killswitch.

[arthurkanemoto]

MALIA DAVIS.​

“Money is not an obstacle if it means that my children and I are safe.” Malia replied immediately. It was her promise to Tommy that she would always keep Tahlia and Tahj safe. She never broke a promise to him and had no intention on doing so any time in the future. She slid her phone out of her back pocket sliding to her calendar. “Hmmmm, I have next Thursday at three o’clock open if you don’t mind two two year olds running around as you do your consultation.” she smirked. “Actually, I can contain them with movies and toys in the living room so they won’t be in the way too much, but they do like to ask questions of new people so just be aware of that.” The twins were very curious now and they liked to ask questions to everyone they met. She looked up and smiled seeing that the playhouse was pretty much complete. “Wow, you did a damn good job. This could be a great side hustle for you.”

Malia turns back to Arthur and raises her eyebrows at the hard look on his face. The slight edge in his voice, causes her own wall to go up. Had she said something offensive. She could never control the words that came out of her mouth. It was always getting her in trouble. She reviewed the words that she had said, but didn’t find anything offensive. At least to her, but she didn’t offend easily if at all. “So you know her?” she asked cooly, trying to read the expressions on his face. “Maybe…I just mentioned her because she was in security too. How do you know her?”

♧

Arthur soothes his nerves, shrugging for his sake. To allow the mention of her name to shake him would be a surrender to her memory. “Thursday works,” he replies, typing in the appointment and slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t mind kids. A lot of my clients have kids, so it’s nothing new.”

The play place was thankfully finished. The mention of Maddie had always made him want to bolt. “Well, we work in similar circles. We know — knew each other. From way back when.” Arthur hopes she gets it, and doesn’t push any more than she already has (and she hadn’t even been pushed that hard. “How do you know her again?” He hadn’t realized Maddie’s circle had reached that far, but she seemed to fare better than he has in life. Arthur had a comfortable life on the island, but wealthy he is not.

[arthurkanemoto]

📱 — miles & arthur

MILES: im bed bath and beyond done with u

MILES: how could youuuu!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭

ARTHUR: What?

ARTHUR: Who is this?

ARTHUR: Why are you crying?

[arthurkanemoto]

MADELYN SOK.​

“Both.” Her smile is hard and glinting like a knife in the sun. At this point Madelyn isn’t even certain what she’s trying to coax from him. After the years they’ve spent apart, the laundry list of things that he’s done to wrong her has grown and shrunk. What would make it all better? Even she isn’t certain. Is it for him to admit what he did? To vocalize the actions that she lived through? Or is it something else? Is this about what they used to have? Or is more about bringing out the side of him that she can only catch glimpses of through the cracks in his normally opaque mask? 

Her vicious nature knows no bounds when it comes to Arthur. In the same way he can tell her smile is fake, she can tell when there’s a soft spot to sink her teeth into. The smile loosens from her face, but there’s the sparkle of challenge in her eyes. “Do you ever think about that night?” Of course she’s referring to the night that he left. The night that everything they built had burnt to the ground. Maddie’s betting that he does remember. She knows how his mind works: Ruminating over ever possible detail, every mistake, every regret. “Or are you hoping that if you don’t talk about it, people like your girlfriend will never find out about it?” 

Maybe all she wants is to know that she isn’t the only one that remembers.

♧

Arthur recognizes the taunt almost immediately — that little game Maddie liked to play when she was in the mood for a fight. She asks him to remember that night, but instead, he recalls the night he’d met her. He’d been nothing more than a punch-happy kid with no past or future to speak of, and she’d been, well, there. Pretty in the way that reeked of privilege and filled to the brim with a tempestuous spunk he couldn’t quite grasp. He’d brushed her off like she’d been some errant fly, more trouble than she weighed sopping wet.

After that night, he’d walked around with a black eye for a full week. The rest, as they say, was history.

But girlfriend — that’s the word that pulls him back from his memories, and instinctively, Arthur thinks of a strand of blonde and soft hands, though he hadn’t labeled her as such in more than decade. “Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spits out, tearing his gaze from hers. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” But how he averts his eye is enough. He is a liar, and nobody knows his true core better than Maddie.

