Java [Shizune]

The stack of papers in front of me just won't go away. It sits there, taunting me, each page another small cut along the same wound. End of year responsibilities are the worst part of this job, the bane of my existence. While I'm at it, let's toss my worries about next year's Council into the pot. Aoi and Keiko better not be the ones to let it all unravel. I refuse to have my legacy tarnished by the faults of my successors.

I lean forward, resting my head in my hands and digging into my scalp. A quick glance across the room shows Hisao and Misha talking about... something. Misha is still in the habit of signing everything she says; he hasn't been trained to do that yet. Figuring out what they are saying takes far more mental energy than what I'm capable of right now. Yet here I am, working myself into the ground to tie all of the loose ends before graduation.

The kanji on this paperwork blurs together into a mess. How long has it been since I had a good night's sleep? I can't recall. Everyone was so excited when finals ended, but that was only the beginning for me. Dammit, why can't I just focus for once? I bring a sheet closer to my face, squinting at the markings over the top of my glasses. It helps, if only a little.

A vibration emanating from the desk grabs my attention. Misha stands at the end of it, hands on her hips and an infectious smile on her lips. "[Hey, Shicchan~,]" she signs. "[Everything going okay?]"

I place the sheet in my hand back on the desk. "[About as well as I'd hoped,]" I respond. I'm not sure how things could be worse than they are. I've worked too hard over the past few weeks to keep up.

Her lips curl into a disappointed frown as she leans over the desk. "[You sure?]" She pays careful attention to the weariness in and around my eyes. "[You really don't look so good.]"

A biting pain nips at my forehead. I pinch the bridge of my nose in a vain effort to force it away. "[Really, Misha. Don't worry about me. We just have a lot to get done.]" I've stopped looking at her at this point, turning back to the sheet on my desk with hands folded on the back of my neck.

Her face appears in my periphery bearing the same worried expression. I glare at her with a furrowed brow. She seems to reel back at first, but maintains her resolve. "[But we -are- worried about you, Shicchan,]" she says with a tinge of her cheerful demeanor. "[We're your friends, that's what we do.]"

I wince and massage my temples. Blood boils beneath my skin. Keep calm, Shizune, maintain your composure. She is only a distraction, so brush her off like one. "[Look, Misha, I appreciate it.]" My wrists move quickly, almost cutting through the air. "[But there is still a lot to finish and not enough time. So, please, let me work.]" And I turn back to my papers.

She tries to grab my attention again, this time by snapping her fingers and - along with them - my nerves.

"[Misha, please.]" My gestures are harder. I can feel my wrists cracking from the strain. "[I just want to be left alone!]"

"[But, Shicch-]"

"[But nothing!]" My entire body feels hot. "[I have shit to do!]" I am not one to curse. "[Now leave me alone!]"

She flinches and steps back. Her sigh is tainted with defeat. With a shrug of her shoulders, she turns back to her desk next to Hisao. I follow her carefully. She takes her seat next to him, and he watches me as closely as I watched her. He bears a similar hurt expression, although his is masked with a splash of concern and slightly parted lips. Did he put her up to this? I suppose he’s never seen me truly stressed. But they have no reason to worry. It’s just a little bit of end-of-year anxiety. They’d be in the same position if they were President.

I turn my attention back to my papers. The symbols start to distinguish themselves, almost becoming legible. The haze that clouded my mind earlier fades, and I can pierce the veil between my eyes and this damned paperwork. My heart beats faster. I like to think that I’m a bigger person than one to get a thrill out of arguments. But that one was... different. I feel lighter. Perhaps I just needed a chance to vent.

With renewed focus, I’m able to speed through sheet after sheet of paperwork. My pen could make scorch marks on the pulp. A burning scent lingers in the air around me. For the first time in months, I can see a relative light at the end of the tunnel.

Someone walks by from behind me. Did they pass me earlier? It’s only the three of us in this room. I glance up; only Hisao is seated at the desk, leaned back in his chair and tapping his chin inquisitively.

...Where did Misha go?

I notice a slip of folded paper on the edge of my desk. I struggle to ignore it, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Unfolded, it bears a one-word message: “Sorry.”

A pang of guilt tugs at my heart.

I start to get out of my chair, but he’s already there to stop me. Hisao presses lightly on my shoulder. “[Stay,]” he says. “[You let me worry about her.]”

