Tomorrow's Doom A.3/C.26 - Fireworks

Chapter 25: http://pastebin.com/kVwVNrfe
___________________________________
Chapter 26 - Fireworks

After reclaiming our seats on the patio, Amaya and I delight in making snide comments about Kenta and Tadao lacking even basic cooking skills, though they turn it on me a few times once they start feeling brave. Naoko comes back from her shower with the giddy stride back in her step, and, after a nod shared with Nobuo, heads over to join the other girls on the beach for some late-afternoon sunbathing. From my vantage point, it seems Shizune has taken advantage of her presence to put Yoko through another crash course in sign language.

Eventually Nobuo gets tired of trying to instruct his two assistants and sends them away, insisting he can handle the rest himself. With them freed, they start badgering Amaya to let them get their pyrotechnics planted. She holds out for a few minutes just to make them whine, but eventually tosses Tadao the bag, warning that their display better not be disappointing. Apparently, their plan is to link several of them together and set them all off in sequence, but I'm not convinced it won't just blow up in their faces.

Instead of voicing that particular concern, I just roll my eyes and shake my head as they wander toward the beach. Arguing with their plan probably wouldn't do any good, and if it actually works it should make for quite a show. Besides, I'm sure I can find a safe distance before the explosions start.

The last of our mismatched troupe remains somewhat of a mystery – as always. Sitting quietly on the nearby steps with his nose in a book, Hisao seems content with solitude, though I'm not sure he's getting much reading done. Whether he knows or not, I've noticed his frequent glances in my general direction while I've been chatting with Amaya, and I think there's something on his mind; something about me, and I'm more than a little curious.

It could be something simple that he feels silly even saying; especially with Amaya nearby. Then again, I've seen that look before, and it didn't lead to anything simple; it was when he told me about his arrhythmia. Vowing to smile for the rest of the day makes me want to ignore it, but I can't help wondering why he looks so preoccupied.

Luckily, before I can dwell on it too much, Shizune appears before me with Misha in tow. The prideful smirk on her face has me worried, but Misha's bright grin has me completely terrified. Fortunately, I'm less than accurate in my apprehension as they're apparently here to tell us about getting the bonfire started. After telling us that, she turns a bobcat smile toward Amaya and beckons her over to have a private chat with Yoko; Shizune is the only one smiling at the prospect.

Pretending to be absorbed in his book, Hisao doesn't make a sound as Naoko and I step around him to head inside for some pillows. While we're inside, Naoko turns a curious glance at me and asks what conversation we were leaving outside, but I think it's better if everyone is surprised by the results from their bet, so I claim not to know anything.

On the way down the stairs, I notice Hisao still hasn't moved from his spot. The book is still held open in his hands, but he's not even looking at the text anymore. Instead his eyes are turned upward like he's lost in thought. When she notices me staring, Naoko gives me a little nod and hurries her light footsteps down past Hisao and straight out toward the beach.

Stepping lightly, I try to be as quiet as possible on my approach, but it doesn't take much stealth to stay under his distracted radar. When I've reached the step just behind him, I lean against the railing and try to look at his book, but it's not open enough to read anything. Giving up on that, I step down and sit beside him, clutching the pillow in my lap.

Although he doesn't protest my sitting here, I think I'm making him a little uncomfortable. Assuming he senses my presence at all, he doesn't say anything. Whatever thoughts are stirring behind those narrowed eyes, he seems determined to keep it to himself, though I'm suddenly not sure it was ever about me; something tells me it's more complicated than that.

After a few minutes, I nudge him with my shoulder and joke, “I didn't know you read romance novels.”

“Huh?” he replies, turning and widening his eyes as though he only just noticed me.

“Hi,” I say, lifting a hand to wave, “welcome back to reality.”

Closing the book, he looks away from me and sighs, but doesn't say anything else. Whatever he's thinking about, it has him feeling too embarrassed or confused to look at me, and that makes me even more worried. Obviously something is wrong, but he's not in any mood to talk about it, so I do my best to quiet the millions of doubtful thoughts running through my head and put on a smile.

“What'cha reading, anyway?” I ask, leaning against his shoulder to try catching a look at the cover.

“Something a friend recommended,” he replies, holding the book out so I can read the title.

 “Life of Pi,” I read aloud. Raising an eyebrow, I try to sound interested in asking, “What's it about?”

Turning a despondent look down at the book in his hand, he shrugs and replies, “I'm not really sure yet.” Resting it on his knee, he turns a sidelong glance at me and adds, “I keep getting distracted.”

“Oh?” I prompt, holding up the pillow to hide everything but my eyes, “distracted good, or distracted bad?”

Please be good. Please be good.

Letting out a little laugh, he shrugs and shakes his head as he replies, “Good, I guess.”

Good, I guess? Anything good is better than bad at this point.

“I like the book,” he continues, turning it over to look at the synopsis. After a second, he smirks and adds, “But I like the distractions, too.”

“Well, if you don't mind the distractions,” I say, dropping the pillow back down to my lap, “why not join us by the fire.”

“There's no fire yet,” he replies, completely deadpan.

“There will be,” I assure him, smirking weirdly.

“Will it be hot?” he asks, returning my weird smirk.

“Very hot,” I reply, but I quickly furrow my brow.

Wait, what are we talking about?

Whether he's having that thought or not, I can't tell, but the long pause following our little heated exchange leads me to believe he's thinking something similar at least. The subject rapidly shifted from innocent to innuendo, and neither of us seems to have any idea where to go next.  Gripping the pillow tightly to my chest, I can feel a blush rush across my face, but at least I'm not alone in my embarrassment.

“Hey!” Amaya's cheerful lilt breaks the silence, “you two gonna gawk at each-other all night or can we get this fire started~!”

Resisting the reflex to hide my face with the pillow, I turn a grin at her and wave with my free hand. “Be right there,” I answer, averting my eyes away from Hisao. As I stand, I swat him with the pillow then lean close to whisper, “Hold that thought,” and bite my lip to suppress a giggle.

To be continued...

With the sun hanging low on the horizon, the beach is bathed in a hazy orange glow cut by long shadows from the group standing around the unlit fire. Everyone is chattering and laughing, but once Hisao and I have arrived, Shizune holds her hands up to call for silence. Out from a back pocket, she produces a torch lighter and holds it up high, flashing a wide grin as she sparks it to life for a few seconds, but she doesn't make any motion toward the kindling.

With a curious glint in her eyes, she scans the gathered crowd and squints at each of us in turn before settling her analytical gaze on Yoko, then Amaya. Apparently their bet is going to be settled before the fire gets started. Nobody else knows that, of course, so the tension is really only held between Yoko and Amaya, but I assume Shizune won't let it remain a secret for long.