The silence after that is almost too much to bear. “That night… it was a mistake,” he finally says. “All the nights. I got you in something that I shouldn’t have.” As if she didn’t have a say in it as well. Because if there is one thing Arthur is good at, it is shouldering all the blame while somehow remaining blameless himself. “Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted me.” Maybe you don’t actually know me. It’s more of a wish than truth, but if there is one thing that Arthur desires, it is to remain unknown for the rest of his life. 

[primulaceas]

Isabel Allende, The House of the Spirits (translated by Magda Bogin)

[arthurkanemoto]

MARION STEWART.​

Like the silence, Arthur’s touch is gentle, but fragile. The entire scene feels like an exercise in her restraint, so Marion assumes a hardened expression, holds back her tongue, and looks out to the sky. But the magnitude of the ocean view is soured by a chest that tightens with feeling and that which wants nothing more but to close the distance.

Yet whatever stroke of luck she’s reaped that morning suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, snatched away by her dog’s meager bark. And Arthur forces his hands away, before fully obscuring them from view and goes on mumbling some words to which she only half-listens. And anyway, she can’t listen now, not when her hand is still tracing the invisible mark of his fingertips against the ledge, like he’s finally found his way back home —

You’re probably dead tired. Long night, right?

“I’m not tired,” Marion declares and casts him with a knowing smile, “no, not at all.”

And with the remainder of her strength, she rushes forward and moves to wrap him in a tight embrace, burying her head in his neck, allowing herself to be bound though safe, to be warmed in the circle of his enduring care.

She doesn’t know how long the embrace lasts. Eventually, however, she catches herself, releases herself from his grasp as abruptly as he had done just moments past. Unable to meet his eyes, she utters the first words that come in her head before they again dissolve on her tongue. “It’s good to see you. You could go now, if you want.” But screw restraints and calculated risks; she has never been one for half-measures. “But, well, I — I’d rather if you didn’t.”  

♧

What he notices first is the warmth. It’s glorious, and briefly, he wonders why he’d ever let go of this. Engulfed in her arms, it feels safe, like home, like nostalgia for a life he’s known, and he wonders why it’s always been easy for her to swallow something so significant. 

He basks in it. Warmth he’s been denying himself for so long because people like him didn’t deserve the proximity of fire. Always leaving, never staying. What made him think that he wouldn’t do it again? 

And yet, he holds still. Something in him had settled and grown soft, bloodied knuckles turning peachy and taut, time eroding away at even the hardest of memories. Breath heavy and quiet, he closes his eyes, letting soft hands do the work. They hover at first, not knowing quite where to go (he’s out of practice, imagine that) before falling in the center, half-hearted and then firm, insistent that they belong. They like it there, they are at home there. Perhaps he could stand to learn a thing or two from his hands. 

When she pulls away, he falls out of the trance. It’s like he’d risen from a dream too soon, an unfinished plot already half-forgotten, but nonetheless desperate to grasp the last of the memory to keep for another hour. He clears his throat, taking a conscious step away (too much heat, all at once), but his eyes — they stay trained on Marion. At this point, he doesn’t know whether it’s braver to look at her, or to turn away. 

“I’ll see you again. I promise,” he says. “Don’t know if my promises mean anything anymore, but — yeah.” Shrugging, he lets out a laugh; the first in a while, as pressed and awkward as it is. “Don’t know if I’ll be good company half-asleep.” 

[arthurkanemoto]

MALIA DAVIS.​

Malia could appreciate the gruffness in his voice. He was being professional and she saw it as such. She had that side to her as well. Work mode, she called it. When she put on her no-nonsense, professional boss persona. She had to do that. She worked in a male heavy industry and they wouldn’t take her seriously if she spoke in soft tones and chatted away about the new Dior dress she wanted or the Manolo Blahnik shoes she had just bought. Softness just didn’t get the job done in her world. “One hundred dollars doesn’t seem horrible.” Malia replied before looking over her house. She was curious about what he would find. “Would you have time in your schedule to do a consultation on my house? I just want it to be at maximum safety for my kids and myself. It’s only us.”

