Tomorrow's Doom A.2/C.6 - Reciprocity

Chapter 5: http://pastebin.com/N31mBgv8
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Act 2 – Allegro

Chapter 6 – Reciprocity

Last night felt like a dream, but, as I wake to the sound of my alarm radio playing another j-pop cacophony, I realize it did actually happen. Hisao and I spent the whole afternoon together wandering the festival grounds, laughing, talking and walking side-by-side. We shared some takoyaki and conversation with my friends, I fell over on him, and we nearly kissed during the fireworks. As embarrassing as that all seemed, I'm actually glad it all happened – except maybe one minor detail.

Amaya's wink. What did she see?

Trying to push that inevitable conversation out of mind, I sit up swiftly. Glancing at my clock-radio, I notice it's just a little past six, and realize I somehow managed to sleep through the night. Swinging my legs off the bed, I slap the noise into oblivion, marveling at how effective that jarring music is at waking me no matter how much sleep I get. Keeping it set to the most annoying local station possible because the beeping never manages to wake me, I challenge anyone to sleep through a bad pop song.

As much as I enjoyed myself yesterday, awkward moments not-withstanding, when I consider the incoming barrage of questions, I wonder if it was worth the effort. Inside, I feel like a weight has been lifted, and  sleeping through the night probably helps, but it seems the weight I cast off has simply been replaced. There are new worries to haunt me, though they're much more pleasant superficially.

Standing, I walk over to the mirror and gasp a bit seeing the braid still in my hair. The green ribbons are crushed and bent, and the braid is hanging apart. Quickly untying it, I brush the gathered strands back into position. Satisfied, and feeling energized, I bounce on my toes for a few seconds before plopping down into my desk chair, contemplating some way to waste time.

It's just after six, so I have a couple hours before classes. I look down at my laptop -leaning against my desk where it haphazardly landed- but it isn't beckoning my attention. The homework assignments were finished before we left Saturday, and I don't feel I need the refresher for today's tests. Looking over at my closet, I recall a thought I had when out shopping and a plan formulates.

With a heavy yawn and a much-needed stretch, I start digging around for my swimwear. Tossing a bathrobe over the school-issued one-piece swimsuit, I sink my feet into my sandals and head out the door with an extra towel for my hair. As I pass by the common room, I hear the familiar springing sound from Emi's running spikes, but I don't say anything as she charges by looking as though she's running late. She offers me a quick wave and a smile, which I return in kind, but she looks a little too hurried to have time to talk.

Is she late for her run, I wonder? Will Hisao be there? Should I forgo my swim plans and follow her to-

To what? Spy on them? In a swimsuit and bathrobe? Stalk-er!

The morning air is brisk, and the mist hanging in the air makes the school grounds feel cold and a little bit menacing. It's not oppressive, but it's enough to limit my vision. Trying not to let my imagination run wild, I find there's a little corner of my mind expecting to hear radio static, and then see some horrific creature leaping out at me from the folds of mist, screeching with wild abandon. Late-night adventures in Silent Hill has ruined my enjoyment of misty mornings.

I definitely play too many video games late at night.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and start heading for the auxiliary building. The Nurse holds court there, but my destination skirts that particular part of the building. As I approach the breezeway that leads into the locker room, I start singing a favorite tune. This little open-air hallway catches acoustics wonderfully, and my solitary voice sounds like a chorus belting out the appropriately creepy Lost Carol from Silent Hill 3. Of course, if I thought anyone were in earshot, I'd stop immediately. This is for my ear only.

Is it bad the song I chose to sing is from a video game? Nah.

Since I don't need to use one, I walk right through the locker room and into the pool area. It's an old-looking part of the facility, but it's actually the newest section of Yamaku. The walls are thick, white-painted brick with an orange band at the bottom ending around waist level. All around the outer walls are decorative pillars that end in high arches and windows. The floor is polished ceramic tile in multiple earth-tones arranged in dazzling patterns. The vaulted ceiling is the only part that really looks modern; It's almost entirely made of glass, like a giant greenhouse, with architectural supports and braces hanging exposed.

