Training Helen

New 2020 Fanfiction

Training Helen

Genre : Romance/ Mild Hurt/Comfort themes. 

They meet, she hugs him and he improvises. Ensues a series of trials and errors in which Masumi is dazzled into submission by Maya's genius while said genius learns that her fan smells delicious and is a tad childish.
(According to Volume 10, Masumi was supposed to stay the entire weekend at his lake house. Just saying.... )

Status : COMPLETE

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TRAINING HELEN

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NOTES

1: If you read Glass Mask again, you’ll notice one sentence that could change everything.
In Volume 10, when Masumi Hayami went to check on Maya at his lake house, as she was immersing herself in the role of Helen Keller, he had intended to stay the entire weekend, and the Yamashita were surprised to see him leave so soon after he arrived. That is because Masumi was so shocked by his own reaction to Maya’s hugging him that he purposefully and quite literally ran away from his feelings.

So of course, re-reading the manga (during lockdown, here) my mind ran wild with this idea: what if Masumi had not run away that day. What if, as intended, he stayed a few more days, helping Maya to get into the part without risking her life in the process. What if, during these few days, a deeper bond had formed between the emotionally handicapped businessman and the naive young actress.

2: for hardcore fans, know that Miuchi Sensei gave enough clues to tell you where the lake is, so if you want to visit it one day and daydream, it’s the Shirakaba lake in Nagano Prefecture. You’re welcome.

3: Also, at some point, Maya thinks about the possibility of Mr Purple Rose bathing in the same water as her. That’s because Japanese families often use the same bath water at night, as they first wash up with a shower set separated to the tub and then dip in the hot water for relaxation purposes once they are clean. The water stays at a constant temperature due to an elaborate heating system so the whole family can use it.

Now that this is all said and done, I hope you enjoy reading this, and if you want a sequel, with the aftermath of the weekend after the role of Helen, please let me know.

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PROLOGUE

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“Hayami-sama, I’m really sorry to say this but something is wrong with that girl. She really doesn’t behave like a normal 16 years old. We’re scared of leaving her alone in the house. At this rate, she’ll kill herself”

From what Masumi could make out of what a positively alarmed guardian had managed to explain, his favorite actress had decided to blindfold herself and put wax in her ears, cutting herself off from the outside world and quite effectively exposing herself to any danger that should befall her without anyone present to keep watch and make sure she’s safe. As if that wasn’t enough, she had also shut all the blinds, probably to make sure no sunlight could ever direct her away from any potential obstacle, and started wrecking the house as she was struggling to complete the simplest task, like feeding herself. 

As much as he cared about his summer house, the idea of having Maya surrounded with shards of broken glass and ceramics and encountering the sharp blades of a tin can lid every time she ventured into the kitchen was what had him most distraught. The Yamashita had of course guaranteed that they cleaned the house into a safer state, but after witnessing the young actresses’ strange behavior, they had felt leaving her alone again was about as reassuring as leaving a crawling toddler in a construction site. Of course, their alarm was justified, Masumi grimaced inwardly, as he was himself finding a recurring pattern in his protegee’s learning method. The more dangerous the better. Her sadistic circus trainer of a teacher had made sure to implement the notion so deep in her mind, that she would eventually come up with it herself. Masumi winced as the memory of him walking in on them rehearsing the role of a doll replayed in his mind. He could still distinctively feel the crack in his hand, as he had pulled her arm to help her up. The resonating sound that had ensued. The blood…

He laid in bed that same night knowing far well he had little chance of sleeping at all, as various scenarios of Maya hurting herself in his own house came haunting him like so many boogeymen. The irony of having her rehearse in his own estate was surely that he knew the place so well, he would vividly foresee how each piece of furniture and home decor he owned could potentially knock, trip, bruise or cut her. 

Struggling with a newfound and unsettling sense of personal responsibility, he argued that the little whimsical girl he had come to know as Chibi-chan was stubborn enough to endanger herself anywhere, the only difference being that he would probably have heard nothing of it. Then again, hadn’t he intervened and invited her to a remote house in the countryside (where no one would hear her scream), she would certainly have practiced her extreme version of studio acting in her own apartment, with her friend acting as safety net to at least try to prevent her from breaking her neck, so he figured he was partly responsible for her current peril. 

However, the issue of his anonymous persona remained. Naive though Maya may be, there was just no simple way to explain his sudden appearance at lake Shirakaba, stepping through the threshold of this specific house unannounced and unwanted without raising suspicion. The moment she would see him...

Masumi sat up in his bed, the sudden realization leaving him nonplussed and a tiny bit horrified by the direction his thoughts were leading him to. She would not see him. She was blind and deaf at the moment. Were he to casually step through the doorway, her only reaction to their encounter would be...Masumi stopped his train of thoughts, as something dangerously close to hope had snuck in his mind. He focused on planning his next move.

It was 5am, the sun was slowly rising, and Masumi packed his bag, texting Takashi Yamashita to bring breakfast for two, that he'd be there in about 3 hours and was going to stay a couple of days. Before leaving he pinned a Purple Rose to his jacket. Just in case.

You’re a madman, Masumi. 

SATURDAY

Eyes tied shut, Maya knew she was awake.

What time is it? 

It is still night, or morning already? 

I can’t go back to sleep...but I don’t really feel awake either.

My mind is foggy.

Her stomach complained, she felt it without hearing it. 

I’m hungry...are the Yamashita’s coming to bring food? 

Her skin felt overly sensitive, describing the world around her. Heat, fabric, wood...But most of the world was within her now, as she would spend what seemed like hours completely still, dwelling in her own thoughts and dreamland. Sometimes, if she stayed really still, she could even feel her heart beating in her own chest.

Her stomach growled again.

I don’t care if it’s night or day, I can’t wait for the Yamashita to come and feed me breakfast, I need to go to the kitchen right now.

She started her long and slow journey out of the guest room, that is, if that was where she was. She remembered sleeping on a cushy bed, but at this point there wasn’t really anything that could certify to her current location. Lost as she was, she used the wall to direct herself, determined to find her way down to the kitchen. 

On her way to the corridor, she imagined the delicious breakfast Rei used to cook, and probably enjoyed now with Sayaka in her absence. She had offered to sleep over at the apartment to keep Rei company while Maya was away. She could practically hear their laughter from where she was, the room basking in the fragrance of homemade miso soup. 

Her blindfold was feeling wet. Was she crying? 

I’m at the stairs. This time be careful, Maya, don’t--

Her inner pep talk was interrupted by the ominous sensation of something rolling under her foot, which threw her off balance. Her backside took most of the shock and she was downstairs before she knew it, with pain and frustration surrounding her like red hot angry clouds. 

I was being careful! 

She heard her pitiful whimper resonating inside her, like she would hear her voice under water in the bath. Helen probably couldn’t even hear that.  Helen!  

She punched the floor as hard as she could, the new pain vibrating through her entire arm and slightly distracting her from her previous frustration. 

I am tired of this! This is pointless! I miss seeing the sun, hearing the birds! I want to go home; I want to talk to people!  

He had arrived just in time to see the fall. His initial plan had been to enter some time before the Yamashita scheduled breakfast, so he could greet her and appraise the situation on his own to determine if his presence was indeed necessary. However, seeing how despite the guardian's previous clean up his summer house now resembled a violent crime scene, and judging from the cuts and bruises on her legs and arms, he knew he had made the right decision to come and check on her. If left to her own devices, at this rate, she would audition from a wheelchair. 

As he reluctantly took his first step toward her, Masumi repeated in his mind all the ways he should not turn this first meeting into a disaster. If he was fairly certain of the role he had to play, the hazardous parameter of the equation was sitting in front of him, still unaware of his presence, and it made him feel nervous.

Masumi Hayami, Vice President of Daito, and leader of the Entertainment industry. Nervous to meet a small girl 11 years younger than him.

He was only a few feet away when Maya made an attempt at standing up, and failing miserably, she fell into the safety net that he had rushed to provide, namely his own arms. 

Masumi heard her gasp in shock and his body froze that same second. After waiting for her to recover from the first surprise, he knelt down to give her more stability and right her in a more comfortable sitting position. Probably because he was aware of the possibility of a sprained ankle, he found himself to be handling her as if she was a sand statue ready to crumble under his touch at any time. She raised her bewildered head to face him, and Masumi made a silent wish this makeshift and obviously wet blindfold was still sufficiently opaque. It was apparent she could not recognize him when she softly freed her arms from his hold to take his hand. Completely still, and feeling as if he was observing the scene from an outsider’s point of view, Masumi complied lifelessly as her turned his palm up and, her finger caressing the surface in strokes he recognized to be written Japanese, he started deciphering the words: “Who-are-you?” 

