Tomorrow's Doom A.2/C.11 - Soliloquy

Chapter 10: http://pastebin.com/wHr7G5XX
__________________________________________
Chapter 11 - Soliloquy

After the cafeteria incident, Hisao and I made a point to avoid most contact. Neither of us trusted ourselves to be alone together, so we skipped out on swimming for a few days – Joyce even stopped by my room to ask if I was sick. Like the calm before the storm, we knew there would be plenty of time to be together soon, and we didn't want to spoil it with too many awkward moments beforehand.

If this goes terribly wrong, swimming might become awkward...

Hisao joined Shizune in helping build booths for Yamaku's Tanabata festivities, and it actually didn't make me completely apprehensive. Shizune wasn't trying to steal him away; apparently she had been trying to push us together – in her own way. I still had a little green jealousy demon lurking around in the back of my head, but I understood it was irrational. At least I was almost certain of its pointlessness. Unless that was just another play.

No. No it wasn't. Was it?

Whatever apprehension I had about Hisao was apparently linked to making 'us' official, so I find myself much less worried about the actual date. Of course, I certainly want to make a good impression, and for that I'll need a new yukata. Everything about Tanabata should be different from the Yamaku Festival, I decided. That thought in mind, at the end of Saturday classes, Amaya and I meet up with Tadao and Hisao to take the bus into the city, but we separate upon arrival. The girls head off to seek out our own spoils, and the boys wander away to seek something similarly appropriate.

First things first, though, Amaya and I head straight for our favorite cafe. It's actually in the opposite direction from the bus stop, but it has an open-air seating area we like to watch from the air-conditioned interior. For some reason we enjoy watching pretentious people sitting in the hot sun slowly developing melanomas.

It was Amaya's suggestion... okay; and I completely agreed.

This time, the conversation is more subdued as Amaya isn't rambling a thousand words per minute. She's actually blissfully calm compared to our last visit – though she hasn't shut up since we got off the bus. Most of her questions are rather aimless, but occasionally she hits upon one that makes me think.

“Do you think he'll wear something traditional?” she asks, and I'm not sure who she means.

“Tadao?” I ask, looking perplexed, twirling my empty fork with one hand while I raise my teacup for a sip with the other.

She swats my arm and I almost spill my tea as she exclaims, “no, silly, Hisao. Tadao wouldn't wear a traditional stitch if he were at his own wedding!”

I eye her suspiciously and the mention of nuptials and raise my eyebrow as I formulate a query, “You've discussed weddings with him, then?” I ask, pointing my fork at her.

She giggles nervously and looks away. “No!” she replies, forcefully.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” I goad, fumbling on the English a little, but she understand well enough. She glares at me and sticks her tongue out in response.

Good old Tongue-sticker.

I giggle inwardly and set my teacup down, leaning forward and staring out the window dreamily. “I dunno,” I say, trying to catch a mental image of Hisao in a yukata, “I don't think he'd look right like that, y'know?”

Blue? No, wouldn't work with his eyes. Green, maybe? Earthy, and a good match for his skin tone, but it might look a little gaudy on him. Definitely not bright colors like red, yellow or white. Black would work, but it would need accents. Purple, perhaps? No, he'd never go for that – too girly a color. He looks alright in his swimsuit, so maybe a burgundy color with black accents and white details. Gray could work, too, assuming it's not too bright.

“You prefer the dippy sweater-vests. Is that what it is?” she asks, breaking me out of my imaginings.

“Maybe...” I reply. “It makes him easy to pick out in a crowd, y'know?”

“I wish Tadao were easier to hide sometimes,” she chides, grinning. Then she frowns and looks away like something crossed her mind. I'm perplexed to see such an odd change of face, and I lean forward to confirm my suspicion.

“Are you pouting?” I ask, trying to guess at her state of mind.

She looks back, still frowning but her eyes are looking through me. “He's just...” she trails off and puts her finger on her chin, “he's clingy, y'know. Like he's afraid I'm gonna fall over or something, all the time.”

“Okay, so he likes to stay close,” I try to lead her thoughts, but she puffs out her cheeks and blows out a frustrated sigh.

“It's like he's cradling me sometimes. Like he's afraid I'm gonna have an 'episode' every second we're together,” she explains, making air quotes. “It was kinda nice at first, but... a month later, I think he's just worried to be worried.”

