fic | glasslike

[feathershedding]

Title: glasslike
Summary: On this day, additionally, Emi Suzuki has been observing wordlessly for hours, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her feet tapping periodically against the floor, always in time with the music.

The first time Michan talks to her, she says: ”Ito-san, why are you so scared of dancing?”

On this day, Ayako is barely 16 and her feet are aching, like there’s a chronic instability settling along her ligaments already. She doesn’t pretend to feel sorry about it – no, what’s the point of feeling it, of hurting, when in reality you have miles and miles to go? On this day, additionally, Emi Suzuki has been observing wordlessly for hours, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her feet tapping periodically against the floor, always in time with the music. Suzuki-sensei will only watch them for the day, says their teacher; evaluate and judge, to plan her upcoming lesson schedule appropriately. But when the music stops and the room goes back to neutral, Emi walks up to Ayako and (”why are you so ---“) gives her a wide, unrestricted smile. It breaks up her entire face, lights up her eyes. She’s not pretty but she’s definitely present. Not just looking, but breathing and existing, standing out without any remarkable trait or talent to back it up. That how Ayako remembers Michan. Like she’s effortless (”—so scared of dancing, why are you –“) and unremarkable, all in one.

Then, Michan asks her that question! Emi Suzuki, prominent ex-ballerina, a fading star with an unmistakable grace to her every step – she asks and Ayako can’t reply. At all. All she can do is turn her face away and ball her hands into fists because it’s a stupid question. She hasn’t been on any stage great enough to merit the anger and resentment she feels in response; that’s all she knows and that’s the only way she can answer. ”Because I might not make it.” Maybe a different person, someone more remarkable and less graceful, would have asked for elaboration. But Michan just nods quietly. Says her goodbyes and gives Ayako another smile, much more controlled. Much less unfocused, such an easy change.

And this is how Ayako remembers Michan. Even years later when she’s no longer graceful, when she’s fading to a sad state beyond recognition. As Ayako notices her in the first row during their last performance of Swan Lake, their eyes lock for a second at best, the stage light blinding her quickly to anything beyond the scene itself (”so afraid of – why – because I might not –“). But she sees it. Sees Michan’s unremarkable eyes, her knee-high boots and her respectable clothes, plain enough to be almost - almost - classy. In this split-second, she’s so far away from the underground, from her pusher and his terrible clients that Michan is almost Emi Suzuki once more; the girl who’s too late to make it.

Ayako wants to remember Michan. But she doesn’t want to see her anymore because the light won’t hide the facts and it’s still like that, isn’t it? That she’s too afraid – and Emi Suzuki, too effortlessly unremarkable.

~