Tomorrow's Doom A.4/C.30A - Mummer's Dance

Chapter 30A – Mummer's Dance

Having a lot to think about just with finals, my personal life has taken an impromptu vacation since Thursday morning. Not that it doesn't try to call my phone, or invite itself to come knocking at my door, but I've had a good excuse; to try and focus on my studies—that's the one I'm telling people, anyway. It's a somewhat flimsy excuse now that finals are over, but I need to decompress and think about some things without an audience. After Saturday classes, I locked my door, turned off my phone and spent the rest of the day in my room with a book; the one Hisao let me borrow without his knowledge.

It's less about math than I was expecting...

Staying up until late last night to read, I completely lost track of time, which means I might be just as addicted to reading as I am to video games—I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not. If nothing else, sticking my head in a book has kept me from thinking too much about recent events. Exploring the alternate reality of the story has allowed me to take a break from thinking about my reality; Hisao, mostly, but also the results from my finals, the impending summer break, and a plethora of other little issues. Amaya calls it literary escapism, but, whatever the term, it's helping me relax and get out of my head for a while.

If not for the rainstorm making it miserable outside, I might be compelled to leave my room today—by someone else if not myself—but the rain makes me feel like getting reacquainted with my bed, which is why I slept until noon. At least that's when Amaya woke me, banging on my door and yelling about a fire, but I pushed her out and slammed my door in her face, so she left and hasn't returned since. Afterward, I did follow her suggestion and go take a shower, but the book was calling to me when I got back, so I decided to stay in and read.

I've done less productive things with my Sunday afternoons...

Having a room on the third floor, I'm not particularly concerned with anyone peeking in my window, so, in the interest of comfort, I slipped into a faded pink t-shirt and some old Hello Kitty briefs, crashed on my bed, and I've hardly moved since. With my door locked, and all my lights off, I'm not worried about anyone barging in and seeing me, so I'm content to lay here in my underwear, reading, and enjoying a quiet day to myself.

Laying in an awkward position across the middle of my bed, with my butt against the wall and my legs suspended against the window, I'm using the dim light from the rainy sky to illuminate the pages. The only sound in the room comes from my alarm clock, which I tuned to a soft rock station and turned down low so I can't hear the lyrics; it's on just to provide background noise.

Regardless of what I was expecting, I'm enjoying the story even without the mathematical references the title suggested, and I'm determined to finish, preferably before Hisao notices it's missing. The only problem I'm facing is that I've been reading over the same passage for the past ten minutes, but I know why I'm losing focus; I don't keep food in my room, and I'm starving.

Twenty minutes ago, I went foraging through my closet, but all I found was half a bag of stale pretzels; they probably weren't worth the trouble. Dropping the book down to rest on my chest, I close my eyes and lean against the pillow, trying not to think about food. Rationally, I know I should venture out to find something to eat—I'll just give myself a headache if I wait too long—but I might end up having to talk to people if I leave here. They don't let deliveries inside the dorms, so I'd have to go meet them outside myself if I ordered take-out. Basically, I won't be eating unless I leave my room.

Maybe I can con a late lunch out of Amaya...

Sighing with resignation, I toss the book aside and roll backwards, landing my feet on the carpet with surprising agility. Of course, as I stand up I'm hit with a little dizzy spell that sends me careening toward my desk, but I catch myself on the chair and close my eyes for a second to dispel the cobwebs. When my head clears, I straighten up and cast a glance at my reflection in the mirror. Looking myself over, I imagine I should probably change, or at least put some pants on and brush the rat's nest out of my hair before I leave.

Noticing the mermaid anklet hanging on the hook beside my mirror, I smirk and sigh inwardly; I almost lost it in the pool Friday morning and decided it would be safer here. While I'm staring at the dangling charm, there's a light knock on my door, and I frown; it's probably Amaya—back for round two. The knock is considerably quieter than I would expect after I shoved her out of my room earlier, but I don't think she took any offense; she's used to me being cranky on Sunday mornings—or afternoons, for that matter.

Deciding I don't want to have a yelling conversation through the door, I gather my hair into a hand so I look half-presentable, and reach for the doorknob, unlocking it deftly. Expecting her to be glaring at me angrily, I plaster a silly grin on my face before tugging the door open, but the smile fades to a shocked stare almost immediately.

Leaping back reflexively, I yelp in surprise at seeing an unexpected, raincoat-wearing figure standing there, his fist raised up like he's about to knock again. “Hisao!?” I blurt, my face instantly lighting on fire.

Leaving the door to swing wide, I let go of my hair and use both hands to tug my shirt downward in a vain attempt to hide my shamefully childish underwear. His reaction is no less surprised, his mouth locked in a horrified, slack-jawed gape as his eyes move up and down comically—I'm not laughing, though.

For a few seconds I just stand there, crouching and quivering like a nine-year-old who drank too much iced tea, casting a look of horror at his dumbstruck expression. Evidently he's too awed by the sight to look away, so, failing that, I bound forward, grab the door, and slam it closed hard enough to hear the hinges rattle.

Did that just happen?

Standing there in total shock for a few seconds, I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or jump out the window. That third option seems like the most logical way to cool off my face, but I'm not too keen on falling that far, and I would still be practically half-naked if I survived the landing. Then I'd have to run away and live in the woods, or else face additional embarrassment when I run screaming through the halls in a soaked t-shirt and briefs.

Hearing Hisao start to laugh nervously, I arrive at the most obvious response to this situation and join in, giggling like an idiot. Before I can ask what he's doing here, I hear him stifle his nervous laughter and ask, “Should I come back?” There's a pause, during which I consider his question, but then he adds, “Your message sounded urgent,” and I stop myself from replying with a hand on my mouth.

The implication of his statement causes me to stop laughing and turn a raised eyebrow toward my desk. A few seconds of examination reveal something is out of place, and I think I know exactly where it went. Though her visit was brief, Amaya made a point of walking over there casually while she spoke, and now I think I know why. All she wanted was to steal my phone.

I may have to kill my best friend...

Apparently my decision to close off the world for the weekend didn't sit well with her, and she took it upon herself to rescue me from myself—at least that's what she probably thinks she did. Regardless of her reason, all it managed to accomplish so far is providing me with a moment of pure mortification. It might be my fault for answering my door in my underwear, but I wasn't expecting Hisao to be standing there. Amaya and I don't usually bother with modesty around each-other anymore, and while Hisao has seen me in a little bikini, this is completely different.

Isn't it...?

“Hello?” Hisao asks, sounding a little confused, “Aiko?”

Ack, right! He's still there...

“One second~!” I manage to lilt, trying to buy some time to think.

While I had planned to spend the day alone, Hisao is probably the only person I wouldn't mind sharing the time with, so I'm kind of glad he's here—I still would like to have known beforehand, though. Still, I don't know what messages he was sent, so I don't know what he's expecting. Considering the tone of our last few conversations on the topic of Hisao, I wouldn't be surprised if Amaya lured him here with the promise of sloppy kissing and fondling—her words, not mine. It's also possible she simply propositioned him on my behalf.

However, she knows they'd find pieces of her all over Japan if she did that, so it's probably something more mundane. Hisao is right there, so I could just ask, but I don't want him to know about her deception. Besides, that's probably part of her devious plan. She's probably holding an ear to her door, giggling at everything we're saying, and that bothers me. With that in mind, I decide I need to get Hisao to say why he's here without making it obvious that I'm completely clueless, if only to spite Amaya.

Thinking back, I remember him saying something about urgency, so he probably headed over right after finishing their conversation. With that in mind, I find my words, “You got here fast... I didn't mean to sound desperate.”

