Tomorrow's Doom A.1/C.5 - Near-Miss

Chapter 4: http://pastebin.com/Yaw0ysHy
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Chapter 5 - Near-Miss

Shizune and Misha disappear behind one of the outer walls, and I turn away. As my head settles back in the other direction, I remember Nakai is there – somehow I had forgotten. Standing there dumbly, I also realize that I have absolutely no idea what I've gotten myself into. Having never walked around the festival with a boy before -Tadao doesn't count- I have no clue what he would even want to see. As I'm mulling this over, I notice he's got one hand on the back of his neck and the other in his pocket, looking equally perplexed.

Okay, the first step is to ask a question – I think.

Would he want to try the games first? Would that make me seem too forward? Would he rather walk around first? Has he seen the rest of the school grounds yet? Does he wear anything other than sweater-vests? Where is he from? What does he like? Who are his parents? How did he end up at Yamaku?

Why isn't he saying anything!?

Right, I haven't asked anything; I'm just staring at the ground near his feet -his shoes are obviously new- trying to think of the right question to ask, but I've got nothing. He isn't helping, either. Staring at nothing with a dumb expression, running a hand through his messy hair.

This is stupid. We sat through writing those reports comfortably enough, and we even talked a little. I yelled at him during lunch, but it was for good reason. He's here because I told him he should be here, but he also got dragged out of his dorm by the Student Council.

Does Shizune like him, or is she just teasing me? Does Misha sleep with that drill haircut? Does she know how awkward she made this? Stop asking yourself stupid questions and concentrate!

Steadying myself, I push the myriad questions and observations out of my head by closing my eyes; a gesture I hope he thinks is merely contemplative. I'm supposed to be fairly socially adept, Amaya says so; though I might be losing practice interacting with jar-heads and losers via online games.

How is this really different? I can see him, that's how it's different.

Trying to act nonchalant, I open my eyes and meet his gaze again, but I immediately glance away awkwardly.

I should take a break from gaming. It's stunting my social skills.

Finally a single, stilted word -a solitary syllable- flies up through my throat and finds its way over my tongue into the air. “So...” I say, trailing off immediately since I hadn't thought ahead of the rest of the sentence.

Excellent, you managed to get one word out. You're practically a philosopher in this conversation.

He sputters back with a few solid, nervous laughs and starts, “I- Um... We were- Uh...” His free hand, the one that was running through his hair a second ago, makes weird gestures with his words, if you could call them words, and his expression changes between confusion, shock, and abject terror with each utterance.

This is going well. Okay, so he's not great at this, either. We can be awful at it together. Work with me, Hisao!

Finally thinking of something that sounds almost like a conversation starter, I open my mouth and the words actually make it past my lips. “Are you liking the festival so far?” I ask with a grin; more for pride at finally piecing a complete sentence together than any kind of emotional attachment. Meanwhile, he gets this far-away look and starts glancing around at the festival grounds absently.

He's thinking. He's thinking? Stop thinking and say something! This is killing me!

Finally after what feels like a year and a half of waiting, he finally grins and nods. That's all; a slight half-grin and a single bounce of his head. Not a word, not a sound, just a nod and a smile. If there were crickets out this early, they would rise in a crescendo. He continues wandering his gaze around the festival grounds, looking oblivious. Starting to giggle nervously, I wonder if he's doing this on purpose – probably not.

I need input, dammit! I can't run this conversation by myself!

Turning my own wandering gaze around the festival grounds, I start looking for something to talk about. Barely conscious of it, I catch a smell that I recognize; something simple, a familiar odor from my childhood that sparks an idea – one I probably should have thought up two years ago when this conversation started.

Glancing back at him, my ought hangs open and my brow furrows quizzically. Trying hard to speak, the question catches in my throat and the associated thought is obliterated by my inaction. Instead of asking an intelligent question of some kind, I just sigh loudly.

Apparently, the tales of my social prowess are greatly exaggerated.

Taking a moment to think, I remember Shizune's challenge. Whatever else it involves, clearly my objective today is to communicate with this brown-eyed mystery-man and show him some kind of good time around the festival I had claimed to be a joyful experience. Unless I do something, anything, she wins by default.

Wins what?

Whatever the prize, I don't want to lose; not to her. She may be the Class President, but I have my pride and I'm more adept at social graces than her – she can't even talk. Shizune is equipped quite well enough otherwise, though, and that motivates me to take every advantage; losing is not an option. What the ultimate prize is for winning doesn't matter – not right now.

Is Hisao the prize? Is that how this works?

Pushing the contemptible internal monologue aside, I settle my nerves with a deep breath, close my eyes, and will myself to regain control of my composure. Opening my eyes, I assume as sweet a smile as I can manage, and convert my broken thoughts into a question, “have you... eaten anything yet?”

Holy cheese-balls you finally said something marginally intelligent!

This is a break-through; someone needs to throw confetti and cue the marching band. As soon as I finish asking, clarity seems to dawn across his confused visage. Shaking his head emphatically, he says, “no. Shizune insisted I wait until I met up with you.”

Success! A dialogue opens!

Realizing he's not finished talking, I watch him glancing around almost like he's expecting to be jumped by a mugger – or the Student Council. “She said,” he pauses and narrows his eyes, “or Misha did, rather...” His mumbling is barely above a whisper, but anything sounds better than that uncomfortable silence. Straightening himself and squaring his shoulders, his voice comes back stronger as he finishes his thought, “she said since you were the one who insisted I come out today, they'd leave things like that to you.”