I nod, understanding what she means. I get like that with Hisao sometimes, I've noticed. His heart condition is chronic enough that he really could suddenly have something terrible happen, and swimming could certainly exert him enough to cause an attack. That's most of the reason I slow to keep pace with him; I don't want to make him push himself into an attack.

“Tadao's never actually been around for an attack, though, right?” I ask rhetorically.

She considers the question for a moment then shakes her head. “Not really... he's heard about them, but never actually been there to see one.”

“He's probably just worried how he'd handle it, then,” I explain, “remember the first time I was there?”

She recalls the incident and nods after a few seconds. “You were a total train-wreck,” she giggles and I see her shoulders relax. “Running through the halls screaming at the top of your lungs,” she frowns and looks straight in my eyes, “you think Tadao would do that?”

“Maybe not that exactly, but his version of that,” I say, “just let him be worried about it for now. Maybe tell him about what it's like dealing with an attack – procedures and such.”

“He's already gone to ask Nurse about it like fifty times, I think,” she groans, “he even got an extra bunch of pillows for his room in case-” she stops and blushes fiercely.

You little minx.

I decide to let the implication slide. “Well, he cares about you – I said that before,” I offer her an affirming nod and she smiles finally. “Eventually, based on historical evidence, you'll end up having an attack around him at some point, and once he figures out how to deal with it, he'll be able to step back a little.”

I wonder if I'd have the same reaction after I witness Hisao having a heart attack. Somehow I don't think I'd be cheerily distant after watching his mortality falter, but Amaya needs me to be supportive, not morbid. I offer her a sagely nod, closing my eyes and smiling serenely. Meanwhile, I'm trying to fight off the image of Hisao in a hospital bed, connected to a thousand tubes routed to a dozen machines, weakly clinging to life.

Just like my dad...

I hear tapping and look back over at Amaya, who's giggling a little and saying, “Earth to Aiko, come in space-cadet.” My gaze falls over her and the image is blurry -glazed-over- I wipe my eyes with my sleeve as she smiles broadly. “You really like him don't you~?” she asks candidly, her playful lilt edged with an almost motherly tone. Seeing her face, I assume she's no longer on the topic of Tadao.

I sit up straight and lean back defensively, but quickly relax and start nodding, a gentle smile on my lips. She's completely right. I may not fully understand why, but Hisao is important to me; even though I've only known him a month. I just smile at Amaya in response, not having the ability to put it into words. She nods at me and we sit through the rest of lunch rather quietly – both lost in thought.

The clock on the far wall reads, “2:11 pm,” when Amaya stands up and beckons me along, leaving a generous tip for the server who was kind enough to leave us in our reverie. Outside in the city heat, we giggle and talk some more as we make our way to the Soliloquy Dress Shop – and I'm suddenly anxious. Mister Miyoto's perceptive deductions about Amaya were fun to watch, but I wonder what observations he might have about my own future encounter.

He hasn't met Hisao, of course, but I don't think I'll really be able to keep the excitement off my face. For a moment, I consider going to a different shop, but I think Amaya would suspect my consternation and push me even harder toward the fate she might feel I deserve. Not that she's spiteful or anything -well, yeah, she is- but I probably do deserve some payback.

Friends suck.

When we reach the shop, Amaya is leading as she giddily opens the door, flooding the sidewalk with the cool air-conditioned breeze, waving me in; offering a slight bow as I pass. She's mocking me.

Friends definitely suck.

The ringing bell brings the familiar voice out from the back of the store somewhere, and Miyoto's lilting tone makes me smile - and cringe. “Hell-oo-oo~!” his voice leads as he comes out through the curtain and stands with his hands on his hips, leaning back and smiling his disarming smile. A flurry of red suspenders, black pants and a gaudy floral-print shirt, Miyoto's presence fills the room and we both fall silent. Upon seeing who has come to his door, he leans forward and pulls up a pointed finger, shaking it vigorously at us – mostly at Amaya.

As the door closes behind us, effectively sealing us in, he begins to chide, “Miss Yamamoto, you've been keeping away – keeping my poor heart in suspense~!” His smile persists as he walks up in front of us, clicking his heels together and placing a finger on his chin contemplatively, inquiring, “dish, darling, how did the festival go~? Did your yukata knock that boys socks off – so to speak?”