Her eyebrows rose as he mentioned tabloid bait. Was that what she had been reduced to now? Pictured in some trash magazine with her love life spread across the pages? Most people didn’t know who she was unless they were into video games or the tech industry. Now, it almost felt like she was a household name. It was an extremely odd feeling for someone who preferred to observe others and make her judgements privately to herself. “I don’t tend to be. I’m only swarmed at GamerCon or another big video game convention, but some things have happened recently and I’m being more talked about in the main stream media. Paps waiting for me outside of stores and stuff. I just don’t want my kids involved. ” she said before swallowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I should really just ask my bestie, Maddie, to do some security for me. It’ll be just my luck that she’ll do it herself.” she smirked, thinking of her friend. “Do you know Madelyn Sok?”

♧

Arthur nods, moving his attention away from the play place for a moment to focus on his potential client. “Costs more for a proper consultation on what you need. Installing the fortifications, and stuff like that.” Most of the playplace is done, save for a few more pieces, and he takes the break to try to sell his business to the woman. “You have a day that’s good for you?” Arthur pulls out his phone from his back pocket, scrolling through his calendar with a squint.

“Hm?” He’s too focused on his mess of a calendar that he doesn’t realize that Malia’s speaking to him, realizing she’s explaining her predicament with the paparazzi. “It only takes one thing for them to decide to spin a story.” Looking up from his phone, he nods once, stern, and shrugs. “Don’t know if this matters, but I don’t read tabloids,” he adds. “At least, not if it won’t help me do my job better.”

The construction of the set is coming together nicely. He’s almost sad to leave it, when he hears something that he almost cannot believe. “Maddie? I —” Speaking before he could gather his thoughts, there’s a marked pause after he begins. His face turns hard, harder than before, almost hostile. “Once. A while back. Is she on the island?”

[arthurkanemoto]

RORY HIRSCH.​

“Does it matter why?” Rory says, his brows furrowing. “I just think you’re an interesting person,” is the most honest answer Rory could provide, “even though you’re so disagreeable, and annoying, and hard to talk to.” And yet the litany of insults is uttered with a delighted chuckle, unbothered by Arthur’s reticence as much as he is unbothered by his own earnestness. 

“But that’s okay. Just means there are more silences for me to fill, and, well, I’m a very good talker.” Arthur’s withdrawn nature is incompatible with Rory’s own proclivity to be liked — and though that contrast frustrates him in no small way, he’s keen on overcoming the roadblock. It’s a task he’s set out to do for over a year now, after all. “I mean, I’m surprised you’ve handled me this long. Most people would have told me to shut up already, but you stuck around. And you continue to. So. Either you’re the most patient person I’ve ever met, or you don’t mind my presence as much as you show.”  A laugh. “In any case, those are pretty decent reasons to remember you by.” 

♧

Rory’s words don’t bother him, like everything else failed to bother him in his life. Arthur is a rock, in both the best and worst possible way. Nothing could penetrate his hardy exterior, least of all the gentle touch of another human being.

No, he doesn’t understand Rory, and he doesn’t have any intention to. It bugs him that he’s even stuck around for this long, but listening to other people had never been the problem. “I don’t mind it,” he finally says. “Not like I have anything to say, anyways.” Half a lie; he has plenty that he thinks, just kept close to his heart.

“Listen…” He runs a hand through his hair, huffing, as if breath could take the place of what he is about to say next. “You’re - you’re not a bad guy. Just… don’t ask me to talk about myself.” You wouldn’t get it, he wants to say, but he stops before he could sound like a petulant teen, whining to their parent.

[arthurkanemoto]

MADELYN SOK.​

There’s no pleasure or triumph in hearing Arthur passively admit her did anything wrong. She doesn’t want to hear his answer in the silence that settles between them either. If anything it makes it worse. It means that there were an endless pool of what if’s and she, much like Arthur, hated those. Or maybe, it was better to say that she hated the what if’s when it came to them specifically. 

When their eyes meet, her carefully crafted mask slips and the hurt slips through. She knows that he sees it too. There are many things she’s in denial about in her life and Arthur leaving is one of them. With her mask askew it’s like seeing like all over again. Maddie had known it the minute she had laid eyes on him in that grungy warehouse all those years ago. They were more alike than they would ever be willing to admit now. Or maybe that had changed for him now that he had met Marion and fallen in love with someone who was far softer than she would ever be. It’s a hard truth to swallow and the last thing she wants to do is admit why. 

