Tomorrow's Doom A.2/C.13 - Our Long-Expected Date

Chapter 12: http://pastebin.com/fUhbFgJ4
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Chapter 13 – Our Long-Expected Date

Giggling at the images in the mirror, our reverie doesn't last long. Three loud bangs on the door across the hall resonate through the room, and I reflexively glance at Amaya's clock. It's three thirty-seven; Yoko's shift was supposed to start over half an hour ago, and I didn't call in a replacement.

I knew I forgot something...

Amaya looks at me with a bemused expression and notices my face, asking, “you forget something?”

I don't get the chance to answer before another string of loud bangs echoes into the room, this time the door rattles and I quietly curse, “fuck.”

Amaya looks at me sidelong. It was quiet, but I usually avoid using that kind of vocabulary. “What did you do now?” she inquires, headed for her door.

I stop her, grabbing her hand, and put on a fake smile to replace my terrified grimace. I know what scowling visage is boring a hole in Amaya's door, and I don't want her bearing the brunt of that fiery glare. I'll not leave Amaya to face the misdirected fury of Deaf-charge.

Okay, she's probably not that mad...

Stepping past Amaya, I grab the doorknob, opening it briskly and catching Shizune with her hand in the air, ready to knock again. Evidently, she decided to dress up for Tanabata, but the glowering look on her face and the murder in her eyes distract me from inspecting her yukata. She flushes for a moment, then drops her hand down and starts signing, [your class booth has been abandoned.] If she were speaking, I'm sure the tone would be flat and eerily dry.

I frown and reply, [Yoko went to the hospital.] Letting the weight of that response hang in the air, I watch her face intently.

Her expression softens. Eyes that were narrowed in disdain quickly widen in shock; evidently she hadn't heard about the commotion. Looking concerned, she asks, [is she alright?]

I shrug, not really having an answer. Reading my forlorn look, she holds back from asking questions to which I don't have answers. Knowing hospital visits typically indicate serious problems, Shizune seems glad I don't have any specifics to provide. Instead she offers a smile and signs, [did you arrange a replacement?]

I was going to...

Amaya sidles up next to me, and I see her offering a wave at Shizune. Suddenly realizing Misha is nowhere to be seen, I start relaying the conversation, “Yoko is missing her shift and I forgot to call in a replacement.” Amaya slaps her forehead and shakes her head, wincing. Usually she reminds me when something like that happens, but we've both been distracted – with trying to distract ourselves.

Shizune looks at me expectantly. [I forgot,] I sign, I quickly adding, [I can cover it if need be.]

Shizune puts on her bobcat grin, which seems a little odd at this point, and shakes her head, [I set Misha on the task temporarily before coming here, and you have other plans, besides.]

“She's letting me off the hook,” I mention to Amaya; then I look back and notice Shizune is staring at her. Judging by that look, the bobcat grin suddenly makes sense.

[Amaya has a date, too,] I remark, offering her a frown.

Shizune drops the grin and holds up her finger, indicating she has that part covered. [With Yoshida,] she signs, and I start to catch onto her idea. Seeing my knowing look, she continues signing, [he's in 3-1 – they could cover the booth together, in Yoko's stead.]

A devious grin spreads across my face as Amaya looks at me and then back to Shizune. Seeing us grinning at her, she shrinks away a little and swallows hard, fidgeting and turning her eyes between us like a caged animal. “What?” she blurts.

It's rare seeing Shizune and I in total agreement -especially of late- but I think she understands already. Explanation is due, so I put on a sympathetic smile and start, “Yoko can't cover it, and she doesn't want me to miss my date, but you two could cover the booth together.”

Amaya crosses her arms and gives me a frustrated scowl, but I smile at her sweetly and she rolls her eyes. She holds her finger on her chin for just a moment, but quickly starts tapping it on her lip and smiling. “I'll call him,” she says, heading toward desk.

I nod at Shizune and sign, [she's calling Tadao.]

Shizune smiles and I see her eyes glancing up and down; noticing my attire, I assume. I take the few seconds to look hers over as well. I was disappointed at the festival when she and Misha were in their uniforms, but, for Tanabata, Shizune apparently decided to dress for the occasion. Her yukata is bright maroon with faded pink flowers of various sizes printed throughout; a dark magenta obi wraps around her waist. Neatly brushed as always, her dark blue shock of hair is unchanged, but the large, colorful, gold and red opalescent hairpin above her right ear offers some refinement to the look – and matches the yukata wondefully.

Her deep blue eyes center on me and she grins, signing, [this one looks much better on you, is it custom?]

I nod, but I don't know if I want to tell her where it's from. Amaya and I stumbled on Miyoto's shop and never really told anyone about it; it's probably selfish, but we keep it to ourselves. The look in her eyes says she wants to know where it's from, but the look on my face says not to bother asking; she crosses her arms and makes a mock-frustrated face, but it dissolves into a smile. [Keep your secrets,] she signs, [tell Amaya I think hers is just as lovely.] She then levels her eyes and offers a friendly pout. [Tell me where you got them someday?] she asks, and I almost decide to tell her right then.

Instead I nod. Shizune and I have been friends by association for a while, but this is one of the few times I've seen her acting so friendly. It's like how I told Hisao, though; sweet and childish when she isn't barreling forward like a freight-train. I immediately think back to the last month and the rift that had formed between us; a rift she maintained willfully against her nature.

[I'm sorry about the last month,] I offer, smiling apologetically.

She looks confused for a moment, and maybe a little forlorn, but quickly recovers her grin and replies, [I'm just glad you finally took action.] She keeps the smile up, but there's a strange sadness in her eyes as she continues, [he's such a slacker sometimes, I don't know how you put up with him.]

I raise my eyebrows and look at her sidelong before replying, [he did learn sign to talk with you. He might have told me it was for my benefit afterward, but there was no need; you ought to admire his effort.]

“Tadao is headed over there now,” Amaya states, not noticing our silent conversation. Turning, I notice her headed for the closet, holding her cellphone.

I sign to Shizune, [looks like Tadao is on board.] Then look back to see Amaya reaching blindly around the inside corner of her closet. A moment later she pulls out a a small, white handbag. Quickly tossing the strap over her shoulder, she drops the phone inside along with her keys then turns to notice me watching.

Sticking her tongue out, she grins. “Make sure these two kids get along,” she says, nodding toward Shizune.

I translate, [she wants you to make sure Hisao and I get along.] Offering her a shrug at the end.

Grinning deviously, she signs, [haven't I already done enough?] Rolling her eyes, she bows toward Amaya.

“Anyway,” Amaya says, checking herself over in the mirror as she closes the closet, “tell her I think her yukata is adorable.” She then steps out of the room past Shizune and starts heading down the hall. A few steps along, she calls back, “don't mess up my room~!” Her sing-song tone is edged with warning.

Wouldn't dream of it.

I shrug and shake my head at Shizune. [She likes your yukata, too,] I sign, smiling to indicate my agreement.

Hiding her mouth, she suppresses a giggle; a rare sight from the stoic Class President. [Are you headed out now?] she asks, and I'm not sure how to answer. With Amaya headed off to cover the booth with Tadao, I guess the night will be starting off differently than planned. Glancing at the clock reflexively, I turn back to see her bobcat grin has returned. [You should surprise him early,] she suggests, then adds, [don't worry, I think he would be happy to see you.]