Is that where Amaya picked up that word?

Miyoto stands there and smiles, dropping his hands down behind his back and rising up on his tip-toes expectantly. He bounces up and down giddily on his toes, awaiting her answer. Amaya blushes hard and shoots her gaze down at her feet, making a squeak as she tries to protest. For the moment, I feel bad that Amaya is under such scrutiny, but at least his attention is diverted from the face I was making as I saw him appear. She's probably thinking I'm a terrible friend right about now, but that's fine – it's a mutual contempt.

Tinged with desperate curiosity.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Amaya's stilted voice comes back with a short, “it went fine, Tadao and I had fun.” Her sudden shyness is uncharacteristic of her, but understandable considering the last conversation she had with Miyoto on the subject. His suggestive comments nearly made her face explode as I recall. I decide to hold back information about visits to his dorm room, for fear of making her lash out violently.

Miyoto's pleasant smile dissipates for just a moment as he formulates another query, “he didn't try anything, did he?”

Amaya quickly responds, “no.” Finally looking up at her inquisitor and smiling. “He's a perfect gentleman,” she says, trying to get her confidence back. “Right, Aiko?” she turns to me with a pleading expression.

Knew she'd rope me in eventually.

Undeterred, I look to Miyoto as I answer, “of course. Had he not, I'd have clubbed him to death.” My voice drips with devious glee, and I almost believe I would have done just that – I'm quite protective of Amaya.

At least when she's not throwing me under the bus.

Miyoto's grin returns ten-fold and he cheerily raises his hands around in front of him, lacing his fingers together and literally jumping up and down. “Oh, I knew it, I knew~!” his voice bounces with his leaping, and I can't help but giggle at his exuberant response. “Are you here for Tanabata preparations, then?” he asks, calming his hopping and looking back and forth between us with excited eyes.

Amaya sighs with relief as I answer, “yes, we have... preparations to make for tomorrow evening.” I try to sound vague, but he doesn't seem to mind.

“We both have dates,” Amaya says flatly.

Et tu Amaya?

Upon hearing that he turns on his heel and marches into the store, holding a hand behind his back and beckoning with his fingers. “Come then, darlings, let's see about making your boyfriends stew in their lust~!” he chirps as he disappears behind the curtain again.

I start walking slowly, but Amaya dashes past me, looking over her shoulder and sticking out her tongue. I expected to be tossed to the wolves today, but I had hoped it would be more subtle. I wonder for a moment whether Miyoto will have noticed the comment was plural – but it's false hope.

As if in confirmation of that thought, Miyoto sticks his head through curtain, after Amaya disappears through it, and levels his gaze on me. “Come, then, Miss Kurai. I suspect it won't be as difficult, but you'll want to stun your beau, no doubt, and there's not much time~!” his lilt hangs in the air, echoing off the clothing racks as his head disappears into the back room again.

At least I won't have to act coy.

The back room of the Soliloquy Dress Shop is essentially a studio with a pedestal in the middle, benches on the sides, a pair of dressing rooms on one end, and a large wooden workbench with rolls of fabric and other materials scattered around on the other. The lighting is natural, through a series of skylights, and augmented by incandescent bulbs if the day isn't offering enough illumination. Miyoto balks at fluorescent lights -saying they disrupt the look of natural skin tones- and refuses to use them despite being cheaper to maintain.

As I stand on the pedestal, with Amaya watching from a nearby bench, I almost feel like I'm being fitted for a bridal gown. Miyoto's meticulous measurements each come with a happy grin and I can't help but feel embarrassed. He hums and whistles as he dances between me and the workbench, writing down measurements. “You've been working out, Miss Kurai,” Miyoto comments as he writes down his latest figures.

Well, I have been swimming five days a week for a month; I'm glad someone noticed.

Choosing to just nod, I don't mention the specifics. I glance at Amaya, but she just leans forward on her hands, swinging her feet off the floor, and grins sheepishly. Miyoto continues commenting as he starts writing out his final measurements, “It looks good on you, though it means I'll have to adjust my patterns.” He looks up at me then, “so, what's his name?”

Amaya chirps, “The Swooner~!”