After a few long moments, Shizune turns toward me and grins deviously; with Misha seeming as oblivious as the rest, I think I know what she needs me for. The torch slips back into her pocket and her hands raise up in front to draw everyone's attention before she signs for me to translate, [Yoko and Amaya have a bet to settle, and, in light of that, I've come up with a race to determine which of them wins the honor of putting flame to the bonfire.]

Although most everyone can already understand sign, and I feel a little strange being her parrot, I almost feel honor-bound to relay her message carefully. After doing so, I turn my attention back to see Shizune nodding proudly and pointing toward an umbrella stuck in the sand some distance down the beach.

[Each must start at the fire pit and complete two laps around the umbrella and back,] she explains, this time while I'm translating at the same time, [but I'll leave the other terms,] she pauses and casts a raised eyebrow toward them both, [for them to reveal.]

Knowing what that entails makes it hard to say the last bits, and I'm caught in a fit of giggling as I reach for Hisao's hand and start dragging him up the hill. While on the way, he turns a confused smirk at me and asks what Shizune meant, but I remain stoically silent and try to suppress my snickering. That becomes more difficult when I see Tadao turning similar questions on Amaya, but I manage to restrain myself long enough to watch the rest of the group split off along the route.

Tadao and Kenta head down toward the other end behind the umbrella while Naoko stands somewhere in the middle. Shizune keeps Misha nearby and relates some instructions while Yoko and Amaya wait for them to finish.

Scanning their faces, neither Yoko nor Amaya appears thrilled by the prospect, but they both look determined to see this through. Despite her fidgeting, Yoko stands tall over her shorter competitor, red hair seeming to glow in the hazy sunset, squinting and staring; though the nervous smile makes her look much less intimidating than she probably intends. Meanwhile Amaya stares right back, sticking her tongue out a few times and grinning when Tadao starts heckling.

When Misha starts giggling, I turn my attention back in their direction and see Shizune rolling her eyes. [Focus!] she signs, pursing her lips angrily, [this is serious!]

“Shicchan~!” Misha yells between laughs, “this is too funny~!”

Shizune is not amused by Misha's reaction, and shows it by snapping her fingers loudly and setting a cold stare on her pink-haired friend. When that doesn't work right away, Shizune folds her arms and starts tapping her bare foot in the sand, waiting out Misha's laughter. Neither competitors complain about the wait, both seeming content to put as much time between now and their upcoming humiliation as possible.

“Sorry~!” Misha lilts as she catches her breath, “I'm fine now.”

With a nod from Shizune, Yoko and Amaya break away and find some relative privacy behind the fire pit to reveal the other part of their bet. Only Hisao and I are in clear view, and, for a moment, I consider whether I want Hisao to see this, but I can't think of how I could stop it if I tried. While I don't think there's anything alluring about two girls standing there nervously and removing their tops, it seems to capture his attention instantly.

“What is going on?” he breathes, nudging me with his elbow.

Shaking my head, I just nudge back and rest my head on his shoulder mumbling, “Do you need an explanation?” When he doesn't respond, I look up to see his eyes completely mesmerized.

I don't think he heard me at all...

Turning my attention toward the spectacle, I'm surprised to see Amaya standing there half-naked while Yoko fiddles with the knot in her bathing suit. Of course she has her hands in place to retain some modesty, but that won't last if they're expected to run. Looking at her dejected expression, though, I'm not sure whether she's covering them out of modesty or because she's feeling a little envious of Yoko's more ample cup-size.

Knowing her, it's probably both.

Behind them, Shizune and Misha are looking away and acting as bouncers for any prying eyes, though I don't quite understand why they're bothering. Yoko finally extracts the knot and reaches up to cover herself as the top falls to the ground. Next to me, I hear an audible gasp from Hisao and I almost turn to see the look on his face, but I don't think I could do that without breaking out laughing.

After exchanging a careful glance, the gamblers step out from behind the barrier and walk out in front of Shizune, both still clutching their modesty; quite literally. The chatter from the rest of the spectators dies down and a short-lived stunned silence follows, immediately followed by an exasperated sigh from Kenta.

“Where's my damn camera!” he laments, immediately taking a slap across the back of the head from Tadao.

“No pictures~!” Misha retorts, and both girls nod in agreement.

“And no tackling!” Amaya adds, shooting an accusatory glare at Kenta.

Shizune starts signing again, but, since she's facing away, I have to wait for Misha's irate translation, “Look with your eyes, not your hands~!”

“Or don't look at all,” Yoko requests.

Naoko silently giggles, cupping her hands over her mouth in a futile attempt to hide her reaction. Meanwhile, Kenta rubs his hands together like a cliché villain while taking a few sidling steps away from Tadao, who looks like he might pounce on and pummel his long-time friend.

I think I'd like to see that, actually...

“Remind me not to make any bets with Shizune,” Hisao mumbles. Deciding not to correct him, I just nod and grunt an affirmative. It's probably good advice even if this wasn't actually her fault, though I assume the race was her idea.

As I'm watching this unfold, I can't help but wonder whether it could have been me stuck doing a topless relay. If Shizune hadn't picked me to help her gather stones, I might have been along with Yoko or Amaya, ended up making a similarly stupid bet, and found myself standing in front of all my friends -and Hisao- about to make a mad dash for everyone else's amusement. Even if it really did happen that way, I don't know if I would have half the composure they both seem to have.

Then again, they haven't exactly exposed themselves yet.

As she steps off to the side, Shizune flashes her bobcat grin at me and then nods toward Misha. Following that, Misha steps up in front of the pair and holds both her arms out.

Without more than a second to get herself in position, Misha booms, “Ready~!”

Yoko and Amaya lean forward, still wrapping their arms across their chests. Meanwhile, Misha looks like she might double over laughing any second.

“Set~!” she continues, lifting her arms up slightly.

A calm silence falls over the group and I see both of them visibly tense; for more reasons than I'd like to think about. During the quiet moment, I sneak a glance at Hisao and see his face frozen in an expression somewhere between anticipation, lechery and horror. For a second, I actually wish it were me about to run half-naked across the twilight-soaked beach, just so he'd be looking at me like that. Shaking my head to shove the thought aside, I have to look away to hide the sudden blush as my mind wanders toward less than pure thoughts.

“Go~!” Misha yells, louder than normal, dropping her arms as both girls leap into motion.

Yoko has a clear advantage with her height providing longer strides, so she takes an early lead, but her gait is awkward due to her hands still grasping tightly to her chest. Amaya, on the other hand, kicks sand in her wake as her hands, and other appendages, fly free. Both of them are running away, of course, so the spectacle is obscured from our angle, but not so much for Kenta and Tadao who moved down toward the umbrella.