Maddie wants to reply to his question with maybe it would have changed things, that she was always going to be able to take care of herself but having someone there - having someone she trusted - would have made it easier. But with mere exhale the cool mask of indifference and snark immediately moves back into place. “Naturally. Who else is going to look out for me if not myself?” Bragging isn’t attractive on anyone so she’s not going to start now and like hell she’s going to admit that her scorn for Arthur’s departure was the spark the fuelled her success. She smiles pleasantly like they’re just engaging in mindless small talk. “Does it bother you? I know you’ve been domesticated by island life and all but I highly doubt that your knight in shining armour complex has just disappeared into thin air.” 

♧

In his forty-three years of life, he’s never once pretended to understand what went on in people’s heads, to even put a name to the flash of (hurt? sadness? anger?) emotion that plagued others so simply. From a young age, Arthur learned to layer weight inside his heart and compress everything he’d felt into a tiny little ball, expelled in the minutiae of his movements. A flicker in his lips. A twitch of his knuckles.

But what is closeness if not defined by their every little idiosyncrasy magnified tenfold, naked to the eye, even one as untrained as his own?

The weight, already heavy on his heart, does not lift. It only gains.

He lifts his head from where it bowed, turning to Maddie with something softer hidden behind his gaze. Domesticated, knight in shining armor — hardly words he’d use to describe himself, but he supposes, to her, when they met, this was what he’d been defined by. His wildness, his willingness to scoop her out of trouble whenever he could (until he couldn’t). “Does what bother me?” he asks, exhaling a breath. “The fact that you’ve done well on your own without me? Or what I did?”  

The smile’s fake; of course it is, like he doesn’t know what her joy looks like, like she’s challenging him to guess what she’s thinking underneath the layers of flesh and teeth. The only way he knows she’s not is because that is his fear too. Somebody seeing his heart for what it is, without the luxury of a wall to separate the viewer from his shame, his vulnerability.

[arthurkanemoto]

MALIA DAVIS.​

Being in the media war/frenzy that Malia had found herself in definitely had her looking for some extra protection for herself and the kids. She looks over to her home as he gestures to it. It would be good to know how well her security system was and any improvements that needed to be made. “I like to think I do, but a check up on it wouldn’t hurt. How much do you charge for something like that?” 

Her eyebrows rise and she smiles. “Oh so you’re a whiskey lover? Well, I have a few bottles of whiskey that I only take down for very special occasions. I would say that you helping me with this crazy project would be such an occasion. We can sample it before you decide on the bottle.” she offered with a shrug. “Assuming today is a day off for you, what do you usually do?” she asked as she grabbed another part of the playhouse and held it for him.

♧

“Well,” he begins, rising from a kneel, wincing at the way his knees didn’t quite move the way he wanted them to anymore. “I charge a flat rate of a hundred for a consultation of the grounds. Usually doesn’t take more than a couple hours — cataloguing the current system, making sure there aren’t any blind spots, stuff like that.” His voice is gruffer, though it has nothing to do with how much he liked Malia. With work, Arthur always turned into something of a stone wall, as if to illustrate how good he was at his job.

“Most clients only ask for exterior help, though we do inside the homes as well. Check points of entry, install cameras, you get the drill.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, taking a moment’s break from constructing the play place in front of him. “But most people who ask for that — well, I like to call ‘em tabloid bait.” He never really paid attention to entertainment news, but every so often, he’d have to study some pap pics to figure out how best to service his client. “Y’know, you’ve always got creeps trying to break into their favorite celebrity’s home, or some asshole pap that takes it a step too far to get their million dollar shot.” He inhales, a hint of a smile crossing his face. “You don’t cross me as that type though.”

[arthurkanemoto]

MARION STEWART.​

TIME SKIP.

Weariness ought to be gaining on their minds right about now. Breakfast could only sustain them for so long, offering only a brief respite against sleep deprivation. But, strangely enough, Marion feels as if she’d just woken up. Even the dizzying array of staircases leading to her home, one which she’d silently curse after a busy work day, feels lighter somehow. His presence is always such relief.

The rush of keys and chimes and footsteps are enough to alert her dogs of their presence, and before she’s even able to step inside, the three are barking at them and wagging their tails enthusiastically in greeting. But Bailey in particular is looking at Arthur with wariness, and his petty display of assertion against the visitor makes her laugh. “You have to pet him to get him to relax, by the way,” she says, before walking towards the French doors leading to the balcony, her two other dogs quickly following suit.