I glare at her, folding my arms, she replies with a short raspberry. I turn back to Miyoto, who is giggling at our little exchange, to clarify, “Hisao.” I sound more curt than I intended, so I add, “Hisao Nakai – he's a new transfer student.” I smile sweetly, tossing a foot toward Amaya that she doesn't flinch away from; I'm not close enough to actually hit her.

“I assume he's the one you were trying to impress at the festival~?” Miyoto asks, looking back at his figures, and I decide to stop wondering how he knows these kind of things. Maybe he has a direct line to the social heartbeat of Yamaku, or he's psychic; it doesn't matter. Trying to be coy now would be pointless.

“Yeah...” I say, trying to stall.

“Well,” he says, ignoring my desire to slow this conversation down, “with my help, he'll be eating out of the palm of your hand~!” He picks up the paper and eyes me curiously, asking, “last time we went with orange and black, yes?” I nod, but he seems to be in the middle of a thought. “I think we should play with your eye color this time – something with green or brown.” He drops the paper down and frowns, “well, not brown – too pedestrian.”

The way he slips from asking questions about Hisao to  comments about his design plan is a little jarring. I barely know how to respond sometimes because there's almost no segue between subjects. It's a bit like talking to Rin; though I should hardly be surprised by that revelation. I don't really have an answer to offer, but it doesn't seem to faze him as he wanders off into the main part of the store. I glance over at Amaya to comment, “you still just love using that word.”

“The Swooner?” she asks rhetorically, “damn straight! He swept you off your feet without you even knowing – took you a month to recover. The guy has mad swooning skills~!” She grins and nods, still swinging her feet.

Sometimes I hate it when she's right.

For the festival, Amaya and I purchased stock yukata with minor alterations made to fit, but this time, we decided to get them made custom to order; it's pricey, but Miyoto's work is worth the expense. It's amazing watching him go about his work with practiced diligence; quickly taking the selected fabric and wrapping, tucking, snipping and sewing it into a beautifully patterned custom-fit yukata. An hour or so later, in between dealing with a few other customers, Miyoto has finished piecing together a yukata for me, and has started on one for Amaya.

Before setting off on his second task, he directed me into the changing room with a grinning nod and I complied giddily. As I look in the mirror, I realize he was right about my improved figure. Persistent exercise has toned my legs and strengthened my arms, as well as given my already-flat stomach some definition. Gone are the dark circles under my eyes, as well, having not been so afflicted with insomnia since I started swimming with Hisao. I grin at the image as I compare it to the one I saw at my last visit.

None of those evasive adjectives really come to mind.

The new yukata is also quite different. Where the one for the Yamaku Festival had a wavy black pattern like tree branches stretched over an orange background, this one is a much more complex pattern. The colors are like that of a peacock – dark greens and bright yellow tones in a dazzling floral pattern with indigo accents and some white trim. As I finish it with the bright yellow obi, and pull my hair out of my face to look at myself in the bright yukata, I can't help but smile.

Stepping out of the dressing room, Miyoto is looking away, but Amaya notices immediately and beams a toothy grin. “Oh that's just per-fect~!” she says, bounding off the bench and coming for a closer look.

Miyoto turns, but there are a series of pins between his lips that spread weirdly when he smiles, and he can't talk without spitting them onto the floor. Instead he just offers a slight bow and nods freakishly, squinting with joy and making an odd squealing sound. Deciding to forgo keeping the pins in his mouth, he reaches up and plucks them away with two fingers and grins happily. “Ah, our little mermaid~!” he says finally.

Now where did he come up with that?

“Amaya's been telling you secrets while I was out of earshot, then?” I ask, trying to sound more playful than accusatory.

Amaya lets out a nervous giggle and looks away as Miyoto raises an eyebrow and answers, “I prodded it out of her, Miss Kurai – she held out for a good long minute or two~!”

I eye Amaya narrowly, and she answers with a devious grin.

“Come now, let's get a closer look, then,” he points to the little pedestal and I step over to it quickly. His analytical gaze watches my every step, and he smiles contentedly as he steps around the pedestal to look at all the angles. “I'm amazing, aren't I~?” he asks rhetorically.