The question was candid, and it demanded an answer. Masumi had expected as much, and he acted out what his mind had shown him times and times again from the moment he left until this point. Masumi gazed down at the rose on his jacket, plucked it out, and gently laid it on her palm, closing the fingers on the petals. Maya gently stroked the flower for a minute, her breathing as uneven as his, and raised it to her face, inhaling its scent. Her tiny face shot up in his direction as if she’s been electrocuted, and as she reached out for his hand again this time, he gave it to her already palm up, waiting.  Her index finger was shaking with eagerness and suddenly nothing else existed in this world but her finger and his palm, each syllabus burning his skin with invisible ink. “Are-You-Mr.-Purple-Rose-?” she asked. He put his other hand on hers top of hers, enclosing her hand in the only yes, he could articulate. 

The burst of pure emotion followed immediately. Her face lit up in a warm grin as she raised on her knees and threw herself in his chest, her arms encircling him in a tight embrace as he heard her sobbing uncontrollably. 

Heat rushed to his ears in reaction to his body being attacked by her so suddenly, as she was now everywhere. Her knee was on his leg, her hands were on his back, her face was on his chest, and even her tears were on his shirt. But more than the unexpected display of affection for which he felt utterly unequipped, it was her emotional state that confounded him the most. That a meeting with her fan would provoke in her such intimate response was lost on him.  Ever since he’d given her that first bouquet after the premiere of Little Women, she had named Mr Purple Rose her one and only true fan for whom she was overflowing with a gratitude she seemed eager to declaim to whomever would listen. This girl was so small and yet so passionate, a paradox that always fascinated him to the brim of adoration. Her father was dead, she ran away from home, her mother was missing, her theater company was torn apart, she lived in an old and tiny apartment with her sick and abusive teacher, and even the church she went to practice was destroyed. Yet, faced with this fan, this stranger she’d so longed to meet for the past three years, she threw herself body and soul in complete trust and sincerity.

And he was so undeserving of it. 

As disappointing her hopes would by far be the most crushing of betrayals, he closed his arms over her and tightly returned her desperate embrace, pressing her head on his chest as she let out a relieved sigh of comfort. All that he knew in that instant, was that he would do anything to protect that tiny girl who was sobbing in his arms with bruises on her legs, even if forsaking his sanity was the price to pay for it. 

He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the nearest sofa, closely examining the expression of trusting anticipation her face was making. There, as he got up and went to look for the first aid kit, she screamed “Wait, don’t go!” her voice was loud and unusually high pitched, an effect caused both by the nervous breakdown she was experiencing and the fact that she could hardly hear herself. “Who are you? You always help me and I don’t even know your name! I’m so thankful to you. I always, always think about you whenever I feel down. Please, at least tell me your name!”

He practically ran to get the kit so that she wouldn’t think he left. The girl’s misery was triggering an urge to cover her with warm blankets and rock her to sleep, but he figured a simple care of her injury would be more appropriate. With the mess she had created, and his complete ignorance of her medical record and vaccination card status, he clearly didn’t want to have to rush her to the hospital with an infected wound. To signal his return, he awkwardly brushed her shoulder as softly as he could, which still caused her to jolt slightly at his touch. Taking her palm - a gesture that really shouldn’t make him that nervous - he wrote “I-am-staying-a-few-days”.  Her mouth fell open at those words. “But-you-have-to-promise-to-keep-your-eyes-shut” She nodded almost violently. He repressed a laughter at the sight of her characteristic eagerness, though he was hardly ever on the receiving end of it. “I-will-not-tell-you-my-identity” he added in a handwriting that he hoped transcribed his intended warning tone “But-I-will-keep-your-Helen-company. Think-of-me-as-Helen’s-relative”

 That would work, he thought with satisfaction. She had already promised to remain blind the entire weekend, and now that he implied, she should remain as Helen, she would not try to find him out. She could actually practice, which she desperately needed, and he would make sure that she would stay safe, which he desperately needed. Masumi observed her reaction, as Maya’s frown lasted for a minute, weighing his offer. Then slowly she nodded, her tensed shoulders finally relaxing. Thank god! Masumi sighed inwardly; his relief sweeter than anything he’d ever felt in his life. 

Now he could stay. 

He is in front of me, Mr Purple Rose! Sitting on that sofa, writing on my hand.  He is real. He is here!  

She had felt such a muffled vibration coming from his chest with irregular thuds when he hugged her back, and it had taken her a minute to realize with pure amazement that it had been his heart. How intense his emotion must have been for it to drum in such an erratic rhythm!  Could it be that he won't show his identity because he's shy?  The thought did cross her mind a few times, when she would let her mind wander into the usually painfully sweet daydream of meeting her fan. She would imagine a reserved and soft-spoken old man who would see her as his long-lost granddaughter. Now that she had been close enough to feel the warmth of his embrace, though she couldn’t meet his gaze, her assumption about his sensitive and kind nature was thoroughly confirmed, which comforted her beyond measure. What an amazing person he was…

Mr Purple Rose. 

Something cold and metallic brushed against her knee. As she touched it in an effort to identify it, she concluded it was a small box, with a handle on top, and he was opening it. In reaction to her confusion, warm hands firmly held hers and he wrote “You-are-hurt” with a tension and sharpness that seemed similar to an admonishment. 

A first aid kit? 

Suddenly the stench of rubbing alcohol blinded her senses, and warm fingers slid under her left knee to hold it slightly upward, as something cold and wet touched her skin on her kneecap. Antiseptic? She twitched, a reaction that met the answer “You-should-take-better-care-of-your-body” Oh, but he was definitely chiding her for her clumsiness! Embarrassment heated her face. “I-want-my-Helen-to-make-you-proud” she wrote in an attempt to defend herself, secretly hoping this confession wouldn’t alarm him, though she figured what she had screamed earlier had been a much bolder admission. “You-can’t-act-with-a-broken-leg” He answered, his fingers showing no sign of relaxing. In turn she replied “I'm-trying-to-be-careful” pouting slightly as, though she never had a father figure to compare this with, she was fairly convinced that’s what being scolded by your dad must feel like, which she judged to be highly unfair as she had been trying her best not to cause trouble. A gush of mint scented air rippled on her face in fresh tiny waves. Was he chuckling? The band aid now safely stuck on her knee, she felt his hand slide from under her knee to reach her ankle, and Maya repressed a wince. “Does-it-hurt?” She nodded, and he lifted her foot to lay it on his lap. She jolted when a cold and gelatinous texture wrapped her ankle, spread by both his hands and her toes curled in embarrassment. Then a piece of fabric came firmly covering the solution and maintaining her ankle in a tight hold. Bandaging? She felt his movement with every turn of the cloth, under, above, left, right, and then it was tightly shut and he gently put her leg back where it was. Maya heaved a relieved sigh; glad this mortifying session was over and done with. It was just her luck to finally get her first meeting with her most devoted fan, only to be clumsy enough to cause him to stoop to massaging her feet. She was about to take his hand to scratch out some apologetic characters as swiftly as possible, when she realized he wasn’t done with her yet. 

The now familiar minty breath was close to her neck, and gentle fingers now cared for the cut on her arm just below her shoulder. She couldn’t hear or see, but as her touch had apparently multiplied a thousandfold in the span of a couple of days, each millimeter his finger touched as he applied disinfectant was burning her, the invisible duvet of her skin screaming in a high pitched, almost bright tone. He was applying the band aid on her skin in such a slow, cautious, almost meticulous fashion, his breath washing her neck in cool and regular waves, she could feel her heart drum in her ears. Hands tightly gripping her skirt, she didn’t know how long she’d be able to withstand this proximity. Breathless, her blood reaching an alarming boil, she was about to recoil when a vibration from the sofa indicated to her that the box had been closed, and he got up, leaving her alone sitting still and stiff, not knowing what to do. 

To distract herself from the near panic attack she just suffered, she recounted all the information she had gathered so far: People had described him as a man with a calm voice. He seemed tall and strong...strong enough to carry her as if she was weightless. His hands didn’t have the slightest wrinkle, but a faint smell of tobacco lingered on them. His clothes smelled of laundry powder, but it was mixed with cologne. Cedarwood? She couldn’t tell, but it had a magnetic pull to it. This mix of this specific cologne, laundry powder, tobacco and mint... it all seemed oddly familiar. 

“I want my Helen to make you proud”

Putting the first aid kit away was the perfect excuse to step away from her for a second to catch his breath. The bathroom mirror returned his expression of self-disgust with potent clarity. 

What are you doing, Masumi? She’s 11 years younger than you, still in high school. She’s not suitable for you. It’s inappropriate. 

But just then, as his hands were mending her different injury, he couldn’t help but notice the deep flush that had painted her face. When his face was concentrated on her arm, the warmth of her cheek was radiating onto his own…

“I always, always think about you whenever I feel down.”

No amount of splashed water seemed to successfully cool him down.  Masumi, what are you imagining? She’s just a kid. She was probably just embarrassed to have you taking care of her like that. He smirked at his own vanity. What has gotten into you? It’s not like you. From the beginning, your behavior with her has been irrational. Remember how you almost tried to stop her from going on stage, just a few weeks ago? Take a hold of yourself! 

The front door bell interrupted his train of thought. The Yamashitas! Welcoming this distraction, he hopped down the stairs to greet them. 