Where was all this clarity when this stuttering contest started three years ago?

Leaving him unfed could be part of Shizune's game, but, choosing to forget the awkwardness of his reply, I nod happily. Pleased and relieved that we've gotten past the initial awkwardness, I step over to his side tentatively, and sweep my trailing hand across the festival grounds, remarking, “well, pick your poison.”

He looks at me sidelong for a second before glancing out around at the booths. After a few seconds he looks back at me questioningly and asks, “I dunno what to pick, could you recommend something?”

Smiling broadly, I finally remember what I was going to ask him before my throat betrayed me. “I was going to suggest takoyaki,” I explain, pointing out the booth in question. “But there's dumplings, noodles, soup,” I describe, pointing out their respective booths, “all sorts of things.”

Watching him look at the booths, he seems to have relaxed, but he does keep a hand on his chest, rubbing his sternum absently. His narroed eyes seem to indicate thinking, similar to Tadao's far-away look, but he doesn't stare at the sky; instead his eyes appear to stare at nothing in particular as he focuses inward.

Turning a raised eyebrow at me, he finally asks, “Is the takoyaki good? I haven't had it in a while.”

Shocked out of my musing, I quickly answer, “I highly recommend it.”

“Well, then. You're the one with experience – lead on.” He takes his hand out of his pocket and waves me ahead. Bowing graciously, which probably looks a little strange in the yukata, I start toward the takoyaki booth. As I pass in front of him, I wonder if he's being gentlemanly or just trying to get a look at my behind.

I shouldn't think like that, he seems nice; nice boys don't have thoughts like-

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not that naïve.

Besides, do I really mind after I spent at least fifteen seconds staring at his-

“Hey, Aiko~!” A familiar voice breaks me out of those lewd thoughts, and I turn to see Amaya and Tadao, arm-in-arm, walking towards us from across the grassy field. For a second I forget Nakai is there and I wave cheerfully. The two of them banter playfully, though quietly, as they walk over and each offers a slight bow.

Evidently the consternation Tadao was feeling has dissipated; no longer glancing around nervously or destroying a pencil. Amaya accepts his hand around her waist unflinchingly. You would almost think they had already been dating for months rather than a matter of hours; though that wouldn't exactly be far from the truth. They seem to walk like they're only one person, falling perfectly in step – it's disgustingly adorable.

“Nice yukata, Aiko,” Tadao states, nodding with approval.

Amaya steps away from Tadao and playfully bats at my hair, bounding around me like a child.  “Oh I love the ribbon, it suits you per-fectly~!” she exclaims, the wistful lilt in her voice reminiscent of Misha – though Amaya isn't nearly as loud. Along with the pink, white and black yukata, she has a pink barrette holding her hair back, and there are pink ribbons tied to it, trailing down behind her.

Turning her gaze to my side, she cocks her head to ask, “who's your friend?”

Recalling he's there, I look over at Nakai and offer a smile, which he returns in kind. After our three-year stuttering contest, and the associated awkwardness, I feel strangely comfortable standing next to Nakai – Hisao, I should say.

He wanted me to call him Hisao. I should remember that.

Remembering Amaya was out when he came for lunch, I realize they've never met. Stuttering a few prepositions, embarrassed by my social gaff, and maybe feeling a little flustered, I glance at Hisao, but he seems busy inspecting my friends. After what feels like twenty minutes, but was really more like two seconds, I hold a hand out toward Hisao, the other firmly planted on my hip, and introduce him, “this is our new classmate Hisao Nakai. He's in 3-3.”

Amaya's grin is terribly devious as the realization hits her. “Oh, right, your new boyfriend,” she says flatly.

Swatting at her hip with the hand I was holding toward Hisao, I just barely brush her obi as she leaps back on her toes. Tadao grins, shaking his head, and I almost want to kick his shins. His silence on the matter saves him, but I also don't want Hisao to think I frequently kick friends who make fun of me, even if it's probably true.

“He's not my-” Stopping that thought, I look at Hisao. He's blushing and looks nervous again, with his hand moving up to his sternum. Dropping that statement, I turn to glare at Amaya's giggling face. “I'm just showing him around.” A quick check on Hisao shows the nervousness dissipating into a half-smile. It's not much, but it's something.

Amaya quiets her giggling and leans in, her dimples making her serious look appear much cuter than it should. “Seems more like you're showing him off,” she holds her arms out, as if indicating the entire crowd.

Tadao finally interjects before I can slap the crooked smile off Amaya's face, “ladies, please!” Nodding toward Hisao with a wry smirk, he continues, “if you're going to fight, please let the two of us gather a crowd.”

Amaya and I glare at Tadao with seething rage for a few seconds, but it breaks into giggling almost immediately. Hisao's quizzical expression when I look back is telling; he just looks bewildered by the whole conversation – I haven't introduced my friends yet.

Calming myself I start making the introductions. “This is Amaya Yamamoto,” I point at her and smile. She responds by folding her arms and grinning widely. “She was out sick when you came by,” I explain, to which Hisao nods. Pointing at Tadao, I continue, “this is Tadao Yoshida. I know you met, but I'm not sure if you got his name.”

“I hadn't,” Hisao admits, offering his hand to shake Tadao's. Amaya offers a wave, fluttering her eyelids and sticking her tongue out at me. Hisao starts chuckling as he looks between us and finally says, “you've known each other a while, I gather.”

