Categories > Anime/Manga > Loveless
Traintracks
1 reviewWritten for the August 4th theme on 31_days: "She left her life on Monday." Kouya/Yamato, post-episode 10 of the anime.
3Insightful
Disclaimer: Loveless and related characters are the creation of Yun Kouga.
It could have been Yamato who started this ritual, in the last red days of autumn. Kouya remembers the crackle of maple leaves under their feet and the feel of a ticket clutched tightly between her fingers, watching train tracks crossing into each other. They take turns to plan out the journeys as spontaneous trips roll into weekend pilgrimages, the agreement unspoken and inviolable.
Kouya always chooses the route that eventually takes them to Jimbocho, and buys revision books on biology and mathematics. She avoids the increasingly desperate questions from her teachers -- "What do you want to do after school, Sakagami?" "Which university are you going to, Sakagami?" -- and feels a certain amount of vindictive pleasure with every A.
(You can be a rescue worker, says Yamato. Why not? It's perfect! The next time there's an earthquake, I can see you on TV. No, says Kouya, I only want to rescue you.)
Yamato chooses between Shibuya, Harajuku, and Shinjuku. Kouya watches yamanba girls in go-go boots and padded jackets, pressing her knees together besides Yamato, who plays Beatmania DX on her cellphone and sends e-mails to her classmates. There is only one number on Kouya's new cellphone: Yamato's.
(I want to be a deejay, says Yamato. Listen to this mix, Kouya, isn't it cute? You're tone-deaf, says Kouya. /Hidoi/!)
They don't talk about Nagisa-sensei, or Fighters and Sacrifices. They pass by station after station, looping around Tokyo on the Yamanote line. Yamato plucks off Kouya's fake ears and sometimes forget to return them, but Kouya is used to this and the repeated requests for donuts. After all, Kouya never stops refusing to wear the skirts and tops waved in her face.
We're still here, Kouya thinks. We're still part of what was, circling around it like birds reluctant to leave the nest. But if Yamato is always here, I am not afraid.
(Pick somewhere else this time, Kouya says, I don't care where -- just, please. Yamato closes her eyes and stabs at the map with a finger, north of Tokyo. I've been waiting for this, Yamato says. Let's go, Kouya.)
END
It could have been Yamato who started this ritual, in the last red days of autumn. Kouya remembers the crackle of maple leaves under their feet and the feel of a ticket clutched tightly between her fingers, watching train tracks crossing into each other. They take turns to plan out the journeys as spontaneous trips roll into weekend pilgrimages, the agreement unspoken and inviolable.
Kouya always chooses the route that eventually takes them to Jimbocho, and buys revision books on biology and mathematics. She avoids the increasingly desperate questions from her teachers -- "What do you want to do after school, Sakagami?" "Which university are you going to, Sakagami?" -- and feels a certain amount of vindictive pleasure with every A.
(You can be a rescue worker, says Yamato. Why not? It's perfect! The next time there's an earthquake, I can see you on TV. No, says Kouya, I only want to rescue you.)
Yamato chooses between Shibuya, Harajuku, and Shinjuku. Kouya watches yamanba girls in go-go boots and padded jackets, pressing her knees together besides Yamato, who plays Beatmania DX on her cellphone and sends e-mails to her classmates. There is only one number on Kouya's new cellphone: Yamato's.
(I want to be a deejay, says Yamato. Listen to this mix, Kouya, isn't it cute? You're tone-deaf, says Kouya. /Hidoi/!)
They don't talk about Nagisa-sensei, or Fighters and Sacrifices. They pass by station after station, looping around Tokyo on the Yamanote line. Yamato plucks off Kouya's fake ears and sometimes forget to return them, but Kouya is used to this and the repeated requests for donuts. After all, Kouya never stops refusing to wear the skirts and tops waved in her face.
We're still here, Kouya thinks. We're still part of what was, circling around it like birds reluctant to leave the nest. But if Yamato is always here, I am not afraid.
(Pick somewhere else this time, Kouya says, I don't care where -- just, please. Yamato closes her eyes and stabs at the map with a finger, north of Tokyo. I've been waiting for this, Yamato says. Let's go, Kouya.)
END
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