Prior to Wednesday, I would think she were making the suggestion as a way to try and subvert my actions, but the genuine smile and the way she plays with her glasses remind me it was all a game to her. Intrigued by her suggestion, I give it a quick thought before offering a nod.

Pleased with my answer, she smiles sweetly, backing up a few paces and stopping; the bobcat grin returns as she signs, [I'll want details.]

I grin nervously, and she doesn't bother waiting for me to confirm. Pivoting on her left foot, she walks away, turning her smiling eyes back at me as she goes, nodding happily. Like Amaya, she'll get it out of me somehow. I wonder what Amaya would say if I told her she was so similar to Shizune in such a way.

She'd deny it and probably punch me.

In the wake of her exit, I'm left standing in Amaya's doorway with my thoughts. They immediately turn to contemplating the possibility of meeting Hisao at his dorm rather than at the gate as we planned. As brief as the conversation was, Shizune's idea sticks in my mind and I begin to realize she was on to something.

Having never been to Hisao's dorm, I'm apprehensive about the idea, but I think that has more to do with his hall mate than the visit. I've avoided Kenji -not a difficult task- since our rainy encounter, and Hisao has him convinced I'm some kind of operative involved with subverting the feminist agenda. As absurd as that sounds, I don't think I want to disrupt that fantasy. Then again, Kenji usually stays in on days like this, and I could sneak up quietly enough not to rouse his suspicion.

Am I really even considering that nonsense?

Perhaps I could call Hisao and change our meeting plan, but that sounds boring. The idea of appearing at his door and perhaps getting to peek into his room while he's standing there, dumbstruck, makes me giggle. I told him he should decorate his room once, but I doubt he listened. Bookish as he is, his room is probably musty and drab like a library; maybe with a sad little banzai tree sitting on his window sill and a poster of Albert Einstein on the wall.

Or Captain Picard.

Shaking the imaginings away, I smile to myself and start thinking about the real problem; perception. Starting to pace across the floor, my head swims with more questions than I can appropriately answer. Lost in a heady daze, I start batting ideas around internally, with my hands flitting back and forth as if batting at them physically.

Would it be too forward? We're friends, and friends visit each-others homes at times, right? If we were to study together outside the library we could easily end up in one of our rooms – like when Amaya and I study. But, he's a boy -obviously- and there are implications involved. Just the suggestion that Amaya has been to Tadao's room made me think-

Would people think that if I went to Hisao's room? Even if I didn't go inside?

I don't mind the world knowing I like him, but would I want illicit rumors floating around? Would Hisao? Would it matter if it weren't true? What if it became true? Yamaku is a small community, and if everyone already knows he and I are dating -or going to be dating- would they immediately assume we were also romantically active.

That's a good euphemism, right?

What would Amaya say if she found out something like that? Or Tadao? Or my mother!?

Unfortunately, as my mind is moving a million miles a minute, I'm quite oblivious to things happening around me; or anyone approaching. A voice behind me suddenly breaks me out of the internal struggle. It's merely a throat being cleared, but I recognize its timbre and I freeze in place. After a moment, realizing how silly I must look, I quickly spin in place, but all that serves to do is send my elbow into Amaya's wall-hung bookshelf.

Teetering for a moment, the shelf stays intact, but the books lining its surface are another story. The majority of them come raining down at my feet, clattering around my ankles and making dreadful thudding sounds. Closing my eyes, I listen to the dull thumps reverberate off the walls the tiny room, and quietly curse my clumsiness. Once the sounds have stopped, there is a brief silence followed by the sound of a single stray pen falling down to land on the pile and flip away under the desk; or the bed – my eyes are still closed.

My mouth straightens into a crooked smirk as I open my eyes and take in the sight standing in the doorway. As I suspected, it's Hisao, leaning casually against the doorjamb, grinning and raising an eyebrow. “What brings you to this part of town, stranger?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure.

He came to my room! Well, he came to find me in my room... wrong door counts.

“Tadao told me I should come get you early since-” he stops and shakes his head. Grinning, he looks down at the pile of books and blinks, stifling a laugh. “You need a hand?” he offers, holding out a hand.

At this point, he's already in Amaya's room, so inviting him in further would just be courteous. “Amaya might kill me if she finds it like this,” I mention, waving him in and smiling.

“I didn't think your last name was Yamamoto,” he remarks, pointing toward the door.

“I'm across the hall – this is Amaya's room,” I explain, pointing around at the décor.

Glancing around, his bemused expression turns into a smirk as he looks back at me and raises an eyebrow. “I figured your room wouldn't be so... sterile,” he comments.

For a moment, I think he's just commenting on Amaya's room, but there's a veiled insult that makes me narrow my eyes. “You expect my room to be a mess?” I ask indignantly.

He knows me too well!

He feigns a shocked look and smiles knowingly. “I've seen you leave things in a heap; and at lunch,” his eyes wander away before he finishes, “let's just say you would rather focus on the conversation.”

I can accept that, I think. He's not calling me a slob, exactly, and the way he's smiling makes me think he actually likes that I'm not overly concerned with table manners or the order of things. My face softens into a smile and I reply, “it's the company I keep as much as the conversation.”

His eyes wander over me, and I drink in his smile as I return the gesture. The attire he chose for Tanabata isn't traditional -Tadao's influence, I imagine- but he's wearing a formal dark green jacket over a black t-shirt with casual black khaki pants and shiny black shoes. His hair is combed, but the perpetual cow-licks are forcing their way out anyway.

Our eyes meet and he nods. “Are you ready?” he asks, pointing toward the door.

“I should pick this up first,” I say, only now stepping out of the pile of books. He looks down as if noticing them for the first time and shrugs. “Amaya specifically asked me not to make a mess of her room, so...” I trail off, sinking to the floor and starting to stack the books; turning to smile up at him apologetically.

Stepping over, he kneels and starts picking up the stacks, placing them up on the shelf. “I kinda wanted to see your room,” he mentions.

“How forward. Tisk-tisk,” I mock, “I thought you were a gentleman.”

While setting another stack on the shelf he grins, “can you blame me, though? You're so strange sometimes; I'm just curious, I guess.”

He thinks I'm strange?

Distracted by that revelation, I sit there with the last stack of books in my hands, staring away blankly for a moment while he holds his hands out. After a moment, he clears his throat. “Aiko?” he leads.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “Thinking about something else,” I lie.

“Don't gimme that,” he says, not buying my explanation. “I know enough by now to tell when you're lying. Is it something I said?” he asks, looking uncomfortable.

“I'm not strange,” I say, more defensively than I intended. Standing, I push past him and place the books up on the shelf. “What makes you think that?” I inquire, trying to sound playful.

Stuttering a little, he shrugs and smiles. His eyes flit around the room for a moment before he straightens his jaw and answers, “I guess strange is the wrong word. Curious is better. You're an open book about some things, but sometimes you get this pleading look like you don't want me to ask anything about something. I worry about the things you don't want to tell me, I guess.” He fidgets for a moment before he grins and adds, “like right now.”

Hearing him say that, I glance at the mirror, trying to see the look he mentioned; it must be subtle, because I can't tell the difference. Hiding things from him was never my intention, but I guess my face has done a better job at betraying me than I thought. Turning back to him, I breathe out a long sigh and shrug.

“You don't have to,” he insists, “unless you want to, but you should know I'm catching on by now.” His hand reflexively comes up to his scar and it pains me to see him nervously stroking it through his shirt.

