Chapter Six
Claire de Lune

———

It was a peaceful Tuesday afternoon, a free day that they both shared together every week. Henry and Hana were reading at the kitchen table by the window, where the warm sunlight poured in and filled the room with warmth. Henry did his best to focus on the book in his hands, but Hana's soft brown hair rested in his direct line of sight and he yearned to stroke it. He wondered if Hana's head had grown hot from the sun. Would she mind if he patted her?

"You keep staring at me, Henry." Hana was looking up from her book, "Is there something on my face?"

"O-oh, no. You don't. Sorry," Henry reddened and fixated his gaze onto the pages before him. But the words kept swimming around and he barely made sense of what they said.

Hana still stared at Henry.

"Did you need anything?" He asked nervously. "It's a little warm, but I can get you some barley tea."

"No, I don't need anything."

"Oh, okay," Henry said.

Her eyes were still glued to him.

"Can you please stop staring at me, Hana?" Henry asked.

"You started it." She began to smile. "You're so cute, Reeree."

Henry grimaced, but inwardly, his heart was fluttering madly. "Why do you still call me that?"

"Because you don't smile like you used to. And when we were younger, you would always smile when I called you Reeree."

He glanced down at his book, not knowing how to answer Hana. She certainly did have a perceptive personality, but Henry didn't realize how often she would analyze him. Did he really not smile anymore? When was the last time she'd used that nickname?

"Maybe it's the early mornings for work," he said, "I'm more of a night owl anyway."

"No, that's not it," Hana replied quietly.

They both grew silent and it felt perpetual. It felt suffocating. The sun was no longer warm, it blistered Henry's skin and set his hair on fire.

"When will the shades turn on?" He asked.

Hana looked dazed for a second before she squinted at the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. "You know, I think I forgot to set a timer for them today. I'll do that soon. Is the sun getting too hot for you?"

"A little."

Hana slammed her book shut and stood up suddenly, a newfound determination painted on her features. "I've been working on a new piano piece lately. Would you like to hear it?"

Henry's heart grew light as his head bobbed up and down. He absolutely adored it when Hana would play the piano for him. She would touch the keys so tenderly and with such powerful vigor.

"There's that lovely smile," Hana said, her eyes soft on Henry. He felt his heart become restless as he watched her glide over to the piano, its rhythmic palpitations steadily rising with every step she took. The piano had belonged to Henry's grandmother before she'd died, and though it was a beautiful instrument, having been handmade with materials found from the old world of drylands, he had no clue how to play. So, the day he took Hana home, he gave her the piano. And she loved it earnestly with her beautiful playing.

Henry sprung to his feet and brushed away the hair that had fallen across his nose.

"What's the, uh, the piece?" He asked as the heat from his face traveled down his neck. Hana's mahogany eyes burned.

"Claire de Lune. I know it's not exactly unknown or super special, but it reminds me a lot of you," she said. "Here, come sit on the piano bench with me."

"I'm okay. I can stand," he responded.

Hana stared up at him with a frown, "No. Sit down. Saturate yourself in the experience."

Henry did as he was told and shakily situated himself beside his wife, painfully aware of her closeness on the small, creaky bench. He watched her hands rest on the white keys as softly as they would caressing a newborn's head. Henry was suddenly struck with the thought of a baby. Would Hana ever want a family with him one day? He knew before he even pondered it that his wife would make a wonderful mother.

"Are you listening, Henry?" Hana said, breaking his runaway train of thought. "You look very lost in yourself."

He shook his head, "No, I'm listening to you." Which was technically true, but he'd missed the beginning moments of the piano piece. "I'm not sure how this song reminds you of me. It's beautiful."

Hana smiled, "Claire de Lune is a melody filled with lonesomeness and peaceful longing. I know you ache for something out of your reach, even if you haven't told me what it is."

It's you, Henry thought to himself as the music danced around him.

"But even if you never tell me, I want to help you feel at peace," she continued, "You've always been my friend first, regardless of our marriage."

I never want to be just your friend, Hana. Henry's thoughts screamed so deafeningly in his head that he almost voiced them aloud. He gripped the ends of his shirt until he almost tore it.

"I hate how lonely you are."

Don't say that. Don't say that.

"You've become so secluded."

Don't. Don't. Don't.

"I miss the happy little Reeree that lived next door to me when we were kids."

"Don't say that," Henry said, his voice shaking. "Don't say that. Don't say that."

Hana stopped playing and turned her head to stare at him, "What's wrong?"

Henry's lungs had become too filled with emptiness for him to answer her normally. His ragged breathing scraped so badly at his throat that tears sprang to his eyes. How could he be so stupid? It was always going to be Kado who held a piece of Hana's heart that Henry would never be able to even touch. He was stupid. He was so, so stupid.

"Henry," her voice heightened in volume, "Henry, are you okay? Henry?"

She would never see him as anything more than a boy she grew up with.

"Henry! Henry!"

He'd stolen her chance to be with someone she truly loved.

Henry couldn't hear Hana very well, but the tightness in his chest was becoming unbearable. It suddenly dawned on him that he couldn't breathe at all. There was no air in his lungs whatsoever and the terror of it rose in his body. Was that why Hana looked so scared? Did he look like he was drowning?

He coughed violently into his elbow, gasping and choking and scratching at his throat. "I-I ca-can't—!"

Hana gripped Henry's shoulders and he could feel her tremble, "Y-you can't breathe? Okay, okay. You're going to be okay. Don't worry." She sounded so worried.

Hana held him closer to her chest and her hands began gently rubbing his back up and down. Henry focused on the warmth in her fingers and his lungs slowly began loosening their hold on his chest. As the silence grew louder but more delicate, he took slower and deeper breaths until almost all of his panic had settled down to the bottom of his stomach.

"Henry, can you breathe a little better now?" She asked quietly.

He nodded, too exhausted to speak.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, please don't stop. Please don't ever stop." Henry burrowed his face into Hana's neck and sobbed silently into the crevice of her shoulder. He'd never been more scared for his life before.

"We can stay like this for however long you want to, love."

"Don't say that," Henry said. "I know you don't love me like that."

Hana was silent, but her hands still roamed his back with more care than he'd ever known. It was as if she was afraid to shatter him.

Henry embraced her tightly, wishing that that moment would forever be seared into his memory. The memory of Hana.

"I'm sorry, Henry, I was so scared," she said, "I really thought I was about to watch you die. So don't say I don't love you, because I would get down on my hands and knees and beg God to not take you away from me. I'm sorry."

Henry's neck grew moist with Hana's tears. They both held each other at the piano, the remnants of Claire de Lune still echoing through the quiet room. He didn't know why she apologized, but it didn't matter. Not really.

And then the front door slammed open.