The room looks like a giant bath-house. Around the edges there are benches, privacy walls, and on one end there is a large set of bleachers angled such that crowds could come and watch the swim club doing high dives. My footsteps gets caught in the giant empty space, vanishing before they can be heard; except for the tinny echo from above where sounds racket between the steel beams. Giant florescent lamps hang from the ceiling, but the morning light coming in through the giant windows and skylights is more than enough – especially considering there are lights in the pool itself. A modern building with modern conveniences that reeks of old money – Yamaku Academy is well-funded.

Picking a bench near the exit, I remove my bathrobe and lay it across the bench with the towel on top, then kick my sandals underneath. As I'm doing so, I hear footsteps and turn to see the night-watch woman giving me a nod. We talked once last year, and I found out her name. It was something foreign. For whatever reason, I remember her saying she moved to Japan with her husband and decided to stay when they got divorced.

Her name, though? Totally blank.

Tall, blonde, and kind of broad, I think she said she was of Icelandic descent. I feel safe knowing she's there -she's a trained lifeguard and EMT- but a little embarrassed. I don't like people watching me swim.

Having considered it when I first came to Yamaku, I never joined the swim club. To me, this is a hobby, and a way to keep fit without the risk of falling over. Besides, I sometimes get vertigo on the ground; I can't even imagine being up on that diving board. Having it be a regimented activity might also kill the enjoyment I get from coming to the pool whenever the mood suits me, and, beside that, I'm way to self-conscious to perform for a crowd.

Sitting down near the pool, I start doing some stretches; mostly to work any kinks out from sleeping. My mind wanders while I do so, and I wonder if Hisao might join me for morning swims if I asked. There must be a reason he started running with Emi, but maybe he would enjoy my company more. Then again, the thought of being alone with him in a bathing suit causes me to blush and he isn't even here. Having come to terms with the immediate attraction I felt toward him, I'm still not sure what to do with the feelings, but having talked with him a lot yesterday, I find him increasingly intriguing.

When he wasn't being awkward and started opening up, talking to him was easy; though he definitely wasn't an open book. Anytime the subject came close to his medical issues or specifics about the recent past, he clammed up, but I don't think that's unusual. Whatever happened, it was recent and he did say he's still adjusting; though not in so many words. Amaya and Tadao seemed to like him, even if they did spend most of the time poking fun. Hisao took it in stride, even accepting the new nickname.

“The Swooner.” I'll need to ask Tadao for a written copy of that poem.

Satisfied that I've limbered up enough, I find my way over to a ladder and step over. The pool is heated, so I'm not worried about it being cold, but it still feels chilly as I slip down into the buoyant water and kick away from the side. Leveling into a backstroke, I let my body get used to the temperature, trying to keep my eyes closed, and my thoughts clear.

A whole lot of good that does, though. Remembering Amaya's wink, I start dreading our upcoming conversation. As much as I want to ask her everything there is to know about what happened with Tadao, specifically what happened when I wasn't looking, the reciprocal part of that conversation fills me with apprehension.

What am I going to tell her, anyway?

Nothing really happened as far as I can tell. Well, something sort of did, but really didn't. Hisao and I never actually made contact, so, technically, we didn't kiss. However, we were interrupted, so it probably would have continued – I think. It's confusing. Whatever may or may not have happened, there were implications, and there will be consequences; the extent of which depend on what Amaya saw.

Should I have just gone for it?

That thought makes me roll over and dive down into the water; which has the desired effect of making me focus on keeping my breath as I swim down to touch the bottom of the pool. When I come back up near the edge of the pool, I shake my head, flinging water around, and brush my nose with my hand to push the water away. The chlorine burns a little, but the subtle sting manages to push the jumbled thoughts away, so I'm glad. With my thoughts cleared, I arrest control of my breathing and launch myself into a breast stroke.

Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.

Recalling Dad's lessons, I propel myself all the way to the far wall and spin around, kicking off and swimming back the other way. When I reach that end, I spin and kick again, letting the muscle memory take over.

Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.

On the fourth lap, I start feeling the heaviness in my legs and I slow my pace to compensate. My lungs burn and my heart races, but I feel genuinely relaxed. Perhaps I'm a little out of shape, but I haven't done this in weeks, so I'm hardly surprised to be lagging a little.

Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.

Swimming always made me feel better, even when I was little. Now it's serving a double-purpose, and I grin into the waves as I pound through another four laps before reaching up to catch myself on the wall. Floating there, I start idly treading water for a few seconds to catch my breath. As I do, I hear a voice from behind me that I don't recognize.

“Nice form, Miss Kurai,” says the voice. Spinning around, I see it's the night-watch woman. As I realize she remembered my name from that one past conversation, I feel a rush of embarrassment at not remembering hers. Evidently that's written on my face as she adds, “Joyce Chambers.” Her accent is a little thick, but she speaks Japanese surprisingly well.

How can I have forgotten such an odd name?

“Sorry,” I try to bow in apology, but it probably looks like a nod with me still being in the water. “Thanks,” I say, remembering her comment.

“How come you're not on the swim team?” she asks. Looking away as a maudlin frown crosses my face, I'm unwilling to comment. Continuing her train of thought, she comments, “you're pretty good at it; you don't even look tired.”

She's lying. I'm breathing like an asthmatic, elderly dog. And why is this coming up now?

I've been swimming here for almost three years and this woman has probably seen me down here a hundred times. Perhaps I'm curious about her sudden interest, but I also want this conversation to be over quickly. “It's... complicated,” I answer, trying not to sound defensive.

She nods, not looking offended. “Well, it's something to consider. You have a knack for it,” she explains, smiling and offering a thumbs-up that makes me grin a bit, but I feel more bewildered than happy.

Swimming over to the nearby ladder, I climb up and head for the bench with my robe and towel. Wandering over over with an apologetic look, she holds out her hands, gesturing apologetically. As she approaches, I sit on the bench and start toweling my hair.

“I don't mean to pry...” she starts, but trails off and frowns.

Then don't.

Trying to be polite, I decide not to say that, and instead wait for her to continue; she doesn't need to know why I choose to swim alone. “It just seemed like something you were good at,” she says with an encouraging smile on her face, “so I thought I'd point it out.”

Offering her a shrugging smile, I don't reply. It seems like she has more to add, but I'm almost to the point of telling her off and leaving. Seeing her cross her arms and put on a concerned look, I decide not to be so petulant. “You looked so far-away when you walked in,” she says, casting a glance at the door, “it looked like something was really bothering you.”

Did I look that bad?

“I-...” I start, then stop. Heaving a sigh, I feel frustrated by the question. Whatever she gleaned from my expression, I feel a little uneasy, but her concern seems genuine. There are a lot of things on my mind, I suppose, and it probably shows on my face more than I realize. Still, I don't want to open up to this perfect stranger; as much as her smile may be inviting. She took the time to ask, so I feel like I should provide some kind of explanation; however vague.

“Lot on my mind, I guess,” I finally reply, hoping she doesn't press any further.

Observing my face for a few seconds, which I try to keep locked in a disarming smile, she eventually nods and shrugs. “Well, don't be a stranger if you wanna talk about it,” she remarks, smiling cheerily.

“I'll be fine,” I say, “just post-festival woes.” It isn't a lie if it's actually true.

“Tell me about it!” she waves her hand at me sardonically and laughs, “sad to see it go, but so glad it's over right?” I offer a nod which seems to satisfy her.

Watching her wander away back back to the side of the room, I realize she's just trying to be supportive, and her smile really is disarming. As I recall, the last time she talked to me, I was in a foul mood, much more foul than today, and came down here to clear my head. Maybe I had a similar expression on my face. Whatever the case, I think I might take her up on that offer if something is really bothering me; she managed to calm me down even though her mere presence is what made me nervous – that takes talent.

Quickly slipping into my sandals, I throw my bathrobe on, wrap the towel around my hair and head for the door. I feel bad for reacting so poorly to the complimentary gesture, and the concern, but it roused a particularly sore memory. Walking briskly, I make my way back to the dorm and flop down on my bed, digging into my nightstand for a picture frame I keep hidden.