Kenta seems to have lost control of his face, and especially his tongue since it's literally dangling out the side of his mouth. Luckily, the anger Tadao was harboring seems to have been washed away completely as soon as Amaya's hands came free – which is hardly surprising. What does surprise me is that, between the two, he's cheering the loudest. Apparently the mild-mannered Tadao drops by the wayside when his girlfriend's breasts are involved, so instead of stoic silence he starts whistling and cheering her name. Despite that being somewhat adorable, I have to try not thinking about it because I know how my mind works.

It isn't until they're both rounding the umbrella and Amaya catches up that Yoko abandons her modesty – just in time for Hisao to get an eyeful. If he wants to say anything or cheer, he's not doing so, which I think has to do with my proximity. This whole show is more for the boys' benefit than anyone else, and I doubt any of them haven't seen something like this before; just maybe not right in front of them.

Except Tadao, of course...

Training my eyes on Yoko's uncomfortable expression, any fantasy I had about being in her place for Hisao's benefit flies out of my mind. If not for her running, I'd think she were being tortured considering the horrified expression on her face. Amaya doesn't look any more thrilled, but they're pressing on anyway; the race is almost half over.

Taking a quick glance at Hisao, there's a bit of Yoko's uncomfortable look reflected in his face, though it's crowded out by the gleeful grin. Seeing him react like that, I should probably feel jealous, but I don't want to ruin this for him. If I didn't know any better, and I probably don't, I'd think he were wishing he could see this in slow-motion.

“Slower, ladies!” Kenta yells, “there's no rush!”

Okay, so, Kenta's a pig, but that doesn't mean Hisao is, too...

Ignoring his pleas, they round the fire pit still running side-by-side and both break into a sprint. As they pass by Misha, I notice her hopping in place and clapping excitedly while Shizune watches with a detached expression, though her bobcat grin remains. When they pass Naoko, she gives up on hiding the excited smile and waves them along, pulling up her shirt collar and biting down on it to contain her glee.

“Don't let that Canadian beat you!” Tadao bellows as they circle the umbrella and start on the last leg of the race.

After they've gotten back into an even stride, Amaya reaches a hand out wide and tries giving Yoko a sturdy shove. Apparently there are no rules against it since Shizune just looks on and nods playfully, but the plan backfired. Instead of pushing Yoko off balance, Amaya loses her own, and nearly falls flat on her face before barely managing to catch her stumbling feet.

Yoko's stride doesn't falter, and she pushes ahead while Amaya regains her footing. Thwarting Amaya's attempt finally puts a smile on her face, and Yoko starts laughing giddily. Even if she ran her fastest, there's no way Amaya could catch her, and they both know the race is over.

Holding out the lighter for Yoko to take as she finishes the race, Shizune doesn't bother being offended when the champion quickly darts around the fire pit. Dropping to her knees in the sand, Yoko ditches the lighter and retrieves her bikini top, quickly wrapping it around her chest. Amaya isn't quite so quick to seek out her own clothes, taking a moment to rest her hands on her knees and catch her breath before retrieving her shirt. Despite both probably feeling exposed, humiliated and objectified, they're back to laughing.

“Dammit~!” Amaya yells shooting a glare toward Tadao, “Thanks Dumbass!”

Tadao only shrugs and says nothing in response; I don't think it's his fault, though.

“Cheaters never prosper!” I chide.

“No more comments from the peanut gallery!” she complains.

“Which two ladies are next!?” Kenta asks, but everyone ignores him – well, momentarily, at least.

Once she has her shirt on straight, Amaya sticks her tongue out at him and Yoko grunts, “Show's over.”

“Not yet~!” Misha retorts, drawing horrified looks from both of them. After a second, she points at the fire pit and adds, “Light the fire~!”

With a relieved sigh, Yoko picks the lighter up and rolls her eyes. “Don't scare me like that!” she balks.

“You all understand I'll murder you in your sleep if this gets back to anyone at school,” Amaya threatens, casting a devious smirk around at the group. “Especially you, Giggles,” she adds, pointing at Naoko.

The deaf girl shakes her head and pouts, but nods when Misha translates. Even though Naoko usually keeps things to herself, I don't blame Amaya for being so direct with the green-haired gossip. If word got around the class about this little escapade, I can't imagine it ending well for anyone involved. After locking eyes with her for a second, Amaya smiles and reaches for Tadao, leading him over to sit down and hide behind his lanky frame.

Just in time for the sun to fall under the horizon, Yoko sets the blaze then ducks away. The fire crackles to life, quickly engulfing the sun-dried wood in flames while everyone settles into a wide circle. Compared to the half-naked race, lighting the bonfire is surprisingly underwhelming for everyone.  After a few comments about it, everyone falls silent and we spend a few minutes looking around uncomfortably.

Nobody seems to know what to say about what just happened, or if we should talk about it at all; least of all Yoko or Amaya. Even Kenta is eerily quiet, but that probably has more to do with his seating arrangement than anything else. Despite his lewd commentary, which I know is bluster even when he sounds serious, Yoko is latching onto him. Wrapping one arm up around his shoulder and resting the other on his knee, with her face buried against his arm, Yoko is using him to hide in plain sight.

Huddling her knees up close to her chest and letting her hair hang across her face like a barrier, I can't see her expression, but I imagine it's somewhere between relieved and mortified. Still, it's good to see her latching onto someone rather than finding a lonely corner somewhere like the despondent wallflower she acts like at school. Thinking about it that way, this was probably a good experience for her, though I doubt she would agree.

“Do you ever stop plotting?” Hisao asks suddenly, shocking me out of staring.

Okay, I was gawking...

The question takes a second to register, and when it does I try to put on an offended front, but he can see through that. “You get a look like that when you're plotting something,” he remarks.

On reflex, I bring a hand up to my face, trying to figure out what he's talking about, but I instantly feel silly and retract my hand. “What face?” I ask, trying to sound innocent, “I make a face?”

“Yeah, like this,” he answers, immediately twisting his jaw and biting the side of his lip as some kind of imitation. After holding it for a second he shakes his head and laughs, “You do it better, though.”

“I wasn't plotting,” I say, trying to get us off the topic of my facial expressions, “I was just thinking.”

“Ah, my mistake,” he replies, “they're very similar looks.”

“You mean like your squinty-face?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and squinting; trying to imitate the thinking face I've seen so often.