Considering his words for a moment, and looking into his peaceful, though nervous, eyes, I feel like I could tell him anything. Still, I hold back; especially for today. Whatever worries he has about me, they're probably no more compelling or demanding of answers than my own, and for the sake of not souring our day, I can skip asking prying questions – I suspect he's capable of the same.

“Stalked by the Swooner,” I say, finally smiling, “I'm flattered.”

He gives me a crooked grin and bows with a flourish of his hand. “At your service,” he replies.

I roll my eyes and offer him my arm. “Well, then, shall we?” I lead, grinning widely.

Wrapping his arm around mine, he nods, and we start walking out of the room. Glancing back at the bookshelf, I realize it's completely out of order, but at least it isn't all over the floor. Locking it from the inside, I close her door and check the knob. Satisfied that I left her room in a relative state of order, I lean against Hisao and we start down the hall. Feeling a little apprehensive about being seen walking through the girls dorm on the arm of a guy, I settle myself with the thought that most of the building has emptied out by now – I hope.

Finding our way out without incident, we step out into the sunlight and I take a deep breath. Earlier, I hadn't had the chance to think about the weather as I ran off to find Nurse, but it's decently cool for a July afternoon. Puffy, white clouds hover high in the sky, moving slowly over the horizon. A sturdy breeze catches my hair, carrying the scent of lavender blossoms from somewhere in the nearby hills to mix with Hisao's rugged scent, and I breathe it in willfully. Leaning against his arm, I forget about the ambulance and the gurney, and Yoko's pallid expression, instead focusing on the warm feeling from Hisao, and the fluttering it causes in my chest.

Somehow he picks up on the cloudy expression that crosses my face briefly and pulls me against him tighter. “I heard about your friend from Tadao,” he says, his eyes meeting mine with a sympathetic furrow of his brow, “Nurse knows what he's doing; she'll be fine.”

He saw that in my face? What else has it told him?

Even thinking that, I find his words are so simple and stable; comforting. I wonder at how he doesn't bother asking what happened; he simply uses that calm smile to reassure me without asking anything. What he knows about the incident must be limited, but it doesn't seem to matter; he's offering his support regardless of what happened, unconditionally. I can't help but respond with a grateful smile.

Choosing to stay within the school-grounds for now, we walk through the relatively quiet common area, talking lightly. The conversation goes between the history of Tanabata, school-work, and I bring up Amaya's mention of spending time in Tadao's room. Hisao acts coy -covering for Tadao- but I can tell the visits aren't going unnoticed, nor are they infrequent.

As we pass between the beech trees along the main concourse, Hisao suggests we stop and sit on one of the park benches. I offer him a concerned look, but he grins at me and waves his hand, signaling that it's nothing heart-related. Though I can tell he's nervous about something since his hand starts running along his scar as soon as our arms break apart and he sits, leaning forward and turning a sidelong glance at me with a wistful smile.

I search his eyes for some indication of why he just sat us down here, but he's being his typical mysterious self. I fold my arms and lean back on the bench, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh and turning my eyes upward toward the treetops; trying to look disinterested.

He leans back with me and drapes his arm across the back of the bench casually. I can feel his hand creeping onto my shoulder, and resist the urge to start giggling. He doesn't know I'm ticklish. I bite my lip and grit my teeth, but I can't hide the blush behind my braided hair. After a few comfortable, uncomfortable seconds, he holds out a finger and taps my shoulder, which makes me immediately turn to glare at him.

He's still wearing that wistful smile, but there's an edge of embarrassment in his eyes. The hand on my shoulder retracts, and I let go of my lip, still blushing. His hand goes to his chest again, but this time it slips into his jacket, and a moment later he draws out a small, flat, rectangular black box.

Sunglasses?

It's not sunglasses. He leans away and brings his other hand to the lower half of the box, holding the opening side toward me, swallowing a lump in his throat.

What did he do?

He grins widely and opens the box, saying, “you told me to buy you something nice, remember?”

My face lights up like a stop light, and I gasp as he levels the box in front of me, holding it out like an offering. Inside there is a short gold chain with a latch on one end and on the other are some pearlescent beads. Between the beads there is a little jade figurine with tiny emerald eyes and gold etching – a mermaid.

My hands clasp in front of me, over my mouth, and I exhale a squeal of exuberant joy. I hadn't thought about what Hisao could have bought for me since last night, but I never expected something so delicate and thoughtful. It's too short to be a necklace, and seems to long for a bracelet – it must be an anklet.

A mermaid anklet!

My eyes flit from the jewelry back to Hisao's face repeatedly as my mind races through a hundred ways to express myself. Coming to the decision after careful consideration -all half-second of it- I leap forward and wrap him in a hug.

He's surprised, and doesn't respond right away, but once he's adjusted to make sure the contents of the box don't fall away, he wraps one arm over my shoulder and I feel his whole body relax – he was apparently terrified. Pressing my head against his neck, I let out a contented sigh and listen to his quickened heartbeat. “Don't give yourself a heart attack,” I say through a sudden giggle.

“You approve, I guess?” he inquires rhetorically.

I break the hug and lean back, nodding happily and clasping my hands together. “I may swoon,” I answer, suddenly catching his eyes. For a moment, I think of leaning forward as an invitation, but a stray thought -too soon- stops me and I flush red again, glancing back down toward the still open box. “well, are you just going to sit there?” I ask, slipping my right foot out of its geta and holding it toward him.

Now he flushes fully red and his face slips into a bewildered look as his eyes are drawn down. My ankles are barely showing under the yukata, but I think it's the contact he's nervous about. I shake my foot playfully and press it toward him, offering a reassuring nod. He finally gets off the bench and kneels, letting my foot rest against his leg as he uses both hands to wrap the anklet around and clasp it firmly; keeping his eyes down all the while.

When he's finished, he quickly stands and grins, backing away a step as though the brief time spent in contact with my leg were more than he could handle. If not for the cool breeze, I'm sure there would be a line of sweat running down his cheek. Looking him over, I think he might fall over, but the dangling jewelry on my ankle draws my attention.

Turning my foot left and right, and shaking it lightly, I make the anklet bob around; sending the little mermaid around my ankle in short bursts. The beads and figurine catch the light from the waning sun and glimmer brightly. The golden chain tickles my ankle and makes me giggle. Looking back toward Hisao, I see him rubbing his neck with one hand, while the other is stuffed in his pocket. His eyes are closed and his mouth is pulled up into a stupid toothy grin – he's proud of himself.

Can't let that last.

I stand and elbow his pocketed arm, breaking him out of the prideful stance. “Stop grinning so much, Hisao,” I chide in a half-mocking tone.

He straightens up and opens his brown eyes, looking down at my furrowed expression as the grin leaves his face. “I was afraid you wouldn't like it,” he confides. He then makes that face, that narrowed expression indicating when he's thinking, and takes a step back. “Tadao convinced me;” he starts, heaving a deep breath before reciting, “At her stern command, The Swooner sought to find. A favor thus enchanted, to woo her ardor mind.” Exhaling the rest of the breath, he smiles that happy smile and tilts his head.

Shaking my head for a moment, I consider the new lyrics, mostly the part about my stern command. “You didn't have to, y'know,” I mention.

“I wanted to,” he replies, shaking his head. “You've helped me out a lot with getting in shape, and you've been kind enough to let me into your circle of friends. You, Amaya and Tadao filled a void I was left with since I went into the hospital – since my friends stopped visiting.”