I explain, “Amaya and I have been dorm-neighbors since our first year, and Tadao's been in our classes since our second.” It's technically true, even though I've known Tadao almost as long as Amaya.

“I'm partially deaf in both ears,” Tadao explains in a matter-of-fact tone. Then, pointing to his left ear, he continues, “This one's worse off, hence the aid. Neurofibromatosis two.” Always using the scientific name for it, Tadao typically introduces his condition before even mentioning his own name. Hisao doesn't appear to have any idea what it means, but Tadao just grins and explains, “it's a degenerative disorder, and someday,” he pauses, widening his eyes to emphasize his next point, “I might be blind, too.”

That last part shocks Hisao visibly, but Tadao's disarming smile alleviates his apprehension. When he first came to Yamaku, Tadao stood in front of the class to introduce himself and explained the condition in its entirety. Eloquently speaking and signing every word to the entire class, like he was reading it from a script, I remember finding the action rather endearing. Later, he told me he does it so people don't whisper and wonder behind his back, which is uncomfortable for everyone involved.

Amaya giggles nervously and buries her face in Tadao's arm; her being on the other end of the spectrum. She would rather have people find out when she has a seizure, or never find out she even has a condition, than tell anyone about her epilepsy. During our first week here, we were getting acquainted in her room and doing some studying when she suddenly stopped moving. A few seconds later, she fell over and started convulsing. Panicking, I ran across the campus to get Nurse, nearly collapsing in his office. After that, which has the undesirable result of broadcasting her condition to half the girls in the dorm, she wouldn't speak to me for a week.

Looking back to Hisao, I wonder if that's what it will take for him to tell me what mysterious condition brought him to Yamaku. Considering his condition, whatever it is, has no outward signs, I guess he feels like he can hide it better. If it's some kind of internal disease like epilepsy, then maybe I'll have to be there to see him collapse from some kind of catastrophic event to find out.

I hope not.

Silence falls over the four of us as the pall of assumed disabilities hangs over us, choking the joviality of the last few minutes. You would think a school full of disabled kids could avoid this kind of situation, but people are people. Most people don't like revealing their flaws unless they have to, and, even though most of the students have flaws to share, some of which are far more obvious than others, they still feel the need to guard them. I know I do.

Locked uin uncomfortable silence, Hisao shifts on his feet uncomfortably, Amaya continues to avert her gaze, and Tadao seems to have run out of things to say. Smiling at Amaya, who's peeking out at me, expecting me to speak next, I find the responsibility of breaking the tension has fallen squarely on my shoulders. Laughing nervously, I blurt out a question, “weren't we about to get some takoyaki?”

Seizing the opportunity to change the subject, Hisao grins and nods. Pointing at Amaya and Tadao, he looks at me with raised eyebrows and hangs a wordless question in the air. Catching on quickly, I verbalize the query, “you two care to join us?”

Tadao nods, and Amaya joins him without even seeing his head moving. It's almost as though they're communicating telepathically; or they're just both feeling agreeable. Watching their eerie synchronicity, I'm sure Hisao thinks they've been dating for months – I think anyone would, really.

The four of us approach the takoyaki booth, and soon we're off walking around the festival grounds, junk food in hand. The two of them walking between Hisao and I, Amaya and Tadao help with pointing out the different booths to Hisao as we eat. His expressions are mostly serene, but sometimes full of wonderment. Mentioning that the booths are all well-stocked because of his help with getting the reports finished, he smiles proudly, but his reflective look makes me wonder if he really feels like he helped anything.

Every little bit counts.

Otherwise, our discussion is mostly about schoolwork, since none of us wants to bring up anything serious. Hisao avoids talking about his past, and we don't press him. Every so often I catch him rubbing his sternum again, and I begin to wonder how he developed such an odd habit. Knowing I have some odd conversational habits, I don't feel inclined to ask about his, so I leave it unmentioned.

Smiling often and laughing at Amaya and Tadao's jovial banter, Hisao seems rather relaxed compared to our previous meetings. The faces he makes when I explain things is always attentive, never judging and there's an almost child-like wonderment in his curious gaze. Asking me questions about the school history, the foundation, and wondering at the extensive funding it must take to pay for the school's upkeep, I find his curiosity refreshing.

As we walk around together, I also wonder at how eased I feel. After the outburst in class, I know there are probably a lot of rumors running around the school, but I'm surprisingly comfortable. I should feel self-conscious and awkward having most of the students around in earshot, but it seems the exact opposite is true. Something in his eyes, and the way he carries himself thoughtfully makes me feel safe. Having not even mentioned the lunch-time outburst, I don't know what he thought of it exactly, and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I think he might even be glad I yelled at him.

After checking through the booths, we decide to wander around the rest of the school grounds. Eventually finding our way out near the gate where Rin sits cross-legged on the ground, staring at the finished mural. Scanning across the artwork from afar, I notice Hisao's contented expression and wonder aloud, “have you seen anything like it?”

As we stop, Amaya and Tadao stare at each other, seemingly lost in their own little world. Leaning forward to look around the tittering couple, Hisao smiles. “No, not exactly. I ended up helping Rin carry some paints out here the other day, though,” he explains.

“Oh so you've met our school's philosophizing artist, then?” I ask, rather rhetorically.

Looking back at Rin, sitting calmly and seemingly lost in thought, he replies, “I guess so. Though I'm not sure how much I actually know about her even after half an afternoon.”