Amaya laughs happily at that, while I remain quiet. Miyoto's ego doesn't show through often, but it's certainly there. Brazenly obvious, but somehow subdued. I offer him an approving nod and he spins back around to continue working on Amaya's yukata.

A short while later, while Amaya is getting changed, the bell at the front door rings and Miyoto turns his eagle gaze out toward the curtain and belts out a welcoming, “Hell-oo~!”

There's no quick response, but I hear shuffling feet and a crinkling sound, like shopping bags. Miyoto bounds out the curtain and greets the customers with a cheery, “oh~! Hello there, you must be-” he stops himself and I hear some more nervous shuffling.

Miyoto's voice is reduced to a whisper and I can't hear what he's saying. I'm suddenly quite suspicious, and I step off the pedestal to see who he's having a hushed conversation with. Being careful to move it slowly, so as not to draw their attention, I peer out through the curtain and have to stifle a gasp. Hisao and Tadao are apparently done shopping.

I lean back against the wall and look over to see Amaya peering out from the dressing room with a question in her eyes. I lean toward her and whisper, “the boys are here.”

She scrunches up her face in confusion and whispers, “what?”

Just as I'm about to lean closer to repeat my warning, Miyoto pokes through the curtain and says cheerily, “the boys are here~!”

Amaya and I shoot him bewildered glares and he smirks sardonically, “oh, like they didn't know you were here?” He steps through the curtain and chides, “honestly, they're not aliens or barbarians -they're your significant others- why all the-” He stops as he notices our predicament, his eyes flash open widely and he pinches his lips to stop his lecture.

I'm leaning against the wall wearing the yukata Hisao isn't supposed to see until tomorrow, and Amaya is poking out from the dressing room. I'm not sure what state of undress Amaya is in, exactly, but our expressions tell Miyoto enough to make him turn on his heel, heading straight back out with an explanation on his lips. “They're not ready yet,” he tells them, and I breathe a sigh of relief while Amaya ducks back into the dressing room.

A moment later, Miyoto pokes his head back through the curtain, grinning sheepishly, and asks, “should I send them away~?”

Yes!

“No,” I say, despite my internal reaction. “Are they done shopping?” I ask.

“I assume so,” Miyoto presumes. “They look appropriately exhausted and they're both carrying bags from one of the local department stores.” He raises an accusatory eyebrow and frowns as he whispers under his breath, “lousy little sweat-shops.” His smile quickly returns as he continues, “I've had that look on my face before, when I was your age – but that's neither here nor there.” His eyes shift back and forth as he relates the youthful memory, but he settles his eyes on me at the end and offers a pensive expression. “What should I tell them~?” he asks, his lilt returning.

“We'll be here another hour or so, right?” I ask somewhat rhetorically; it's a rough estimate. Miyoto offers a slight nod as I continue, “I'll say something.”

Miyoto pauses, then realizes what I mean and backs out through the curtain. Amaya starts stuttering a preposition of some kind but I hush her with an absent wave of my hand. I tentatively position myself to peek out and take a breath to ready my words.

Quickly popping through the opening, making sure only my face shows, I smile at Hisao. He takes a moment to notice me, but the second I catch his eyes I'm already talking. “Go buy me something... something nice,” I say, and then snap the curtain shut before either of them can respond.

After hearing my request, Amaya pipes up from inside the changing room, “me too~!”

I slink back over behind the wall and close my eyes, trying to stifle my laughter. Amaya is less successful, but I don't think her stifled giggle is audible in the other room. Miyoto lets out a decidedly louder chuckle, covering any tittering the boys might hear, as I hear his heels clicking together; followed by his feet pounding the carpeted floor as he starts shooing them out of the store.

“You heard the ladies, young men. It's unwise to disobey the orders of your beloveds~! Now, be off with you! Find them something precious so I can finish making them stunning~!” his delightful lilt echoes into the back room and causes Amaya and I to break into uproarious laughter.

The bell rings again, and I hear more shuffling, along with a few stuttered protests as Miyoto ushers the two of them outside without another word. The door closes, and I hear Miyoto blow out a relieved sigh. After a minute or two, when he's convinced they've wandered off, he returns to the back room and smiles at me with his arms folded.