There's a short pause, but he sounds confident replying, “Remember, I said I woke up late... and I haven't eaten either, so I headed right over.”

My knowing smile is accompanied by a relieved sigh. Now that I know what errand she sent him here for, I'm glad it's nothing devious. Honestly, Amaya's recent increase in suggestive commentary has led me to fantasize about Hisao a lot—mostly at night, by myself, with the door locked—but fantasies don't have consequences unless you get caught. Besides, if Hisao and I are going to take things that far, which I've definitely considered, I want it to happen because of our plans, not Amaya's puppetry.

I'm not some marionette for her to toy with!

Regardless of all that, going for a bite to eat is exactly what I was about to do anyway, so I'm nodding happily as I ask, “Okay, well, what did you have in mind?”

“I thought we might check out the Beijing,” he replies, his suggestion making me raise an eyebrow.

“Isn't it raining out?” I ask rhetorically, glancing out the window. Taking a few steps toward my closet, I add, “The Beijing is in town.”

While he's thinking up an answer, I start flipping through my clothes, looking for something to wear. It takes him longer than I expected, so I have enough time to lay out some loose-cut jeans, and a black knit turtle-neck sweater on my bed—if we're going to town in the rain, I want to be warm. Picking up the bra I left on my bedpost, I groan quietly at realizing I didn't have one on when I opened the door, but it's too late to worry about that now. Pulling it on through my sleeve, I start wondering why it's taking him so long to answer.

“You're still there, right?” I ask absently while reaching back to set the clip.

“Yeah, sorry. This plan sounded better in my head before I got here,” he explains, sounding a little despondent.

If only because it's with Hisao, I'm actually eager to go for this walk in the rain, so I decide to support his idea. “But I like the plan!” I say lightheartedly, “It's only a little rain, and besides... you went along with it when I had this stupid idea one rainy day not long ago... It's kind of... cute.”

“No Kenji this time, though,” he says jokingly.

“Yes, no Kenji,” I reply, nodding briskly. My unusual encounter with Hisao's bespectacled, conspiracy-theorist hall-mate on that rainy morning, while funny in retrospect, still haunts my dreams—or nightmares, rather—on occasion. Pulling open a drawer in search of a clean t-shirt, I laugh airily and ask, “Did you ever find that dynamite?”

“I still haven't seen inside his room,” he replies, the wounded tone of his voice making me feel guilty, “much like someone else I know...”

Deciding to ignore his whiny comment, I pull open another drawer, but I'm still unable to find a shirt. There are two uniform blouses hanging along the crossbar I could wear, but I don't like wearing those outside of going to class; they're less than comfortable. Besides, If we're going into town, I'd rather not be instantly identified as a Yamaku student and have to deal with curious stares from people wondering what's wrong with me; I feel like that happens enough even when I'm in regular clothes.

“Anyway,” Hisao continues, “Taro said he works at someplace called The Beijing, and asked if I'd come sample his cooking sometime... I called, and he's there today.” The mention of Taro catches my attention, and makes this silly idea sound like pure genius. My last dinner-date at the Beijing was with Kenta, and it turned out to be a total farce, but definitely not because of the food; Taro Arai could probably make an old boot taste good.

Opening the third drawer, I frown and reach for the lone, powder-blue shirt tucked against the far corner. Lifting and shaking it open, I find it's the My Little Pony shirt Mom gave me because she has a weird sense of humor. Holding it up, I eye the characters on it with a detached smirk and start shaking my head. Tossing it back in the drawer disdainfully, I decide to wear the pink one I have on because I'd rather not risk having to explain another cartoon character on my clothes today—assuming he got a good enough look at my briefs.

I really need to do laundry...

As I'm slamming the drawer closed, Hisao starts talking again, “It's not raining that hard now, and it's supposed to clear up before dark...”

Realizing I haven't confirmed anything yet, when he trails off, I smirk and reply, “Stop talking... you had me at Taro.”

That was so corny...

Thinking quickly, I add, “Give me a few minutes and I'll meet you downstairs,” hoping he'll forget that stupid reference.

“Still don't want me to see your room?” he complains, accompanying his angst with a few light taps against my door.

Picking the jeans off my bed, I sit down and step into them. After rolling back to pull them up, I set my feet down and glance around at my floor, which is still a disaster despite my efforts to keep it clear. “You don't wanna see this mess... and besides, it's too dark to see anything in here.”

“You have lights,” he retorts.

Pulling the sweater over my head, I giggle and lie, “They're burned out!”

Hearing a frustrated sigh followed by a dull thump against my door, which I assume is his head, I grin and speak through the fabric, “Just go wait downstairs~! There's some nice seating down there, and this might take a while. Unlike you I can't just toss on a pair of pants and walk out the door; there's a process involved... and you'll be better off waiting downstairs.”

At least some of that is true...

While I normally wouldn't mind walking right through the dorm with Hisao on my arm, I have business to take care of beyond getting dressed. My phone is being held hostage across the hall, and I don't want to give Amaya the satisfaction of using it for evil while I'm away. Retrieving it with Hisao standing there would defeat any illusion that he was led here by anything other than a practical joke, and I'd be forced to limit the amount of bruising I inflict on her arms.

“Okay... fine,” he huffs after a long pause.

While I'm pulling my hair out of the collar and reaching for my brush, I hear him tap the door a few more times and chuckle. “Before I go,” he says, his voice filled with mirthful confidence, “just let me say one thing...”

The tapping continues as he trails off, and I start to feel impatient. Raising an eyebrow, I groan, “What?”

“Nice panties,” he says, earning a glare he can't see. “Should I call you Hello Kitty from now on?”

He got a good look, I guess...

“They're briefs! Also, no!” I retort vainly; he's already laughing.

“Whatever... they look great on you,” he muses, causing my glare to soften into a weird grin. I don't know whether to be mad about his vulgar comments or just smile and take them as compliments. Either way, it's not his fault. There's a certain light-fingered busy-body across the hall who's responsible for this entire fiasco.

After a few seconds of laughing, he starts walking away. “I'll be downstairs... gathering intel for Kenji.”

Listening to his footsteps fading down the hallway, I breathe out a sigh of relief. With him downstairs, I'll be able to get my phone back from Amaya before she can cause more damage—unless she starts sending more messages while he's waiting. With that in mind, I quickly finish brushing my hair out, throw on my purple raincoat, gather my umbrella, step into some black boots, and head out the door.

Finding her room conspicuously unlocked, I push the door open and watch as the light from the hallway spills inside. With her curtains drawn and the sky beyond clouded, her room is almost pitch dark, even in the middle of the day. The shaft of light from the hallway lights up her grinning face, though, revealing that she's sitting against her desk. Holding my phone in one hand, she raises the other in a lazy wave, and I pause for a moment, realizing she's been waiting for me.

“You little thief!” I bark, rushing forward and landing a punch on the arm holding my phone before she can flinch away.

“Ow! You're welcome!” she exclaims, recoiling and starting to rub her arm.

“For what?” I fume, snatching my phone out of her limp hand, “I opened my door expecting your stupid face, and instead Hisao is standing there getting an eyeful of my underwear!”

Starting to giggle despite my furious glare, she asks, “The Hello Kitty ones?”

The red flush on my cheeks is probably giving it away, but I slam my mouth shut and glower at her instead of replying. Before she can pitch into uproarious laughter, I hold up my hand and threaten, “Not one word!”

“But-”

“I'll be back later,” I interrupt curtly, turning on my heel.

Before I make it out of the room, she calls after me, “Wait!”

Please don't make me murder you...

Stopping, I turn back and notice she's switched to a more serious expression. “Your mom called,” she says evenly, leading me to raise an eyebrow. “I'm serious,” she adds, holding up her hands to try emphasizing her honesty, “said she wanted you to call her back after I was done playing keep-away.”