Takashi and Tsuneko worry about Maya’s well-being was painted all over their face. “You arrived really early Hayami-sama,” Tsuneko said while unpacking breakfast on the table. “Is the young miss Maya alright?” She had glanced at the sofa, where Maya was still sitting absentmindedly. Masumi did his best to reassure his faithful neighbors and tenants “She’s fine, really. She’s an actress and needed an environment to practice. Her method is a bit...extreme, as you can see.” He added with a darker tone. “Ah…” Tsuneko stuttered, frenetically arranging the bowls and pouring miso soup into them in a manner that screamed “I’ll mind my own business.” Takashi side glanced at the actress with an expression of pity that Masumi commented with an apologetic smile.

“It’s just like her to act like that. I should have warned you in advance.” 

“No, don’t mention it, Hayami-sama.” The middle-aged lady raised an intrigued eyebrow at her husband, who seemed just as taken aback by the warmth that had colored Masumi’s voice when mentioning the actress. “I have an idea: why don’t you both go outside while I clean this morning after breakfast? Some fresh air would probably do her good.” 

Masumi dazzled the couple with a grateful smile. It was actually a good idea. In her biography, Helen Keller mentioned she would often play outside. 

Maya was walking awkwardly toward them, her nose raised upward like a puppy sniffing a barbecue. Of course, Masumi thought, without sight or hearing, smell and touch had to take over, and food must have smelled more strongly to her. A loud growl came out of her tiny body, and Masumi chuckled to the sight of her clutching her stomach. She seemed positively famished. 

They all sat down, Masumi seated next to Maya. The Yamashitas glanced at him as though to warn him. “Last time she ate in front of us, she wasn’t really...well, ladylike.” 

Chibi-chan, not ladylike? Masumi could hardly retain his laugh. He understood better what they meant when Maya groped around the plates and eventually grabbed a piece of okra, which she popped straight into her mouth. She did the same with her rice, not even trying to locate her chopsticks. Overlooking the couple’s disapproving and worried look, he kept gazing and her, unconsciously smiling. You’re really giving it your best, Chibi-chan.

He was going to help her. Protect her during this extreme and quite frankly mind-boggling experience, and he would be doing so out of sheer altruistic sense of duty. That was all. 

“I understand that you don’t want to eat next to us in this situation.” Masumi said. “Don’t feel obligated to keep us company. Just drop the food here once a day, I’ll take care of the rest.” The couple glanced at each other, wondering if that meant the young master actually intended to cook, but nodded anyway. 

When Maya seemed satiated, Masumi took her hand, earning another little jolt from her, and wrote: “Let-s-go-outside.”

Outside. How did it feel for Helen to be outside? 

Now that she was truly blind and deaf, her experience was completely different. It was scarier to make a single step forward.

 Instinctively, she found herself trying to locate Mr Purple Rose newfound distinctive scent, just to make sure that he wasn’t going anywhere, as she hadn’t yet recovered from the awe-inspiring reality that she was indeed in his presence and he was staying. She noticed that even when he stood a few feet away from her, she would still be able to catch a faint scent, enough to follow him, or direct herself in his direction. Nevertheless, she was not about to risk losing his scent when she had just met him a few hours before, so they remained as close as possible, sometimes being so desperate to even clutch his sleeve, pretending it to be to steady her steps. This didn’t seem to bother him so much, as he himself would sometimes grab her arm whenever she was in any danger on tripping on a root, though he would then swiftly withdraw his hand as soon as she found her balance. The gesture would always leave her in a confused state of both dreading his touch, then missing it. 

They stopped at the destination he had chosen for their stroll, namely a tree, as Maya noticed when he took her hand and made her touch the trunk. He then wrote the most incredible suggestion on her other palm: “Try-to-climb-that-tree” Maya let out something that probably must have sounded to him like a chipmunk’s squeak, since he added “Do-not-worry” his warm finger concluding the persuasion with the most magical sentence “I-will-be-there” 

She still wasn’t convinced that climbing a tree was the best idea, even with his help. She already had difficulties walking on solid ground without making a fatal fall. Where did this strange plan come from?

As if he read her silent question, he continued “Did-you-know-Helen-used-to-climb-trees?”

What? Helen did that? 

A girl with three handicaps, who couldn’t see, hear or talk, was brave enough to climb trees?

Why? How did it feel for her, to climb higher, to be in a tree? How do you even climb on branches you cannot see? 

She had to find out. 

Facing Mr Purple Rose with all the determination she could muster, she addressed him a firm nod. 

He then let go of both her hands, and his scent became fainter. Was he giving her space? 

First, she had to figure out what kind of shape this tree had. She fumbled around, trying to make out the general width of the trunk in her mind. It was pretty large, like an assembling of three or four trees into one. It was probably old, and beautiful to watch. 

I want to see…

There were enough branches to go around and try at least one step. 

Bracing herself, she transferred the weight of her body on her arm, pushing down the branch at her left, while her foot tried to find support on the little hump she was felt on the trunk. After a moment of hesitation when she considered one last time the stupidity of the whole endeavor, she threw reason into the lake and pushed on her leg as hard as she could, leaping off the ground. 

The sensation was beyond anything she'd expected. He was only a few inches off the ground, but her body felt as if it was hanging from a cliff, inducing an exhilarating vertigo. She reached for another branch, and then another, climbing higher and higher, until she found herself sitting comfortably, her back resting on the trunk, both legs hanging from her wooden seat. She had absolutely no idea how high she was, and was only aware of the resinous and green fragrance surrounding her. 

My sense of touch is telling me what is in contact with me. My sense of smell tells me about my surroundings. 

She wondered how far this sense of smell could go, and remember that Mr Purple Rose had promised to stay close. But could she find him, when the tree she was resting on was oozing with such a strong, almost sweet scent? She relaxed her body with her head resting on the trunk and tried to focus. 

Tobacco, Mint, Cedarwood cologne, Laundry powder.

She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with information, scanning every scent, dismissing anything that wasn’t him. When at first, she couldn’t find him, her heart dropped in her stomach. She was alone. Where was he? He said he’d be there. 

Her hands started groping the air, the trunk, she branches, her nose inhaling left and right. Panic made her hyperventilate, trying to find him. The trunk started vibrating below her, and suddenly she captured it. Tobacco. Was he climbing the tree? She breathed in again. Mint. He was getting closer. Cologne. He was right below her. She stretched out her hand and her fingertips brushed a strand of hair. Found him!  

The relief of confirming his presence surpassed the panic that had overwhelmed her seconds ago. She immediately relaxed as her hand rested on his head, and without even considering how rude that was, she let her fingertips brush down on his forehead where his hair was falling, and linger on his cheek. His face was so smooth, with his cheekbone high and his jawline strong. He was probably in his twenties. 

His hand stopped her inspection, which had the effect of brutally bringing back to reality. “Afraid-of-heights?” She bit her lips in embarrassment. The mint and tobacco rippled on her face again. Was he chuckling again? Was he teasing her? She felt positively vexed that her devoted fan was capable of both chiding her and teasing her in the span of a few hours. “No” she wrote with eagerness to prove him wrong “I-was-afraid-you-were-gone”. 

The ripples stopped. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “I-am-not-going-anywhere” Judging from his handwriting, had he said this sentence instead or written it, she was sure he would have done so in a grave and solemn tone, because his answer sent a chill down her spine. She could trust him. He told her not to worry, that he would be there. He wouldn’t leave her for no reason. Though he seemed to take pleasure in admonishing and teasing her, he was still her precious, devoted fan. 

A light breeze brushed her hair forward and covered them both with the lake’s fragrance. She turned her face towards it. It seemed like the sun was shining on her, heating her cheeks. Without turning her face away from it, she stretched her finger out, and Mr Purple Rose had his palm ready for her “It-s-so-peaceful-here” She laid her hand palm up, waiting for him to answer “I'm-glad-you-like-it” The way he traced on her hand was just like how people described his voice : calm, and soft. His fingers were full of kindness. 

Maybe Helen could also notice that. People’s way of interacting with her was just like their tone of voice. 

She couldn’t tell exactly how much time they spent there, resting in that tree, enjoying the warmth of the sun, breathing in the fragrance of the lake. Always keeping his scent in the back of her mind, her hand hung next to his face, in case he wanted to say something, but he didn’t interrupt her at any point. He was doing just what he said we would: keeping her company. 

Refraining from asking questions wasn’t an easy task. She wanted so dearly to know at least a name to call him by. But he had given her everything, from tuition to shelter, and this was the only condition he ever mentioned, his only favor: Do not investigate. She didn’t know why he seemed so adamant in remaining anonymous, but she couldn't refuse him that. 

Now that she thought about it, the simple fact that he stayed with her was a huge dent in his secrecy. Sure, she still had no idea what his face and voice were like, or his name and occupation for that matter, however he had provided her with so much information simply by letting her hug him earlier! She could now make up his height, his built, his age, his hair, his hands, and even his scent. 