It's an image of my dad and I at the beach when I was ten, building a sandcastle; I dig it out when I feel homesick. Lying on my bed, I run a finger over the picture and recall the vivid memory of adding layer upon layer to that teetering monstrosity until the tide rushed in and toppled Kurai Keep. Giggling, and playfully tossing sand around, we spent the day chasing crabs and tossing rocks with Midori, and he started teaching us the finer points of swimming; beyond simple paddling. Later that summer, his condition started catching up with him.

Shoving that memory aside, I toss the picture back in the drawer and slam it closed. Wanting to remember the happy day for the good memory it was rather than the turning point it became, I try to distance myself from the image, but it's already too late. Feeling the tears well up, I remember the church from my nightmares, and the faceless specters prodding me toward an image I've made every effort to forget – Dad's face, locked in perpetual silence.

The hazy wash of images replay in my head, but I can't make sense of them. Part of me doesn't want to make sense of them, and wishes I could just forget the whole ordeal. Maybe I'd be able to sleep a little better if I didn't have those memories to recall. Nobody should have to think about something so empty and terribly numbing, but it haunts me almost nightly. Trying not to think about it doesn't make it go away, nor does knowing what they mean – dreams aren't so easily dismissed.

Except in stories, I guess.

A knock on my door could never have come at a more opportune time. Pushing the tears back, I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath. Keeping the crack out of my voice is the most difficult part as I call out, “who's there?”

“Swooner inspector,” Amaya says playfully through the door.

Oh good, just the thing to pick me up. Girl talk. Slash sarcasm.

Rolling my eyes, I sit up and readjust the towel wrapped around my hair. “Come in, it's not locked,” I say.

Opening the door, she steps in with an analytical raise of her eyebrow and a hand on her chin. “Any stray Swooners in here I should know about?” she asks with a nasal voice, peering around the room like she might find someone stashed in a corner.

“You just like saying that word,” I chide.

“It's kinda catchy, isn't it?” she says, dropping the facade. “Tadao was writing that during the fireworks,” she explains.

“I'm not surprised,” I remark with a shrug. Tadao always has a notepad hidden on him somewhere. “Close the door,” I say.

She does so and turns, commenting, “smells like chlorine in here.”

“I went for a swim,” I explain, pulling the bathrobe aside to reveal the swimsuit for a moment. As she nods, I quietly thank the chlorine for giving my eyes an excuse to look red and irritated. The analytical eyes make their return and I suddenly feel self-conscious.

Just get to the questions, already.

Sitting down next to me, she assumes a contemplative expression, considering her words. “So,” she starts, raising an eyebrow, “what the heck happened during the fireworks? And don't try that 'dizzy spell' bull on me.”

Good, right to the point.

Still, I feel like I should have prepared an answer so I wouldn't have this dumb expression on my face. I'm only half-way shocked she saw through the deception, but that's splitting hairs. Her wink was a knowing one, apparently. “Well...” I trail off contemplatively, trying to stall.

Amaya knows me too well. Placing a hand on my shoulder, she leans in close to whisper, “I looked over my shoulder and saw you about to kiss that boy, so dish~!”

Sometimes, I hate having friends.

Bowing my head, I let out a mournful groan. “Nothing happened,” I claim, trying to sound less disappointed than I feel.

She swats the back of my head with her open hand and chides, “why the hell not?” Patting my head with the same hand, she chirps, “he's adorable.”

Trying to explain, I profess, “I just met the guy.”

Unfortunately, she doesn't buy my explanation. “So?” she prompts.

Somehow I don't think I'll win this logic game.

Falling back on my bed, I let out an exasperated sigh. “He just got here like five days ago,” I remark, attempting to reason things out.

She flops down next to me and smiles. “Yeah?” she asks, nudging my shoulder, “And?” Her nudging makes me giggle.

“There's a waiting period or something, isn't there?” I ask, not really knowing what I'm talking about.

“Wait for what? Some other girl to snatch him up?” she asks, and I feel like I've been physically slapped.

Like Shizune? Dammit...

Fighting that thought away, I instead say, “for him to adjust or whatever.” I'm just making stuff up, I realize.

“You are helping him adjust,” she remarks with a giggle. Patting my shoulder awkwardly, she adds, “probably in more ways than you know.”