After a few seconds watching her, I decide she's either lying to make me feel bad, or Mom actually called. Either way, I probably owe Mom a call, so I nod and turn to make my exit, leaving her door open intentionally. As I'm walking away, tapping my umbrella noisily against the floor, I hear her stomp out into the hall and start giggling. “Wait come back~!” she lilts, her cheerful tone grating on my nerves.

Despite wanting to put some distance between us, I stop and turn. My scowl doesn't seem to have any effect on her mirthful, devious grin, though. “I did some shopping last night and thought of you,” she says, making me raise an eyebrow.

What new horror is this...?

Still unaffected by my loathsome glare, she trots right up in front of me and holds out her hand, but I can't tell what she's holding. Reluctantly, and still eying her warily, I hold out my hand. Into it she drops a little orange box with a black label, and I immediately squint at her, a mix of fury and embarrassment in my dumbstruck expression.

“This is just in case; no pressure,” she says, setting a serious look on me for a few brief moments.

Unable to say anything in response, I swat her with the umbrella a few times instead, but she just giggles. Grinning deviously she explains, “They're lubricated, and smell like citrus~!”

Why would I even want to know that?

Spinning on my heel, I groan and stuff the little box in a coat pocket, then start walking away briskly. Absolutely none of this should surprise me, and I'll probably laugh about it later, but sometimes I really hate having friends—especially the kinds that steal your phone, set you up on a date, and give you condoms. Amaya is just trying to act like a good friend in her own way, and it's mostly meant in jest, but, for the moment, her antics are just making me furious, livid, unhinged, extremely frustrated and-

...Horny... damn you Amaya!

“You'll thank me later~!” her painfully cheerful voice calls after me as I step through the door into the stairwell.

I should have hit her harder...

Walking down the stairs, I recall when Mom sat me down for the sex talk, back when I was twelve. I didn't really have to worry about it then because I wasn't exactly seen as a sexual object; I was the clumsy girl everyone picked on, not the popular one they wanted to date. Until I transferred to Yamaku, the only experience I had in that area involved swift punches directed at my chest from malicious little boys—and girls—who were either jealous, threatened, or secretly aroused by my early development. Being somewhat of a loner, and keeping to myself since I've been here, the experience hasn't been much different—minus the painful teasing—but now there's Hisao.

At the door to the ground floor, I stop and take a deep breath to collect myself. Early on, I was completely unwilling or unable to identify that the feelings I had for him were sexual, or that he was looking at me in that way. It's still completely new territory, and it frightens me, but I also find it exciting—and nerve-racking. The fuzzy feeling I get when I look at him, or think about him, or even when I hear his name brought up in conversation, is entirely chemical, not practical, but that's probably what makes it so addictive. Still, the hazy fantasy and the scary reality are two different things, and I'm getting side-tracked.

Stupid brain...

The little rectangular window in the door gives me the chance to spy on Hisao as he paces back and forth near the exit, out in front of the common room. Whatever he's thinking about, it seems to be spilling out in quiet muttering, which is a little unnerving. The muffled whispers are impossible to discern through the door, but it looks like he's rehearsing something rather than just talking through his thoughts. Watching him for a few moments, I almost don't want to interrupt him, but there's still an empty pit in my stomach, and he can mutter to himself while we walk.

Pushing through the door, I offer a slight wave, but he's too focused to notice my approach. “Hey!” I call out, smirking at his sudden stop and surprised glance, “Who're you talking you?”

“No-nobody,” he stutters, smiling broadly. “I mean, I wasn't-”

“Voices in your head having an argument?” I ask jokingly.

Reaching up to scratch his head, he chuckles nervously and replies, “Something like that...”

Whatever he was doing, I get the feeling he isn't about to tell me right away. That's fine, though. We'll have a few hours for him to work up the courage. At the moment, I'm more interested in food than trying to solve another Hisao mystery.

“Shall we?” I ask, gesturing toward the door, “I'd like to get something to eat before I starve to death.”

Quickly walking over to the door, he pulls it open and waves a hand. “After you.”

As I'm walking by, I stop and stand up on my toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Captain,” I say sweetly. Noticing that he apparently didn't bring along an umbrella, I open mine and look back at him questioningly.

“Forgot mine,” he says, though I'm not sure I believe that. The rain is starting to thin as Hisao mentioned, but since he didn't bring an umbrella, we'll be forced to share mine, which means walking in tandem—I get the feeling this was part of his plan, but I don't mind. He wraps his arm around mine and we set off, splashing through puddles and giggling as we make our way toward the gate.

The rainfall starts to worsen after we turn onto the main road, but there are pockets of blue sky starting to peek through the cloudy veil, so I'm guessing the storm has just about blown itself out. With our arms locked at the elbow, Hisao takes the umbrella in his hand as we walk; he can hold it up higher. Still, by the time we get half way down the hill, there are rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds and the rain has slowed to a light sprinkle.

The mist in the air continues clinging to my glasses, and I get frustrated with the droplets muddling my vision, so I pull them off and have a look around without them. Without glasses, my eyesight is pretty bad, but it's manageable. Mom's genes carry the astigmatism chromosome, or at least that's who I blame for my poor vision, and I've had to wear corrective lenses since before I started school. Looking around half-blind, the misty haze in the air seems doubled, and most of the trees appear as splotchy blobs of color, but I can see Hisao's face well enough to notice him staring.

“Do you ever wear contacts?” he asks suddenly.

Pausing for a moment to think, I reply, “No, I'm probably too scattered for that.” Holding them up to look through the lenses, I shrug and make a crooked smile. “I never really think about it... I've just always worn them since I was little. I feel weird without them.” To demonstrate, I slide them back in place and frown at the blurry figure beside me. “They're a feature,” I proclaim, then, pouting a little, I ask, “Don't you like them?”

“I'm not complaining, you look great either way—they contribute to the sexy nerd look you've got going,” he explains, making me blush a little. Only Amaya ever uses that word to describe me, but that's always jokingly, and Hisao sounds serious. “Anyway,” he adds, breaking me out of the curious thoughts, “you only ever take them off to swim, and then I'm too busy looking- er... into the water.”

Nice save, Swooner...

“Kinda like seeing you without a sweater-vest,” I retort, pulling the glasses off again.

“Something like that...” he says, trailing off and watching me close the bows. Before I put them back in a pocket, he holds out his free hand and asks, “Can I? I'm curious.”

Shrugging, I dab some of the water away with my cuff and hold them out for him. Taking them delicately by the bows, he holds them up to look through the lenses for a second before sliding them over his eyes. They don't fit that well, bowing out around his head a little, and the half-moon frames look silly on him, but it's his bewildered expression that makes me smirk. It's a little blurry, but I can see him blinking as he looks around aimlessly, his face slowly twisting into a crooked smirk.

“Wow, it's like looking through a fish-eye lens... or a microscope,” he remarks, centering his gaze on me and blinking a few times, “How do you make yourself look so beautiful without being able to see?”

“I manage,” I retort, shaking my head and sighing, “thanks for informing me that I'm functionally blind, but can I have them back now?”

Pulling them off his face, he rubs his eyes then holds them out for me to take. Deciding to play up the blind joke, I extending my arm and start reaching around erratically, grasping at thin air. “This isn't funny, stop moving them!” I exclaim, hearing him start to laugh, “now you're laughing at the blind girl—how inconsiderate!”

Not believing a word of it, he continues laughing, so I snatch my glasses from his hand and level a mockingly angry pout on him. That's twice now he's layered a compliment in with a joke, and I'm starting to see a pattern. I have a sneaking suspicion there's an ulterior motive to this impromptu outing, but all I have to go on are a few odd compliments and a gut feeling.