When he responds by making the same face, I can't help break out laughing. That unintentional outburst has a ripple effect on the group, breaking the silence and leading to some renewed conversation. Nobody asks what set me off, and the subject of the bet is still left in limbo, but none of that matters. For a short while, we just sit around the fire joking and laughing, and it doesn't feel like wasted time at all.

Mostly...

With twilight turning to night, Nobuo, carrying a little stool and a ukulele he apparently keeps in his car trunk, finally joins us by the fire. Of course, nobody really pays him any attention since the first thing he mentions is that the food is all done and waiting. While we all get up and start running toward the food, he finds a spot to set his stool down and starts tuning the instrument Naoko never told me he played.

Not feeling like getting my bare feet stepped on, I hang back while everyone else rifles through the impressive spread. Looking over the smoked sausages, steaks, and a whole pork loin along with three different salads, I wonder if he expected a whole army to be showing up for dinner. Then again, watching Kenta piling food onto his increasingly flimsy-looking paper plate, I could see this entire buffet winding up in his gullet; though I doubt it would stay for long.

Let's not think about that possibility, shall we?

With our plates full, we head back to the fire where Nobuo is happily strumming out a familiar tune. The song escapes me for the moment, but I know there are lyrics. Turning toward Naoko once I've sat down, I catch her attention and sign, [You didn't tell me he played.]

Maybe that's not the best question to ask a deaf girl...

[I didn't know,] she replies, [I've never even seen that little guitar.]

[It's a ukulele,] I impulsively correct her, [and he's pretty good with it.]

“Thanks,” Nobuo says, nodding toward me.

For a second I don't know what to do with myself. Sometimes I forget sign language isn't the same as whispering, and someone can eavesdrop without being in earshot, or straining, or so much as being noticed. My little conversation with Naoko wasn't meant to be observed, but I can hardly hold it against Nobuo since I didn't even make an effort to look like I was trying to be secretive. That probably would have made him more suspicious, anyway.

Unable to prevent the embarrassed flush to my cheeks, I nod apologetically and reply, “Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt you.”

“That's okay,” he assures me, but I can see a devious smirk spreading across his lips. “You'll just have to sing as an apology,” he adds with a wink toward Naoko, “I insist.”

Despite his indication toward Naoko, I know where to find his informant. While he plays through the melody again, I lock eyes with Amaya and meet her sheepish grin with a deadly stare. This might be payback of some kind, or she just wants someone else to humiliate themselves before the night is out, but, whatever the reason, I can tell it was her idea to put me in this situation.

“She had nothing to do with it,” Hisao whispers, leading me to snap that same cold look on him. “You're not the only schemer here,” he adds, not even flinching at my surprised reaction.

I've been had!

Looking at the smile on Hisao's face, though, I suddenly don't feel bad about being set up like this. Practically every time he can work it into the conversation since he caught me that morning, he's brought up my singing in a positive light. It's not like I really have a good reason not to sing for my friends, I just find it embarrassing; I don't know how people do it on stage with millions of people watching. Drugs and alcohol might have something to do with their confidence, but at least one of those is out of the question and we're out of wine.

Even my deaf friends are staring at me, waiting for the inevitable. While I assume Shizune is so interested because she delights in watching people squirm, Naoko's attentiveness is harder to understand. She once explained that music is more about vibrations for her – like how I enjoy fireworks – and that makes sense, I guess. With Nobuo's ukulele strumming guiding her, she's swaying with the rhythm and smiling at me with a glassy expression; like there's something nostalgic about this for her. Maybe I should ask her about that sometime.

I'm stalling.

Impatience is creeping into their expressions, and I know I can't delay any longer, so, when Nobuo restarts the melody, I just start singing. It's an old folk tune I learned from Mom, and the lyrics are somewhat convoluted so I'm mostly trying not to screw them up too terribly. Singing it again for the first time in years brings back some memories of late-night campfires and smiling faces, which helps me ignore the nervous sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Hisao might still deserve a swift kick to the shins for this...

The crackling fire and rolling waves help decide the tempo, which ends up being a relatively slow pace. That's probably a good thing, though; I end up repeating a refrain while trying to recall the next verse. Nobuo adjusts his playing to match, but I've soon recalled the rest and it begins to sound like we've been playing together for years.

While I'm singing, I manage to watch some of their reactions. Naoko continues swaying while Shizune glances at Misha a few times looking for some indication about my ability, I think. Unfortunately, Misha has her eyes closed and keeps letting out little giggles, apparently enjoying herself. Tadao, knowing Amaya's propensity for ruining songs, has his hand positioned on her shoulder, ready to cover her mouth if she loses her self control.

All that seems almost normal, so when I glance at Kenta and Yoko I'm happily surprised. Instead of watching me, they're just staring at each-other. Whatever childish thoughts might have been flying through Kenta's mind previously have been replaced by a kind of mature calm. The way Yoko is mesmerized reminds me of myself last month, and I recall how that ended, so I quickly look away so as not to disturb them.

Nearing the end of the song, I turn my curious eyes back toward the boy sitting next to me and find a beaming smile. For whatever reason, seeing that makes me blush and I almost lose my voice seeing his approval. Managing to stuff the butterflies back down, I force out the last line; the timbre of the song leaving the group in silence as Nobuo's strumming ends.

It's not really a song that gets applause usually, but Misha doesn't seem to know that. Bolting upright, her enthusiastic clapping might seem sarcastic coming from anyone else. Shizune seems pleased, apparently taking Misha's reaction to mean it was good, but Naoko has her eyes closed and continues to sway as though Nobuo were still playing. The rest join in Misha's applause briefly, and Tadao asks for an encore, but I feel I've embarrassed myself enough.

As the applause peters out, Hisao whispers, “What time is it?”

“You have somewhere to be?” I reply, turning a mocking glare at him.

“No, I just-” he stammers and shakes his head, “there's something I need to-”

“Time for fireworks!” Amaya shouts, ending Hisao's statement, “you two idiots better impress~!”

“Three idiots,” Tadao corrects, holding a hand toward Hisao, “it was his idea, after all.”

Well, that's news.

Turning a steely gaze at Hisao, Amaya's face goes from excitement to dissent in no time flat. As I recall, Hisao claimed no complicity in this fireworks fiasco, and I believed him; as did Amaya. Looking toward him as he stands, I try to keep the disappointment off my face, but at least he doesn't look guilty; maybe we owe him the benefit of the doubt.

Amaya is no less curious to hear him explain his apparent role. Folding her arms defensively and waiting patiently, she looks ready to start screaming if necessary. The only indication of nervousness on Hisao's part is that it seems like he's avoiding my gaze completely, but I can't tell if it's because he's embarrassed about the fireworks or something else.