Having heard our conversation, and Hisao's pondering, Rin breaks her focused gaze and turns to say, “you can only know as much about someone else as you allow yourself to hear. I read that in a book, I think. Or maybe someone told me.”

Smirking, I stifle a giggle and nod in agreement. Tilting my head toward the mural, I ask, “you finished it in time, then?”

Casting her wandering glance at me, Rin smiles. Then a confused expression crosses her face and she asks, “finished what?”

Shaking my head, and feeling like I'm shoveling against the tide, I point at the wall and prompt, “the mural?”

“Oh that, yeah,” she affirms. Watching her stand, I marvel a bit at how she does so without having any arms to balance herself. When she's upright, she quickly stretches before continuing her thought, “I wasn't sure if you meant something else; you should be more specific.” Taking a few steps back, she returns her gaze to the mural, commenting, “then again, everyone else has had the same question so I shouldn't be surprised.”

Conversations with Rin always seem to go like this, but it's oddly enjoyable. Figuring out what she's trying to say can often take a little longer, but it makes you think. Sometimes there's wisdom or poignancy in her rambling, roundabout speeches. If nothing else, it leads you to choose your own words more carefully when she's around.

With Hisao falling in step beside me, Amaya and Tadao start walking ahead of us, commenting on the imagery in he mural. Seemingly lost in thought as he looks over the brightly colored, abstract depictions, Hisao starts mouthing a comment a few times, but holds back. Blushing innocently at the sight of a few images, naked human forms, he resists the temptation to make childish comments like Tadao and Amaya.

Not really understanding art myself, as I scan over the abstract mural, I decide that I like it, but I don't know why. Lacking the artistic vocabulary to describe it, I start to look at it like a mathematician. There are numerous radii crisscrossing the design, each one pulling a different vector in clusters that form disparate shapes. Tangents terminate where the different vector groups cluster, creating a complex pattern of images. Carefully chosen colors identify the different shapes, and the arrangement is visually pleasing as a result.

There's a simplicity to it, but it's also frustratingly complex, and that combination seems beautifully serene. What Rin might be trying to say with it eludes me, but, glancing back at her as I stop, a strange realization crosses my mind. Settling my gaze on the arm-less artist, who has returned to her seat on the ground, I look her over and think about who she is, then scan over the mural again. If I thought I knew what I was talking about, I'd tell her I thought it was her reflection – or something like that.

Walking up behind me, Hisao explains, “Emi told me she slept out here Friday night trying to finish.” hearing him speak without seeing him makes me concentrate on the sound of his voice, and I notice it carries a deep baritone. No longer stuttering or sounding awkward, its clarity and depth make him sound serene; or maybe I just like the sound of it – who knows.

I think I know.

Hearing Emi's name brought up pulls me out of my artistic musings, and I decide to ask a question, “I heard you were running with Emi. How's that going?” Responding with an uncomfortable smile, the source of which could be most anything, he looks away. For whatever reason, in the back of my mind there is a little green monster that wants to slap him – but I resist.

Jealousy? Why do my thoughts automatically become dark like that?

Finally he looks back at me and sighs, the baritone disappointingly missing as he replies, “I don't think I'm cut out for running anymore.” He paws at his chest again; it seems like a nervous tick, almost. He only seems to do it when he's under stress.

“Did you used to run a lot?” I ask, not expecting the gravity of the question to hit him like a brick. Immediately clamming up, he looks depressed for a second, and I hate to see that frown creeping back onto his pallid countenance.

Narrowing his eyes, he stares ahead blankly as we start to walk; apparently thinking of a response. Wanting to offer some support with a hand on his shoulder or something equally reassuring, I still feel like I would be overstepping my bounds. After a few agonizing seconds, he centers his gaze on me and smiles, “I used to play soccer, but I kinda can't anymore.”

His elusiveness is frustrating, but perfectly understandable. He shouldn't be forced to talk about is any more than Amaya should be forced to describe her epilepsy. The far-away look in his eyes seems to indicate there's more, but he doesn't seem ready to say whatever thing is bothering him – not yet.  The look in his eyes says he wants to tell someone eventually, and that's fine for now, I guess.

I wish he'd just be out with it, though.

Whatever did happen, it apparently hasn't settled well, and I don't want to make it any worse. Finally reaching a hand up, I bump his shoulder lightly with my fist. “Hey, don't worry about it,” I say, smiling serenely, “everyone has their secrets.” Smiling, he seems relieved by my candor. Dropping his hand back down into his pocket, he looks forward and continues walking; he can remain a mystery for a while longer, I don't mind.

Deciding to make the most of what he did tell me, I ask, “so, soccer, huh? Were you any good~?” I try to imitate Amaya's lilt, but it just makes my voice crack.

Raising an eyebrow, he smirks at me playfully before answering, “well, since you asked so nicely, yeah. I was a God on the field.” His confident baritone is back, and I'm glad. “Women used to fall over at the sight of me!” he exclaims, then leans toward me and whispers, “stricken with fever.”

Catching onto his exaggeration, I decide to fake a swoon, closing my eyes and dramatically holding one hand to my forehead, the other over my heart and leaning back and sighing, “oh, Mister Nakai, you do have that effect on a lady~!” Leaning back further, I close my eyes dramatically. “I may swoon!” I say, but suddenly I feel cold.