And a box of condoms...

Despite this being Hisao's planned destination, I find that I'm doing the navigation. Not that the Beijing is particularly hard to find—it's just a few blocks from the Shanghai, which I know he can find—but he seems content to let me do the guiding. Whether it's because he actually doesn't know his way around, or because he likes messing with me, I'm not sure, but I'm having fun anyway.

Even being as hungry as I am, I find myself stopping to look into a few store windows, and Hisao is patient enough to stop and laugh with me. Looking into a little pet store, Hisao mentions he used to have a cat, but it ran away when he was little; or that's the story his parents told him, at least. Somehow I never pictured Hisao with a pet of any kind, but I never had any to speak of, unless you count fireflies—which I don't. Given what I know about cats, that they're sometimes moody and independent, but also loving and mysterious, I'm not surprised Hisao is a cat person.

After walking a few miles in the rain, I'm just happy to step through the door into the warmly-lit dining area. This was Amaya's favorite haunt during our first year, and I used to spend a lot of time here with her and Kenta, so I'm much more comfortable here than the Shanghai, even with the looming threat of karaoke from a converted jukebox in the corner. Watching Hisao react to the oddities for the first time, I smile inwardly and watch his eyes darting around the room, his face dominated by a boyish grin.

The Beijing is another establishment frequented by Yamaku students, but that's where the similarities end. With a Chinese name, American décor and a menu that bridges the gap between both, the little eatery is a study in contradictions. Decidedly more modern and sleek than the Shanghai, the place resembles an American diner with a black and white checkered floor, bright red booths surrounded by wood paneling, a suspended ceiling, and padded stools set along a long dining counter. Hung all over the white walls there are photos, paintings, old street signs and miscellaneous bits of eclectic memorabilia—a collection the owner gathered in his travels, or so I've been told.

Most of it looks like junk...

Despite the inclement weather, there are a few locals lined up along the counter, and one of the booths is occupied by a scrawny kid dressed in an apron with his face covered by a ball-cap—I assume he works in the kitchen, and I think he's asleep. A few of the patrons glance at the two newcomers, but mostly ignore us, going back to their conversations before I can even get my umbrella closed.

Noticing Hisao sniffing the air, I take in the smell of freshly baked bread and a heady aroma that reminds me of the spice rub Nobuo was using at the beach. Whatever Taro is cooking, it smells heavenly. Standing here inhaling air thick with savory goodness reminds me that all I've eaten today was half a bag of stale pretzels, and my stomach makes some embarrassing gurgling noises that I hope Hisao can't hear. He isn't reacting, so that's probably a good sign.

“Have you been here before?” he asks, settling his boyish grin on me.

“Not lately,” I admit, trying to remember my last visit. As I recall it was before winter break, which was quite a while ago now, but I don't think he's asking for specifics. Realizing that, I decide to turn the question on him, “Have you?”

“Nope,” he says simply.

Setting my umbrella down in the basket near the door, I go to pull off my raincoat, but Hisao steps up behind me and proceeds to lift it away for me. It's kind of weird, but also sweet and gentlemanly—he doesn't even attempt to cop a feel in the process. Turning to watch him hang it on the nearby rack, I don't know how to respond other than to say, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he says, shrugging his own coat off and hanging it over mine. “So, shall we sit-”

“Hey!” a bombastic voice calls out, ending his question.

Turning toward the sound, I see Taro has emerged from the back room with a giant grin on his ample face, and his paralyzed left arm in a sling. Matching Hisao in height, the boisterous young man is easily twice his weight, and has all the grace of a cow on roller-skates, especially when he lets that arm out of its sling, but he's mostly harmless.

Easily making up for his being overweight and clumsy by exuding an excessive amount of cheerfulness, which he shares with most anyone—sometimes to their detriment—Taro seems to thoroughly enjoy working in the restaurant's kitchen. Basically, he does all the cooking whenever he's here, but you'd never guess that if you saw him lazing about in class—people sometimes mistake him for a narcoleptic.

Stepping out around the counter, wiping his free hand on the front of his apron as he goes, he walks right up to Hisao and claps him on the shoulder, making him wince. “Still raining out, I see!” he chuckles, peering out through the glass doors, “I'd almost given up on seeing you today,” he adds, turning a coy smirk toward me, “and who's your lady friend?”

Looking at him squarely, I'm not sure whether he's messing with me, or if he actually forgot who I am. Taro can be a little thick, but that's part of his charm, which he might be using against me now. “Aiko,” I say, pointing at myself and frowning as he screws up his face in confusion. “Room three-one,” I add, trying to jog his memory, “Tadao's friend.”

I think they still hang out, anyway...

There's a few moments of silence while he's connecting the dots in his head, but realization soon follows, along with a redoubled smile. “Oh, sorry! I didn't recognize you out of uniform!” he says, immediately shrinking away nervously, “O-or, I mean, not...  that is, n-not... u-um- in regular clothes, I mean...” Stopping there, he looks away shyly, his cheeks turning beet red as he closes his eyes and winces.

He's still a smooth talker...

The black t-shirt and slacks, together with the grease-stained, white apron make him appear as the spitting image of a proverbial, cranky old chef, minus the perpetual frown—actually, he always seems to be grinning. Taro is somewhat of a hapless buffoon, but so friendly and lovable you can't help but smile when he's around. Basically it's impossible to get mad at him.

“It's okay,” I assure him, shaking my head. “I forgot your name too,” I add sardonically.

Eying me suspiciously for a moment, he considers me a little more closely. “Now I remember you!” he finally blurts, “The one that dated that nerd-... what's his name?”

“Kenta,” I reply, still carrying the sarcastic tone.

“Right! Poor guy...” he laughs, clapping Hisao on the shoulder again. I'm not sure whether that was an observation about Kenta, or sympathy for Hisao; it's probably both. This is where Kenta and I went for our one disastrous date, and Taro was here to witness the train wreck in progress, so I'm not surprised he remembers. Perhaps I should be though, considering he seems to have forgotten who I am, but that might just be a rouse.

I feel like I should be smarter than this...

“So, you're still slumming it with nerds, I see,” he remarks toward me, grinning broadly and turning to Hisao.

Whether that was meant offensively or not, I'm going to take it as a compliment; I'm learning to embrace that aspect of myself. Glancing at Hisao, he looks a little offended; I'm not sure if he's proud of the “nerd” moniker. However, after a quick look toward me, he smiles confidently and looks back at Taro to affirm, “Yes... Yes, she is.”

Embrace the power of the nerd side!

“Great! That means there's hope for the rest of us!” Taro's excited tone makes me wary, and there's a creepy glint in his eyes, but I'm pretty sure he's faking the overtones. “Anyway,” he continues, directing us toward one of the booths, “you two have a seat, and I'll be back in a few with two of today's house special—my new recipe.”

Deciding I'm too hungry to argue, I sit down on one side of the booth while Hisao takes the opposite bench. Meanwhile, our excitable host grins ear-to-ear and starts throwing a few short bows. “I'll be right back,” he announces, pausing briefly before adding “I hope you're hungry.”

He has no idea...

Before he heads back, he steps over to the kid in the booth behind Hisao and kicks his foot. “Wake up, Jun,” he barks, the commanding tone of his voice surprising me more than a little, “break-time is over!”

While Taro walks back toward the kitchen, I watch the scrawny figure standing up in the booth, and I frown reflexively. Small as he is, I'm not surprised I mistook Jun for a kid, but I'm a little embarrassed anyway. Sidling out of the booth groggily, he plants the cap on his head backwards and yawns. Noticing me the moment his eyes reopen, he casts a raised eyebrow at me and smirks devilishly. “Hey, Two-Tone, fancy meeting you here!” His tone is anything but cheerful.