I blush a bit under his gaze, but he quickly breaks the tension with a chuckle. “Nice boys, but they're a little slow on the uptake. Yours is adorable~!” he says, nodding at me. “And Tadao is looking healthier – I assume that's your doing, Miss Yamamoto~!”

There's a pause and then a giggle from the changing room. “He likes my cooking, apparently,” she says.

“Don't let him soften up too much, though. He'll need his strength for physical labors... You understand~!” Miyoto's smile absolutely beams as Amaya lets out a nervous giggle. He then turns to me and says flatly, “make sure she uses protection.”

“Hey, I heard that! She's not my mother, y'know,” Amaya protests.

He looks over at the changing room and frowns. “Yes, perhaps, but Miss Kurai is the responsible one – I expect her to have already considered such things,” Miyoto then turns to me and grins widely before asking, “Right~?”

Well, now that you mention it, no.

“Of course,” I lie. I'm not sure if it will work considering his nigh-supernatural powers of perception, but I suppose it's only partly a lie. I certainly would have thought of that before taking such steps. At least that's what I tell myself.

Dirty mind.

Shortly after, Amaya is finally done getting her yukata straightened out. The top half, above the obi, is a peach color with a cascade of white peach-blossoms flowing from her left hip up to her right shoulder. A gold lattice pattern runs along the trim and leads the eye down to the lower half which fades into indigo, where a brilliant field of stars imitates the swirling pattern of the blossoms flowing from her right hip and around the back to her left foot. She's still adjusting the white obi as she steps out and grins.

“I'm a genius~!” Miyoto proclaims as Amaya steps over onto the pedestal.

“It's not too much?” she asks, looking down and leaning from side to side, trying to look it over.

I decide to answer for Miyoto, “he's a genius.” I'm being completely serious; the yukata is stunning and thoughtful, as well as tasteful.

Miyoto smirks at me and then continues touring Amaya's fit; checking the lines and making sure everything falls in the right place. His attention to detail even allows him to see a few stray threads picked up from his design table, which he plucks away and drops to the ground with disdain.

When he's finished he nods with approval and looks to me. “Two sides to this one, I thought,” he comments and we both look at him perplexed. “Gemini – duality personified,” he says, referencing Amaya's zodiac sign, “displayed across her in a flourish of blossoms and stars.” As he speaks, he points to the upper and lower halves of Amaya's yukata, smiling serenely. Evidently he puts a bit of thought into his creations beyond mere color and fabric combinations.

He turns to me, then, and offers the same serene smile. “Yours is that of the Earth-mother; Cancer. Compassion and empathy. Fields of green ebbed with sunshine and resting against the night; defying the darkness.”

I can't help but smile as he recites the description. He was trying to put my personality into the colors and patterns, I gather, but all I saw was colorful constructs. “Thank you, Mister Miyoto,” I say, meaning every word.

“Please, call me Satoru,” he says evenly, his serene smile spreading into a delightful grin.

“Alright, then, Satoru,” I say, “call me Aiko.”

“And call me Ishmael,” Amaya chirps. Satoru raises an eyebrow at her and I roll my eyes. “What?” she says defensively, but our gaze is unwavering and she amends her statement, “I'm Amaya to my friends.”

He nods with satisfaction and we fall silent. I'm not certain, but I think the glassy look he's directing between us means he's committing our names to memory. I hadn't ever heard his first name before, and I find it oddly fitting seeing the look on his face. I had always thought he was such a blustering character -always chipper and bouncy- but seeing this side of him is refreshing. I'm beginning to understand how he reads people so easily; if he can have that much clarity behind those darting eyes, it's no wonder.

The spell is broken quickly, though, as he belts out a chipper, “well~! Will you be needing geta, kinchaku or anything else to accompany your new outfits~?”

I glance at Amaya, but she shakes her head almost immediately. “No,” I say, “just something to hide these from the boys before they get back.”

“Certainly~!” he agrees, and turns on his heel, “get changed and I'll see about the packaging and your bill.” he stops and pivots, looking back at me. “If the boys come back in the meantime...?” he leads.

“Kick 'em out,” Amaya retorts. “Girls only,” she states. “Present company excluded,” she adds, nodding to Satoru.

With a nod, he pushes through the curtain and we head for the dressing rooms. After a few minutes, I've got my blue-jeans and t-shirt back on, and Amaya has slipped back into her denim skirt with a black blouse. The new yukata and obi, carefully rolled and folded, rest in our arms.