Frowning at the mention of his hospital stay -and his former friends- I almost can't stop myself from asking a question; though I suddenly feel like I can ask it without consequence. “What was it like in the hospital?” I inquire, keeping a composed, sympathetic expression on my face.

There is a moment when I want to take the question back, when his eyes cast away to the side and he flinches; It reminds me of the expression on Rin's face when we discussed memories earlier. His expression dissolves into resolve as he offers me his arm and I wrap my own back around his, and he begins to explain as we walk.

“It started out with a lot of pain, tests and boredom, really,” he states. He keeps his eyes forward, and I let him; looking at me might cause him to stop. There's a realization in the back of my mind that I don't actually want to hear this because it doesn't matter, but he seems to need to say it to someone – and I'm glad to be that someone.

Gaining confidence from an affirming squeeze of my hand, he continues, “for the first couple weeks, I got visitors all the time. People wishing me well, flowers, cards, that whole 'get well' spiel, but eventually that just stopped.” Shifting his eyes downward as we walk, he breathes a sigh and glances at me -to check my reaction, I think- before turning back. He continues, “I found out it was a class project; which was okay, I guess, but it felt a bit cheap. My friends kept coming to visit for a few weeks, but as I sat in that hospital day-in and day-out...” he trails off and looks forlorn, as well as frustrated - angry, even.

Stopping us just before the gate, he turns toward me and blinks, narrowing his eyes. “I changed,” he says simply. “I don't know if it was the sterility of the environment, the stilted smiles, the treatments, or the condition itself; it was probably all of that. It changed how I thought about things, and made me cynical.” Now he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, having to force himself to say what he thinks he needs to say. “It made me angry,” he says finally, “so angry I wrapped myself in that bed and stuck my head in a series of books; crossing my arms and turning away from anyone who came to offer sympathy. I pushed them all away,” he says, and I finally hold up a hand to silence him.

“You were angry,” I echo his statement. Drawing on past experience, I catch his eyes with my own and smile sympathetically, beginning to offer an explanation. “You suddenly went from being normal to being broken, somehow, and everyone around you started walking on eggshells trying to avoid making you feel worse, selfishly. You turned away from them, spitefully, but reasonably. I've been there...” I trail off and catch myself before I head down that line of thought. Recalling my father's funeral and the expressionless faces of our extended family; I don't want to bring that baggage into the conversation.

Noticing the consternation on my face, he leans forward and offers a smile. It's the same smile he offered about Yoko, and I'm glad for it, but I feel it's misplaced. He doesn't know exactly what I'm thinking, so I can't blame him for offering that sympathetic look. Smiling back, I wrap my arm around his back and lean against him. “Hospitals bring out the worse in people, but it's not who they are. That's not who you are,” I say putting on a crooked smile, “you're a kind, sympathetic Swooner.”

That draws a few laughs out of him as we start walking again, toward the gate. He wraps his arm across my shoulders and pulls me closer, grinning widely. “Thanks,” he says, “I think I needed to hear that.”

“Glad to say it,” I reply. I want to add, “finally,” but he doesn't need to know how much I've obsessed over his past. Instead I follow up by saying, “I mean it; you're not the grumpy guy who balks at festivals I met last month.”

Having come to know the playful, sarcastic, smiling Hisao, I'm certain that's the real one; any darkness behind his eyes is merely a fleeting situational effect. Seeing him smile makes me feel relieved. Reading the look on his face, there's more he wants to tell me about how his time in the hospital changed him, but I think he sees me giving that same unconditional face; the one saying he doesn't have to go into details. Just knowing he's willing to open up about it with me is enough, and I find I really don't want to know how dark Hisao became during those four months of misery.

We let that conversation die as we walk through the festively decorated school grounds. Booths are set up with games and food, and the festive decorations strung up in the trees and along the fence make for some interesting conversation among the crowd. Last time, I remember being worried people might get the wrong idea about us walking around the festival, but now I don't even notice their looks. Casual glances catch my eye, of course, but they don't stop me from enjoying Hisao's company – my slowly unraveling mystery man.

Instead of delving into his past, I keep my queries light. I ask about his interests mainly – frivolous things. Apparently his favorite color is green, and he's partial to the shade in my right eye. I don't even care if he's making that part up; I find myself giggling and blushing. Evidently his hospital stay wasn't all bad; he picked up the reading bug there – though he does wonder if it was really an infectious disease hovering in the air.

Explaining his interest in science, I'm reminded of Mutou's lectures. Hisao can apparently practice that same kind of meandering one-sided conversation as he slips between talking about chemistry and biology, then into physics and ecology, through meteorology and then arriving, somehow, in theoretical sciences. The majority of his elective reading is science-fiction, of course, so there's a fair amount of references made to theories used as story devices in those tales.

Geeky, but still adorable.

What I find strange is that Mutou's lectures usually put me in a waking coma, but listening to Hisao explain is actually exciting. I don't respond verbally very often, but I do a lot of nodding. Perhaps because of my non-intellectual interest in the speaker, I'm actually starting to understand the scientific concepts better just listening to him explain. I consider saying he ought to think about becoming a teacher, but I don't want my assessment to seem commanded by euphoria.

“So, what about your family?” he suddenly asks without even hinting at a segue. I barely register that it's a question directed at me for a few moments, but, when I do, I can feel my face darkening into a frown. I try to force it back into a smile, but he's already seen the change, “sorry, I just thought-”

I interrupt him, “it's fine.”

“I've been talking about myself this whole time, and thought you looked a little bored,” he tries to explain. Although it's perfectly reasonable, I don't think I was looking bored with his description of warp technology and anti-matter. Family is just a touchy subject for me.

“I wasn't bored, but you're right,” I say, trying to put a smile back on and nodding slowly. “My mom is an art teacher at a small private school near Rome,” I start explaining with current topics. Slowly steadying myself with a few breaths, I continue, “she teaches culinary arts.” As I finish that, I catch a hopeful expression, but decide to quash it quickly, “I'm an awful cook, though, like my dad was.”

Hisao looks disappointed, but offers a nod. He mentions, “you've talked about your dad before, I think. The ear-plugging thing with the fireworks.”

He remembered that?

Not wanting to dwell on my dad, I just nod and smile, forcing the memories aside. Unfortunately, he's picked up on something and he's shaking his head slowly, looking perplexed. I always talk about my dad in past-tense now, and I know he's astute enough to pick up on it, but I'm just not ready for that discussion.

Please don't ask.

Wondering if I'm making that face he mentioned, I stare at him blankly. Evidently I got it right because he narrows his eyes for a moment to think of a different question. “Any siblings?” he asks, washing the perplexed look away and offering a smile.

“One hellion of a little sister – Midori,” I reply. My face quickly melts into a smile as I recall, “she's a lot like Amaya, really, but she's only thirteen. I haven't seen her since the school year started.” He grins and I'm sure he's picturing a shorter Amaya.

With my hair, maybe.

“She's living with my mom in Rome, attending the same school. They moved there after-” I stop myself again. It's starting to become a cliché, but every time I almost mention my dad, I stop reflexively. “After she got offered the job,” I add, leaving out the reason she went looking.

“Must be an expensive school,” he remarks, “if they brought her all the way from Japan, I mean.”