I'm laughing on the inside...

Rolling my eyes at the nickname, I breathe a sigh. If I can keep this cordial, I'll try, but I'm not confident Jun will let that happen. Noticing Toru is nowhere to be seen, I decide to ask, “Where's your better half, Jun?”

Intrigued by the exchange, Hisao looks at me, then cranes his neck to glance at Jun. There's a brief moment where they make eye contact, and I can see Jun's confidence faltering, though I'm not sure how Hisao looks intimidating at the moment. Straightening his posture, Jun turns back toward me with renewed resolve, or something more like indignation; he's somewhat easily offended.

“Toru has some big newspaper deal today,” he explains, “not that it's any of your business!” Taking a quick look at Hisao, he sneers and starts shaking his hands; I think he's trying to distract Hisao for some reason, but it isn't working. Looking back at me he nods like some kind of street thug and asks, “What about your better half?”

“That's me, isn't it?” Hisao states, not missing a beat.

“No, not you, doofus! The nosy chick with the bangs,” Jun explains, his choice of words making me groan.

“He means Amaya,” I say to Hisao, then shake my head at Jun, “the one he's been crushing on since first year.”

That should shut him up.

Standing there, dumbstruck by the accusation, but unable to hide the blush or attempt a denial, he gives up quickly and stomps toward the kitchen, exactly as I expected. Normally I wouldn't be that cruel, but Jun gets under my skin even on a good day, and I'm already cranky—he had it coming. As he disappears through the door, I look back at Hisao and shrug at his surprised expression. “What?” I groan, throwing my hands up in exasperated fashion, “It's true!”

After a few moments pause, he furrows his brow and starts to ask, “Does she-”

“Yes... and no, she was never interested,” I answer both questions before he can finish.

Even thinking about it gives me the creeps...

Noting that his expression is asking for more of an explanation, I'm a little apprehensive about elaborating, but she's his friend, too; he ought to know. Leaning forward so I can keep my voice down, I motion for him to do the same and wait for him to comply before I'll say anything. Assuming a pensive expression, he folds his arms on the table and matches my position.

“He's never gotten up the courage, especially since the festival, and she's usually content to keep her distance,” I say, frowning and shrugging. “Mostly she just avoids him... He's kind of...”

Creepy, disrespectful, obnoxious, vain, insulting... a real jackass...

All of those words fit, but I don't want to sound too insulting. It's difficult to be tactful describing someone as migraine-inducing as Jun Uematsu. There are a lot of similarities between him and Kenta personality-wise, but while Kenta's sarcastic jabs come with a wink and a nudge, Jun always seems genuinely malicious. According to some of my classmates, he's a completely different person when he's playing music, but I only ever see the spiteful, childish delinquent.

Seeing Hisao is still waiting for me to finish my thought, I try to think of the least awful-sounding word to describe Jun, and one strikes me, though it still feels inadequate. “Immature, I guess,” I say with a shrug.

Nodding slowly, Hisao doesn't seem satisfied by the answer, but it's all I'm willing to say without getting into specifics. There was a time when I approached conversations with the same kind of irate indifference as Jun, and it probably earned me a few detractors, but that's mostly in the past. There are times when I still cause friction inadvertently, but it's no longer intentional—at least most of the time. Comparatively, Jun is still the same condescending, vulgar jackass he was three years ago; I don't think I owe him any sympathy.

Silence falls over us as we await Taro's return, and I try to put Jun far out of mind. Hisao continues fidgeting, but I don't think he's thinking about our altercation with my indignant classmate anymore. Instead he keeps looking toward the kitchen door in between long bouts of staring at the pie cases along the counter. He indicated that he hasn't eaten either, but I don't think his wandering gaze has anything to do with food. There's a strange smile on his face that I can't quite identify, but I'm also not thinking clearly, and I might just be imagining things.

Where is Taro with the food...!?

As if on cue, the kitchen doors squeak open and I hear rattling and banging, followed by an apologetic, “Sorry.” From my angle, I can't quite see what Taro is wheeling out of the kitchen, but the loud squeaking and continued metallic rattling tell me it's some kind of cart. Apparently, whatever Taro is carting out of the kitchen, it's what Hisao was nervously awaiting, because I notice his shoulders relaxing almost immediately.

Perking his eyes up, Hisao casts a warm smile at me, but I'm too busy trying to see what's on the cart to respond. As it passes out from behind the counter, I realize it looks like a dinner cart, but the food is covered with a white table-cloth that drapes down almost to the floor. The three-pointed tent indicates there are two plates, probably under cloche domes, and a tall point between them. I'll probably have to wait for the reveal to find out the identity of the third object—I don't want to assume anything at this point.

The wheels underneath squeak terribly, drawing the attention of all the patrons lined up on the counter, but Taro continues grinning broadly the whole way, like he doesn't even see them. Watching him push the cart along with one arm, I feel a little awkward, but I resist the urge to ask if he needs help. Attending Yamaku for this long, I've learned that most of my classmates will ask for help if they really need it, but a lot of them react poorly to offered assistance—I get that way when I lose my equilibrium.

As he draws the noisy cart up alongside our table, I notice Taro has changed out of the apron, and into a white chef coat, complete with a monogrammed name tag—apparently this was all planned. Looking at Hisao, I notice he's still staring at me, smiling brightly. I want to ask what this is all about, but I think I can guess well enough to keep quiet until they finish their play. Apparently I've been the victim of clandestine phone antics twice today, but this second surprise isn't a disaster, at least not yet.

Sample Taro's cooking, indeed...

“Nakai-san, Kurai-san,” Taro announces formally, bowing to each of us, “I present today's house special.”

I knew he remembered my name...

Lifting away the cloth, he reveals two plates covered with metal cloche domes, as expected, and a tall, narrow porcelain vase with a single red rose standing inside. There's effort in the presentation that reeks of premeditation, and I can't help smiling at the gesture. This is Hisao trying to sweep me off my feet, probably on very little notice, and so far it's just stupid enough to work—I'm holding back a girlish squeal just to keep them honest.

As Taro removes the domes, I draw a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment, sighing contentedly. The contents of the plates look completely unfamiliar, but it smells heavenly, and I have to resist smacking my lips in anticipation; I don't want to ruin the formal effort. Instead, I clear my throat, turn a curious grin at Hisao and remark, “Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?”

“You don't like it?” he retorts, faking a frown.

“No I love it, but you don't have to try so hard,” I reply, half-joking. He responds with a toothy grin while I roll my eyes; his nerdy antics and dopey smiles are definitely still working.

Turning toward Taro I add, “No offense to the chef, but I'd be fine with a dry sandwich under an awning in the park,” Hisao just nods while I take another curious look at the plates and ask, “What is that, anyway?”

Grinning, Taro replies, “Meat-loaf and mashed potatoes in gravy with sautéed Brussels sprouts and Parmesan cheese.”

There's a few seconds where he just stares at me, expecting a response, but all I can do is nod. Some of that sounds familiar, but I don't have much experience with foreign food. Amaya or my mother would probably know what this is, but I don't think I care; I'm hungry enough to eat lead paint. Hisao looks even more confused, but he gives his head a quick shake to dispel the bewildered stare.

“Sounds great,” he says happily, “or it smells great, at least.”

Nodding, Taro goes about setting the plates down on our table, followed by the vase, which he places in the middle. Producing a pitcher of what looks like iced tea from a lower shelf, he places it, along with two glasses, down on the table as well, then backs away, pulling the cart off to the side.