“Getting the fireworks was my idea; not blowing them up in your face,” Hisao explains, shaking his head toward Tadao, “that was their half-baked plan.”

“Yeah, he's right,” Kenta confirms, parting from Yoko finally to stand and join the conversation, “that was our bad idea. Hisao just suggested picking up the fireworks in the first place.”

Still sitting, Amaya squints and glares at Hisao for a few seconds; waiting to make sure he isn't lying, I imagine. Kenta's confirmation seems to have placated her ire well enough, but it gave me a few new questions. For the fireworks to have been Tadao's idea, or Kenta's, made perfect sense. There's a pyromaniac hidden behind Tadao's gentle facade, and Kenta just likes watching things explode if his taste in movies is any indication. All this time Hisao seemed to have quieter hobbies, so for him to suggest fireworks is just strange.

“Okay, whatever,” Amaya says with a shrug, “you survive another day, cow-lick.”

As Tadao and Kenta head off down the beach, Hisao stays behind for a few seconds while conspicuously staring at the fire. Something tells me I should try and find out why, but I'm frozen in place. Once the boys have gotten beyond the range of the firelight, Hisao chases after them, leaving me to wonder. If there were ever a time I wanted a sixth sense, it's right now. All I can do is hope it isn't anything too terrifying.

Looking toward Amaya, she doesn't seem concerned about his abrupt departure, but I know the look on my face will give me away quickly. Instead of letting that happen, I stand and act like I'm stretching my legs so I can look away without drawing suspicion. However, that turns me directly into the gaze of Shizune, and that might actually be worse, but I'm out of options unless I walk out of the campsite – which would just draw attention.

What's he plotting...? And why do I feel nervous?

It could be something simple, and I'm just getting worked up about nothing, but maybe it isn't and I should be worried. When Hisao was sitting on the stairs reading earlier, I left him alone with his thoughts. That far-off expression could have meant anything; he's prone to extended periods of inner monologue, but he also kept looking at me. In the back of my head, that thought is setting off alarms. Maybe it shouldn't since we're dating and I was in a swimsuit, but I don't think he was leering so much as contemplating. There's something on his mind, and it's making him nervous.

And that's making me nervous...

Taking a chance at Amaya's scrutiny, I turn and look off toward where the boys went. All I can really see are shadows against the darkened sky, but it looks like Hisao is talking to both of them – either that or I need new glasses. Whatever they're talking about, it doesn't seem like they're handling explosives at all, so maybe he just has ideas about the display; he did spend most of the festival fireworks talking about how they're made and how they work. Most of it went over my head while I was too distracted to listen, but he seemed to know an awful lot about it, so he might just be offering advice on their setup. If I think real hard I can even imagine his voice talking about powder ratios, fuse times and a hundred other things I don't care about.

That could make sense, but I'm probably fooling myself...

Whatever he's doing, I can't hear anything they're saying; they could be talking about baseball for all I know. Maybe he's planning to attempt the first blast off into space without a vehicle, and he needs their assistance strapping all the fireworks to his back. That would make me an astronaut's girlfriend, I think. There might be a parade involved and that might be fun, but it would more likely end in a funeral, which would make me an astronaut's widow.

Wait, no... you have to be married to be a widow, right?

As I'm imagining a hundred stupid reasons Hisao might be nervous, I fail to realize I've started pacing. Not only that, but I've drawn quite the entranced audience. Looking down, I notice I've worn a narrow path in the sand, and Naoko is giggling despite herself – which is an unusual sound. Glancing around, I see Amaya raising a coy eyebrow at me, and Shizune is shaking her head while Misha rocks back and forth trying to avert her eyes. Yoko motions to speak, but I hold up a hand to silence her and drop down quickly, sitting on my knees and slouching to try hiding my flustered expression.

There goes my dignity...

“Worried he'll blow a thumb off?” Amaya inquires, just barely keeping herself from laughing.

Instead of replying, I launch myself back to my feet and walk away from the fire to try and calm down, or save face, whichever is handy. The giggling that erupts from over my shoulder drives me to stomp a few extra paces before I stop and take a few deep breaths. Whatever I might be thinking, the only way I'll find out is by having a little patience, but their snickering isn't helping.

Neither of them knows why I'm anxious, though, so there's at least that. Actually I don't know what I'm nervous about, really. Hisao has acted suspicious before and it didn't turn out bad, so maybe I should just think positive. It's difficult when I'm left completely in the dark, figuratively and literally, but there's not much I can do about that. Although after the discussions I had with Amaya earlier, I wouldn't be surprised if it does turn out to be something bad – bad things come in groups of three, I've heard.

Anklet worries, fireworks fiasco and now-

“Hey!” Hisao calls, breaking my train of thought and sending me spinning around. Meeting his generous grin with a nervous smirk probably isn't what he expected, but I don't think I have much control over that now. The thumb pointing over his shoulder is followed by a request, “I got them to delay the display; you feel like a walk?”

A walk? Just a- Oh wait...

“U-um...” I stammer, trying and failing to sound casual, “s-sure, I could use some... air.”

For just a second, Hisao's smile falters and panic crosses his expression, but he quickly recovers and redoubles the smile. If anything, it's comforting to know he's probably as nervous as I am, but at least he knows why. The possibilities continue to rack my brain, but I've got enough sense to grin and take his offered hand. Wherever we're going, I don't think either of us is holding onto any illusions; this isn't just a walk.

Well, maybe it is to start. Until we're well beyond earshot, and for a while after that, we're both completely silent. It's not the most comfortable silence we've shared, but it's allowing me the chance to calm down at least a little. His plans are still a mystery, but that's something I've always liked about Hisao. Even before we met, I remember being somewhat obsessed with the unanswered questions surrounding his late arrival at Yamaku.

Among other things...

The first thing I notice is that he's not leading us down the same path we took last night. Instead, we're headed down the beach toward the boardwalk. As we're walking, I notice he's still smiling, but he keeps looking over his shoulder like he expects someone followed us, and his free hand keeps fidgeting around his pants pocket.

In an effort to help him ease up, I break the hand hold and start walking backwards beside him. “They can't hear us much more than twenty feet away, y'know,” I mention, pointing back toward the distant bonfire, “you can probably relax.”

He throws one last longing look over his shoulder and sighs, “Probably...”

The resigned tone to his voice makes me giggle, and I feel a bit of my own tension slipping away. The sand squishing between my toes and the sharp breeze coupled with the prevailing darkness makes me feel light. With Hisao walking beside me, even anxious like he is now, I feel completely safe closing my eyes to breathe in the sea air. While my eyes are closed, I put my arms out to the sides and pretend I'm soaring through the night sky.