Letting the lascivious tone of her comment slide, I choose to focus on the less suggestive side of her comment. “That's what I tried to do,” I say, recalling the reason I invited Hisao in the first place. Frowning, I shake my head and say, “I'm not sure I even accomplished that.”

Ignoring my reminiscing about the formality of the encounter, she rolls onto her side and puts on a cat-like grin. “What about after I left you two between worlds,” she asks dreamily.

Between worlds? Oh, between the dorms. Ha!

Sighing, I roll my eyes and reply, “we weren't even close enough to high-five.”

Looking disappointed, she rolls back and folds her hands across her chest. Sounding deflated, she remarks,  “I guess it might be a little too soon.”

"Too soon, Executus! Too soon!"

Realizing her line of questioning is spent for now, I decide to turn the tables. “So, what about you and Tadao?” I inquire, giving her a playful nudge.

Sitting up, she stares at the ceiling and shrugs. “W-we uh...” she stutters, trying the same contemplative stall.

Pulling myself up next to her, I put my arm on her shoulder. “You were hanging onto him like a Siamese twin practically all day,” I say, building momentum, “and he was shaking like a leaf when he talked to me earlier, so I wanna know what happened in between.”

Assuming a serene expression I don't think I've ever seen her make, she looks over at me and smiles; her dimples deepening sweetly. “We talked about... stuff,” she says, almost absently. Blinking, she turns a confused look at me and remarks, “I really wish you'd said something sooner.”

“You're dodging the question,” I say, tilting my head and raising an eyebrow.

Closing her eyes, the looks down at her feet and lets out a frustrated sigh. “We just... talked,” she says, almost mournfully; as though she's disappointed.

Finding her answer less than satisfying, I notice the look on her face is similarly frustrated. The genuine tone of her voice makes me believe her, and I realize she looks a little depressed. Rubbing her shoulder sympathetically, I offer a genuine smile when she turns to look at me, her eyes seeming barely aware. “It's a start,” I assure her.

“Yeah...” she replies, not convinced. Smiling at her dumbly, I really don't know what to tell her. Exposed to new feelings, Amaya tends to react quickly and loudly outwardly, but it takes her a while to process them internally. She expected things to move faster, I gathered, but I don't think anything is really wrong.

Patting her arm reassuringly, I'm not used to seeing Amaya's introspective side, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Spending most of the past year deliberating, asking me questions and wondering about the possibilities, her expectations were probably higher. Once she and Tadao figure out how to meet in the middle, so to speak, they'll be fine; I wasn't expecting an overnight success.

Well, okay, I was. I'm not surprised or worried, though.

On our way to class, we pass Shizune and Misha in the halls, but I avert my eyes and Amaya doesn't seem to notice. Before ducking, I think I caught a cat-like grin on Shizune's face, but I might just be seeing things. Watching them disappear into room 3-3, I wonder what this whole competition is really about. She was making quite the show of keeping it a secret, but she could just have been toying with me for whatever reason. Maybe I'm just a ball of yarn for her to kick into the air for a while, but, if so, what does that make Hisao? The cat-nip?

I've successfully referred to him as a type of drug; it's oddly fitting.

Tadao is already at his seat when we walk into class, but he's distracted by his notebook, like always. Looking him over as we head to our seats, some glaring personality differences occur to me. He and Amaya aren't exactly alike, of course; far from it, really.

While Amaya tends to speak ahead of her thoughts, Tadao lives inside his head and barely says a word that he hasn't thoroughly considered. Amaya tends to rush into things while Tadao steps lightly. When he does speak, Tadao is sardonically blunt and fond of enigmatic language, but Amaya is much more direct most of the time. Considering it more carefully, it seems their relative differences actually compliment each-other; which is an encouraging thought.

Rustling his hair as she sits down, he looks up from his writing and grins happily. They share a dreamy stare for a few seconds before he notices me, and they turn simultaneously. Amaya drops into her chair as Tadao levels a questioning look in my direction.

Big brother is in the room.

“I had a friendly chat with your new friend last night,” he starts. “Dude is definitely into you,” he winks.

Amaya chimes in, “Swooner like~?”