Satoru appears almost immediately, clicking his heels together and grinning widely, holding out a pair of large red paper bags for our new yukata. He gingerly ushers them into the bags and covers the top with tissue paper while we look over the bill.

Totally worth it.

Hisao and Tadao reappear in the store just as we're finishing with the bill, and Satoru takes them aside to offer some advice, I assume, while Amaya and I ensure our spoils are well-hidden. As I look over, I can see Hisao's reaction to whatever Satoru is whispering, and he's blushing fiercely. I imagine it's along the same lines as the discussion he had with us earlier.

Satoru Miyoto is quite protective of his friends.

As I stand there watching the exchange take place, I wonder what Hisao might have found based on my directive. Up until now, the only things he really knows are fairly superficial – so I'm not expecting anything on the genius-level of gifting. Still, I almost want to try stealing a look through his bags for whatever trinket he may have found.

Amaya looks like she's having the same idea, repeatedly glancing at their bags; carelessly left near the door when Satoru pushed them into the corner for 'the talk'. She notices me looking at her and raises her eyebrows in a silent question, but I shake my head in response. Whatever they did end up getting, I think I can wait until a more appropriate time.

What I'm really wondering about is what Hisao may have decided to wear for Tanabata. His style has seemed fairly stagnant, though I can't say I expect boys to dress particularly fashionably. There's an inherent sameness in Hisao's attire, though. I've seen him wear at least a dozen different sweater-vests of various patterns and colors, but that seems to be the extent of his wardrobe's variety. Even Tadao has a couple dozen different shirts and different pants that he combines -usually badly- for different events.

Satoru's lilting tone breaks me out of my observations as he steps over to us and grins. “Alright, we're all set then, I think~! If you need adjustments or resizing later, they're covered by the original bill,” he explains, then leans in conspiratorially between us to exclaim in a whisper, “knock 'em dead, ladies~!”

We giggle in unison as he steps off to the side and the boys start gathering their bags. They both offer to carry our bags as well, but we refuse; not wanting them to catch a look at our planned attire. Nodding and waving goodbye to Satoru, we head out the door into the late-afternoon.

There's a quieting lull in the sunset-streaked sky as we set out through the city at a reasonable pace, headed toward the bus stop. It's a peaceful silence, not an awkward one. Neither of us feels the need to fill the empty air with mindless chatter, and we walk contentedly.

Amaya and Tadao hold hands and walk in front of us, while Hisao and I walk side-by-side. Glancing at Hisao, I wonder what he still hasn't told me about his life before coming to Yamaku. Most everything I know is limited to the last month, and a few stray events he described from his life in the big city – before his heart attack.

Hisao had a heart attack. Three weeks ago, he told me about his arrhythmia, but I still hardly know anything about the condition. It's far too broad-ranged a condition to have a clear idea about what it means. As I look him over, the disquieting thought that he might fall over dead suddenly crosses my mind and I wince; he doesn't notice, though. I still barely know anything about him, and I may never get the chance if fate is unkind.

Reaching the bus stop, Hisao looks over and notices my casual gaze, but I don't look away this time. I don't feel embarrassed or unsettled by his knowing I was staring; I want him to know I was looking. I think he understands that, given the serene smile he offers in return; he seems content to stare right back. Even if Amaya or Tadao were to turn around and catch us in this moment, I wouldn't feel uncomfortable because I no longer think there's anything wrong with what we're doing.

I don't think there ever was, really.

As the bus arrives, Hisao glances down and our eyes break away for a moment, but he quickly returns the gaze and I feel his hand wrapping around mine. I wrap my hand right back around his; feeling the warmth, the strength and the quickened pulse in his hand. He leads me onto the bus to sit in the seat in front of Amaya and Tadao. He only breaks the gaze to find the seat, and quickly returns to it once we've situated ourselves on the bench.

Hisao takes the window seat, while I sit by the aisle, our hands still entwined and our eyes still locked. After a few comfortable seconds, we release the gaze and I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder – not for support, but for comfort. I listen to the solid thumps of his heartbeat echoing through my ear and close my eyes, letting the weariness from the day be driven away by the vibrations as I'm carried into peaceful slumber.