He was allowing her to explore Helen while remaining safe. He was staying by her side, protecting her even to the risk of having his identity found out, trusting that she wouldn’t peek. Gratitude swelled in her chest; she fought her tears as seamlessly as she could while stretching her fingers again “Mr-Purple-Rose” she wrote “Thank-you-for-staying-with-me” His palm twitched slightly “I-will-try-to-understand-Helen.” 

He turned her palm upward and replied.

 “It-will-be-my-honor-to-help-you.” 

Why was this little button of a woman inspiring him such admiration? He still vividly remembered how thunderstruck he had felt the first time he saw her on stage. Only a year later, as she stood on in front of an audience of peers rivals and jury from around the country to improvise a full length 13 characters play alone , he found himself at the verge of starting a Fanclub in her honor, to which he would of course be president, and which mission would consist entirely in constantly announcing her arrival to peasants as they laid her path with rose petals. Now, two years after that, here he was, literally at her feet and disposal, with her index finger deciding on his every move, and he reveled in it. 

Maya twitched her body, rooting him out of his reverie, as she started swinging one leg over the log, and then froze with a perplexed expression on her face. Masumi instantly knew what was wrong. It was one thing to climb up, and it was another to climb down. Ready for anything, he braced himself and waited for her cue. 

Her arm reached forward, trying to find a branch to support herself but her body weight wasn’t properly balanced and Masumi saw it one second too late: she was slipping. 

She let out a panicked cry and her arms started moving frenetically; searching for something to grab and prevent her fall. Masumi was already outstretching both his arms, catching her waist and pulling her to him, but he miscalculated the way her weight would influence his own stance, and as they both fell, Masumi held her tightly with one arm, his other arm trying to control the damages

Good thing they were not too high. When his arm met the ground, he was laying on top of her, still holding her so that her head would not touch the ground. 

“Maya, are you okay?” he shouted.

No answer. He sighed, Idiot, she can’t hear you. 

He pushed himself up, pulling her with him in a sitting position. She immediately grabbed his shoulders, eyebrows shot up anxiously as she reached for his hand, on which she feverishly wrote “Mr- Purple-Rose---Are-you-alright?” She was worried about him? Of course, she was blind now, and couldn’t see if he was hurt or even slightly scratched. 

 “I-am-alright. You?” She nodded, straightening herself. 

This girl, Masumi thought as he felt delayed panic come back with a vengeance. It's the second time she falls this morning! Who knows what could have happened! 

“You-should-be-more-careful” he wrote, his tension palpable in his handwriting. She pouted “You-are-the-one-who-told-me-to-climb-it.”

The answer came as a shock as he widened his eyes to observe her. Is she seriously arguing with me right now? His tension broke up in a hoot of laughter. There was no changing her! To his surprise, she smiled at him “You-laughed” she wrote, grinning in triumph. 

His heart skipped a beat. Could she actually hear him? See him? Had she been pretending this whole time? Suddenly nervous, he still wrote “How-did-you-know that?” 

She seemed hesitant to reply at first, her chin ducked down, as if she was searching for the answer. Finally, she took his palm, and while she was writing her answer, her other hand mimicked her explanation. “When you’re-calm, -your-breath-feels-like-that…” her hand made slow waves between her face and his and Masumi absentmindedly noticed how graceful her wrist could be, “But-when-you-laugh, it’s-like-this...” Now her hand was making erratic, short fanning movements toward her face.

Maya! 

Of course. She couldn’t see or hear, so her other senses were more active. She used the air current around her to interpret her environment. 

What an amazing girl!

They walked a while around the lake, and Masumi could see that they were about to arrive at a livelier spot, with a small pier as well as shops and various food stands. He glanced at Maya. Was it a good idea to guide her there? On the other hand, she was probably hungry. 

As they got closer and closer to the pier, Masumi clearly heard Maya’s stomach make a distressing sound. He turned to her, and she had slapped a hand on her stomach. Oh no, Maya, you’re not going to hide this. He took her hand “Hungry?” She shot her head up in amazement “How-did-you-know?” He laughed “You-were-as-loud-as-a-lion” She frowned. “That-is-literally-impossible.” which made him laugh even louder. In turn, Maya made a face he’d never seen before: hollowing her cheeks and pinching her lips, she looked as if she was fighting a smile. 

How strange. When it was Mr Purple Rose doing, she seemed to enjoy being teased. When he was Mr Purple Rose, he was allowed to sit with her, speak with her, and even tease her. If only she knew that the man standing next to her was in fact Daito Corporate’s Demon, her reaction would probably be to push him away with the strength of a thousand kittens and express her disappointment that the earlier fall didn’t kill him, all the while suggesting he somehow made them fall on purpose as a part of his diabolical plan to take over the world.

Judging by her nose’s direction, she seemed tempted by the Takoyaki stand, and he inwardly congratulated her on her excellent taste, and the little savory octopus flavored balls did look wonderful even from afar. As he walked toward it, he noticed that she had less and less difficulties following him whereas earlier this morning she was almost always glued to his sleeve. It was as if she could see him or hear him normally, as if she was aware of his presence somehow.

Overlooking the worried glances of the cook, he bought a box of steaming, golden and fragrant Takoyaki covered in the best toppings, namely seaweed, savory sauce, mayo and bonito flakes. Maya was licking her lips like a little child as Masumi decided to lead her to the docks, and she followed him closely, her nose tilted upward and the nostrils dilated in a hilarious expression of famished eagerness. 

They arrived at their destination, specifically at its threshold, and Masumi caught Maya’s arm just before she made the final step that would have thrown her into the lake. In front of them was a little boat, but of course Masumi was the only one who knew that. His eyes glistened with the genius idea that dawned on him. He decided to tell her nothing, simply handing her the box before bridal carrying her into the boat, reveling in the adorable animal sound she made as he lifted her up and stepped in their less than stable vessel. Masumi, you should really refrain from using her helplessness as an opportunity to tease her, however tempting that may be. You’re here to help her. So, focus! He seated her in front of him and waited for her reaction. 

She remained frozen for a moment, her head slowly turning left and right. Her feet made small circular motions in front of her, as she freed one arm from her tight hold of the Takoyaki box to touch the bench she was sitting on. Masumi decided to give her another clue by slightly shifting his weight, causing the boat to rock with him. Her head shot up with realization. Riding a boat as Helen, that was an experience the others probably weren’t thinking about. How do you feel, Maya, when you can’t see nor hear, and the very ground below your feet is unstable? How does it make you feel? 

He rowed a few minutes before stopping right at the middle of the lake. Maya was still gripping the bench, in obvious unease. He hoped she wasn’t feeling too dizzy. Here, alone with her where no one could see them, he could almost forget that she was still unaware of who he was. She was following a complete stranger, a man she trusted with her life even though she had never met him. He even wanted to break that illusion and untie her blindfold to reveal himself, but he should not be deceived. The moment her eyes meet his, all traces of trust would be gone, leaving only disgust, dismay and disappointment. He should remember that. 

But now she was not in front of Masumi Hayami. She was with her beloved fan, in a boat during lunchtime, and she was hungry.

“Let’s-eat!” he wrote on her forehead playfully, and briefly considered making this a thing as her eyebrows twitched to this unexpected touch. The impression of anointing her with the command to eat also played a part in his delight.  

She gladly complied and opened the box. Masumi saw her hand almost immediately dig in - gosh, but she was famished - only at the last second she stopped herself and after hesitating for an instant, she extended her arm in his direction, with her head tilted on the side in a warm expression that was yet another first in his experience, and that clearly meant you first!

Masumi interpreted the sudden butterflies in his stomach as hunger, brushing aside the fact that he just called Maya cute in his mind, and focused on lunch. Fortunately, Takoyaki were the perfect comfort food, as their rich flavor and soft texture would make any brain explode with endorphin and accept the distraction without a second thought.

Their lunch time continued in silence, Maya eating eagerly in front of Masumi's fond gaze, and then she scooted over to the edge of the boat to dip her hand in the water, her head resting on the hull with an effortless and blissful smile on her lips. Masumi grabbed hold of the rows again and took her around the lake, the boat smoothly rocking her to sleep. His mind consciously focused on the movement of his arms, Masumi kept his breathing steady, convincing himself that letting her use him as her own private venetian gondolier and feeling privileged to be able to stare at her while she’s napping wasn’t all that alarming. I mean look at her; who wouldn’t want to be in my place? 

Smell, temperature, touch...these were the things that allowed her to notice that she was awake. She didn’t know long she had slept, but she could tell at least a couple hours had passed, as the smell in the air had shifted to a deeper hue and the boat had warmed agreeably under the sun, making the hull and the bench much cozier than when she first dozed off. Everything was now perfectly still. For the first time since putting on this blindfold, she was feeling absolutely comfortable. It didn’t even bother her that much that she couldn’t see or hear. Instead of a cold and dark silent abyss, this condition was now wrapping her in a warm and quiet bubble of peace. 

Helen, is that how you felt? 