And Arthur steps in, not too long after. She allows herself a moment to look at him, really look at him. Something about finding those strands of gray in his temples elicits an ache in her heart in no small way. But Marion is quick to dispel those thoughts, not wanting to entertain the truth of their decade-long separation, not when the promise of a future lay right ahead. 

She leans against the balustrade then, resting her elbows against the railing, looking at the sky that had now brimmed with specks of pink and red and orange from the rising morning sun. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything for the holidays, by the way. But that’s probably for the better, I’m not gonna lie. I’m not a pretty good gift-giver.” Still, she’s half-tempted to sift through her bag again, wonders whether there are gifts left to spare. “Between bag tags and gray socks, though, which would you have preferred?”  

♧

He’s not unfamiliar with the concept of a watchdog, though he’s never been particularly enraptured by them himself. Responsibility, reliance, love — all ideas he fancies himself foreign to, at least when it came to caring for mammals. He’d much preferred his plants, steady and unwavering in its growth, without a whiff of projection hidden between their leaves.

Nevertheless, he gives him a healthy scratch behind his ears, following Marion onto her balcony. She’s right; the view is nice, unfettered with buildings or trees, and he inhales, taking the morning air deep into his lungs.

He doesn’t speak. Maybe he’s waiting for her to speak first, maybe he just doesn’t have anything to say — either way, he enjoys the lull between them, pinky finger splayed out just enough to graze hers on her left. Her skin’s soft underneath his; he knows this because once upon a time, he’d grab her hand without a moment’s hesitation. And like that, they watch the sunrise, sky turning cotton candy pastels in lieu of a rising ball of orange.  

It’s then that one of the dog’s bark; he can’t tell which one, shattering the peace. Her jerks his hand away, too quickly for it to feel incidental, and he clears his throat. In less than twenty minutes, the sky would turn blue and the traffic and early morning joggers would come rumbling by and the little island would wake up from its gentle slumber.

“I - yeah. I should get going, huh?” His hands are shoved into his pockets, skin almost embarrassed at what he has touched. “You’re probably dead tired. Long night, right?”

[arthurkanemoto]

MADELYN SOK.​

The sound of worry in his voice sets off a wave of nostalgia, quieting the snark about to strike when he asks his first question. 

This was typical Arthur. All gruff and rough on the outside, but a soft-hearted man on the inside. Who else, after all would ask if you were okay in the middle of a physical fight? Maddie had thought it was stupid at the time, responding by hitting him right back before he could comprehend what was happening. But it was his subtle way of caring that won her over in the end. It was what had lead her to trust him. To fall for him. 

Maddie can’t help but examine his profile as he looks away. She takes in the way his jaw is set in a hard line and the way he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s worried but they both know he is. In the past, she might have reached out to try and soften the expression and brush the worry away, but that was then. This is now. Her hands stay where they are. 

“What if I were?” She lets the question hang in the air, keeping her gaze trained on him. He had always run to her aid at the slightest hint of trouble and she had found it ridiculous at first, but in truth she had become comforted by knowing he would always be there. After he’d left, the comfort he’d offered left with him, leaving her with a bitter taste in her mouth. Her lips twist and she can’t help but scoff at the memory. “What would you do?”

A part of her wants to know. But the other part is still hurt and angry after all these years. 

♧

Of course she’s playing games, flirting with the edges of what-ifs that he’s never been particularly good at entertaining. He liked facts, what he could see and hear and touch with his eyes and ears and hands; none of this if bullshit she’s peddling now. 

But if he were to play along? If he were to believe in imminent danger to Maddie? 

His stomach flips. 

But he’s good at holding his cool, though his head turns, desperate to pull away from her commanding gaze. Not unlike his own, though they’d always known how to battle for power in their deep silences. He knows his answer, the minute the question left her lips — which unsettles him, even after all this time apart. Arthur feels twenty-three again, burdened with the weight of the responsibility he hadn’t learned to carry yet. Ever since then, he’d made a point to run away from it, like he had on that fateful day he’d left her. 