“Here it is,” Hisao says, causing me to open my eyes. Looking toward him, I see he's wandered off toward some rocks along the shore; they're somewhat familiar. “This is the place, right?” he asks, glancing back at me, “the tidal pools?”

Stopping my backward march, I scan around and shrug. The tide is in and it's dark out, so I'm not sure it's the same place, but Hisao seems convinced. “Looks like it,” I reply, following him down toward the rocky outcropping, “does it matter?”

“A little,” he says, but doesn't elaborate.

Following his eyes, I see he's trying to see something in the rocks, or something on the rocks, but I don't remember there being anything special. Shaking my head at his apparent desire for secrecy, I tilt my head and ask, “What are you looking for?”

“There!” he practically shouts, “C'mere! I wanna show you something for a change.”

Taking my hand as he goes, he leads us around to the other side of the outcropping and points up toward the top of the rocks. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and see what he's pointing at, but I'm still confused. “Stairs?” I wonder aloud.

“A throne,” he corrects, pointing to the top of the strange natural staircase. At the top there's a well-weathered bench of sorts seemingly cut into the rock-face. “I saw it when we came down here the other day,” he explains, motioning toward the stairs, “almost thought I was seeing things.”

While I'm still staring at the unusual structure, Hisao heads over and starts to climb the first few steps. Looking back at me, he grins broadly and holds out a hand. “Mi'lady, your throne awaits,” he says with a coy smirk.

While the prospect of climbing on top of what looks like a slippery rock fifteen feet in the air seems like a bad idea, that smile is making it hard to refuse. After a last hesitant glance at the precarious bench, I nod willfully and step over to take Hisao's offered hand, though I quickly start climbing on my own. It's not really slippery, and some of the edges are jagged but I'm not complaining. The trip up to the top of the pool building isn't any less daunting, and I've always liked high places even if I'm not really fond of heights.

Hisao reaches the top first and sits on the bench before turning to offer me a hand along the last few steps. There's enough room to sit side-by-side without risk of toppling over, but just barely. Once I've gotten into position, I take a moment to look around and notice we're up high enough to see both the distant campfire and the lamps along the boardwalk.

With the stars blanketing the sky beyond in a swirl of brilliant sparkles, and sitting in a darkened perch above the rolling waves, I almost feel like I'm flying. Of course, with Hisao sitting so close beside it's easy to remember I'm still connected to Earth, but, when I finally look at him, I can tell he's thinking something similar. That childlike wonderment has returned, and for the moment none of the worries I had about this little trek seem to matter.

“I hope you don't mind sharing your throne,” he says, bowing slightly and averting his eyes.

“You keep calling it that,” I retort, shaking my head at his regal reference, “but I don't remember laying claim to it.”

“Where else would the Queen of the Sea sit to lord over her Queendom?” he asks, sweeping a hand out toward the glimmering waves, “The trinket about your ankle is the mark of your lordship; would you disappoint your subjects?”

“Are you among my subjects?” I ask, playing along.

“Well...” he replies, trailing off and looking away, “if you'll have me, mi'lady.”

Instead of answering verbally, I reach up to pull his face over and plant a kiss on his cheek. “You can be Captain of the Queensguard, then,” I announce, “Chief slayer of Dolphins.”

“Dolphins?” he prompts, looking confused.

“My aquatic nemesis!” I reply, narrowing my eyes and clenching a fist.

“But-”

“Don't question me, Captain,” I interrupt, “or I'll serve you to the sharks!”

Staring at me for a moment, his face goes from startled to incredulous.“You wouldn't dare!” he proclaims.

“Don't tempt me!” I retort, already starting to laugh, “your agonizing death would be nothing more than a trifling amusement~!”

After managing to say all that, I drop all pretense and start laughing hard. Hisao holds a straight face for a few moments, but it quickly cracks and he starts laughing. For a few minutes we say nothing, lost in giddy laughter. We manage to stop a few times, but as soon as our eyes meet, it starts up again. This isn't nearly as terrifying as I feared. This spot atop the rocks really does feel like a throne, and the view is something worth seeing, especially in this company.

Wrapping my arm around his waist, I squeeze closer and sigh loudly, my shoulder still bobbing with internal chuckling. After a few moments, I notice he hasn't done the same and instead feels a little tense. Looking at his expression, I'm suddenly feeling nervous again. He's still smiling, but instead of the mirthful grin I've come to know, it's an uneasy smile – almost a wince.

“What's wrong?” I blurt, suddenly not feeling like being coy.

My question seems to have surprised him a little, and he looks a little shocked. The trepidation on his face finally shows completely, the smile vanishing into a somewhat grim look of something like determination. It's an unfamiliar expression, though I think I've seen it before, and I'm still holding out hope that it's nothing bad, but the nerves are making me hold my breath in suspense.

Finally, he recovers his senses and puts on a weak smile. “There's something I need to tell you,” he says, and suddenly I feel like all the air got sucked out of the world.

That can't be good.

His statement seems to have had the same effect on him, and it's followed by a long silence. Whatever he's planning to say, it clearly isn't something he takes lightly. As I'm waiting for him to continue, I remember where I've seen that look before; the day he told me about his arrhythmia. If this is anywhere near as important as that, I don't feel silly for being nervous. However, I have a sinking feeling this will somehow be worse.

Finally he gives up trying to say anything, and instead reaches into his pants pocket; the one he kept tapping as we were walking. Curiosity crosses my expression as I watch him draw out a folded piece of paper – no, it's an envelope. Holding it out with both hands, he presses it against his thigh, attempting to work out the crease. Giving up on that, he shrugs and lets out a sharp breath, holding the letter up so I can see the delicate kanji script. Just one small grouping of symbols catch my eye; three characters spelling out the name “Iwanako.”

Well, it could be worse...

Finding myself staring, I notice it's a little wrinkled, probably from being stuffed in his pocket, but it appears to have remained unopened. Evidently he still hasn't read the message, and I'm not sure whether I think that's good or not. From the look on his face, a somewhat wistful grimace, I can glean that the contents have him feeling apprehensive; especially when I notice he pulled his shoulders tightly against his neck while his free hand is back to stroking his sternum.

“I told you I'd talk about it when you asked, but it's been burning a hole in my pocket -so to speak- all weekend,” he remarks, turning it over and resting it on his knee. “I figured you saw it,” he admits, turning a raised eyebrow at me, “I wasn't really surprised; it's hard to miss. She always did know how to make her presence known...”

As he trails off, I see his expression shift to a more somber frown. Not knowing what he expects me to say, I just nod dumbly and wait for him to continue.