She sat up; her body electrified by inspiration. She was walking closer and closer to Helen’s heart. Her limbs and chest were starting to grasp her emotions and spirit. Just a little bit closer, just a little while longer and Helen will be within her, directing her every move. She wanted to experience more, feel more, find out more! 

“Are-you-alright?” 

She startled. She didn’t notice he had taken her hand; the excitement of her realization had been too intense for her to be aware of much of anything else. She didn’t quite understand his question though, as she was absolutely ecstatic. “I am fine” was all she said though “I think I’ve made progress. Helen’s heart...I think I understand it better. I’m almost there.” 

“What-can-I-do?” 

That was a very good question. What could he do to help her get closer to Helen? There must be something…

“Can-we-go-back-to-the-house-please?”

That would leave her time to think of a better answer, she thought as he helped her out of the boat. Now that she really reflected on the matter, and as hard as it was to admit, having someone to talk to wasn’t really helping, especially as that someone really made her want to interact as Maya Kitajima. He was her most devoted fan, the one she’s been longing to meet for over three years now, but if she wanted to dive into Helen Keller’s heart, she had to forget Maya, and she had to stop talking to him. 

As they reached the house, she took his hand and wrote almost painfully “There-is-something-you-can-do-to-help-me.” She braced herself, and added “Can-you-stop-talking-to-me?” His hand stilled in hers, so she continued feverishly to dispel any misunderstanding “Helen-doesn’t-know-how-to-write.” and to make crystal clear that she didn’t want to cut all ties, she concluded with: “We-need-to-find-another-way-of-communicating”

The wait lasted for an eternity, but finally the answer came, in the form of a playful hand ruffling her hair in understanding. She giggled, relieved that he didn’t take offence. 

The afternoon that ensued was that of a peaceful Saturday at the Keller house, namely Helen trying to find some toy to play with in a house that didn’t seem to have any - she settled for a wooden statue she found displayed on a counter, and Mr P.R Keller either catching her at the last minute or simply being in the room, smoking and doing whomever knew what. She didn’t like it when he smoked, though captivating the smell may be, it seemed to blur the line of the mental shape she had formed of him. If this habit made him easier to locate, the scent was so intense it covered everything else around him and, for lack of a better word: blinded her. 

 Maya found that forbidding herself from reaching for his hand was more challenging that she even imagined, especially after he prevented her from falling down the stairs once again; but she made her gratitude obvious in any way she could, in the form of apologetic grins and sleeve tugs, to which he would unavoidably reply by messing with her hair more than her dignity should have felt acceptable. 

In fact, the more annoyed she would look, the messier her hair would end up, as her new companion seemed to enjoy teasing her until she felt like she was wearing a nest as a hat. She even found herself exaggerating her reaction to see how far he would go, but he was so limitless in his playful routine, she eventually felt she should turn to him if she were to study 6-year-old Helen’s habit. By the end of the afternoon, she had added childish in bold letters to her mental description chart of him:  

X

Mr Purple Rose: The Man, the Mystery, the Legend

Gender: Male

Name: Unknown

Age: 20 something

Height: About 6 feet tall?

Built: Fit, muscular, probably size M, I don’t know, where do I write “can carry a 45kg girl like an infant without flinching?”

Face: smooth skin, high cheekbone, strong jawline (I almost cut myself caressing that face)

Voice: reportedly calm and soft

Laugh: prefers to chuckle, but I feel like he could be surprisingly loud sometimes.

Scent: Divine (more specifically, cedarwood cologne, laundry powder, tobacco and mint)

Handwriting: probably spectacular, definitely vary on mood though

Personality: Kind, generous, intelligent, thoughtful, protective, slightly patronizing and CHILDISH, I mean Oh my God can you not!

X

Playtime came to an abrupt end when the fragrance of grilled meat and vegetables woke up her stomach with a vengeance. She stumbled her way into the kitchen and bumped into a very hard hipbone wearing an apron. She was greeted with a caress on her head so gentle that she almost heard it say “Here you are” with a motherly tone. 

Her fist clenched on the apron, and she felt the characteristic mint and tobacco scented ripple of his laugh on her face again. He took her hand to guide her to the bathroom upstairs. When he gently dipped her hand in the bathtub and her fingers came in contact with warm water, Maya wondered when he had left her side to go draw her a bath. Probably when the cigarette smoke was still filling the living room. He ruffled her hair again, in a manner that meant “Bath before dinner”. He then guided her hands around the shower set next to the bathtub. Stool to her left, soap bar for the face by the wall, body lotion next to it, followed by shampoo at the far-right end. Touching her forehead, arm and hair, he explained which was which, before guiding her to the little wooden counter, to show her the fresh towel she could use. 

It was as if she was in that bathroom for the first time, as it all felt completely different from when she used it the night before. Where she felt unsafe and lost only twenty-four hours ago, she now felt comfortable and confident with all of the marks he was providing her. When he let her touch a set of fresh clothes, she recognized her pajamas and blushed when she imagined him going through her suitcase to set all of this up. Gratitude was the most overwhelming feeling of all. She repressed an urge to hug him again, as he brushed her hair one last time, and guided her hand to the door before closing it, to show her he was giving her some privacy. 

Masumi returned to his Japanese curry preparation - one of the few dishes he actually could cook that didn’t involve frozen gyoza and beer - and steadily pretended that his hands weren’t shaking, and that he wasn’t still mentally in that bathroom as the shower started to run. He was not flustered at the idea of Maya dipping in the bath he drew her and he certainly was not imagining what she would soon look like in those pajamas. 

He was not, because Maya was sixteen, naive and overly trusting and although he now admitted that his admiration for her did border on sheer idolatry, said idolatry only extended to the platonic, artistic, even spiritual realm, and certainly not to the physical one.

However delicate her wrists may be. He added to himself, clenching his teeth and pouring diced carrots into the mix. 

By the time he heard footsteps from the stairway, the table was set, the curry was simmering and the rice cooker was set on “keep warm”. Untying his - or rather Tsuneko Yamashita’s - apron, he went to check in the hall if she needed any help climbing down, hoping her feet were dry enough. His face turned blank when he saw her. 

With her damp hair wavering below her shoulders and her pink flower pattern pajama slightly too big for her, she looked disturbingly twelve, in the cutest, most mortifying possible way. Self-loathing filled his mouth as he recalled imagining her in her bath a few minutes before - though quite against his own will to his defense. Still, the gap between them seemed multiplied and emphasized by the fact that her fingers were barely reaching through her sleeve, and that the only thing missing from this childlike tapestry was a teddy bear. Worst of it all, the horrifying truth that despite her looking like a middle schooler, he still found her alarmingly adorable, was making his hands sweat with fear and disgust. 

Catching himself on that last thought, he shook his head and reached for her hand, this time to guide her to her seat. Standing behind her just like he did in the bathroom, he took both her hands and directed them to her plate, glass, spoon and napkin. She addressed him an appreciative nod, and sat down as he went to fetch the rice and curry. As he saw Maya eating a spoonful of the meal, which was received with obvious and flattering delight - as even an inexperienced cook like himself couldn’t make Japanese curry taste bad - Masumi wondered if she was reflecting on how eating with a spoon must have been difficult for six-year-old Hellen Keller, who before Anne Sullivan’s arrival never fed herself using anything other than her mother’s hand or her own. Keeping in mind that did see her eating with her hands that same morning, he concluded that this display of table manners was related either to the naturally liquid texture of the curry or to the fact that she was eating the first meal he's ever cooked for her. 

Tomorrow I might have to push her limits, he thought, but for now, let her have her well-deserved curry. 

When they were done, Maya awkwardly fumbled around to gather the plates in an effort to somehow contribute to the chores, which Masumi found sweet but unnecessary and quite frankly dangerous. He directed her to the stairs and gave her a gentle nudge to indicate she should proceed with brushing her teeth and going to bed, before returning to the kitchen. She didn’t comply immediately, but first took the time to turn back and - look - a him, or so it would seem, only with her nose tilted upward in a manner strikingly similar to the Hellen he’s seen in the 1962 movie. The illusion lasted for a minute or so, but when she finally started climbing the stairs, hope had swelled in his chest that she might actually win this audition. 

When he himself came out of the bathroom that evening, a towel still hanging from his shoulders, he froze to see Maya sitting in the corridor, though he would have expected her to already be sleeping. Her palms were resting on the floor, and the moment he opened the door she stood up as fast as she could to face him. It dawned on him that she had been waiting, using her hands to feel the vibration of the floor indicating his footsteps. Maya’s adaptive abilities were indeed impressive in all situations, but the fact that she was still tripping in the stairs and wrecking the house out of sheer helplessness twelve hours ago, and that now she was only one step away from growing a sonar was simply incredible. 

And yet there was this other fact, more distressing. The fact that she had her head tilted up at him, disheveled and ready for bed, alone with him in his own house at night, and she had no idea how endearing she looked. 