I'm not sure what to make of his interest in the school, but it's a nice little corner of my family history. I inform him, “my great-grandmother was among the founders, back in the fifties, I guess.” He blinks at the information, as expected. I let him stew in that confusion for a moment, watching his eyebrows furrow and his mouth start to move a few times before I finish the thought. “She was an Italian national living in Singapore during world war two. My great grand-father, an enlisted man in the Kempeitai, was assigned to guard her block and you know how history goes.”

Dumbstruck for a moment, he simply stares at me, but it doesn't take long for realization to dawn on him. “You're-” he starts.

I finish the thought, “one-eighth Italian, on my mother's side.”

I continue to explain what I know about my family history. My mother knows the story better, but I'm able to relate that after the war, they moved -were socially forced out of Japan, really- to northern Italy and established the school there. He's fascinated by the story, and hangs on every word; what few I have to tell anyway. After the brief retelling he has one question, “what's it like having your family so far away?”

“Hard, sometimes,” I manage to start, “my sister and I used to do everything together, so I miss having the her around – I think Amaya fills that void, though.” I smile wistfully as I admit that; I hadn't really thought of it that way until he asked. “My mom is a bit scattered most of the time and we never really got along too well,” I stop there, but I feel like I need to qualify the statement, “I mean, I love her, but we get into arguments over stupid things all the time.”

Textbook teenager-parent relationship.

Hisao chuckles and stops walking, causing me to spin around in front of him. He looks down into my eyes and smiles wistfully. “I kinda wish I knew my parents better,” he looks a little forlorn, but he's still smiling. “They work a lot, I guess, and I never really noticed they always seemed to be away. Until I was in the hospital and had nothing to do but wait, I hadn't really analyzed my life.”

He grins and the forlorn expression leaves as he mentions, “I think it was a good experience overall... I mean having a heart attack sucked, losing my friends sucked, being sent off to a school nowhere near home sucked.” He grimaces, then grins and takes a deep breath. His hands come to rest on my shoulders and I feel myself taking a few tentative steps forward; biting my lip to stifle a giggle.

Gravity sucks.

“But then I actually got here and I met new friends, got myself healthy, and...” he trails off for a moment, then looks straight in my eyes, “I met you.”

His last words hang in the air and I find we're very close together; almost uncomfortably close. Standing in the middle of the crowded sidewalk with the sun just starting to edge its way down the horizon, we link eyes and I feel weightless. I don't think he planned this since his face looks as bewildered as I feel, but I'm flashing back to a moment held in time a month ago; when I stared into his eyes, and he stared into mine.

Fireworks echo through my conscious mind again as I lean closer and he does the same, tilting his head slightly to the left. Our lips connect and, instead of merely stopping time, the world around us ceases to exist. Only our reaching bodies continue to exist, and only our thrumming hearts dare fill the void with sound. I feel his heartbeat quicken as his hands run down my arms and he pulls me closer to deepen the kiss. I lift my own arms instinctively and wrap one around his back and the other up to his neck.

There's no whistle to break us out of the reverie, no cat-calls or whooping interrupts our dancing tongues, and no trepidation hinders our wandering hands. With existence suspended, the kiss can last for an eternity and it very nearly does. Only the instinctive need to breathe is powerful enough to end the moment.

When it breaks, my eyes are closed and I feel a rush go over my body; like a piece of his spirit had crept into me and was now leaving. For a moment I feel empty, but the air around us feels electrified and quiet. There's a peaceful stillness around us; like a bubble of harmony in the chaos of the crowd. All I can make sense of is feeling of his hands around me, the sound of his steady breaths, the rustic odor of his cologne and the salty taste of his lips still caught on my tongue - I feel filled by those sensations.

When I finally open my eyes, it's just as he does the same. His face is flushed red and his eyes start to flit in different directions, but I stay focused on his iridescent brown orbs until they find me again and he smiles that happy smile that makes me feel lighter than air. The harmonious bubble starts to dissipate as we lock eyes again, but the feeling remains – crackling like electricity.

The sound of the crowd finally penetrates the bubble and I'm somewhat disappointed not to hear any whooping. I glance around us quickly to take in the situation and notice most of the people nearby are looking the other way. I frown, almost pouting at the realization. Snapping my eyes back on his, I realize my hands are still wrapped around him, and I make use of that situation, pulling myself toward him and wrapping him in a hug.

As I have him trapped in my arms, I coo and whisper in his ear, “my mom would probably punch you if she saw this.”

He bursts into laughter. I have a terrible time hanging on as his shoulders lurch up and down while he laughs recklessly. Joining in the mirth, I rest my chin on his shoulder and tighten my grip. The crowd around us starts to notice our maddened laughter, and I see a few of them turning curious gazes at us, but I don't pay them any heed.

Hisao calms and starts releasing the hug, catching both my hands in his as we lean back to look each other over. Scanning his messy hair, brown eyes, narrow chin, broad shoulders and steadily heaving chest, he looks the same; though something is different. His shoulders are relaxed and his eyes are peacefully set, tiny wrinkles forming at the corners as he smiles. He isn't fidgeting or looking around nervously, and his calm expression makes him look serene. I've seen this look before only once, and it takes a moment to recall; it was on the day we met, when he commented on my eyes the first time.

Trying to return that look is difficult, but I think I manage well enough. It's a curious gaze; indicating you know a secret or harbor a truth you're almost afraid to understand. There is no trepidation in a look like that, but there is a hint of fear; fear that the other person doesn't know your secret – or that they do.

Barely audible, he whispers, “you're beautiful.” Blushing hard, his grip on my hands falters, so I double my own grip. Feeling the reassuring hold, he grins and bows his head, looking away. “That was the first thing I thought,” he says, seemingly staring at my feet. After a few awkward moments, his eyes look at me, and then his chin rises to meet them. “The day we met, when I was stealing glances in the math-lab,” he explains, “I nearly said it then.”

My reaction is mixed. Part of me is elated that his first impression was something like that, but another part wonders why he didn't act on the thought. Recalling the day, I think I understand why he didn't say it -we barely knew each-other- but I may have had less trouble figuring out how I felt had he said something. Still, I don't want a little bump like that to sour this moment.

No regrets.

That thought steadies my expression and I smile widely, recalling the first time I saw him in the classroom. “I was disappointed,” I say, giggling a little, starting to swing his hands with mine.

He frowns and looks confused, so I explain further, “I heard about a new boy in our class and spent half the morning building up what happened to you in my head.” I calm my giggling and shake my head, remembering some of the variants I had come up with. “I imagined car accidents, severed limbs, severe burns, missing eyes, all kinds of deformations and horrific dismemberment...” Now he's laughing a little, realizing how absurd it all sounds. “When I got to 3-3 and you were just this normal-looking guy, I was disappointed,” finishing the statement, I stop the swaying and grin widely.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says, giving me a mocking look. “I'll strive to be more interesting,” he remarks.

“Oh please don't,” I say before my mind can filter the response. I laugh nervously for a moment before recovering. “Once I figured out you weren't horrifically burned or dismembered, I started trying to figure out what internal problem you might have.”

Pausing, I break a hand free and place it on his chest over the scar. “After you gave up that information, there were still a million other questions. You're my mystery man, and I like it that way,” Reaffirming my grip on his trailing hand, I can almost hear his thoughts churning as he absorbs my rambling explanation.

“Well,” he says cryptically after some contemplation, “if you put it that way, perhaps I'll keep my secrets.”