“Does it matter?” he asks. “Would it change what happened — what I did?” The first sliver of an admission of guilt after years of radio silence. Arthur finally gains enough courage to face Maddie again, eyes just as focused as hers. Her face is impenetrable (it’s a mantra at this point, just like his), but maybe he spies the smallest hint of hurt reflected in her expression. The guilt mounts, and like that, he retreats back, voice turning gruff and impersonal again. “You’ve always been smart enough to make it on your own, right?” 

[arthurkanemoto]

MALIA DAVIS.​

Malia’s eyebrows rose as he told he worked in security detail. Well, wasn’t this an interesting turn. She seemed to be in the market for security. There hadn’t been any really big breaches, but more paps had been following her and she knew once the Game Informer interview came out, it would only increase. She definitely wanted to keep the twins and herself safe whenever they went out. “What all do your services entail?” she asked holding another piece of the playhouse up so that Arthur could secure it. “I’m expecting some extra…attention and I would want protection for my children and family when we go out to places.” she explained.

She nodded and shrugged, figuring she would offer. She knew and understood that video games weren’t for everyone. “Not even wine? I’ve got some great wine or whiskey. I normally don’t like sharing my really good whiskey, but I will give it to you because you’re getting me out of pulling my hair out and hearing my kids scream and cry.” she chuckled lightly. “There has to be something.”

♧

Arthur isn’t one of those pesky individuals who attempted to work on everyone that he’d met, but he can tell that his work piqued Malia’s interest. He looks up from the half-constructed play-place, measuring up whether her question was simply polite chatter, or if she wanted to hire him. He doesn’t wait very long before she’s explaining her newfound attention from the media, and he nods. 

“All sorts — I have a small team on ground here and in LA for public events and short-term security stints to work on any immediate threats, but I also advise on home security systems and such.” He nods over at her home, grand and large, like every other home on the block. “Assuming you’ve already got adequate home security though?” 

At her offer, Arthur chuckles a bit, shaking his head. “Listen, I won’t turn down a good whiskey,” he answers. “But I swear on my own grave that I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have been doing much today anyways.” 

[arthurkanemoto]

RORY HIRSCH.​

Rory pauses, pursing his lips at Arthur’s skepticism over his motives. His answer is fairly straightforward — because he cares, as simple as that — though it occurs to him then that he hadn’t probed his own motivations as much as he had embraced his instincts. It is simply in Rory’s nature to, yet the other articulates his question in such a way that makes caring so juvenile.

It renders him off-guard, how he has no answer over such a simple question. “I don’t have to answer that,” he looks away, pressing his lips into a stubborn line, “It looks like you’ve already made your mind up about me, anyway.”

He doesn’t mean malice. Even now, his face only hints at a bit of confusion, even hurt. “Dying alone? Yeah, of course that sucks,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You keep insisting you want to be alone, but trust me, there’s at least one person who’s gonna mourn when you do.” But even Rory acknowledges it’s far too heavy-handed an assessment, before he adds, “I mean, hell, if you died tomorrow, I’d mourn you.” He shrugs. “How would I ever forget the curmudgeon who thought I was hitting on him when I first introduced myself?” 

♧

Arthur snorts; he’d almost forgotten about that entire debacle, with Rory stumbling over their initial greeting, all cordial, and himself misinterpreting the gesture as a step too friendly for his liking. He wasn’t, and isn’t embarrassed though; merely unamused by how the other continued to pursue his company, though he’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t desire it. 

“Why?” It’s a simple question, one that he doesn’t expect Rory to answer, but he’s still curious (or maybe provocative) enough to press. 

[arthurkanemoto]

MADELYN SOK.​

Restlessness has always been something of a curse and a blessing for Madelyn. Her boundless energy had driven her sisters up the wall when they had been younger, and left her parents (and nannies) exhausted. It had driven her to sleepless nights when she had moved out of Odette’s mega mansion and into the sprawling city that was Los Angeles. Restlessness had put her down paths and brought her stories that she was certain would never have happened otherwise. It was, in part, what had lead her to Arthur all those years ago. 

The renovations on her house had been going well, and Little Bird was running as smoothly as could be. But she was, once again, finding herself without anything to occupy herself with. A walk then, seemed like the next best thing. With her earbuds in, some random playlist on, she wanders and eventually finds herself in Ventura. It doesn’t register immediately that it’s Arthur seated on the bench, but as she nears, she recalls their less than happy new year interaction. The slight nip of the air has turned her cheeks pink and she hopes that it would cover up the colour caused by her recalling said incident. 