Biting her lips, she stepped closer to him - which made him want to retreat in the bathroom, lock himself there and sleep in the tub - and tugged at his sleeve, addressing him a sheepish smile. Masumi’s eyes widened with the realization that she was silently wishing him goodnight, and gesturing it in her characteristically adorable manner. Beaming, he returned her greeting by patting her head “Goodnight, Chibi-chan” he whispered, and he went to the master bedroom, hoping that his conscience will let him sleep.

SUNDAY

It was refreshing to know that at least she fell asleep at a proper bedtime, and that would wake up for breakfast. Just like the Keller’s household and servants served to Helen as human clocks, Mr Purple Rose’s schedule was giving her marks to align on. Besides, after running from one emotion to the next, bathing in warm water and eating what she decided was her new favorite meal in the whole world, she was certain that she would fall asleep in a matter of seconds after touching the pillow. 

That was, of course, without considering how her own brain was going to harass her through the night. The chosen theme of her obsession that night being how incredibly disturbing it had been for her to walk up to him as he stepped out of the bathroom. She had of course intended to do so, simply to greet him goodnight before going to bed. She had not, however, predicted the way his scent would have made her feel, as he came out still steaming from the bath, his body temperature so high she could feel it from a foot away. But his scent! It was as if something indescribable deeper below the cedarwood cologne had risen to the surface and multiplied the fragrance, and it had made her blood boil instantly. She had of course already assessed his scent earlier in the day and decided to mentally call it divine, as the mix of all its elements was nothing short of that, but she had never felt such an immediate and physical reaction to it. Just recalling it in her head now, under the warm protection of her blankets, was making her breathless. What is happening to me? 

The idea creeped in her mind; an idea too potent to dismiss: did he bath in the same water?

That night, her dreams took her to a feverish whirl of comforting touches and enticing scents, swirling in a blur of foreign and frightful emotions, that she will keep but a foreboding trace when she wakes up the next morning. 

The fragrance of fresh miso soup is what brought her back to the real world. She opened her eyes naturally in her blindfold, sunlight piercing through the layered fabric slightly coloring her world in reddish hues. Inhaling deeply, she rose to her feet and went to brush her teeth in the bathroom. She was already focusing on her molars when it occurred to her that she had not tripped, or so much as hesitated to find her way to the bathroom as well as her toiletry bag. She had known exactly where everything was, and could direct herself easily from the guest room to the bathroom even half asleep. 

After five years of living in her own bubble, Helen’s handicap was not about how to move around and do simple tasks, but how to communicate with others. She couldn’t eat properly, not because she was handicapped, but because no one successfully taught her how to and why. 

Language. The fact that things have names! The play ends in a climax, as Helen realizes that the water Anne Sullivan is splashing on her can be spelled with the letters she shows in her hand. That final connection was the entire goal of the play, this one step between 0 and 1 that opened the gates of her mind and allowed her to learn about the outside world.  

My Helen is the Helen from before that. How did Helen communicate when she didn’t know about language? 

She didn’t know the word Hello, but she knew the joy of encountering her father in the morning. She didn’t know the word Love, but she felt affection for her mother, and went to her for comfort and warmth when she was afraid, sad or hungry. She expressed everything physically, taking whatever she needed whenever she needed it. If she felt the need, she would hug her mother, not even trying to know if that was the right time. If she felt hungry, she would simply take food from other people’s plates, regardless of how this was perceived. If someone refused to give her what she needed, she would throw a tantrum. As she was already limited, the little she could do to express herself, she would do one hundred percent, intensely and without restraint. 

A little tyrant, but so lonely, incapable of simply saying “I’m sad”. 

Living in her own bubble, sometimes peaceful, sometimes scary, both a bedroom and a prison. 

Helen! 

She spat the water in the sink and wiped her mouth, her hand trembling with adrenaline. She breathed in, slowly and steadily, and when she breathed out, she was perfectly still I am Helen. 

Masumi had set the table with a number of side dishes to accompany their rice and soup. Most of them, of course, were simply unpacked and reheated from the Yamashita’s Tupperware. He was wondering if he should go wake the princess up, but at that moment he heard her slippers shuffling from the guest room to the bathroom. She’s awake, he thought cheerfully. Covering the bowls with their wooden lids to keep the miso soup warm, he ensconced himself in his seat, lighting up a cigarette as he waited for her to come down. 

Look at you, Masumi, you’re even waiting for her to eat breakfast. This girl has you wrapped around her finger. 

The creaking stairs signaled her arrival, and he jumped up to greet her, a reaction that was met in his mind with utter disdain, as most of his brain was still fighting the irrational pull the actress held on him. 

As he stepped in the hallway to watch her climb down, he was surprised by the evident ease of her walk. Yesterday, this simple task of walking down the stairs had been hazardous if not deadly, but this morning she was simply caressing the banister for guidance rather than support. 

She stopped a couple of steps before the floor, their head at the same level, and then her face lit up in an expression of pure glee. Masumi felt a pang of anticipation just a second before she practically jumped to encircle his shoulders in a tight hug. His neck pulled forward, he caught her waist to steady her with one arm, the other gripped to the banister for support. Before he could even wrap his mind around what was happening, and the effect it had on him, she stuck her nose to his ear and inhaled a deep, slow breath, retaining the air in her lungs for a few seconds before releasing it with a sigh, humming with ease. 

Heat came rushing as violently as the first time she’d hugged him, only this time he was but too aware of the delicate figure under her oversized pajamas and the fact that her hair now smelled like his shampoo. The realization that she had just sniffed him and moaned triggered his mind to provide him with sudden images of other, much more intimate contexts for her voice to make that sound. He wanted to pull away, but his body wouldn’t obey him, stilled in a trance that if broken would only lead to him acting on the desires that pulsed through his veins. 

Deliverance came from his assailant herself, as Maya suddenly let go of him and pushed him aside, quite brutally, to make her way to the kitchen. Still not fully recovered, Masumi's eyes followed her movements in shocked numbness. She reached the table with surprising ease, and he saw her face ducking over it, sniffing the meals displayed in front of her. 

That’s strange, he thought, is she not going to sit down? 

But then it dawned on him. Maya would indeed sit down, just like she would probably only tug at his sleeve in a shy morning greeting. Helen wouldn’t. His doubts were confirmed when the actress took out the lid from the bowl - dropping it on the ground - and dipped her finger in the miso soup. She winced at the temperature, but then pulled the bowl to her lips while still standing, gulping it voraciously, ruining her clothes in the process. 

It wasn’t Maya who walked down the stairs. It wasn’t Maya who hugged him so innocently and breathed in his ear like he was her favorite flower. It was Helen. 

He spent his breakfast observing her, his inner jury already pulled into her performance. In front of him, as he was sipping his coffee, she would reach for rice, fish and vegetables as she pleased, walking from one end of the table to the other, stuffing food into her mouth, drinking water from the pitcher. Compared with the previous breakfast, when she would reach for food by hand, only sitting down and in a significantly shyer fashion, she was now completely without restraint, almost feral. Good, Chibi-chan, he thought, you’re getting there. Her performance was so captivating, he feared that tearing his gaze away from her for a second would rob him of a beautiful and fascinating experience, and he had to remind himself to eat. If you perform like that in front of the jury, you’ll win this audition, there is no doubting that. He thought, as he couldn’t see how even Himekawa Ayumi could come up with a more mesmerizing rendition of Helen’s movements and energy. 

When food was no longer interesting to her, she left the room without a second thought, this time not caring the least about the utter mess she had made. Masumi covered his eyes and let out a mirthful sigh. This girl! She definitely overcame her timidity. The idea that Maya now felt sufficiently at ease in his presence to let him clean after her was more appealing that it should have been, but he brushed his guilt aside, too amused by her cheeky conduct to pay attention to his unravelling spirit for once. 

Once the dishes left to drip on their tray, he eventually went back to the living room, holding his briefcase, to find her daydreaming on the sofa. Since she seemed inhabited by Helen’s heart, he had decided to observe her carefully while picking up the report on the Kabukiza renovation project where he left it the day before. 

She had retrieved the wooden statue - a souvenir from his trip to New Zealand - and was caressing its limbs one by one, stretching her own legs to match the character’s stance. She led the little wooden man around the living room, making him explore the furniture, like any child would play with a doll and take it on sparkling adventures. This occupied her for far longer than he would have imagined, as she practically ran from one room to another, her toy surfing on the walls and banisters, but after a couple of hours she sat on the living room carpet, her face expressing a sort of daze, and suddenly hugged the statue to her chest. 

The sentence: is she lonely? had barely occurred in his mind, that she rose on her feet again, tossed the statue aside, and outstretched her hands to direct herself toward the living room table where he was. Was she aware of my exact location this whole time? He wondered, though he figured on second thought, judging by the state of his ashtray, that he probably was easy to pinpoint. 

Once she’d reached him, she did the most unreal thing he could have imagined: she wrapped herself around his arm and laid her head on his shoulder, slightly pouting in melancholia. 

She’s being Helen, he told himself, she’s being Helen, she’s being Helen. 