Time seems to slow as the world turns over before my eyes, or it seems to, and I feel myself lurching forward; the fake swoon becomes a real one. Hearing Hisao start to laugh, I loll on my feet for a moment. The familiar numb, buzzing sensation runs down my spine and I feel light. My head rolls downward and I lose all sense of direction as the dizzy spell pulls me off my feet. His laughter is caught by a sudden gasp and a yell, “Aiko?”

Not in the face!

Instantly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and I'm pressed against something warm. My senses addled, I can't tell if it's the sun-baked sidewalk or a wall, but I think I'm still standing. Burying my head down as the waves of nausea wash over me, I blink reflexively as the world rotates out of control. For a second, I try to look up, but my vision blurs and my head pounds. Closing my eyes, I try to suppress a barely-audible whimper; I don't want Hisao to see this – not yet.

Coming from somewhere above me, I hear his worried voice again, “Aiko?” A moment later, I hear footsteps coming from nearby, which I assume belong to Amaya and Tadao.

“Oh, nice and smooth, Aiko” I hear her balking, “go right for the fake dizzy spell bit.” Amaya's playful tone makes me smile a bit, but I'm definitely not faking. The world is off its axis, and if not for this warm, soft wall, I would be flat on the ground by now. Focusing on the darkness behind my eyelids, I fight the spinning sensation, but the banal feeling remains.

“I don't think she's faking, Ams,” I hear Tadao's say, a concerned edge to his usual monotone. Opening my eyes again, hoping the whirling has subsided, I feel my whole body lurch sideways; though that might only be in my head. My eyes fall shut again and I concentrate on controlling the building nausea.

Keep the takoyaki in!

Hisao's voice comes again from above me, “is she alright?” and I suddenly realize the identity of this warm, soft, solid wall. Gasping, I try looking up, but the motion makes me turn back down and bury myself against him harder. Noticing the sound of it now, I can hear his heartbeat, and it's strangely comforting; though it sounds a little fast – and erratic.

My own heart flutters a bit as I concentrate on the sound, and I wonder if he's just excited by my leaning against him, or if it's terror making his heart beat so fast – both, probably. Grinning at the thought, despite the embarrassment, I hope nobody can see me smiling about such lascivious thinking – not that they'd know.

Realizing I'm now blushing, I'm glad my face seems to be buried in his chest. Not being able to see his face, I hope he's blushing too; it's only fair. Feeling his warmth starting to spread across me, or maybe I'm just getting warmer, I start to feel a little better. Imagining Shizune's reaction should she happen by, I grin at the angry stink-eye she'd be leveling at me – too bad for her, I'm enjoying this.

Time starts returning to normal, and I begin regaining my senses. Nearby hushed voices, and the pleasant odor of fried food fills my nose. There's a soapy smell, too, that's reminiscent of laundry detergent, but I think that's coming from Hisao. Smiling weakly, I look up at him, but his worried expression makes me frown.

Dammit.

Turning a pleading glance toward Amaya, he looks completely lost. Responding to his unasked question, she steps over and explains, “she gets dizzy spells sometimes. Ear thing. Walking around in this heat probably didn't help.”

Feeling her arm wrap under mine, I weakly try to squeak a protest, to have my pride, but Amaya is in mother mode. Wanting to say I'm fine, that I'll be alright without help, and that she doesn't have to step in now that I have this nice warm wall to lean on, I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. Inside, I know I'm not really fine yet; the world has calmed, but it's still spinning and my stomach feels like it wants to leap out through my throat.

“Help her down,” she says, and I don't have the physical or cognitive ability to argue. A moment later, Hisao's heat fades as I'm lowered to sit on the sidewalk, feeling like a wet rag being left in the sun.

This is mortifying.

Most of the time my dizzy spells are just quick little overbalancing escapades; but every so often the conditions are just right and I flop over like a rag doll. Nausea often accompanies the really bad spells, and I remember my parents used to worry terribly that I'd fall down the stairs or from some other precarious place. “Vertigo without the heights,” my doctor said once. I remember not understanding and just giggling – I was only seven. Right about now, I think I'd slap him or kick him – probably both.

“Usually they're over pretty quick, but sometimes they linger,” I hear Amaya say.

Finally gathering the strength to speak, if not to look at her, I balk, “I'm fine.”

Amaya pets my shoulder as I sit on the curb for a few minutes until I can collect myself. Hisao's feet, in those nice new shoes, shuffle uncomfortably for a few moments before he kneels down. Trying to smile at him, I instead double over quickly, holding my stomach and trying not to wretch. Hoping I don't mess up his new shoes, or my yukata, I focus on calming my churning gut.

Chancing a glance to read his face, the concerned, pale expression he wears makes me glad, that he's so obviously concerned, but I really don't want to seem like some storybook damsel in a dress. With that thought in mind, I will away the last of the nausea and force a smile, remarking, “you really do make ladies swoon.”

Seeing him start to laugh makes me glad, and I feel relieved when the worried expression is replaced by a mirthful grin. Amaya adds her booming laugh, and I even hear Tadao offering some soft chuckles; which is the most I ever hear when he laughs. Still feeling a little queasy, I don't join in the laughter, but I'm smiling as I take some deep breaths

Stomach settled, and feeling like the crisis has been averted, retaining the takoyaki, Amaya helps me back to my feet. “Stop making her swoon,” she chides, bumping her fist on Hisao's shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him. Nodding at Hisao, she wanders back over to Tadao, but I'm not focused on them at all.

Instead I'm looking at Hisao with an apologetic half-smile. There's still a little worry etched into his eyes, but he doesn't look unhappy. “Shall we continue the tour?” he asks, holding out a hand toward where Amaya and Tadao are walking away, smiling kindly. I grin, not being able to resist that smile.

