Typhoon Season.

By now, the typhoon was slowly showing its teeth. Strong gusts of wind pushed against the windows and the rainfall got stronger each minute.

“We’re really happy you take care about our little rascal, yeah.” Akimi’s mom stroked her daughter’s shoulder.

“Okan!” Akimi snapped and pulled away.

Her mother just chuckled and continued eating at her Chirashi Bowl, Iyogi had prepared for dinner. Akimi’s father was not there. He was on a business trip in Europe and would only return at the end of the week.

Therefore, the dinner table was only occupied by the two women of the household, the butler and Takurō himself. Iyogi poured another drink for Takurō. He thanked him with a nod.

“But say … how did you finally manage what my husband and me were never able to: Spark her love passion for movies.”

He looked at Akimi. “I think there is a genre for everyone, y’know. She just hadn’t looked into the arthouse and indie cinema.”

“They’re way better than the stuff you tend to produce, f’sure.” Akimi quickly stuffed her mouth with more food from her bowl.

Her mom clicked her tongue. She sighed and looked up at Takurō. “Guess that’s my father-in-law’s influence, now. When he founded YūKa in the post-war era, the company was only meant to produce smaller, thought-provoking movies. That was his vision … but sadly not a very sustainable one, yah.”

She wiped her mouth. “When I met Masaru and began working as a movie producer at YūKa, they were poor as a church mouse. His father had to take high loans to even pay their employees, y’know.”

“Oh … would’ve never thought.” Takurō looked at her surprised. There had been times when even YūKa struggled to maintain their business—the biggest movie empire in Ōsaka. “And you’re a movie producer, Aya-san?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve led quite a few productions over the years, f’sure.” Her gaze shot towards her daughter. “And most people simply watch movies to be entertained and to unwind, not to question the meaning of life afterwards, yah. The ‘stuff we tend to produce’ are the movies that now finance your standard of living, young lady. It’s your father’s merit.”

Akimi looked away. “I didn’t ask for that, yah,” she grumbled.

Aya sighed again. “You’ll have to learn that following ideals is rarely the right approach in achieving your goals, dear.”

She took another lump of rice from her bowl. “But you’ll realize this yourself once you take over the company and hundreds of people and families are under your care.” She ate it.

Akimi held her eyes low, hands formed into fists. Takurō had never thought about this: How big of a responsibility someone had, who led the decisions that influenced so many people’s lives. He reached out for Akimi’s hand and stroked her gently.

She looked up at him.

“I’m certain, Aki-chan will do this just great, f’sure.” He smiled at her, and Akimi couldn’t help but requite it.

Aya nodded looking between the two. “At first, I was a bit worried, that Aki found someone just now, but it seems unfounded. I’m hopeful, your relationship will endure all the trials ahead of you, now.”

Akimi gently pulled away her hand; continued to eat.

Takurō scanned her face. “Trials?”

“I mean … with all the tutoring ahead of her, there won’t be much time for dates with you, y’know. And during her studies, she also won’t be able to travel to Ōsaka all the time.”

A loud thunder echoed through the night. Takurō couldn’t help but flinch at the loud sound. He turned around in his bed once again. The Futon was comfortable, but there were countless reasons keeping him awake right now.

Heavy rain kept pelting against the windows, tossed around by gusty winds and accompanied by lightning and thunder, strong enough to even make the items in the cupboard vibrate.

Takurō turned again, away from Akimi’s bed.

“Takkun?” asked a whispering voice from behind him. “You still awake?”

He looked slightly up. “Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep as well?” She asked with a more normal voice.

Takurō nodded. “Yeah …”

“Sorry, I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to approach this. If ya think it’s better to—”

“It’s okay.” He smiled, still somewhat bitterly. “We’ll … make this work, f’sure.”

“Yeah! Yeah, exactly!” She pushed herself up in the bed to sit upright. “I mean we still can call each other every day, and I’ll visit you at least once a month … and for holidays and I dunno … whenever there’s a special occasion. With the Shinkansen it’s not even three hours to Tōkyō and it’s only for six years, after I have my master, f’sure.”

He gulped; his gaze still lost in thought.

“And until school ends, we’ll spend every break together and I can surely take off a few hours from learning on weekends for you.”