“Enjoy!” he chirps, offering another bow before walking back toward the kitchen.

Hisao and I share another curious glance, and I smile as I have to look around the rose to see him clearly. There's a loving expression there, but he keeps glancing down at the food, and I do the same. Despite the sappy, romantic circumstances, I know we're both hungry, so I nod toward the plate and he smiles in agreement. Wordless though the communication may be, it's good to know we both have our priorities straight.

Food first, then talk...

Technically, this is our first dinner date, which I choose not to point out for fear of jinxing the whole proceeding; my last one of those ended badly. The presentation makes me feel like I ought to try having some decorum, but Hisao has seen me eat, and my table manners don't seem to bother him. Regardless of my slovenly ways, Hisao seems content to keep quiet and eat for the most part, and I'm in complete agreement. I don't know what Taro went through to create this feast, and it's definitely weird, but so good.

While we're eating, I keep looking at the rose standing between us and wondering how it got here. This is a casual eatery, not a fancy, upscale restaurant, and I'm pretty sure that cart is usually used for dishes, not table service. They don't keep roses around for this type of thing, either, which means someone, probably Taro, had to go fetch one from the florist a few blocks over—in the rain, no less. If I were the gambling type, which I'm not, I'd bet this involved more planning than a few misleading text messages from Amaya and a phone call to Taro.

The Swooner's plot thickens...

Before we left, Hisao looked nervous and I caught him rehearsing something, and now he's employing romantic trickery. He called ahead for special service, took my coat, and has acted like a perfect gentleman—like some master of romance. Even if it is flattering, this whole situation makes me suspicious. It could all be completely innocent, but he has a track record of hiding uncomfortable news in a pocket of ignorant bliss. Even if it turns out that he's just a hopeless romantic focused on making me feel pampered, I plan to keep an eye out for the unexpected.

With most of the meal finished, we start casting looks at each-other like we're about to say something, but I'm still thinking and he looks no less lost in thought. After a few minutes of coy smiles and silence, he reaches out to push the rose off to the side and raises an eyebrow. Just as I'm about to look back down to grab another fork full, he asks, “How's the book?”

Book... what book?

Setting a bewildered look on him, I'm trying to appear clueless, but he isn't buying my confusion. My deft thievery during lunch on Friday seems to have been noticed, or he just figured it out after he found the book missing. My plan to gain some perspective on his hobbies is something I'm proud of, even if the method is a little underhanded. Either way, he doesn't look mad, just curious. Pouting slightly, I reply, “I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd mind.”

“I don't,” he assures me, tilting his head mockingly, “I just didn't think you were much of a reader is all.”

Deciding to let that little insult roll over me, I explain, “It's not what I'm used to, but you seemed to like it, so I thought I'd give it a try. I got a little addicted to the story, and that's kinda why I barred myself in my room. I wanted to see why you liked it so much.”

I'll leave out the part about the fantasies for now...

“That's fine, just tell me next time,” he says with a warm smile. “I'll need it back, though” he adds, making me frown. Seeing that he holds up a hand and explains, “When you're done, I mean; I borrowed it from someone else, and they expect it returned intact.”

That's strange. I thought he'd gotten it from the library, and I don't remember seeing any markings to indicate it belongs to anyone else. Then again, as I recall, there isn't a library check in the back page, either—I feel like I should have noticed that before. Squaring my shoulders, I catch his eyes with mine and reply, “Sorry, I didn't know.”

“Don't worry, she won't mind. Just don't go losing it or she might- well,” he pauses and looks away for a moment, “no probably not...” as he trails off, shaking his head, I can't help but wonder who he could be talking about.

Who's “she”?

There are a lot of students in the book club—Amaya and Tadao included. Yamaku has a lot of avid readers who share books all the time, and I trust Hisao, or I want to at least, but there's a twinge of suspicion tugging at my insides, making me feel anxious. It's probably someone in his class, and completely innocent, but there's something evasive in the way he mentioned her that has me picturing something awful—Hisao with another girl. Imagining that leaves me thinking I'm being a bad girlfriend, and I realize Hisao has friends outside my social circle—apparently he's friends with Taro, for instance—but I can't help feeling a little possessive.

“Anyway, just bring it back when you're done reading,” he says finally.

Going back to his food, he seems completely oblivious to the wealth of anxieties he inspired, but I'm doing my best to look like I'm not about to have a nervous breakdown. Considering that he's here with me instead of roaming around with some girl he borrows books from, it probably shouldn't bother me at all, but it does—more than I can rationalize.

Over a little book trading, no less...

Despite how irrational I know I'm being, the same feelings that fill my head with fantasies also make me paranoid, and I'm not proud of it, but I just have to know which girl is letting him borrow books—if only for my peace of mind. Misha isn't much of a reader, and Shizune probably spends more time in textbooks than is healthy, so it's probably neither of them. Hisao sits near Molly too, along with Suzu and Ritsu, but I don't know any of them well enough to guess if they're into books. There are probably a half-dozen girls sitting near Hisao in class, and twice that many he might run into on a daily basis, so trying to guess probably isn't helping.

It's just making me feel crazy...

Taking a breath, I try to calm down and think rationally, but I can't stop picturing him with some mysterious other girl. Without flying my jealousy flag, or my crazy banner, I can't just ask him where he got the book. However, if I suggest bringing it back to its owner, the book itself might help lead me right to her doorstep. That's even more underhanded than the means I used to acquire the book in the first place, but if I don't find out soon I'm probably going to start looking as crazy as I feel.

Putting on a worried frown, which comes easily since that's not far from the truth, I smile evenly and suggest, “I could bring it back to her.”

I'm officially Hisao's crazy girlfriend...

Looking up from his plate of food, he doesn't appear suspicious of my fishing attempt, but I feel like I need to explain further. Nodding, smiling, and hoping I look sincere rather than out of my mind, I add, “I should probably apologize for taking it without her permission, anyway.”

Cordially crazy...

Taking a few moments to ponder my suggestion, he rubs the back of his head and winces a little—I hope he doesn't suspect my motives, not that they aren't worthy of suspicion. When he finishes squinting through the thoughts, he smiles and nods. “Yeah, I guess you could. You know Hanako? Um... Hanako Ikezawa.”

Bacon-face!?

Closing my eyes, I silently berate myself for having a such horrible thought, especially about someone who doesn't deserve the insult. There are plenty of rumors about Hanako, especially about how she got her scars, and more than a few unkind nicknames get whispered behind her back—most of which are far worse. Still, I'm disappointed in myself for thinking it, and I already feel guilty enough for my irrational jealousy, but I can't dwell on that while Hisao is waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, the shy, quiet girl with the-” I stop myself before saying the word, but I can't help picturing the scars covering her face. Hisao seems to understand my hesitation, but that doesn't make me feel better—worse, actually. “She's on the same floor as me,” I continue, trying to shrug away my disappointingly shallow thoughts, “I can bring it to her after I'm done.”

Hopefully his squinting, contemplative expression is just more thinking, rather than the judging I feel I'm due for being so duplicitous and shallow. This is what I get for feeling possessive: a giant brick of guilt weighing down my shoulders. It's completely my fault, I know, but I can't help feeling insecure sometimes. The plastic smile I'm keeping up seems to be working its magic, though, as he starts nodding in agreement.

“I'll let her know to expect you,” he says, pausing to take in a breath, “she can be a little...”

“Timid,” I say, drawing a stiff nod followed by a drawn-out sigh.