Awaking sometime later to a solid nudge, I look up through bleary eyes and see Amaya grinning widely at me from the aisle. She nods at my pillow, too, and Tadao holds up his thumb in the most exuberant expression I've seen him make. I turn to look at Hisao, and he's looking down at me, smirking. I realize we've arrived back at Yamaku, but I'm remiss to exit the bus – I want to stay here and rest against Hisao's shoulder.

Just a little longer.

My logical mind quickly bats that idea away, and I stand, feeling Hisao take my hand again, and follow Amaya and Tadao off the bus; clutching the bag with the new yukata in my free hand. Hisao carries his bags -including whatever trinket I sent him to buy for me- and we exit into the flower-sweetened night air of the school campus. Some of the setup for Tanabata had already started while we went on our shopping excursion, but I'm hardly paying attention to the staggered wooden booths in the distance.

I lean against Hisao as we walk toward the dorms, and we talk lightly – mostly about Satoru Miyoto, the strange dress-shop owner. Hisao's impression of him was mostly good, but he seems a little uneasy at the mention of their side-bar discussion. I just giggle and lean against him harder, considering whether I should ask what he decided to buy for me. I don't think I want to ruin the surprise, but I wonder what he could have thought of on such short notice.

I'll find out tomorrow.

Thinking that reminds me I really should tell him more about myself, my family, my life, growing up – my dad. Realizing that I actually want to tell him is shocking, and scares me a little. Spoiling the mood with that discussion would ruin the nice walk we're having, however, so I decide against that course of action.

When we reach the crossroads, Hisao turns to me and backs away a step. It's a subtle motion, and our hands don't actually break apart, but it places between us some needed distance. He smiles at me and whispers, “tomorrow night, then?”

I smile contentedly and whisper back, “with bells on.”

For a few comfortable moments, our hands remain linked and I consider pulling him toward me, but that's how we ended up shoving each other away at the festival. I don't want to repeat the last month of casual avoidance over a mistake in etiquette.

Instead, I allow the hold to break, and we start backing away from each other slowly. Tadao rushes around us, headed for the dorm, and nods at Hisao as he goes, not saying a word. This is all so strangely familiar, but it's somehow ten times better than that night a month ago.

Though, I'd love to hear Tadao recite that poem again.

Of course, the silence couldn't remain forever, not with Amaya around. “Hey, Swooner,” she yells out from behind me and Hisao grins, holding up a hand in a casual wave. She continues, “have her back before curfew~!”

Now I turn to glare at her, but all I catch sight of are her feet darting through the door into the girls dorm. I quickly look back and smile sheepishly at Hisao, who's chuckling at either Amaya's comment or my reaction – I'm not sure.

“Maybe we should worry her for a while,” he suggests.

“No,” I reply, “she'd just torture me about it until I had to make something up, and she'd know I was lying, and then there'd be this face.” I put my finger on my chin, imitating Amaya's thinking pose.

Hisao laughs and shakes his head, “indeed. Tongue-sticker would lean forward and pace around, damning the name of the Swooner.” He plays out his description, hooking his thumbs in front of him and pacing back and forth.

We both laugh for a while until he arrests control and points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Kenji needs constant checking, you understand,” he says as he starts backing away. “He's like a big infant with glasses and a bad temper... he does still ask about whiskey night and war stories with you, though.”

I roll my eyes at the reference as I start backing away. “Tell him I'm still on covert ops or something important like that – make something up,” I say, starting to giggle.

“Will do,” he says as he spins around and breaks into a jog toward the dorm, his shopping bags bouncing at his side.

I should have peeked...

This time I just watch him go; not feeling the least bit bad about watching. Amaya could be recording this on her phone for all I care. She could post it on YouTube so it goes viral world-wide, and I wouldn't even flinch. I no longer care who might know I like Hisao Nakai.

Well, maybe I want to keep it from mom for now...

When I reach my dorm room, even after being bombarded by Amaya's inquisition, I don't feel any stress. I'm impervious to stress today. Everything about this day went swimmingly, and when I drop down onto my bed, my last thought is something more hopeful than I can remember in the past month – maybe the past year.

Tomorrow is going to be a good day.
______________________________________________
Chapter 12: http://pastebin.com/fUhbFgJ4