I offer a sideways smile and nod, agreeing completely. “I like the mystery, it keeps me interested since you're so boring otherwise,” I say flippantly, drawing a raised eyebrow.

He breaks his hold on my right hand and leans in close over my left shoulder. Planting a kiss on my ear, he whispers something I can't hear and starts chuckling as he leans back, putting on a dumb expression. “You know what I mean,” he says with a shrug.

Feigning understanding, I nod happily. “Of course,” I say, offering a conspiratorial smile. He knows I can't hear in that ear, and I wonder what he said, but I can tell he isn't going to inform me – of that I'm certain.

Never should have said he's boring.

Pulling me around him to his left side, he catches my other hand and grins. “Let's be off then, the public awaits,” he states. Having no idea what he's talking about, I just nod my feigned complicity as he starts leading me down the sidewalk toward town.

The sun dips under the horizon as we walk, and I find myself watching the changing colors; from bright orange and crimson into deep velvet and indigo. Wispy clouds hang in the sky between fields of glimmering stars, and I catch myself staring up at that shimmering blanket. Recalling Miyoto's mention of my star-sign, Cancer, I try looking for the constellation.

Noticing my interest in the sky, Hisao tries to follow my wandering gaze, but I'm not even sure where to look. Grinning at me, he offers, “trying to find something?”

Still staring at the sky, I mention, “trying to find Cancer.”

Breaking his hold of my arm, he stops and turns to face the northern sky for a few seconds, squinting. “Um... wait, what's today?” he asks, still searching the sky.

"The eighth," I reply, trying to follow his eyes.

"Ah, that's why - Cancer won't be visible until around the twentieth or so," he explains, and I frown. Looking back at me, he grins infectiously and my frown turns into a smile. Raising an eyebrow, he inquires, “why the interest?”

Blushing, I almost don't want to answer. After he just gave me that anklet, the thought of bringing up my birthday might seem like a suggestion. Deciding to be a little evasive, I simply answer, “it's my star-sign.”

Pausing for a moment -to think, I assume- he exclaims, “oh! Your birthday must be coming up soon, or it went by and you didn't say anything.” He narrows his eyes, thinking for a moment, but chooses to just shrug.

“It's this month,” I say before quickly adding, “but that's not why I thought of it.” He looks a little perplexed, so I put my hand on his shoulder, leaning against his side as I explain, “someone mentioned my star-sign recently, and seeing the sky so clear, I wanted to look for it, I guess.” The wistful smile on my face as I scan over the sky, still trying to see the constellation, causes him to stare at me rather than the heavenly bodies.

Perhaps he is looking at a heavenly body in his own mind, though.

That look of childlike wonderment crosses his face and I'm caught in his sidelong glance. “Curious, like I said,” he comments, echoing his earlier assessment. “What day is your birthday?” he inquires specifically, putting me on the spot.

Relaxing my shoulders, realizing he's just curious, I smile and inform him, “the eighteenth.” He grins and looks away, narrowing his eyes as he commits the date to memory. “Don't plan anything big,” I add, trying to sound cute.

“Like announcing it to the whole cafeteria?” he retorts, playfully shrugging my hand off his shoulder.

“Don't you dare,” I respond, using that hand to lightly punch his shoulder. Scanning his expression, I wonder if he may have brought it up for another reason. “You're not mad about that are you?” I inquire, trying to sound sympathetic.

“No,” he replies, smiling and giving a few solid laughs. “I half-expected it, really,” he comments as he lets out a contented sigh. “Tadao has been on my case about it, and after their library setup I figured Amaya must have been on yours – it was kinda inevitable.” Turning his wistful gaze at me he smirks, “I was a little surprised, but I think making the whole school aware was a smart move. It kinda takes some pressure off, y'know...?” he trails off with the rhetorical question hanging in the air.

Placing a hand around my waist, he pulls me closer before finishing his thought, “nobody staring and whispering questions around us – they just smile and nod and leave us alone.”

My thoughts exactly.

After that we slip into a comfortable silence. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and we continue along the road down to the well-lit town. The streets are aglow with paper lanterns, while the lamp-posts and buildings are adorned with strings of lights and colorfully decorated banners. People are milling about everywhere, and there's a cascade of wonderful odors coming from the various food booths set up around the park. Catching the familiar smell of fried rice and dumplings I turn to Hisao and suggest we find something to eat – walking around is tiring work.

Agreeing wholly, he mentions not having eaten lunch as he was too nervous to start with a full stomach. Leading him toward the booth I caught the smell from, I notice a familiar pair sharing a silent conversation at a nearby booth. Topped with her pink drills, Misha's green yukata with little blue flowers falls across her figure and jiggles as she bursts into her trademark laugh, “Wahaha~!” Angling toward us, she points us out to Shizune, who turns and grins at us, waving us over excitedly.

Hisao is actually the first one to say anything, signing to Shizune, [there's something different about you.] His eyes scan her over for a second, raising an eyebrow in mock confusion. Responding with a roll of her eyes, she puts on a pouting look to play along with the indirect insult – she knows he's faking, though.

Misha, apparently oblivious to the intent of his remark, giggles and points out, “we're wearing yukata, Hicchan! Of course we look different~!” I'm actually not sure if she's just playing along or really trying to assuage his confusion.

Hisao shakes his head and chuckles a bit, probably just as confused about the response as myself. “You both look lovely,” he remarks, “it's good to see you out of your uniforms.” His eyes widen with realization and a moment later he redacts his statement by saying, “I mean, not...” He trails off and closes his eyes for a moment, blushing with embarrassment. “In yukata instead of your school uniforms,” he clarifies.

Misha blushes and Shizune looks bewildered. A moment later, Misha lets out another booming laugh, “Wahaha~!” and I think I see a lantern nearby blink and go dim. Perhaps it just ran out of oil, or maybe Misha's laugh pierces the fifth dimension causing a cascade of echoing sound waves that reverberate into and shatter parts of our own universe; I wouldn't be surprised by the latter.

Listening to Hisao has had an effect on my imagination...

After she calms, she starts signing and speaking again, “Aiko-chan, Shicchan didn't do your yukata justice in her description~!” she exclaims, her sing-song tone filling the air as she smiles brightly. “Hicchan looks quite dapper, too~!” she comments, nodding at him happily.

Shizune, who's still looking uncomfortable after Hisao's gaff, places a hand on her hip and uses the other to adjust her glasses. Clearing the bewilderment, she smiles at us and signs, [you two are adorable together. You even dressed in similar colors.] Looking at me sidelong, she starts to sign something else, but shakes her hands instead.

Guessing what she was going to ask, I point at Misha and inquire, “Hisao hasn't eaten since breakfast so we were looking for something, is there anything you can recommend?” While she's giggling and Hisao is distracted, I turn to Shizune and sign, [he found me first.]

Shizune nods, looking disappointed, but can't reply as Misha is already turning to her and asking, “we were going to get takoyaki, but that might not be enough if he hasn't eaten.”

Shizune nods agreement, and looks at me; expecting I already had the answer. I mention, “I was thinking of rice and dumplings.” After a few moments, they both nod and look up to Hisao; who seems, at this point, willing to agree with whatever we say. I take his hand and smile at the two girls. “Join us?” I say as I start walking with Hisao in tow.

Misha's giggling indicates their agreement as we walk over to the colorful booth. Marked with a huge green and red sign, intricate calligraphy spells out Yamada Rice and Dumplings. Behind the counter is a familiar face whom I greet happily. “Naoko?” I ask, but, realizing she can't hear me, I tap the counter. Drawing the attention of her dark green eyes, she bounds up from behind the counter, seemingly set on springs.