Now that I know who he got the book from, I suddenly don't feel threatened at all, but that somehow doesn't make me feel better—worse, really. It shouldn't matter who it is, I should still feel jealous, but Hanako just doesn't bring that out in me. The little I know about her has come from third parties, but the things that sound like truth are mostly horrible, and even some of the exaggerations seem plausible. If Hisao managed to make friends with her, that's probably a good thing, but the thought that he could fall for her seems completely ridiculous. However, thinking that makes me feel like a condescending bitch.

I need to stop thinking about this.

“It might be a while, I'm not as fast a reader as you,” I say, trying to lead us toward a different subject.

“It's all I did for four months, practically,” he remarks, “you're just not used to the neck cramps and eye strain.”

Clearly he doesn't know enough about my hobbies, so, in an effort to help him understand, and get my mind off the jealous feelings, I start talking about the countless hours I've spent in digital worlds. Usually I'm inclined to keep my nerd flag at half-mast, but I'm comfortable enough with Hisao to let it fly in all its pixellated glory. Most of what I tell him is probably little more than gibberish to his inexperienced ears, but he keeps smiling and nodding throughout; that's probably what my face looks like when he talks about science. Still, I think there's genuine interest hiding behind his facade of politeness, but I'll leave dragging him into my bad habits for another day.

Resistance is futile...

After we've both finished dinner, stopping just short of licking the plates, Taro comes by to take away the dishes, and Hisao covers the bill without even letting me offer to pay my share. Leaving the iced tea for us to sip while we talk, our cheerful host shares a quick nod with Hisao before heading back to the kitchen—mission accomplished, apparently. The whole idea of having someone take care of me feels a little alien after basically living on my own for the past three years, but I'm not about to complain.

Looking out the window, I notice the rain has stopped and there's an orange sunset casting a warm haze across the rain-soaked street. The conversation has dried up much like the rain, but Hisao is looking at me intently, apparently trying to pick a moment when he can start talking again. There's still tension in his expression, and I don't think he got around to asking what he rehearsed yet, so the silence is starting to feel uncomfortable. Not oppressively so, but enough that I want him to get it over with, so I turn into his tense gaze, lace my fingers together and smile.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He fidgets in his seat a bit and averts his gaze for a moment, but after clearing his throat, he places his elbows on the table and leans forward. His expression shifts between contemplative and confused, and I start to feel a little nervous about what he's going to say, but he looks anxious enough without worrying about my reaction, so I keep the smile on my face and try to look casual.

“So, I talked to my parents Tuesday night,” he says, smiling evenly.

Huh, that's all?

That doesn't sound particularly unusual, but, knowing how infrequent his contact with them has been, I'm immediately curious. “Everything at home okay?” I ask, hoping he didn't just get some awful news.

“Yeah, they're fine,” he replies, nodding, “they haven't gotten an update in a while is all.”

Nodding, I rest my chin on my laced fingers and remark, “They called to check up on you.”

“I called them, actually,” he says, surprising me a little.

Apparently it surprises him just as much because he immediately goes silent. The few times he's told me about talking to his parents, it's always one of them—usually his mom—calling to make sure he's eating well, doing alright in class, taking his medication and whatnot. Thinking about it, I'm more curious about why he didn't say something sooner. The forlorn expression he was walking around with on Wednesday morning probably had something to do with that call, but he told me it was nothing. If I'm interpreting his introspective look correctly, it was definitely something.

“Remember how we were talking about your mom and your sister?” he asks, to which I nod, still feeling a little confused. “That got me thinking about my parents,” he says, which makes sense. Nodding against my hands, I recall him being somewhat envious of the relationship I have with my family, even though I wouldn't exactly call it great.

Even though I'm nodding and smiling supportively, he still looks uncomfortable, but he clears his throat and continues, “Since my... Heart-attack... and the hospital stay that followed, things have been a little more... strained... than usual, with my folks.”

That's disheartening to hear. Usually something like that brings families closer, I thought—it did with mine, anyway. Although, after everything with Dad ended, it does seem like we grew apart, and not just physically. Mom moved half way across the planet, but we've been talking less over the past year. Thinking that makes me feel bad for missing Mom's call earlier, even though it wasn't my fault.

That's for me to deal with later, though. Right now Hisao is waiting for me to respond.

Considering my scattered thoughts, I reply, “That might be normal,” which probably isn't what he wanted to hear, but it's honest. “It's a lot to consider,” I add, trying to clarify, “they probably don't know how to deal with it any better than you did...”

After saying that, I immediately want to take it back. Hisao shouldn't blame himself for feeling depressed after what he went through; it's a perfectly justifiable reaction. Besides, he's gotten over it mostly by now, I think. Getting adjusted to the idea of mortality is only difficult when you don't have a frame of reference, and Hisao knows better than most that life can be a fleeting and unpredictable thing.

Despite my feeling bad about what I said, Hisao is nodding, even smiling. “Maybe...” he says, shrugging. “But, after talking with you, I realized I've been avoiding them,” he adds, glancing away and frowning.

That's a look I'm familiar with; the guilty, shamed pout someone makes when they realize something horrible was their fault. I've worn it a few times in the past, and it's usually accompanied by an empty feeling I can sympathize with. It's how I felt when I selfishly avoided visiting Dad in the hospital, and how I subsequently felt after he died while I was still being stubborn. Apparently, Hisao's strained relationship with his parents is more bothersome than I realized, or at least that's the impression I'm getting.

Looking back and summoning some resolve, he winces a little as he continues, “So, with that in mind, I called home Tuesday night, and talked to my mom. I was gonna stay here for a while after summer vacation started, so I could spend more time with you, maybe meet your mom, and-” stopping, he shakes his head and smiles.

Settling a warm smile on me, he continues, “That sounded great, actually, but I got to thinking; I don't want my... condition... to push my parents even further away.” As he pauses to collect his thoughts, I suck in a breath and bite my lip, already guessing what he's about to say.

“So, when she asked if I'd head back a little sooner... I agreed,” he says despondently, almost like he's apologizing rather than relaying the news.

The face I'm making is probably something more akin to shock than happiness, but I think I'm smiling despite myself. Not that I'm unhappy about him wanting to reconnect with his parents, but it's strangely sudden. There's good reason behind it, and I'll support it completely, but I wish he'd been more forthcoming. The thought that he'll end up missing Mom and Midori's visit makes me frown, but Mom will understand, and would never hold it against him. If Dad taught me anything, as much in life as in his death, it's that you have to cherish the people you love while you can because you don't get second chances once they're gone.

That doesn't make this easier, though...

“That's good, really,” I say, trying to shove the melancholy frown aside with a smile.

“Even though I'll probably miss meeting your mom?” he asks, reaching up to start rubbing the back of his head, “I kinda agreed to go without-”

“It's fine,” I interject, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. Mom will be disappointed, but she'll understand. Family is important to her... and me, I guess,” I add, trying to put things in perspective.

“You're really not mad?”

Well, I probably could be, but I'm really not. This means we'll probably only have until next weekend before we're separated for a month, but he'll be back after break. Besides, maybe we need the time apart. Things have been going great between us, outside of my inability to tell him my most horrible secret, but otherwise I still feel like I've been moving too fast with Hisao. Summer break will give us both a chance to step back, breathe, and let the distance make us fonder, or however that saying goes.

“No, not at all,” I say firmly, “I'm your girlfriend, but they're your family, and I want you to be on good terms with them, if you can.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, he sits back and shakes his head. “I thought you wouldn't take it quite this well,” he remarks, shrugging, “guess I was worried for nothing.”

“Don't get me wrong,” I retort, “I'd rather keep you to myself, but-” I stop to consider my words more carefully. “I'd rather not cause any more friction, y'know? You've had a tough year. Me getting bent out of shape over this would just make it worse.”

“So you do care?” He asks sardonically, grimacing and eying me curiously.