“Iwanako was a girl a lot like you,” he starts, turning his gaze back toward the waves. Narrowing his eyes, he continues, “She had long dark hair like you, and lovely, sparkling eyes like you; though they were both the same dark brown color. She was confident, but shy and reserved, and she liked math the way you do. She was good at it, y'know?”

Letting out a quick laugh he turns back to face me and adds, “She also liked to conspire with her friends the way you do.” I nod, but notice his smile quickly tighten into a grimace, “Which led to my finding a note in my math book early one February morning.”

February? This year? Isn't that when-

“So, five months ago,” he continues, quickly answering my silent question, “I found myself standing out in the middle of a snowy soccer field, rereading the pink letters over and over, getting more nervous and sweaty as the minutes passed.” Looking at me sidelong, he adds, “I kinda knew who it was from, but not really.”

Regaining the wistful smile, he shrugs and glances toward the distant bonfire; a glowing orange speck in the distant darkness. “Then she was there,” he says, quickly looking back at me, “and my heart leaped into my throat. Kinda like in the lunch room last week...”

When I smile sheepishly, recalling the incident, he shakes his head and laughs.

“She said she wanted to be my girlfriend,” he continues, “which was apparently too much for my heart...”

Oh? Oh. Oh no...

“Right out in that snowy field, listening to her horrified screams,” he says with a morbid smirk, “I collapsed and basically died.”

Well, that's one way to put it...

Going silent, he looks back out at the crashing surf and waits. When he told me he had a heart attack, I always assumed it was because of a shock or exertion, maybe from when he was playing soccer, but I never thought a girl's confession could be the reason. Recalling the lunchroom incident, I wonder if that could have been enough to push him into an attack; which is a horrifying thing to imagine.

Realizing he has more to tell, I clear my throat and place a hand on his shoulder. Trying to smile through my shocked expression, I prompt him to, “Go on.”

Nodding, he sighs and continues, “I awoke in the hospital sometime after surgery. I told you what happened then; the doctor told me I had a heart attack, that I had arrhythmia, and I was going to spend the foreseeable future in that stale, white room.”

Turning back toward me, he pauses, takes a breath and picks the letter off his knee. Rolling it over in his hand as he speaks, his voice falls to a whisper. “What I didn't tell you is that Iwanako came to visit me the most – almost every day. We hardly spoke, but, when everyone else seemed to be abandoning me,” he grunts a sigh, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “she kept returning to my bedside, telling me the inane things happening at school, and trying to keep smiling.”

As much as I feel like Iwanako is somehow my competition, especially after hearing how similar we seemed, I can't help but feel like it was a good thing she visited him so much. Nobody should be left cut off in a hospital like that, especially not sweet, happy, brown-haired boys with heart conditions. Maybe I even owe her some thanks, but I think there's more to this or Hisao wouldn't look quite so guilty right about now.

After a moment he adds, “Somehow it didn't help.”

Lately, seeing him joking around and getting along with my friends, I sometimes forget how sullen and distant Hisao seemed when he first arrived at Yamaku. Some credit for his turnaround is mine, but I wasn't the only one helping him get used to the new school, and the circumstances that brought him to Yamaku. Shizune and Misha befriended him almost immediately, and Emi got him to start taking his arrhythmia seriously. Amaya and Tadao accepted him almost from the moment they met, and I know there are plenty of people, maybe even Kenji, who deserve some credit for helping him see past his disability.

He was a wreck when I first met him, though...

“Instead of being happy to be alive,” he remarks, “I felt a little like I'd actually died, and Iwanako was the only one who kept visiting my antiseptic grave.”

Although I understand the sentiment, I haven't heard anything so cynical from Hisao in a while. It stuns us both into silence, and suddenly my throne feels extremely uncomfortable. When he talked about slipping into depression before, he never explained how it happened beyond the revelation of his condition. The pained expression on his face, and the slow shaking of his head, indicate he isn't finished, and I'm almost frightened to hear the rest, but I can tell he needs this. It's probably a good thing he's telling me this, even if it pains me to hear the story.

“By my side almost every day,” he continues recounting, “she started to change, too. Instead of smiling and talking, she would sit and read, or just stare out the window. Some days we didn't say a word. It was more like an obligation for both of us, and eventually...” Turning the letter over in his hand, he shakes his head, bowing it slowly. “Eventually,” he repeats, sighing heavily, “she just stopped coming back... and it was my fault.”

Watching him, his last words echo in my mind; he blames himself for her leaving, but I'm not sure that's right, or fair. When Dad was on his last breaths, lying in that hospice, I stayed away; I couldn't handle it. Seeing him like that filled me with something like rage and fear all mixed together, and I couldn't even look at him without wanting to scream or cry. Hisao wasn't dying; he had already done that – while she watched, no less. Still, watching him drift into depression must have been awful. If Hisao were anything like he is now, seeing him transform into the gloomy version I first met had to have been horrible.

What would I have done in her place?

“When Shizune delivered this,” he says, holding up the letter, “that was the first time I'd thought about Iwanako since shortly after coming to Yamaku.”

Is that why she's been avoiding me?

With no small amount of reverence, he holds out the letter toward me, apparently offering it to me. While it hangs there waiting for me to take it, he offers a tiny smile and remarks, “I haven't had the courage to open it.”

Hesitantly taking the letter, I set a pensive look on him. “You want me to open it?” I ask, glancing at it briefly.

He doesn't nod or say anything, but I get the sense that's what he intended. Lifting it up, I turn it over and examine the delicate kanji lettering. Looking at it in the dim moonlight, I'm not sure how he expects me to read it, but there's something else wrong. If Iwanako and I really had as much in common as Hisao described, then I can probably guess what it says, and, considering that, I don't think I want to find out.

Had I written a letter to Dad months later, I would have started by begging forgiveness, trying to explain why I couldn't be there, or coming up with an excuse. Thinking about it, I realize it would be an empty apology full of worthless, self-serving platitudes. Despite everything I felt, I know I should have been strong enough to visit, to sit by his side, to stare down my fears and be there for him, if only for his sake. Dad was amazing and, in the end, even after all he taught me about being strong and facing fear head-on, I was a coward. Writing something like this wouldn't have been for his benefit, but instead just a selfish attempt to placate my guilty conscience.

Hisao deserves better than an empty apology.

“No,” I say quietly, starting to shake my head at the unopened letter. Looking back up at him, I repeat, “No,” more loudly and firmly, meeting his eyes with all the strength I can muster. Holding the letter out for him to take, I see the hesitance in his expression, but I'm not sure what else to say. This letter is someone else's guilty conscience hidden inside a decorative envelope and sent to the person it's trying to placate, and I'll have no part in unloading that guilt onto Hisao's shoulders; he's been through enough.