I don't think I want to resist it.

Now leading a half-step ahead of me, he follows the tittering couple, and I stay carefully close. Sometimes, after a bad spell, there are aftershocks that can be almost as bad as the first one, but I don't tell him that. If I flop over again, I'm not worried about him reacting fast enough, but I don't want him to be overly concerned. Perhaps I'm a little like Amaya in that regard, or maybe I'm just concerned with first impressions.

My mind wanders as we walk and talk quietly. He explains how he was never really great at soccer, but liked to play socially. I tell him about how I never got into sports because of my balance problems, and he doesn't pry. Looking around as we talk, the sky begins to dim, and the stars start to show through the veil of the sky. Soon the sun is dipping low on the horizon, and the mood in the air begins to change.

During the day the festival is playful and childish; there are random giggling voices floating all around as people visit the different games and try the different foods. As the light drifts away, the atmosphere changes to something between somber and romantic.

It's a bit cliché, but the paper lanterns hanging in the trees and the lights from the festive booths cast a soft glow over everything, turning the whole festival ground into something surreal. Like an impressionist painting, the bright colors flow over the darkened background, and, for a while, it feels like I've stepped into another reality.

Nightfall brings a hush over the festival ground as people pick out spots in the fields, or up on the roof of the school, to sit and wait for the fireworks display. Amaya and Tadao sit down in the middle of the grassy field, and I see her hugging closely to Tadao, burying her eyes in his side. She's still worried about the bright flashes triggering an attack, but she's using that fear to push closer to Tadao. I smile and nod at them, feeling pride in my work – though I really didn't do much.

Okay, I did trick them into this, but they needed to be tricked.

Hisao sits down next to a tree and leans against it, beckoning me to join him with a pat on the grass to his left. I comply without hardly a thought, and sit right next to him, leaning forward with my arms wrapped around my knees, looking up at the sky expectantly. He leans back against the tree and turns his gaze skyward, waiting.

As the first flickers of light begin to burst in the sky, I carefully plug my right ear with a finger, listening to the blood rush in my head as the thundering pops reverberate through my body. Hisao leans forward seeing me with my finger stuck in my ear and raises an eyebrow quizzically. Turning, I smile at him wistfully.

“Does the sound bother you?” he asks, looking back up at the sky. A bright flash of blue flickers across his face and I watch the cascade of shimmering stars reflecting in his eyes.

Stop staring!

Sighing, I grin, saying, “no, I just like the vibrations better.” Catching that happy smile on his face, I wistfully add, “I used to sit with my dad and we'd both block our ears during the fireworks. He said it was really the reverberations you remember. Like the drumbeat to a good song.”

Leaning back against the tree, he lifts his own fingers up to block both ears. “Like this?” he asks, looking silly.

Leaning back, I nudge his arm. With both of us blocking our ears, we need to be closer to continue the conversation. “Yeah,” I say loudly.

“Y'know fireworks are more than just vibrations,” he's almost yelling to reach over the din of explosions – and through my sound-blocking finger. His eyes remain skyward as I turn myself slightly and lean back, resting against his chest and staring skyward. He continues explaining, “the colors are different because the various charges are filled with both black powder and some other granulated metal that burns with a specific color.”

That's... nice.

As I lean against him under the tree, I'm lost in the warmth again, and I lose track of what he's talking about. I think he's still explaining how fireworks get their bright colors, but I'm not certain. It doesn't matter. I feel the vibrations from his talking more than I hear his words. My conscious mind drifts away from his voice such that it becomes a senseless whisper interspersed with colorful explosions that rattle the ground and remind me of my childhood.

Feeling as though I should remember what this is like, I concentrate my senses on the surroundings. Sitting in the cool grass, the smell of fried foods and smoke hanging in the air, the din happy laughter and exclamations rising from the crowd behind us, and his dulcet baritone whispering sweet unknowns, it's a warm, contented sensation. I want to remember the warmth and the safety I feel sitting here, feeling like it's the most right place to be in the world.

As the final flourish of bright flashes explode above us, I turn to look at his face and see a beaming smile that makes me consider doing something drastic. He looks down at me then, and I can almost hear his thoughts in accordance with my own. I feel safe and warm, and my heart flutters as I recognize his own swift heartbeats echoing against my shoulder. I shift, we pause, and the last few blasts, shimmering as they fall, shake through us, showering us in an ethereal blue glow. The echo resonates between us, caught in the space between, and our eyes lock.

Time stands still. The sudden absence of sound creates a vortex of perception, and all I see are those peaceful brown eyes staring back at me, dreamily beckoning. My remaining consciousness screams to push forward, to close the distance and meet with those eyes, his lips; but I hear a sound then, and glance away. The spell is broken by a random whistle somewhere in the distance, directed elsewhere, piercing my impassioned mind, and the vortex begins to recede. Letting out a stifled giggle, I slowly lurch away, retreating from that warm sensation.

What just happened?

Barely hearing the din of cheers rise up around us, clouded thoughts race through my head and I'm awash with embarrassment. Wrapping my hands around my knees again, I look down, averting my eyes. Feeling my face flushed with heat, my breathing is quickened and coming in short gasps as I try to regain control.