“Indeed,” he runs a hand through his hair, grinning.

Great. Guy talk. About me. I'm thrilled.

Turning away, I shake my head and sigh, commenting, “I suppose he told you, then.” My half-interested tone is pure bluster, though. If he has any careful observations to relate in regards to Hisao, I'm definitely interested in hearing them. It feels more likely he's just messing with me, though.

To use Amaya's word; dish, dammit!

“I gave him 'the warning',” he says, making air quotes I can just see in my peripheral vision.

How predictable.

“How thoughtful,” I say.

“Nah, the guy seems legit,” he claims, leaning forward, trying to see the side of my face. Having the benefit of being able to see between the hairs, I can count on them to hide my eyes. “Dude was walkin' on air practically - or maybe he just had to pee...”

I needed that image; thanks Tadao.

Amaya slaps her desk and cheerfully adds her two cents, “The Swooner was swooning?”

This conversation needs to end.

As if reading my thoughts, Ito plows through the door and marches, practically stumbling, to his chair. Watching his display, I think he needs to get some exercise or he's gonna fall down dead one morning. Hating myself for being grateful he's such a mess I'm happy his loud entrance has the effect of switching off banter mode, and turning my two friends back into straight-edged, studious pupils. Well, they at least imitate that description while under his gaze.

The test he digs out of his briefcase a few minutes later ensures that I won't have to listen to their tittering for at least until English class. Even as we sit through the test, I can hear Amaya humming, badly, under her breath about The Swooner. Friends are awesome at making life's most mortifying moments even more embarrassing. Sitting here, listening to their torturous jabs and stifled giggles, I hope I can return the favor someday soon.

During English, I glance over at Yoko. She's probably more adept at English than Tadao, and it seems like we have a lot in common. However, I don't think I'd be allowed to escape. Perhaps some other day, I decide, I'll skirt across the room and ask if she might allow me a reprieve from the adorable duo behind me; for now, I have to endure their jabs – if only because I sort of deserve them.

Whether I'm happy to see them getting along so well or whether I want to punch them in the face for being so cute, I can't decide. This is a bit like penance, though, since it really is my fault they're like this now. Still, having to suffer their antics feels cruel since I hardly have any way to bite back, but that's what friends are for; committing acts of abject torture. Sentenced to relationship Gitmo, I'm ready to be adorable-boarded.

And I'm officially the grumpy third wheel; it took less than two days. I'm fast like that, I guess.

When the lunch bell rings, I make a decision. I can't stand watching them anymore, and it has been a while since I checked on the cafeteria food. Maybe they started making edible concoctions instead of substituting the entire pantry with corrugated cardboard and candle wax.

Having brought a lunch with me, I feel like I have all my bases covered, so this equation lacks a wrong answer. After bowing out gracefully, which largely consisted of me running the hell out of there before they could protest, I find my way through the crowds all the way down to the bastion of cliques – otherwise known as the cafeteria.

Looking around, I see the usual groups sitting together. The art club is over by the windows; many of them seem to be in a different room entirely – or another planet, perhaps. The literature club is over near the lunch line; their faces in various books, they periodically cast disdainful glances at the loud students standing in line – as always. I think they sit there so they can look moody without raising suspicion. The track team is by the door; ready to run out when the bell rings. In in the middle, like a pair of mismatched referees, is the Student Council; Deaf-charge and her pink-haired sidekick, Drill Sergeant.

I'm beginning to embrace that nickname for Shizune.

Realizing I could run out the door without them seeing me, but knowing my luck is never that good, I stare dumbly at them for a few seconds. Misha practically leaps out of her seat and starts waving at me cheerily, beckoning me over. Meanwhile, Shizune sits back in her chair with her legs and arms crossed, wearing a contemplative expression; as though she knew I was going to break my classroom lunch habit. Their mixed reactions make me feel uncomfortable, and, when I notice they don't actually have lunches, I feel even more worried; though I'm not sure why.

I think I'd rather be facing a Nazi firing squad.

Trying to keep the bewilderment off my face, likely with limited success, I walk over, waving calmly, and sit down across from Misha. Her unreadable, excited expression is unnerving, but now Shizune is grinning like a bobcat. Misha remains eerily silent as Shizune begins signing, [how did the evening go with the new student?]