Seeing his unwillingness to take it back, I decide to go with the truth. “I don't want to know,” I explain, never taking my eyes off of his.

Whatever he thought I would do with the letter, I think the last thing he expected was for me to hand it back unopened. Iwanako is another piece of his past, and maybe I ought to read it to understand her better, but I don't think Hisao needs her absolution if it means accepting her unsolicited pity. Looking down to find his hand, I push the letter into it and smile.

Taking his other hand in my own, I squeeze it tightly and meet his anxious gaze to say firmly, “And neither do you.” Pausing to gauge his reaction, I see his brow furrow in confusion, so I smile brightly to add, “and that's okay.”

After a few moments of consideration, he offers a solid nod and smiles evenly. Still, his eyes darken and he looks away after a moment; apparently there's more he wants to say. It takes a few moments, but when he looks back, I see the warm smile I remember cross his face as his eyes lighten; suddenly filled with mirth, or maybe affection. “Maybe you're right,” he says, “but there's more...”

Gently tugging his hand away, his warm smile turns to a wistful grin and he chuckles. “You remember the day we met, right?” he inquires, to which I nod and smirk. Grinning broadly, he adds, “When I bailed you out of facing the firing squad.”

Shizune would have made an excellent Gestapo...

“That's not what I'd call it, but, yeah,” I reply, shrugging at his change of subject.

“I knew then,” he says mysteriously.

Expecting a little more detail, I roll my hand and tilt my head a little, urging him to explain. For a moment, I think he might be mocking me, but the wistful smile has returned. “Knew what?” I prompt, growing impatient.

“Just a feeling,” he replies, casting his gaze skyward and smiling broadly, “though I didn't realize it then.”

“Now you're just messing with me,” I retort disdainfully, crossing my arms.

“You reminded me of her immediately, except for the eyes,” he explains, “for a second or two, I thought she'd followed me to Yamaku.”

Is that supposed to be a compliment?

Seeing my perplexed expression, he amends his statement. “I didn't know I was looking at an improved version,” he explains with a smirk, “at least not right away.”

Now I smile, though I feel a little awkward hearing about his first impression of me. Before our first meeting, my imaginings had gotten out of hand and I found myself disappointed by his seemingly normal appearance. Evidently, I reminded him of the girl who caused his heart attack, which, on second thought, might not be such a good thing.

“You made me forget about her,” he remarks, “in more ways than one.”

Pausing, he frowns slightly and bows his head ashamedly. “I hurt her; I know that now,” he admits, shaking his head and closing his eyes, “She tried to help, but I pushed her away.”

Like I tried to help?

While he's collecting himself, I can't help wondering if things could have gone differently when we met. Somehow I avoided Iwanako's fate, but I never considered the possibility. Even when he tried ducking out of the festival, I remained optimistic, but, then again, I barely knew him at the time.

“I almost did the same thing to you,” he adds, confirming a dreadful possibility. The words hang in the air for a few moments while a shameful grimace crosses his features. Considering the pensive expression, I think this is the admission he was dreading; no wonder he looked so nervous all day. My reaction is surprisingly neutral. While it's not heartening to think he considered pushing me away, our present situation clearly shows that he decided against doing that.

“But you didn't,” I say, as much to confirm my understanding as to hear the words spoken aloud, “and I'm glad for that.”

With that admission out of the way, and after I've assured him it doesn't bother me, he starts to breathe a little easier and his shoulders visibly relax, but I realize there's more. Still, the grimace disappears as he turns to smile at me, and I'm happy to see his mood change. The contemplative stare indicates he has more to say, but I think he's past the bad parts. Why he's telling me all of this is still a mystery, but I'm glad he's sharing it regardless of his reasons.

“When I met you, and realized how stupid it was to stay depressed,” he says with a shrug, “I started to forget about Iwanako.” Lifting the letter and turning it over in his hand, he sighs and shakes his head. “Then this letter showed up,” he remarks, shaking his head a little and sighing, “and I realized what you really meant to me.”

Seeing the warm smile return to his face, for the first time it fills me with trepidation. The sound of crashing waves and rustling grass rise up in the silence, and I can hear that buoy chiming in the distance once again. Over the past week, I've tried to come to terms with what Hisao means to me, but I thought I had time to think.

“I love you, Aiko,” he states, unabashed and without hesitation.

The simple words echo in my head as I try to separate them from the rest of the jumbled mess. Suddenly I feel like that day on a crowded sidewalk, stammering and blushing as we tried to converse. Then, it was simple awkwardness stopping my voice and turning my words into senseless stuttering, but now I'm genuinely conflicted. Sitting beside him, seeing the loving look in his eyes, and feeling an elated tingle run down my spine, I'm happy to hear the admission, but he doesn't understand. Hearing him admit his love, I realize, without question, that I feel the same, but it's too soon; I'm not ready.

A sudden distant bang catches my attention and I see the source over Hisao's shoulder; the fireworks. Apparently he got them delayed just long enough so they would coincide with his confession, which makes this uncomfortable silence even worse. Now I understand why he suggested getting fireworks, and why he's been preoccupied all day – maybe even all weekend. This was all planned, probably in advance. Maybe he even had help from my supposed friends; more secrets kept from me. The timing makes me smile, and I'm glad to see Hisao smiling as well, if only for a moment.

Why I suddenly feel angry doesn't make sense, but I don't think I'm mad at him at all; rather, I'm angry with myself. Rushing forward recklessly is what caused this; I pushed us into this, I'm the one who made it okay to call our relationship something more than friends. Now he's the one pushing the limits, and I'm frozen in disbelief. Iwanako was pushed away by Hisao's distance, and I suddenly feel like I'm being pushed away by his love.

Sitting on this precipice, literally and figuratively, I realize I have to make a choice. Regardless of all the other things I need to tell him, I know he's not just confessing; he expects me to reply in kind, and I want to, I really do. Every instinct is telling me to wrap him in a hug and reciprocate everything he said and more, but that might not be fair. Even if it's the truth, I'd be taking advantage of something he doesn't know, something I haven't been able to tell him, and something that could change how he feels.

Something terrible...

Still, I have to say or do something. The sparkling bursts of color behind him contrast his darkening expression, and add to the sinking feeling in my stomach. While I've been having this internal battle, Hisao's face has lost all mirth, and now he looks somewhere between worried and horrified, which is probably my fault. After exposing himself like this, my lack of a response is probably worse than anything he thought might happen, and I can't help but feel like that's also my fault, and I feel horrible for causing it, but he really put me on the spot.

I've been such a coward...

[Reciprocate.]
[Just kiss him.]
_____________________________________
Chapter 27: (in progress)