The memory is already hazy, but I'm certain that actually just happened – or almost happened. Flinching at the touch, I feel a hand on my shoulder; a strong hand that feels alien, though reassuring. In its grasp, I recall the beating of his heart, of my heart, and I remember his eyes. The memory is lost almost as quickly as it came, the hand awkwardly retracted.

Amaya's sleepy voice breaks the silence, coming from somewhere far away, “well, that was fun~!”

Feeling cold air rush over me, there's a late-spring breeze carrying the scent of sulfur, though it's not entirely unpleasant. Chilling at first, it reminds me where I am. The cool grass, the night air, the star-filled sky and the distant, cheerful laughter fill my senses. My breathing slows to normal and my heart stops racing – I regain control.

Needing to say something, offer an explanation or a contrivance, my mind swirls with possible answers. The truth is too embarrassing to utter, so I decide to lie. “Sorry,” I say, keeping my head buried against my knees, “another dizzy spell.”

Coming from behind, Hisao's slightly stilted, concerned voice asks, “are you alright?”

Smiling despite his inability to see it, I let out a swift breath and assure him, “I'll be fine.”

My thoughts are jumbled, but the embarrassing feeling has passed - mostly. My face cools, realizing he believes my little lie for now, and I almost believe it myself. I have heard of cosmic tumblers clicking into place, but never imagined it could feel so real. Nearly being swept up in the moment, nothing had happened, so everything could go back to normal – right?

Why do I feel so disappointed?

“What'd you do to her this time?” I hear Amaya ask. Finally looking up, still facing away from Hisao, I see Amaya walking back toward us with Tadao in tow. Looking over my shoulder at Hisao, her tone is slightly angry, but her expression is a crooked smirk.

Hisao stutters a response, “n-nothing. We were-”

Interjecting, I finish his thought, “enjoying the fireworks.” Turning to me, Amaya raising an eyebrow. Ignoring her look of disbelief, I continue explaining, “I had a dizzy spell looking at the sky is all.” I hate lying to her and Tadao -and Hisao- but I barely know what really happened, and I'd be too embarrassed to admit to what I think happened – or what almost happened.

It didn't happen, right?

The certainty I had seems to be lost and I know I'm making a confused face. If Amaya and Tadao can see it, I'm glad they aren't reacting.

“The Swooner strikes again,” Tadao says, nodding at Hisao. If he were close enough, I think I would actually kick him this time – perceptions be damned.

Hearing Hisao standing up behind me, I finally turn to look at him. Standing fully, though slouching, he looks a little bewildered. I think he might even be having the same battle in his mind over what happened - or didn't happen. Turning away, trying to hide my own bewildered expression, I just want this to be over. Seeing Amaya extending a hand, I accept it, and decide to play out the dizzy bit, wobbling as I stand.

She reaches to catch me, but I steady myself and smile. “I'll be alright,” I say, “just a bit of reverse vertigo.” I'm not really sure if that's a thing, but it sounds technical enough and Amaya doesn't argue. I'll have to remember that if I'm asked about this later.

Lying is hard work.

“Well, if you say so,” she says, offering a wink neither of the boys can see.

What does that wink mean?

Stepping around me, she grabs Tadao's hand, and they pass by Hisao after a few strides. Watching them walk away, I realize I'll have to wait to find out what she meant – nothing good, probably. Washing the confusion off my face with a wave of my hand, I flip my hair, and turn, grinning at Hisao. He replies with a smile of his own and I start walking, him falling in step beside me as I pass.

The memory of our earlier stuttering contest plays out in my head as we walk back toward the dorms in silence. I feel much less awkward than I should, really. We almost kissed. That's what happened. We only met three days ago, and we've barely talked in that time, but somehow, out under the stars, we got wrapped up in the moment.

Uncertain whether he feels the same, I think I can admit to myself that I was attracted to him almost immediately – especially after we spent some time alone together. I can also admit that I wanted it to happen -the kiss, I mean- and I still feel disappointed. However, I also know that it's way too soon. Logically, at least, and probably emotionally.

Part of me wants to punch my logical self until it bleeds, but it's ducking the blows. There are other reasons why I shouldn't be getting involved with boys; school, family obligations, total embarrassment, and the potential for rejection – those last two have been keeping me in check so far. The other, deeper reason, I try not to think about. Whenever it comes up, I find myself revisiting that horrible dream. Pushing the thoughts aside, I concentrate on walking; walking with Hisao.

That sounds like the title to a movie.

When we reach the crossroads, which sounds much more dramatic than it is, between the boys and girls dorms, we stop. Like earlier, there are about two meters of air between us, but no Shizune or Misha. Amaya and Tadao are somewhere behind me, but I don't feel threatened by them – merely annoyed. The lamps overhead cast a dim glow, illuminating Hisao face.

“I'm glad you yelled at me,” he says, a wistful smile spreading on his lips.

“Well, you had fun, right~?” I ask, attempting Amaya's lilt again, I but it sounds forced. Leaning forward, grinning and putting my hands on my hips in exaggerated fashion, I add, “see, festivals are awesome~!”

“Oh, you seem proud of yourself,” he says, offering a raised eyebrow. “Mission accomplished and all,” he remarks sardonically.

Before I can reply, Tadao passes by me, punching my shoulder on the way, and I swat at his arm in response. “See ya tomorrow, Aiko,” he says, then, turning at Hisao, “you too, maybe, Swooner.”

Hisao nods, but then shakes his head a bit, apparently noticing the nickname for the first time. Turning to watch Tadao run off, he protests, “I didn't do anything!”

