Buffet done, we took the train to Arashiyama. One-stop from Kyoto Station — easy.
“Couldn’t come to Kyoto and skip Arashiyama.”
“Yeah — top tier alongside Fushimi Inari and Kinkaku-ji.”
Saga-Arashiyama Station was packed — Japanese and international tourists in equal measure.
“Lots of people in kimono.”
“Kimono in Arashiyama photographs incredibly — there’s a rental place. Should we?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Aw — come on.”
I refused. (Kimono on me feels weird.) She got a sly look.
“Oh — you still have that outstanding punishment, don’t you?”
“What punishment…?”
“Hugging Suzuno in the infirmary and lying about it, remember?”
”!”
She remembered. (When I’d caught Suzuno’s near-fall and tried to hide the contact and the scent gave me away, she’d promised punishment.)
“Punishment = kimono. Right?”
”…Fine.”
I conceded. We went to the rental shop near the station.
I picked fast. Kano deliberated.
“Black or blue — which suits me?”
“Both, honestly.”
“That’s why I’m stuck.”
She’d looked great in black (the Tokyo Summer Hills swimsuit) and blue (the Sumida fireworks yukata).
”…How about a kimono with both colors?”
“Brilliant — I missed that.”
Settled. They fitted us professionally.
“Suits you, as expected.”
“Your green one isn’t bad either.”
“Isn’t bad is a phrasing.”
We left. Outside — every gaze on Kano. The gal-look-plus-kimono combo had multiplied her presence.
“Mini-celebrity feel.”
“The hate-stares men are sending me — please, mercy…”
(If looks could kill I’d be dead a dozen times in the last minute.)
“To the Togetsukyo Bridge.”
“Yes.”
The bridge was crowded. Walking side by side, someone bumped Kano — she lost balance.
“Wah?!”
I grabbed her waist instinctively.
”…Are you going to keep holding me?”
“Ah, sorry!”
We’d been staring. I scrambled to release her. (Her expression looked… almost regretful.)
“Hands? To not fall again.”
“Yes — let’s.”
She took my hand and laced fingers — lover-style.
“W-why this style?”
“More secure.”
“Maybe but —”
(First time I’d done lover-fingers with anyone.)
“You don’t like?”
”…I don’t dislike it.”
“Then we’re fine.”
So lover-fingers held. To outsiders we were a couple — possibly more couple-y than actual couples passing us.