“Of course!” I reply a little too excitedly, causing him to smirk. “I'll miss you, but I got along fine before The Swooner showed up to sweep me off my feet,” I chide, starting to giggle.

Giving up the feigned grimace, he leans forward and reaches for my other hand. The warm smile I'm always craving plays across his face and I really have to try and stop myself before I end up absorbed into his hypnotic eyes. Sitting there staring at each-other in silence for a few moments, I suddenly don't care about the strangers who might be watching. Leaning closer, I feel a blush streaking my cheeks. Seeing that same blush reflected on Hisao's face, I reach up to touch his cheek and inch closer until our lips meet softly, just barely reaching across the table.

“Get a room!” an obnoxious voice calls out from behind me.

Turning to see Jun leaning out through the kitchen door, I scowl at him, but he's already laughing and sidling back through the door. Looking back at Hisao, I see he's still blushing, but rolling his eyes and shaking his head. I think he's starting to understand my aversion toward Jun, and that makes me feel better about my earlier assessment.

Yeah, no sympathy at all.

Sitting back, we both sigh and have a laugh at ourselves. Considering the list of important things he's told me over the past month, this is probably the least terrible of the bunch. The tension he was holding seems to have relaxed finally, and that makes me happy. There's a certain quality to Hisao's demeanor that's much more attractive when he isn't wrapped up in anxiety. He smiles more when there isn't something weighing on him, and I prefer it when he stays that way.

That desire to see him happy is why I'm so interested in him reconnecting with his parents. Undoubtedly, the burden of being their only child is probably enough pressure without the addition of a life-threatening heart condition. My Mom expects a lot from me, though her way of getting it across is more subdued and gentle than most. With the arrhythmia, Hisao had to give up a lot of possibilities, and that probably doesn't sit well with his success-minded parents. Anything I can do to help mend that rift can only be beneficial for us both.

Thinking that, I furrow my brow and set a questioning look on the boy across the table. “Have you told them about me?” I ask, though I realize I haven't exactly done him the same courtesy.

“Not... specifically,” he replies, wincing, “I told them I made friends, and that there's someone special, but...”

That's basically what I told Mom, but the wince makes me curious enough to ask, “What does that mean?”

Taking a deep breath, he sits forward and shrugs. “They didn't ask, so I didn't tell.”

That's fair, I guess.

“What about your mom?” He asks, making me wince, “Have you sent her my vital statistics, or is she still perusing through my academic history?”

Ha, ha... Hmm... I wonder about that myself...

Getting the question turned on me should have been expected, but I don't think he expects my answer to be anything approaching serious. “She sent me a book titled 'to serve Hisao', but I'm not much of a cook,” I say, smirking deviously.

“Speaking of the Twilight Zone,” he remarks, turning to look outside, “suppose we should head back before Amaya starts messaging me again?”

That's a weird segue, but... wait-

“What?” I prompt weakly, fixing a confused stare on his smirking face.

Instead of answering right away, Hisao starts sidling out of the booth. Once out, he stands beside the table and holds out a hand to help me out, but I'm too dumbstruck to move. “Tell her I'm glad she stole your phone,” he adds, leading me to raise an eyebrow and fold my arms.

Regaining my composure, I state evenly, “You knew.”

“The whole time, pretty much,” he affirms, smirking proudly, “I was suspicious when you were texting instead of talking, but you also don't use smiley faces and hearts—that's Amaya's signature. I don't think she knows I knew, though.” Wriggling his fingers before me, he smiles calmly and waits while I process the information.

If what he says is true, then the only person who is still being fooled is none other than the puppeteer herself. That brings a devious grin to my face, which Hisao notices and mirrors. “Should we bother telling her?” I ask, taking Hisao's hand and standing.

Once I'm up, he takes a step back and starts shaking his head. “Nah; let her believe she got away with it,” He says, to which I nod, “got a good day out if it anyway, and we can use it later if she gets out of line.”

“I love that you're devious and evil sometimes,” I reply, springing up on my toes to kiss his cheek.

Standing there smirking for a second, he looks toward the kitchen, then back to me. “I'll be right back,” he says, heading over to the lunch counter. Stopping there, he calls out, “Hey! Taro!”

A few seconds later, Taro emerges from the back room wiping his hand on a towel. “What's up? You heading out?” he asks cheerily, flipping the towel onto his shoulder.

Hisao leans against the counter and beckons Taro to do the same, then I stand there watching as they share a brief whispered conversation. Whatever they're talking about, I'm apparently not supposed to hear, but I can guess it has something to do with the setup he prepared. While they're conversing secretively, I reach over and pull the rose up out of the vase, lifting it to my nose to draw in the flowery scent.

Roses, red ones specifically, are a symbol of love, which didn't really strike me until this moment. Even knowing he was being lured out by Amaya's deception, Hisao took the time to make it an opportunity, to plan something special. There was no need to, and I told him that much, but I don't think that was the point. He wanted to make me feel special, perhaps especially because I'd locked myself away for a couple days, and despite my bouts of jealousy and irrational suspicion, I think he succeeded.

When he shakes Taro's hand and walks back over to wrap an arm across my shoulder, and ask, “Ready to go?” I'm still spinning the rose in my hand, smiling obliviously. While he collects our coats, smirking over his shoulder, I feel a moment of clarity, an epiphany perhaps more powerful than I've ever felt.

The way he gets nervous when he tells me bad news, or seems to smile weirdly whenever we're sharing a silent moment, and the way he's always paying attention when I talk, even when I know I'm boring him to tears, all point to one thing: Hisao really does love me. Not only did he say he loves me, he believes it, he's trying to show it, and I'm awed by my inability to have seen it before his confession, and especially afterward.

Whenever he has bad news, he probably wonders whether it will cause me to reject him, and the guilty feeling I get for holding things back is likely something he knows all too well. During those silent moments, he's probably thinking about me, wondering about my thoughts, maybe even fantasizing—well, that probably happens anyway. The genuine interest I see in his expression when I talk about inane things that happened in class, or my favorite games, or anything else, probably comes from a desire to hear what I have to say, regardless of the subject.

In perspective, it all makes sense...

“I love you,” I announce suddenly, wanting to get it out before I start to think too much.

Gathering the coats across his arm, he turns that warm smile at me, the one that always makes me feel better, and nods. “I know,” he says, then purses his lips like he's ready to take a slap.

Instead I leap forward, wrap him in a hug, and start planting kisses on his cheeks. He gasps a little in surprise, but manages to wrap his free arm around me once he realizes I'm not attacking him with anything but affection. After settling down, I lean back to make eye contact and explain, “I wanted to say it,” recalling our parting earlier in the week, “I owed you one.”

“I love you, too,” he replies, and this time it's more like music to my ear. Before another thought can cross my mind, I brush my hand across his jaw and he ducks down to meet me in another soft kiss. There are probably ten people in the diner watching us, including Taro, and even Jun, but I don't care. If they start spreading rumors around school and I end up being the butt of everyone's jokes over the break, I still won't care. I love Hisao, and I want to be with him, to whatever end.

When I sink back down to my feet, I feel a sense of calm I haven't felt in a while; I can't even think of when that was, but this feels better anyway. There are things I need to tell him, and they're still too terrifying to say aloud, but as I gaze into his piercing brown eyes, I'm beginning to realize he'll understand. Even if it takes until after summer break, or beyond, I'm determined to make sure he knows everything about me because he wants to know, not because I have to tell him. For now, I'm going to take my chances and spend as much time as I can, as often as I'm able, with my handsome, nerdy, slightly mysterious master of romance—The Swooner. Hisao Nakai.

I just hope he doesn't go looking through my coat pockets...