Tadao's laughter, like that of a madman, echoes between the buildings as he jogs out from under the lamplight and reappears at the door to the boy's dorm. He waves at us and calls loudly, dramatically reciting a poem he apparently thought up as we wandered around today.

Beware the Swooner, stalking the night.
Hunting in darkness, his gaze burning bright.
Vested in argyle, the Swooner does walk.
Women thus fall aghast, outlined in chalk.
The Swooner cares not, whether they rise.
Forever he searches, for more innocent sighs.

His dark poem finished, he leaps in through the door, leaving us to giggle at his composition. Hisao is shaking his head and stifling his laughter as he turns back to me asking, “is he always like that?”

“He's usually worse,” I admit.

“That's my man you're berating, Aiko!” Amaya scolds from far over my shoulder. Turning, I seeing her leaning forward with one hand on her hip and the other waving a finger in front of her. The animated position makes me think she watches too much television. Rolling my eyes, I shoot her a glare; to which she responds with a messy raspberry and turns to run for the girls dorm.

About half way there, she stops and spins to say one last thing, “either slap the Swooner or kiss him, but do it fast. We do have school tomorrow~!” Turning away, she continues running. My eyes widen as I remember her wink.

Did she see what almost happened?

Groaning at the thought, I trying to hide it in a giggle; though I can't stop my hands from hands balling into fists. Shaking my head and steadying myself, I look back at Hisao. His eyes are closed and he's chuckling quietly. “She's quite a character,” he comments.

“She's a pain in my ass,” I gripe, blowing a stray hair out of my face and planting a hand on my hip in frustration.

Pointing a thumb at the building behind him, he frowns and looks perturbed. “I better go make sure Kenji didn't set the place on fire or something,” he says, and I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic. The name makes me recoil a little, a bewildered expression crossing my face; he grins at my reaction.

Does he mean Kenji Setou?

He explains, “he's my hall-mate. Short, skinny, and kinda wily,” he describes. “I'm pretty sure he's legally blind, too. Big coke-bottle glasses,” he says, holding his thumb and pointer fingers together over his eyes to imitate a pair of glasses – but I didn't need the visual aid.

Setou has a reputation for being odd, paranoid and belligerent. I recall his incensed march into the Student Council room when he blindly berated Shizune's merit badge idea. A crowd had followed him in purely out of curiosity to see a blind -mostly blind- man screaming obscenities at a deaf-mute girl – it was surreal; not to mention pointless. Misha was so shocked, she didn't even translate.

No wonder Hisao was thinking of staying away from the festival; Setou probably put the idea in his head. I can't imagine what it must be like to share a wall with him – or a bathroom, for that matter. I shudder at the thought.

“You poor thing,” I say simply.

He closes his eyes, nodding and smirking. “I guess that means he's not flying as far under the radar as he thinks.”

I hold up a hand to shush him, and lean forward conspiratorially, whispering, “I heard from someone he keeps dynamite in his room, so don't make him mad whatever you do.” It's probably not true -I hope it's not true- but the best rumors are often the most outlandish.

I really hope it's not true.

He pales a little, hearing the ridiculous claim, and I wonder if he thinks it could be true – or if he knows it's true.

Could Kenji Setou really be amassing explosives in his room for some fanatical reason?

After a few uncomfortable seconds he starts backing away slowly. “Good advice,” he says, offering a wave, “I'll see you around, right?”

Being uncertain how much sarcasm he's laying on, I'm a little late to respond. “Count on it,” I say, but it's a little to quiet for him to hear. Instead of repeating it, I just nod and wave back. Feeling like lingering to watch him walk into the dorm, I realize someone might be watching, like Amaya, for instance, so I turn on my heel and start walking back to the girls' dorm. Not seeing Amaya standing in the doorway to sneak a look at our parting, I turn and glance over my shoulder just in time to see Hisao step through the door.

As soon as I walk near the common room, I feel her eyes on me. Amaya steps through the door gulping down a bottle of water and makes a noise at me so I'll stop walking. As much as I feel like I should talk about it, I want to sleep on the information. Holding up my hand as she bounds over, I hush her questions before they start. “It's late, we're both tired,” I explain, “and we can talk about all this tomorrow.”

My statement has the benefit of being right on all three points, and Amaya nods in response. Ever curious, she leans in and asks, “can you at least tell me if you kissed him?”

Rolling my eyes reflexively, I stare at her blankly and say flatly, “you first.”

Paling, she turns away to hide a blush. “You're right, we can wait until tomorrow,” she says, ending with a nervous giggle.

She probably wants to process the day as much as I do, so the discussion ends there. She and Tadao were practically -and literally- joined at the hip by the time I saw them and I wonder how their morning went – out of my sight. It can wait until morning, but I'll definitely be asking her about it, and I'll be expecting details.

Heading to our rooms quietly, we agree to withhold our burning questions until tomorrow. Flopping onto my bed the instant I've kicked off my shoes and changed into my nightshirt I don't even bother taking the braid or the ribbon out of my hair. After almost landing on my laptop, I shove it off to the side and lower it down to the floor before drawing the covers up over me and settling into my pillow.

The world melts away into serene darkness as I close my eyes and sink into my blankets. Wistful memories of walking with Hisao dance through my imagination, and a contented smile spreads on my lips as a result. The weight of the looming festival finally lifts away and I relax, drifting into sweet dreams about today's near-miss.

Or near-hit, rather. Right?
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Chapter 6: http://pastebin.com/L2pUU7Sh