... or creep you out. My boss made me deliver some food to a guy two streets down. I figured I'd say hi, since... you don't really seem like you're too fond of texting."

So, he could tell, Aoi thinks to herself as she shifts on her feet, then sighs.

It is not as cold as it used to be outside. She cannot use the weather as an excuse.

Granted, the young woman could always tell him she is tired, or supposed to abide by her parent's rules, as long as she is living under their roof—however, neither of those things have ever stopped her from doing what she wanted when she truly wished to act on a whim. "Okay," she eventually says, and Damian's face lights up. "But give me five minutes first."

"O-of course," he blurts. His back is much straighter than before. He salutes her. "I'll wait! T-thank you!"

Aoi steps away from her window. A chuckle escapes her lips. She wipes it away with her knuckles. And thinks to herself, What an idiot.