Seeing her refer to Hisao by the nondescript moniker makes me cringe a little. [Well,] I begin to reply, [he didn't come right out and say it, but he seemed to enjoy himself.] Pointedly keeping my expression neutral, I sign as though I were giving her a financial report.

[Good,] Shizune replies, imitating my neutral expression; though I'm not sure if she's doing so mockingly.

I'm so glad I came to the cafeteria, really. This isn't awkward at all...

Leaning toward me, their faces twist into wry smiles. Misha speaks in a loud whisper, “he said you recommended joining the Student Council~!”

Often I've wondered why she doesn't just sign to me in this kind of situation; when there's nobody around who needs to hear the conversation. Happily signing back and forth with Shizune in silence, Misha almost always speaks if there's anyone else in earshot, even if they don't need the audio; I guess it's just a habit she picked up being a translator.

Responding to her statement with a confused look, I don't recall recommending that he join the Student Council; I just said he should try to get along with Shizune.

Ah, right... Shizune is the Student Council.

Social recommendations have transitive properties. Just a day away from video games and I'm already getting my social legs back, though I'd still rather be in a trench somewhere in Africa with an M1 taking pot-shots at Gestapo. That might be less dangerous than being at this table right about now.

Hearing tapping, I'm broken out of my musing. Turning my gaze at Shizune, I notice she has started signing, [I wanted to thank you; he's decided to join.] She relaxes back in her seat and offers a nod with a confident smirk.

Wait, what?

Before I can start digesting that information, or think of a response, I feel a presence next to me; like someone standing over my shoulder blocking the overhead lights. Turning, I see Hisao, looking surprised to see me, carrying three lunches precariously across his arms.

I knew the lack of lunches worried me.

Placing two of the lunches down in front of Misha and Shizune, he sits down in the seat next to me, pointedly looking anywhere else. I notice him pawing at his sternum again and I don't expect he'll be saying much through this lunch period. I quietly regret that; I rather enjoy the sound of his voice.

Concentrate, Kurai! This is a war, right?

Shizune is grinning that bobcat grin again, and I'm starting to think that's her version of maniacal laughter. However, I'm not uncomfortable about Hisao sitting next to me, so I don't feel particularly challenged to say, “hey Swooner, Amaya said you're adorable.”

Why the hell did I say that? I mean, she said it, but why the hell...?

Having my hands wrapped around my elbows, I didn't sign the statement, so Misha translates to Shizune as I watch a blush spread across Hisao's face. My comment is having the desired effect on Shizune, though I feel bad for torturing him. She flushes a bit as Misha spells out the nickname, and I think I actually see a bead of sweat inching its way down her forehead – it might be a trick of the fluorescent lights.

Smirking, and nudging Misha to silence her translation, she starts signing back, [I'm glad you and your friends have made him feel welcome.] Watching her, I'm somewhat surprised she's blatantly hiding what she's saying from Hisao.

Seeing his perplexed expression, knowing he's used to having Misha relay everything Shizune signs, I decide to do it for her. “Shizune is glad you're adjusting and making friends,” I explain, pulling my legs away in expectation of a shin-kick. Remembering that's Amaya's trick, I smile and continue by leaning over to whisper in his ear, “she likes the nickname, I think.”

It's probably true... okay, maybe not.

Shizune scowls, having no idea what I whispered, while Misha glances at me similarly. The baffled expression is close enough to embarrassment that it plays right into my suggestive whisper, and Hisao can't help but laugh a little at her predicament. Grinning cockily, I think I might be better at this than she anticipated. Having just made Shizune look foolish without saying anything important, I feel a little bad for toying with the deaf girl, but she started this war – it's her gauntlet lying in the grass.

Besides, turnabout is fair play.

Misha seems to be catching on to what's happening and her face scrunches up as she speaks, “it's not nice whispering secrets like that, Aiko-chan~!” The slight frown and the crestfallen look in her golden eyes almost makes me feel bad – almost.

However, “almost only counts in horse-shoes and hand-grenades.”