“[Why should I?]” I sign, standing firm against his touch. “[It’s my fault she’s upset.]”

He shakes his head. “[Just let me. You have work to do.]”

I sit back down, sigh, and nod. He calmly heads for the door, turning back to me before he leaves. “[We’ll talk later, okay?]”

I always get the strangest feeling that he knows when I’m watching him. I nod again, and he takes his leave. My gaze fixates on the door for a long while. Speculative thoughts race through my mind. Was I too harsh on her? Probably. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

The paperwork isn’t any easier to focus on now. It’s almost as difficult as it was before... well...

I hope she’s okay.

* * *

Tap. Tap. Tap.

My eyelids flutter as I stir. A haze clouds my vision, and my body feels light. Where... ?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I sit upright slowly, cradling my head in my hands. When I open my eyes, I am greeted by Hisao’s face. His eyes shimmer in the room’s pale light. The stack of papers on my desk has dwindled, but not yet disappeared. A small cup of tea sits on a saucer, its faint aromas drifting around the air.

“[Good morning,]” he signs. “[Sleep well?]”

I rub at my forehead, which exudes a dull, throbbing pain through my skull. “[...sleep? Did I really...]”

“[Yes,]” he interrupts. “[For how long, I don’t know. At least since I came back.]”

Since you... Right. It starts coming back to me. The flashbacks of old paperwork, of scribbled kanji, of Misha trying to console me. Of my outburst against her. Familiar pain comes along with the recollection. “[Is she okay?]” I sign wearily.

His lips curve into a tender smile. “[Yeah, she was always fine. Just needed a break from the work.]”

I cock an eyebrow. That doesn’t make sense, from the note that she gave me. “[But she...]”

He grabs my wrists. “[She’s fine. I promise. You trust me, right?]” His eyes draw me in. ...Were they always such a lovely shade of chocolate? I give a gentle nod, which widens his smile. “[Good,]” he signs, pushing gently on the saucer in front of me. “[Now, have a drink. You’ve had a rough couple days.]”

I giggle. “[Trying to poison me?]”

He scoffs. “[Me? Poison the girl who works me to death day in and day out? No, I’d never.]”

We share a laugh. I take the cup in both hands and breathe deeply, savoring the fragrances. I’ve never been one for the taste of tea, although the smell always appealed to me. This particular cup has a much more pleasant odor. I take a sip and... surprisingly enjoy its subtle flavor. A smack of my lips seems enough to please him.

He takes the stack of papers from my desk. “[What are you doing?]” I ask. “[I still have so much to get done.]”

He carries the entire stack over to his own desk and takes his seat. With pen in hand, he signs back, “[No, you don’t.]”

My face flushes as I stand. “[Yes, I do! It’s my job to ensure that all of this work is done by graduation.]”

“[So let me do it.]”

“[Oh, so trying to take all the glory for yourself?]” I sit on the edge of my desk and take another sip of tea. It really is quite tasty. I can see why Satou enjoys it so much. Perhaps this is growing on me.

“[Not really,]” he signs with a chuckle. “[You’ve worked yourself harder than both of us combined for weeks. Take a night off.]”

“[Isn’t that supposed to be my line?]”

“[Maybe. Does it matter?]”

He’s not playing along. How boring. I shrug my shoulders and sigh. This goes against my better judgment. But the thought of an actual good night’s sleep is tempting.... “[Fine. If you want to work harder, by all means.]” I strut over to his desk and adjust my glasses. “[But. If it’s not done in the morning, there will be -dire- consequences. Got it?]”

His smile morphs slowly into a frown. “[What... kind of consequences?]”

“[I haven’t decided yet.]”

“[Well, then I guess I’ll just have to finish by morning.]”

I glance at the clock. 22:47. You poor boy, you. “[That’s the spirit. And...]” My face turns red again before I plant a quick kiss on his cheek. His darkens with a similar shade. “[Thanks. I appreciate it.]”

The cheesy grin on his face reminds me why I like him. “[No problem. Good night, President.]”

With a pat on his shoulder and a relative spring in my step, I head out the door and close it behind me. From my quick glance through the crack, he’s still working. I roll my eyes as I start off to my room, feeling another tinge of red on my cheeks.

Dumb boys.