Third time’s a charm. Finally recovering his normal breathing, he turned his face to her, her cheek still resting on his shoulder, and patting her head like he would a small child, he said - more for himself than anyone else: “There there Helen, what’s going on? Are you bored?” 

She heaved a deep, almost pitiful sigh that made him crack up in a chuckle. Gosh, but she’s cute. As this was too adorable to withstand, he ruffled her hair to tease her, expecting frustration in return, but instead received an elated grin from her as she tightened her hold on his arm. Her expression matched that of a puppy that loves to be pet. This eagerness triggered an urge to further touch her, to tease her and tickle her, hug her... 

Overtook by fear, he tried to free his arm, but the young Helen was adamant in keeping it a while longer, a stubborn expression of her face.He shook his head in disbelief, breathing unevenly and trying to force the mask of Helen’s relative on himself, tearing his mind out of the gutter. Inwardly counting down from ten, he returned to his papers, surrendering his arm to her. She stayed in this position longer than Masumi could hold his illusion, and by the time she released him, he had to unbutton his collar to breathe, and realized that he could not remember a single word out of the ten pages he had read in her presence. He pushed the file aside and dropped his head in his arms, exhausted.

Lunchtime was just as eventful as breakfast, to Masumi’s delighted consternation, and Maya ended up with both her hands covered in thick meat sauce. Masumi had laughed to his heart’s content at the show of an ignorant Helen just greedy for the steak, and struggling to chew it, as he had not cut it for her beforehand. Difficult to tackle red meat without a knife, huh, Chibi-chan? But now every object, wall or piece of furniture she would bless with her delicate touch would be smeared with grease, and as the Yamashita had promised to come by before two, he was sure that this time Tsuneko wouldn’t let him clean after her, and that a debate would ensure during which someone would undoubtedly utter the sentence “over my dead body”.  Actions had to be taken. 

She was about to retreat to the living room when he gently took her arm. She nonchalantly pushed him away, her nosed not even flinching. He insisted. She froze and her head shot in his direction. Masumi knew then when he saw her reaction that she was not going to go gently. Six-year-old Helen Keller did not compromise, and Maya knew it. He anticipated as much. Come on, Chibi-chan, show me your angry Helen.  She pressed her lips together in an annoyed pout and pushed harder to free her arm, but he tightened his hold, and Helen winced. He directed her to the kitchen sink and turned the faucet on. The moment her hands touched the water, Helen started struggling, beating the air and stomping her feet. He pulled her in front of him, placing her between the sink and his body. She was stuck. Both his hands were on her wrists and he forced them to meet the cold water. She whimpered fiercely, as if this was the worst possible sensation. When she seemed to somewhat calm down, he let go of her right wrist to reach for the handwash. Rookie mistake. 

She used that unguarded moment to turn her full body toward him, and her right arm pushed everything it found: his shoulders, his chest, and his neck. No matter how hard she pushed, Masumi was unmovable. This had little to do with his stance and everything to do with the fact that he was suddenly well aware of how much their bodies were pressed against one another. 

Don’t rehearse with an actress if you can’t stay in character!

He grabbed Helen’s right wrist again, ignoring her fulminating protests and turned her back, blocking her firmly in place with his hips. Cuffing both her wrists with one hand - the image made him chuckle, because she was so tiny! - he pressed some soap on their hands, and started to make the mixture foam, rubbing Helen’s hands thoroughly and battling with himself not to yield to the rush of indecent thoughts that threatened to overflood his mind. 

When his hands covered Helen’s and he noticed he could rub her fingers individually without meeting any resistance, Masumi turned his eyes toward Maya’s face. Her ears were bright red, her lips parted to let out a string of shallow breaths. She couldn’t be physically tired, as Masumi knew far too well that their little struggle didn’t compare to Tsukikage’s teaching methods. But then why did she stop resisting, and why did she look breathless and... flustered?

As they stayed perfectly still and the clear water rinsed both their hands, Masumi had a moment of realization. Probably it was all mere wishful thinking but, for a moment he had a feeling of pure clarity. That they were no longer pretending, that she wasn’t Helen, he wasn’t her relative; they were Maya and Masumi, pressed against each other, their hands touching under the water. For a fleeting instant, he was certain that they were both sharing the same breath, the same emotion, even the same heartbeat. 

Electricity shot through him and he stumbled back, releasing her. She immediately ran away and upstairs, and he heard the door of the guest room slam behind her. 

The running water was as loud as a waterfall. Masumi dropped to the floor, covering his eyes with a hand, breathe in... breathe out...he told himself, but his heart was not having it. Breathe in... breathe out he told himself, but he could still feel her body warmth on his clothes. Breathe in...Breathe out…

Maya slammed the door behind her, and she pushed her forehead on the wooden panel, breathless. 

She had held Helen’s role to perfection from the moment she had left the bathroom that morning, not hesitating to treat Mr Purple Rose as Helen’s relative. She had eagerly hugged him with all of her strength, inhaling his scent to her heart’s delight and seeking comfort from him when she had felt lonely later on, letting him tease her - and quite frankly enjoying it a tad too much. If she was completely honest, she didn’t know how much of that had really been Helen and how much had been her own impulses. Nevertheless, in all those interactions, she had felt free and detached from her own self, and living solely as Helen. She had felt no shame in mistreating his food, no embarrassment in bothering him in the living room and she hadn’t blushed the slightest when she ate the expensive-smelling steak with her bare hands, cutting though it with her teeth.  

However, the moment he had freed her wrist and she had turned to fight him again, she had been unable to hit his face, thought that would have been the most effective solution. Instead, she had pretended to struggle pushing his chest around. She had been so focused on acting; she had simply brushed that moment of weakness aside and labelled it as basic respect. 

But then when he had started washing both their hands with soap, and his body had been so close to hers, pressing her against the sink with his imposing figure towering above her and imprisoning her, he had felt so warm, so warm that his scent had oozed from his body and swallowed her, his cologne intoxicating her until she’d been completely stunned. She’d simply found herself incapable to focus. Suddenly her mask had slipped off her face, shattering on the floor. 

So of course, when deliverance had come, she’d run. She’d run to her room without noticing that she’d known exactly how to, without tripping even once, without having to think about it. 

Her knees gave in, and she slid on the floor, sobbing in confused helplessness.

Why did he have to smell so good?  

After a couple of minutes had passed and her breathing had gone back to normal, she decided to use this much welcome interlude to change her clothes, as she presumed her pink pajama was in a dire state.  She found a dress that felt easy to put on. Running her fingers on the collar, she recognized one of her flowery summer dresses, one with a white lace collar decorating it. 

Once she made sure - by touching the fabric on her chest - that the dress wasn’t put backward, she decided she should not remain alone in the room for too long, especially after storming out of the kitchen with tears in her eyes. Still not entirely recovered from her earlier confusion, she subconsciously dreaded even more the idea that her devoted fan might have been put off by her attitude and left. 

Make him proud, Maya, she told herself. Don’t let your mask break again. 

Closing her eyes in the blindfold, she emptied her mind with a few deep breaths, and recalled the feeling she felt in the bathroom. Helen before Anne. The lonely tyrant, living in her bubble. My Helen ! 

There was no telling Tsuneko to leave the dishes to her young master. Such an offer, when he made it, had sounded to her as heresy. 

“Are things going the way you want, Hayami-sama?” Takashi asked. 

I think I might be a dangerous deviant and I’m considering turning myself in. “Everything is going perfectly well.” He grinned at the caretaker with perfectly feigned confidence, his old habits coming back to save his skin when he least deserved it, as always. 

Takashi addressed him with a satisfied nod as Tsuneko folded the rag after drying the last plate. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come tonight?” 

“Quite sure” Masumi replied, although a wiser man would not have allowed himself another second alone with this petite actress in that house. 

“Very well,” Takashi said, clearing his throat as he noticed the blindfolded teenager on top of the stairs, holding the banister. “I leave you two…to it then.” And they left, closing the doors behind them. 

Masumi widened his eyes. I leave you two...to what? Wait, no this isn’t what you think! Come back! Don’t leave me alone with her! He banged his head on the door, a tad too strong, and let out a sigh. He turned to face Maya, and was relieved to see her wear something that looked more age appropriate. It didn’t help him deny the undeniable, but at least he didn’t feel as much like a criminal for it. 

She stepped in the living room, and inspected the table where he sat that morning, as well as the armchairs and sofa. She’s looking for me, he concluded. His chest swelling with warmth, he walked towards her and surprised her by cheerfully ruffling her hair, in a way to say “Here, found you”. She beamed at his contact and even let out something that sounded close to a giggle, and Masumi knew he was in front of Helen again. Relief overwhelmed him, that she had not been affected by their previous interactions. Perhaps he’d misinterpreted her reactions and her running away had simply been Helen’s way of winning the match. He smiled. This was much better that way. 