Nodding apologetically, I do feel a little bit bad since I don't think she'd torture her friends like this, but this is between Shizune and myself. If Shizune wanted Misha to know what was really going on, she would have said something. Glancing over at Hisao, I notice he's looking a little bewildered, so I change the subject. “I hear you joined the Student Council,” I say, offering a sweet smile.

Turning to me with a half-smirk, he nods. “Yeah well, your advice made sense, and they've been helping me out, so I figured I'd give it a try,” he explains. Only sounds semi-interested, he might have only joined so he would have something to kill time doing. Still, I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing; I can't pretend to be his only friend here. Seeing he stopped rubbing his sternum, I think he'll enjoy working with the dastardly duo; at the very least, he seems to calm down with them around.

I still feel like I wanna shove a flag in his forehead that says, “Mine -Aiko,” though.

As Misha Translates Hisao's affirmation to Shizune, she relaxes visibly. Leveling a triumphant nod at me, Misha translates for her as she signs, “Hicchan will be a welcome asset. Thanks for the en-dorse-ment, Aiko-chan~!”

Still being on the fence about whether it's a good thing, I can't really offer a protest without sounding spiteful, so I decide to be pleasantly cordial. “No problem,” I say.

Not to mention brief.

The rest of the lunch period flies by with considerably less tension. We eat, talk about class, reminisce about the festival a little, while avoiding certain embarrassing topics, and groan about the tests we had to take earlier. Our class got the calculus test in the morning, and Mutou apparently has designs on bringing a science test for the afternoon. Shizune made a point of not discussing the test contents, even though we knew they would be slightly different per class.

We even walk back to class amicably; though Shizune does keep giving me that bobcat grin over her shoulder on the way up the stairs. I'm glad Hisao is making friends and smiling, though, so I can't really stay mad at Shizune. Then again, as much as I may have won the round in the lunchroom, she knows they have the whole afternoon to pluck at Hisao's heart-strings - strategic circumstance.

Assuming that's what she's doing. I'm still not sure what her end-game is.

Mutou's test goes reasonably well. Science isn't my best subject, but parts of it are math-like, so I get a handle most of it easily enough. After the test, Mutou gets up and lectures about string theory for a while. His excited tone doesn't make it any less boring, but the idea of alternate quantum realities sparks my interest. Listening to his droning lecture, I wonder if the other versions of me are similarly bored; I don't mention that particular theoretical diversion, however.

I wonder if another version of me had actually gone through with the kiss.

History goes swimmingly until it ends, and the doorway to salvation opens. Leaving briskly, I manage to get ahead of the too-cute couple walking hand-in-hand. Weaving through the halls, I escape into the courtyard and sit down in the shade of a tree. Closing my eyes, I effectively shut out the bustling noises of my classmates' mass exodus.

Considering the events of the past week, I find my mind to be surprisingly clear. The birdsong that always seems to be in the background around Yamaku intensifies as I relax against the tree, and its lulling effect seems amplified. After a few minutes, I feel my breathing start to slow, and I start drifting in and out of consciousness. Soon, the sounds slowly peter out and I'm consumed by sleep.

Not long after, I snap my head up and look around to find the courtyard is empty. Feeling a little disoriented, I look around and wonder at the time. My watch reads, “5:13 pm.”

Did I just fall asleep here for over two hours?

Groggily, I stand up and stretch into a yawn. Blowing out a sigh, I start heading for my dorm; I realize I'll probably be in for another sleepless night, but I'm comfortable with that by now. Insomnia is something one adapts to over time - like prison. During vacations, I often sleep like a cat; short periods of sleep followed by short periods of waking, short periods of lounging and then more sleep. My mother used to call me Kitten because of it – most people thought it was just a random term of endearment.

I miss my mom, I should give her a call.

As suspected, once I return to my room, I'm unable to sleep. I find myself sitting up at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop, droning my way through the rest of the British campaign. Hearing Amaya creep back to her room after curfew, I consider bothering her about it, but I think it can wait. Sometime around two in the morning, I crawl into bed and slip into unconscious bliss.

I forgot to call my mom...I'll neglect to tell her that.
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Chapter 7: http://pastebin.com/udrJjyvb