[Aiko, you look great!] she says, looking me over. Noticing my accompaniment, she blushes shyly and nods toward Hisao, [does he sign?] she asks.

Hisao replies, [indeed, some. I don't think we've met.]

Holding my hand toward the bubbly girl, I introduce her, “this is Naoko Yamada, she's in class 3-1 with me.”

Nodding, he offers a wave. “I remember seeing her, I think, in the halls at least,” he says, and Misha seems to be translating behind him. Smiling, he reaches out and offers his hand to shake.

Naoko blushes a little deeper as she shakes his hand and quickly retracts it, turning her eyes to me quickly. [Here for some dumplings?] she inquires, apparently remembering she's running the counter. [My brother does the cooking, so don't worry about me burning anything,] she signs as she throws a kick behind her, hitting a shadowy figure crouched in the darkness of the booth.

The heavy-set figure stands, looking surprised -and half-asleep- wearing a crooked ball-cap and a black chef's coat with a tiny frying pan monogrammed over the breast pocket. “What now?” he asks bluntly. Noticing customers at his counter, he grins stupidly and bows, causing his voice to fade in and out as he apologizes, “sorry, I hadn't realized we had customers.”

Naoko turns away, so I can't see what she's signing to her brother, but his expression tells me enough; she's reading him the riot act. When she turns back, her face is lit up with a bright smile as she informs us, [that's my brother Nobuo. He's the older one, but you'd never know considering I'm the responsible one.]

Looking her over quickly, I notice she's not wearing a yukata as she normally would for an event like this. Instead she's wearing a pink blouse with a denim skirt and a full-length white apron; looking the part of the country dumpling salesgirl for her brother's benefit, I imagine.

Nobuo sets to the task of preparing our rice and dumplings; dropping the dumplings in a pot of boiling broth while scooping some cooked white rice onto the flat-top to brown. Drawing a bunch of celery from beneath the counter, he dices quickly on a bias into thin strips, which he adds to the rice. Repeating that process with a yellow onion, I notice he keeps the knife sheathed at his side – like a culinary samurai. Following that, he scrambles a few eggs into the mix and adds some spices from a shelf over his head. His deft hand is reminiscent of Miyoto's, but the sleepy expression on his face is disconcerting.

Naoko cracks a smile, seeing me mesmerized, and explains, [he's studying culinary arts at University; here for an early summer break. This is his booth, but his girlfriend ditched him, so here I am – picking up the pieces.] Her fast signing indicates her frustration, but the smile hasn't left her cheery expression.

Misha giggles behind me, and I look to see Shizune covering her mouth again while Hisao looks a little bewildered. Evidently, her signing went too fast for him. “She's covering for her brother, Nobuo,” I explain, pointing at the sleepy chef, “apparently his girlfriend abandoned him.” Frowning, Hisao shakes his head, offering a sympathetic look that goes unnoticed.

Naoko taps my sleeve, getting my attention. [How's your date going?] she asks, looking like she needs a distraction from the responsibility.

[Good so far, I think,] I sign, not quite knowing how to answer. At least, not knowing how much I should say. [He's a perfect gentleman, and fun to talk to,] I comment, but her reaction is a little mixed.

Cutting to the core of her query, she quickly signs, [did he kiss you yet?]

Caught off guard, I grin and blush, but my hands fall silent. Looking over at Hisao, he's looking away toward Shizune and Misha, so I know he didn't see the question – which is probably why Naoko asked it so bluntly. Considering we weren't exactly being secretive about it, I don't think he would mind my answering truthfully, but I'm still embarrassed. Instead of signing, I just nod and smile widely.

Naoko clasps her hands together, her eyes sparkling, quietly cheering. After a few brief seconds, it seems Hisao has looked back, so she quickly turns herself around and drops her hands to her sides; making like she's glaring at Nobuo. That may not be far from the truth considering Nobuo is barely paying attention to what he's doing; instead wandering his eyes around the park lazily.

Nobuo finishes the cooking quickly, and Naoko packages the four meals into paper boxes. She nudges my shoulder and winks as we leave, smiling widely. Carrying them over to a nearby picnic table, the four of us sit down to eat. Misha and Shizune sit at the far end of the table, leaving Hisao and I enough space to converse without eavesdropping – or maybe they wanted to talk about us out of earshot.

Is it possible to be out of earshot from Misha?

As it turns out, we say very little during the meal. Hisao is more hungry than I thought, hardly breathing between bites, while I make an effort not to make a complete mess. During the meal, he manages to steal half my rice, but I don't mind. The dumplings are surprisingly filling, and the rice is wonderfully seasoned. Nobuo is apparently an excellent cook, though I wouldn't recommend watching him prepare your meal.

Soon after finishing, Misha and Shizune excuse themselves. Making up an excuse about Misha being tired, they leave Hisao and I alone under the dim glow of the paper lanterns. The cool of the day translates to a comfortable night air that seems enchanted; like nothing could disturb the calm. Sitting next to him, I try not to disturb Hisao while he finishes off the rest of my rice; which I offered happily. The quiet stillness of the night air is broken by some playful music starting up from a nearby pavilion, to which I turn my wistful gaze and smile.

“Did you always like to sing?” Hisao suddenly asks, and I realize I'm humming along with the tune.

Turning back to see him smiling despite the piece of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth, I grin and nod, raising my hand to flick away the stray grain. “My mother used to sing me lullabies to try and get me to sleep, and they kinda stuck in my head,” I explain, “every so often I'm reminded of one, and I just start humming it absently.”

“That doesn't sound like a lullaby,” he says, indicating the boisterous song echoing off the trees across the grassy park.

“Well, no, but it's kinda catchy,” I reply with a grin. Demonstrating my point, I start humming along with the tune; harmonizing around the melody as he looks on with a contemplative gaze. Uncertain what he's thinking, I just keep humming around the tune, letting myself get swept into the music; happily keeping him entertained for a few brief moments.

When the song finishes, I blush and turn away, sending my hair flying around to land on my shoulder. Though I'm not embarrassed about Hisao listening, I still get a little edgy when someone -anyone- hears me sing. Since the accident, I'm never sure if I'm really getting the pitch right since I only get half the information. After a few seconds of silence, I feel his hand pulling the hair off my shoulder and I turn to catch his look, piercing into my eyes and smiling.

“Curious,” he says again, his hand lingering on my shoulder. “Mermaid, and a Siren. I'd love to hear you sing something lyrical,” he remarks, offering a reassuring nod.

“Maybe,” I say, keeping my tone mysterious. “When you've earned it,” I add cryptically.

Grinning, he starts getting up, and I join him, taking his hand as we start walking across the grassy park; meandering back toward the road leading to Yamaku. Our steps are slow and measured, drawing out the walk back to the school; neither of us wanting to end the night anytime soon. Noticing the area has started to clear of people, I imagine it must be past ten o'clock. We do have classes tomorrow morning -and swimming before that- but neither of us seems to care.

Looking skyward, I notice the clear sky has given way to some drifting cumulonimbus clouds that might threaten rain later in the evening. It's a foreboding sight, but we'll be back at the school long before they gather enough to start showering. Grinning at the timing, I quietly giggle at the weather's willingness to put itself on hold for a day so as not to dampen our long-expected date.