She could turn around, but it seems that her body has other plans. Restlessness it seems has brought her to Arthur again. Madelyn rolls her eyes at his sly comment and is about to reply with something snide in return when she’s surprised at the silent offering to sit beside him. After a moment’s pause she deposits herself beside him with a healthy gap between them, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Let’s go with that second one.” The silence stretches between them and she realizes that since arriving, all of their run-in’s had been them at each other’s throats. This is uncharted territory. “Is this you offering an olive branch?” she asks motioning to the bench. 

♧

Gone are the caustic digs they traded on New Year’s, replaced with a heavy silence between their two bodies, seeping into the cracks, threatening to push them further apart like rainwater to concrete. No noise aside from the water and wildlife, and the silent rot festers underneath the bright Catalina sun, blistering, begging for somebody to break the silence. 

An olive branch. Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t; all Arthur knows is that he has never extended one without it being covered in thorns. It hardly matters, anyways, considering she’s plopped herself down, far off on the other end, enough space placed between them to fit another person. Fortunately (or is it misfortune?), they are the only ones in the park. He watches the water lap up the ends of the beach like a hungry beast. He listens to the breeze, gently whispering by his ear. And yet, none of it brings him any sense of peace. 

His eyes find hers. Dark, unflinching, not unlike his own. 

“Did I do something to you that warrants me offering you that?” As soon as he says it, he regrets it, mind wandering to the events of decades prior. He shuts his mouth; he’s not good at apologies, nor is he adept at identifying when exactly he should be giving one. Turning away, he finds the horizon. Still, his stomach turns. “What is it? What do you want from me?” If he’s upset, he doesn’t leave a trace of it on his hardened expression. He leaves a breath, enough for the waves to crash and the wind to whistle before — “Are you in trouble?” 

Worry. A flicker of it makes its way into his voice. Always his way of apologizing, fussing over the smallest of things between them. 

[arthurkanemoto]

MARION STEWART.

“Just okay?” Taking the phone off his hands, Marion scoffs, and rolls her eyes in a way that would make even the bitterest cynic proud. “You are handsome, you know. Look at those dimples,” she declares without pause. The words rings a bit like flattery if she hadn’t otherwise wholeheartedly believed it, and before her cheeks warm further, she adds, “Not that it matters or whatever. Beauty standards are all very arbitrary, anyway.”

Embarrassed, she busies herself with eating the rest of her pancake and downing the rest of her coffee. She remembers the dinner etiquette — don’t talk when your mouth is full — sound advice for children and chatterboxes and, in this case, for bitchy blondes pushing forty who’d otherwise ran the risk of sounding like a schoolgirl with a crush.

But she catches her mistake quickly. With their plates clean, mugs empty, and their waitress equipped with such inexplicable eagle vision that she’d already begun to walk to their booth, departure is inevitable. It’s the most comfortable she’s felt in Arthur’s presence in a long while, and damned if the night was going to be over, just like that. “If we leave now, we can still catch the sun rise,” she says, abruptly, “I know, I know, you’re probably sick of looking at the ocean after the ferry, but I’ve got a good balcony view, and…” So much for playing it cool. “Well, I just thought I’d ask.”

He’s not used to this, the tender sort of domesticity he feels softening the pit of his stomach into sticky goo. All smiles and jokes, he isn’t quite sure whether this suits them or not — once, it did, of course, but even then, it’d been sprinkled with the excitement of the what ifs. Arthur has never been sure of anything in his entire life, least of all his future with another woman. 

But like clockwork, with the prospect of a new day just beyond their fingertips, she asks to extend their night for just another moment. Unexpected because it is expected, because he is so sure that she loves him still, and he, feeling the same for her. 

“It’s the same view,” he teases, even though it’s not. His apartment looks out onto the island, while hers sports a far better display of the ocean. “But... hey, why not?” Why not, like he’s asking himself this question, testing the waters. Attempting to get rid of that nasty kick in his stomach that tells him no, you’ve ruined it once, and you’ll ruin it again. 