“Yeah … that’d be nice.” He pulled up the blanket a bit more. “But what ‘bout your photography?”

“That …” She slowly leaned back into her pillow again. “The city burns so brightly that we can’t see the stars anymore. I know that my photography and my art tried to capture the fantastical, but I’m actually born in the world of science. Even though I was able to take a small taste of Magic, I can’t stay forever in this world. I won’t have time for hobbies anymore, y’know. I already handed in my notice of resignation for the volleyball club and my photography will also come to an end. I’ll have private tutors teaching me, so I’m prepared for everything.”

Takurō turned around to her. He looked up to see her lying inside her bed. Her purple eyes looked faint; tired. He gently shook his head. “But is this what you want, yeah? Giving up everything you loved?”

She couldn’t stand his gaze. “I won’t give you up,” she said briskly. “But I won’t be able to lead a company of this size without the proper education, y’know. When I entered high school, it had already been decided that I would ultimately study in Tōkyō. I knew this would happen … and dad even talked to Toyoshima-san, so I could exhibit my artworks in his gallery. As a farewell to this stage of my life. I’m … leaving this behind on good terms, y’know.”

“But …” It was hard to argue against this logic. The universities in Tōkyō certainly had few of the toughest entrance exams in the whole country. Takurō exhaled lightly.

“My original plan was to never touch a camera after exhibiting in the gallery, but then I met you and you turned everything upside down. You wanted to know all these things and somehow, …”

She turned towards him entirely. “Takkun … I want you to have my granddad’s camera, now. With me it would only catch dust, but you know how to use it.”

His eyes widened. “No! I really can’t accept—” Another loud thunder made him flinch again. His breathing was still unsteady, beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.

“You okay?” Akimi looked at him more closely.

He shook his head. “It’s … nothing.”

“I know that I am probably not the one to demand this after my track record of keeping secrets to you, but … let’s just stop that, yah. I’m … or at least I think that I’m your girlfriend. You can entrust me anything.”

He looked up at her, slightly hesitant.

“You’re scared of the thunder, aren’t you?” she asked. “Why is that?”

His eyes remained at hers, focused. “I …” He looked away. “… can’t take your granddad’s camera.”

Akimi remained silent for a moment. “I had a dream last week, y’know. I don’t remember what exactly happened, but it must’ve been beautiful, because I felt so happy afterwards. Only thing I can clearly remember was that you were sleeping next to me.”

“You know I only have my boxers on, yeah.” Because of the spontaneous last-minute decision to stay over, Takurō was certainly left without pajamas. Therefore, he was only sleeping in his underwear.

“Well … that’s the best part, yah!” Akimi’s gaze was soft, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but she cheekily bit her lip.

Takurō chuckled. He lifted his torso.

“But … uh, only if you’re comfortable with this as well!” She evaded eye contact.

He climbed into her bed, sliding under the silky blanket. Everything smelled like her, felt like her. He laid next to Akimi and pulled her over himself, into a snug embrace.

Her skin was soft, her warmth a gentle reassurance. Takurō’s heart was not even beating as fast anymore, his shaky hands slowed down again. There was no need—no need for secrets.

“The truth is … I lost someone as well,” he said with calm words. Another thunder, this time further in the distance. “When I was nine years, my father died during a typhoon like this one.”

Akimi seemed speechless. Her arms wandered further around his chest. “So that’s why neither of you, mentioned a father in your life.”

“Yeah … He was a documentary filmmaker and loved spectacular weather phenomenon, especially thunderstorms, y’know. He taught both Hiro and me everything he knew about movies and was fascinated by the power of nature. But with each great shot, he got more and more reckless.”

Takurō lowered his head. Tears slowly formed in his eyes. “I still remember when he left in the morning to film a typhoon that would soon hit land, only for Okan to receive the call that he would not come back in the evening.”

Akimi propped her body up to look Takurō in the eye. “I’m certain I would’ve liked him. Thanks for telling me, really! Your trust means a whole lot to me, f’sure!” She gave him a gentle peck on his mouth. “If you’re scared, I’m right here for you.”

He pulled her back into his arms, not saying anything else for a few moments. Takurō knew that times could get tough, but if he was not alone, it was half as bad.

He smiled, as he started crying at the pain. “Aki-chan … I love you.”