That afternoon, Helen learned a new game. She found a ball of yarn laying in a basket, and as she dropped it, the ball went running around the house, leaving a trail of thread in its way. Picking up the edge of the tread, Helen started pulling on it to find the missing ball, winding the yarn around her hand. Once the entire ball would be retrieved, she would climb the stairs, and dropped the ball again from there, only keeping the edge of the thread in her hand, and started all over again. 

At first, Masumi wondered where she was going with this, but the more he would watch her, the more evident it became that she was enjoying herself. A slight absentminded smile was drawn on her face, so light it was barely visible, but she was definitely having fun. Helen played like that the entire afternoon, Masumi watching her from the sofa as he tried to read the Kabukiza renovation report once again. 

It was around 6 PM that the wind started blowing through the curtains. Masumi walked up to the window to close it, when he saw dark clouds hovering above the lake. 

A storm was coming. 

Last Night

As they were eating dinner - understand: as Masumi was eating dinner while Maya was picking handfuls of cold noodles from the plate and stuffing them into her mouth - it occurred to Masumi that the weekend was already almost gone. He was awaited at 9:30AM the next morning for a meeting with the administration board regarding their stand on the Kabukiza renovation project, which meant he would have to leave the lake house at 6:30AM. As he dipped his somen into the sauce, he wondered where his two days had gone. He gazed at the young Helen in front of him and sighed: he was going to have to leave her.

Worse, he was going to have to go back to being Hayami Masumi. The man she hates, the enemy of her teacher, the demon of Daito. 

During those two days, she had not looked him in the eyes once, and yet it was as if she had gazed into his mind countless times, touching him, moving him, captivating him. He had let her lead him left and right, into the forest, by the lake, on the boat, by one swift gesture of her finger. All the while he had thought he had been the one helping the other. What a fool he had been. 

Now he had to figure out a way to say goodbye to her. 

When he got out of the shower that evening, there she was again, exactly like the night before, eagerly waiting for him in endearing stillness in front of the bathroom door. He stopped in front of her, incapable of moving even an inch of his body. The possibilities were limited. 

There was of course the most extreme solution, which was to untie her blindfold and let her gaze at him, which would result in a flood of disappointed tears and bitter insult, no doubt. Then there was the alternative of simply reaching for her hand one last time, writing a few words of praise and encouragement. Only Masumi couldn’t think of a statement that would both convey the warmth of having been in her company for an entire weekend, and the ice-cold realization that the time had come to finally separate. 

That is why he decided to simply pat her head. His hand stretched forward and though he had intended to go for a gentle, friendly pat, his hands then moved on its own, and he saw himself - as if from an outsider’s point of view - softly sliding on her hair, to once, but three times, in a tender gesture that could only be called a “caress”. The house was silent, both of their bodies still, to the exception of his hand brushing down her hair, so softly. Only when she parted her lips to pant, did he catch himself. His cheek burning him, he walked away from her to return to his room, leaving her static in the corridor facing the bathroom door. 

Outside the wind was blowing, a summer storm howling its threats from above the lake. He shut his bedroom’s blinds and cautiously locked his window before going to bed. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the sound of the storm gathering its clouds, or because of his own anxiety, but after half an hour of closing his eyes and turning in his bed, Masumi couldn’t find a way to sleep. Sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp, he opened one of the poetry books piled up on the nightstand, as those helped him calm down and sleep. The one he opened was by Korean poet Kim In Yook. He started reading aloud, his voice low and steady: “Mass is not proportional to volume…” 

The Physics of Love 

Mass is not proportional to volume.

A girl as small as a violet. A girl who moves like a flower petal is pulling me toward her with more force than her mass.

Just then, like Newton’s apple, I rolled toward her without stopping until I fell on her, with a thump. With a thump.

My heart keeps bouncing between the sky and the ground.

It was my first love

On his third reading, he had to remind himself to breathe. His mind was swallowed by the acute truth that these few verses had poured into him. 

His strangled voice barely could repeat the words, but his lips kept moving in a trance. When his lungs recovered from his shock, and he took a deeper breath again, it was as if he was inhaling sunshine. The poet had lifted the veil of denial from his eyes, and he saw clearly for the first time in, who knows how long. 

“I love her.” He whispered, immediately covering his mouth in consternation. Not simply dazzled by her talent and envious of her passion, no “I’m well and truly in love with her!” 

Through the usual mix of self-loathing and jaded dismay, a light of pure joy was clearing its way into his heart. As if the realization that he was indeed in love with a girl eleven years younger than him was not to cause alarm and panic, but of cheers and celebration. He was mad. He was raving mad. 

He would probably have gladly spent the remaining of the night pondering over the extent of his descent into insanity, but the sharp sound of shattered glass jolted him out of bed. It came from the guest room! He ran through the corridor in a few seconds, barefoot and his pajama half buttoned, to witness in the guestroom a horrifying scene. 

Maya was frantically hitting the wall with a bloodied palm, while her left hand was stuck in the window frame. It seemed that she had broken the window in an attempt to free herself - or was it from pain? Masumi couldn’t tell, but what shocked him the most was the fact that the only sound coming from her mouth were muffled moaned, strikingly similar to vocalizations made by deaf people when expressing strong emotions. She didn’t even call for help. 

His face and hands felt cold as he walked towards her, her wailing echoing within him, so much that he almost winced every time her voice would emit this obvious cry of pain and frustration. There was something else in her voice, something lonely that took him back to an hour before when he left her in front of the bathroom, when he thought caressing her hair was a suitable goodbye. Her hand was hitting the wall with such a sorrowful rhythm that it is that hand that Masumi stopped first. 

Covering her right palm with his, he bowed to touch the top of her head with his forehead. “Stop it Maya, I’m here” he whispered, and somewhere deep down, he vainly hoped she would hear him. She immediately stopped struggling. 

It took him all of ten seconds to free her hands from that frame, but by then her blindfold was soaked with tears, Maya sobbing uncontrollably. It could have been the pain, as both her hands were hurt, but Masumi doubted it was the case. He suspected that she was having as many difficulties letting him go that he himself had of departing. He led her to the bathroom and sat her on a stand as he treated her wounds. The hands that had been stuck only needed disinfecting and bandages, but her right hand had punched through the glass, and shards were still stuck in it. As he focused on finding them all with tweezers, squinting his eyes for a better view, Maya slowly recovered from her emotion and her breathing became gradually more even. When he finally attached her bandage safe and tight, he ruffled her hair a little, just to tease her, and successfully managed to pull a timid smile from the corner of her lips. 

Returning to the guestroom was downright impossible, as the window was blown open and the strong wind and rain were turning the room into a little indoor tornado. Standing in the door frame, Masumi didn’t exactly know how to compute that fact, experiencing difficulties separating his inner responsible adult to his inner lovestruck teenager. Maya certainly understood his dilemma, as she decided to assist him by making the choice for them both: she pulled his sleeve and walked them to the master bedroom. 

Again, it was as if he was witnessing the entire event through the eye of the house itself, or its haunting spirit’s. He saw himself following her, his arm pulled decidedly in the direction she had chosen. Once more, he was at her disposal, the only difference being that now some light had been shed on the reason why he was so incapable of resisting her pull. It was all Newton’s fault. 

She fumbled until she reached the bed, and immediately slid under the covers, her little body curled up, her head resting on his pillow. She inhaled deeply, just as she had done that morning, and exhaled with relief. Then, her hand patted the other side of the bed, and she pulled her head up to turn it toward him, obviously inviting him in. 

His heart was racing in his chest. Hesitant first, he finally decided to obey her, though panic was slowly creeping in, he couldn’t refuse her. There was a line though, and he sure hoped Maya didn’t plan on breaching through it. In that case, his own sense of propriety would commend him to stop her, no matter how painful, or how tempting. 

However, as he laid next to her, she simply smiled and crawled closer to him until they were almost touching, and rested her head on the pillow just below his shoulder. If he moved even slightly, his leg would brush against her knees, his chest against her folded arms. She was so tiny, so tiny next to him. The words of the poet echoed in his mind “A girl as small as a violet...is pulling me toward her with more force than her mass.” Her gravitational pull stronger than his will, he reached for her hand, desperate to express something, anything, without crossing the forbidden line. He wrote “And-so-our-weekend-ends” He hadn’t spoken a word, yet his throat still tightened as he traced the last character into her trembling palm. With equal intensity, she replied “It-will-remain-in-my-heart-forever”

Just then, like Newton’s apple, I rolled toward her without stopping until I fell on her...

They fell asleep soon after, their hands inches apart, heart beating in harmony 

…with a thump. With a thump.

My heart keeps bouncing between the sky and the ground.

It was my first love

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Thank you so much for reading this fiction, I really hoped you liked it. I had to add this poem "the Physics of Love" because I'm sure that's one Masumi would definitely sympathize with. I loved writing it, and if you want a sequel, please let me know, I have tons on ideas on how this weekend could change the dynamics between Maya and Masumi, especially after she goes off to work for Daito. 

Anyway, don't hesitate to comment and tell me what you thought of my story. 

Lots of love, 

Wawadji 

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