They settle their bill. Of course they haggle, slyly pushing away each other’s cards when they think the other isn’t looking, but in the end, Arthur pays. “You’ll get the next one,” he says, like there would be a next, like he wanted this to happen again. 

[arthurkanemoto]

MALIA ​DAVIS.

Malia nodded. “Thank you. You should expect two unreadable thank you notes from Tahlia and Tahj Hamilton in your mailbox in the next week.” she grinned. Malia tried to instill in her kids politeness and gratitude so thank you cards when people did something for them or gave them something was a must in her house. They weren’t the best writers or artists, but they did their best and that’s all Malia asked for. 

She moved so she could hold the ladder as Arthur had directed her and rose her eyebrows as he said he didn’t put up toddler playhouses often. “Interesting. So this is kind of like a side hustle for you, then?” she asked with a grin. “What is your job actually?” If he enjoyed using his hands as he said he did, Malia wondered why he wasn’t always doing something with his hands. She adjusted her hand slightly on the ladder making sure to hold it still so he could tighten the screws as he asked about her occupation. “Yes, and I develop them and create them. I’m one of the few women in the industry.” she explained with a nod. She was probably the only woman who owned her own video game company, but she wasn’t one to brag. “I could give you some that are soon to be released if you’re into them. As a thank you for what you’re doing for my kids. I feel like it’s only fair.”

♧

Arthur chuckles, mildly amused at the thought of getting such cards in his mailbox. Perhaps it is refreshing for him to hear of somebody raising their children right. Too often, he’d worked for puffy-faced women with slender fingers, deaf to the screams of their unruly children. 

“I work in security detail,” he replies. In his hand, he spins another screw into the side, tightening it twice, just to be sure. “Mostly bodyguard work for high profile clients — not unlike yourself.” Ventura is almost a second home for him at this point, given how many clients he had here. Glancing up, Arthur pauses, before is head shakes, smiling. “That’s a really nice offer, but, uh, I don’t play many video games.” He didn’t play them at all, really, but it’s the routine of white lies that always gets him. “Seriously, doing this is payment enough.” Something satisfying about seeing his work laid out before him that made his words true. 

[arthurkanemoto]

MARION STEWART.​

At his question, she casts him a knowing smile. “You know, the whole point of asking questions is letting someone else answer,” she carefully deflects, before declaring, “but you’re not wrong, no.” Marion’s gotten used to how their exchanges of love are muted, because declarations, by themselves, are far too tender for each other to take.

The day seems to show no shortage of surprises, however, because Arthur heeds her request and grants her with another smile. “Oh, you’re joking,” she lets out a fitful of delighted chuckles, “Well, I can’t fix this now… well, maybe for future reference, hold up…” So Marion puts down her fork, grabs her phone off her pocket, and pulls to the camera app. “You’re not camera-shy, are you? Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever —” There’s a makings of a chuckle against her lips, but it falls abruptly once she realizes the weight of the moment. She presses the shutter, and for a second, it is reminiscent of a moment made tangible, a memory made alive again.

She forces herself not to pause for too long, and hardly a second has passed when she places her phone in front of him in a manner reminiscent of the earlier moment, though this time, the portrait is undoubtedly more accurate. “Well, I can tell you one thing, you’re ridiculously photogenic,” she says, “how the hell do you manage that?”

Not a moment lost, Marion pulls out her phone and hits the button. It’s quick, and he’s caught off-guard — but then again, she had the tendency to do that to him without even trying. 

She’s right. They have no photos of their past, if only because he never found the desire to own whatever newest technology was out that year. And he’d never owned a camera. Cameras were for the people with memories worth capturing, with people worth capturing. A photo, he supposes, is the world’s way of immortalizing a truth. He had neither when he’d met Marion, and he’d moved through life like a ghost, leaving and disturbing as little as he could. 

“You say that like you’re surprised.” Arthur motions to her phone. “Let’s see,” he asks. He’s not camera-shy in the way that most people are, picking out their insecurities like the criminal from a police lineup, exacted with the same amount of blame to boot. His eyes scan over the photo, the creases in his face, the slope of his nose. “It’s okay.” He nods. Truthfully, he didn’t have an opinion; what he sees is what everybody else sees. Eyes, ears, mouth, nose. A face, unremarkable as the next.