While walking, we stay silent for the most part -comfortably so- only speaking to offer greetings to some of the other students making their way up the hill. Headed toward us, I catch sight of Miki, dressed in a blue yukata with bright yellow flowers, leading a disdainful-looking Takashi Maeda and a grinning Lezard Valeth, both in their school uniforms.

Carried by the two boys, Suzu, now dressed in a bright green yukata with a delicate star-field pattern, appears to be asleep; her feet hovering over the pavement. Maeda strains to hold her up, but Valeth looks more like he's blushing furiously than having trouble carrying the sleepy girl.

Giggling at the spectacle, I wonder why they're headed down into town at this point, but I can't help finding the whole thing comical. Hisao and I both wave, but the only one to reply is Miki; leveling her stump-hand in a wave accompanied by a Cheshire cat grin and a wink. Turning to watch them pass by, my gaze angles toward a pair of figures a few hundred paces behind, following us briskly.

Walking in front, Amaya beats a fast pace, wearing a frustrated scowl. Tadao follows behind her, his arms out at his sides, palms out, with a confused frown engraved on his usually stoic face. Quickly stifling my laughter, I hold up a hand toward Hisao, indicating that we should stop.

Turning, he notices Amaya's stormy expression and comments, “uh-oh.”

Uh-oh, indeed.

Angry Amaya is a rarely-seen torrent of icy glares, harsh words, frustrated punches and kicks to the shins and shoulders, and usually unabated by anything until she can escape the source; which seems to be Tadao. Glancing at her paramour, I'm surprised he can walk. The look on Amaya's face indicates she likely already tried to cripple him, but it didn't seem to work.

Coming to a halt a few feet away, her eyes are fiery and stern, and her expression is dire. Trembling with rage, her face is flushed red; hands clenched so tightly at her sides they've begun to turn white. Not even acknowledging Hisao, she looks straight at me and glowers. “Tell that idiot,” she starts, directing a pointed finger back at Tadao, “I'm done talking to him about anything!” her straining voice echoes down the hill, and I see a few bystanders stopping to find the source. Unconcerned with any onlookers, Amaya continues gaining volume as she speaks, ”he can jump in front of a bus or lie down on a railroad track for all I care; if I ever have to look at his empty-headed face again, I can't guarantee there won't be bloodshed!”

Whoa...

Half-expecting blood to start shooting out of her eyes, I watch her turn and snarl at Tadao's pallid expression. He stares back at her, mouth agape, eyes set wide open with shock and remorse. His expression shifts between bewildered, apologetic, frustrated, angry and crestfallen in an instant. After the quick glare, which stops Tadao dead in his tracks, she storms between Hisao and I, stomping the asphalt and huffing like a dragon ready to immolate anything in her path.

Tadao starts to stupidly follow her, but Hisao stops him with an upraised hand. I nod my thanks at him and step over to grab Tadao's shoulder briskly, spinning him in place and meeting his eyes with my own icy glare. “What in the hell did you say to her?” I ask, my disdainful tone makes Hisao flinch, and turns Tadao's face pale white.

Shooting his gaze downward, he grimaces and fidgets, completely at a loss for words. Taking a moment to look him over, the one remaining emotion I see overtaking his expression is guilt. I recall the discussion Amaya and I had in the cafe yesterday afternoon and the realization clicks.

He's an idiot, sometimes.

“You are an idiot,” I say, and he finally looks at me, confusedly; surprised by the harshness of my tone. “Do you have any idea how much she wants to let you in?” I ask, though it's mostly rhetorical. “You're the most patient guy I've ever met,” I'm not sure I believe that right now, but I say it to get his head straight, “she'll let you in when she's good and ready.” I almost want to shake him to get the point across, but I'm afraid he might just fall over given how weak he looks right at this moment.

He looks like he wants to cry or scream; maybe at me, but probably at himself. His eyes well, but he stifles the forming tears and leans back, looking skyward. I glance over at Hisao and he's looking back at me, his eyes in silent agreement. I don't think he even knows Amaya has epilepsy, but he knows what it's like keeping a secret or hiding a condition. Tadao has always been completely up-front with his condition, so, for him, this whole situation must be extremely frustrating.

Finally he looks back down at me and tries to keep his voice from cracking as he inquires, “what should I do, then?”

I smirk at his question and shake my head. Whatever just happened, there's no fixing it until Amaya comes down from that rage. “Go back to your dorm for now,” I advise. He gestures like he wants to disagree, but I stop him with an upraised hand. “She'll need to cool off before you even get a chance. Right now she's liable to lop your head off with one of those hair pins,” I roll my eyes and grin wickedly as I finish the thought. After a moment, he nods in understanding.

I don't exactly trust him right now.

Looking over at Hisao, I hold out a hand. He makes a face like he doesn't know what I mean for a second, but he quickly catches on and steps forward. “I'm gonna send you back with Hisao,” I say, keeping my eyes on Tadao, “he's gonna stand guard at your room to prevent you from doing anything stupid while I try to smooth things over with Amaya.”

Glancing at Hisao, I offer an apologetic smile, but he holds up a hand and shakes his head. Moving to place a hand on Tadao's other shoulder, he gives his friend a sturdy shake and then nods at me, silently agreeing to make sure Tadao doesn't screw anything else up tonight.

Relieved at how quickly Hisao stepped up to help, I cast a last look at Tadao's depressed face and offer a sympathetic nod. He hangs his head dejectedly, but nods slowly; agreeing to be compliant. Satisfied, I lean toward Hisao, placing a hand on his shoulder, and kiss him on the cheek, whispering, “to be continued,” into his ear. That said, I let go of his shoulder and walk around them to chase after Amaya.

Her small form is still walking away briskly, and I'm not really sure how to handle this as I break into a jog to catch up, but right now she probably just needs to vent. I glance back and notice Hisao has held them up; waiting for me to reach Amaya, I assume.

Hearing my hurried footfalls, she turns and glowers at me, but it quickly fades into a mournful frown. When I catch up to her, she's already starting to cry; her eyes closing and her arms falling limply to her sides as tears begin streaming down her cheeks. The dimples that usually indicate her mischievous smile, instead catch her tears in a distressed grimace.

When I reach her she lunges forward, latching onto me like a child, and immediately starts bawling. Blubbering nonsense and choking on her own tears, she falls against me and I embrace her warmly, trying to offer comfort. Pushing her lightly, I nod toward the road and she starts walking slowly, leaning against me awkwardly.

Listening to her, I find it hard not to get caught up in her sadness. One of us needs to be the calm presence, though, and it clearly isn't going to be her. Casting my glance back on the boys to ensure they aren't gaining on us, I steer her up along the road, trying to listen for snippets of information in the nonsense, but not being terribly successful.

When we reach the school, she's largely stopped bawling, but her face is still bright red and the angry expression returns. Keeping quiet as we make our way across the common area and down the winding walkway toward the dorms, Amaya continues to hold onto me; apparently needing the support. Whatever sleep I thought I would be getting after tonight is probably now a fleeting dream, as my inconsolable friend clings to me like she might her mother.

Guiding her up the stairs while she buries her face in my side, hiding from any bystanders, I lead her into her room. Sitting her down on the bed, I taking a seat on her desk chair and lean forward with a pensive expression; ready to listen to whatever she needs to say – even if it takes all night.

She would do the same for me.
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Chapter 14: http://pastebin.com/87TAnkaB