Tomorrow's Doom A.3/C.17 - In Synch

Chapter 16: http://pastebin.com/iL2TvBYx
____________________________________________
Chapter 17 – In Synch

Waking early, but feeling refreshed, I spend a little time picking up my room -giving it a perfunctory topical excavation- before heading out to meet Emi and Hisao. The bright orange sunrise filters over the carefully manicured lawns, casting long shadows from the fruit trees dotting the area near the track. Passing by the bleachers, I catch the scent of wild flowers growing someplace out of sight and walk with a lightness in my steps.

Wearing my swimsuit, bathrobe and track pants, and carrying a towel to keep up appearances, there's a devious grin on my face as I make my way out across the track to the shed on the far side. Emi was more than happy to help out when I explained we wanted to use the shed to ensnare Amaya and Tadao. Volunteering to meet us out here to hand off a spare key for the padlock, I think she may be more excited to see this work than I am – though probably not.

Seeing her bouncing lightly on her running spikes near the shed, I wave at Emi when she catches sight of me, and answer her gleeful grin with a clandestine smile. Dressed and ready for her morning run, she holds up the key and giggles. “Quite the plan you have in mind, Aiko,” she says cheerfully, tossing it over, “don't lock them in there for too long, though.”

Seeing the concern on her cherubic face, I mention, “we're leaving water in there for them, and we'll be staying nearby.”

“Might wanna leave a box of-” she stops herself and giggles. “Y'know...” she trails off, looking embarrassed.

She doesn't... that couldn't... I...

Seeing my bewildered look, she cracks up laughing and nudges my shoulder with her elbow. “I'm just kidding, geeze!” she chides. Widening her eyes and flitting her eyebrows, her gleeful grin twists into a suggestive smirk as she adds, “or maybe I'm not.”

The fact that I don't want to consider the possibility doesn't mean it couldn't happen. Besides, they're two healthy young adults and there's a very real chance they could end up-

Ok, stop; I want off this logic train.

Not wanting to think about that looming happenstance, I shake my head and look at her disdainfully. “You don't mind us using it?” I ask. Realizing my question could be misinterpreted, my eyes widen and I start to ramble, “I mean for locking them together, not-”

“Calm down, priss,” Emi balks, cutting my babble short. “The Track Captain uses it for worse things,” she says cryptically, “using it to help two lovebirds get their heads on straight is probably good karma.” Turning, she starts bounding toward the track.

Stopping a few paces away, she looks back over her shoulder and warns, “if you smell lemons, don't go in, though.” That said, she continues her jog -sprint- toward the track.

Lemons? And did she call me 'priss'?

Before I can think too much about what she meant, I hear Hisao call from behind me, “heya, morning!”

Turning to regard him, I see he's carrying a cooler in one hand and waving with the other, wearing a white t-shirt, track pants and black sneakers like any other morning; all part of the show. The cooler was his idea; leaving some refreshments in case the shed gets hot in the afternoon sun. Brushing away the cryptic reference Emi left me with, I hold up the key for him to see and remark, “you just missed Emi.”

“I must have blinked,” he says sardonically.

Following him when he walks by, we head into the shed and have a look around. The interior is a little dark, especially in the dim morning light, and it's crammed with an assortment of sporting paraphernalia, but there's enough room to walk around inside without bumping into each-other. Faintly, I catch a lemon scent in the stagnant air, but I shrug it off; not wanting to think about what Emi's cryptic message could have meant.

Leaving the cooler near the door, we set about making sure the equipment we'll be sending them in to get is as far from the door as possible. Bouncing basketballs to the back corner, and moving a rack of tennis rackets along with them, it takes us nearly an half an hour to get everything placed properly; we have to make it look normal. When we've finished that, we're both sweating profusely as the morning sun has started beating heavily on the shed, raising the temperature inside.

“Got our work-out anyway,” Hisao comments, reaching into the cooler for a couple bottles of water.

As he hands one to me, I laugh and nod. “I could still go for a swim, but I don't think we'll have time,” I remark, “guess a nice cold shower will do, though.” Hiding the cooler in the back corner -we can tell them about it after they're locked in- we head out into the brightening morning and start walking back toward the dorms.

Approaching the crossroads, I recall a detail that I might need to quickly fix. “My hair,” I say absently. Looking at me blankly, Hisao is surprised when I grab his half-empty bottle of water. “We were supposed to be swimming, remember,” I explain, shaking the water into my trusses.

“You could come use my shower before heading back,” he mentions, pointing toward the boys dorm.

Feeling silly, standing in the middle of the path holding the empty bottle of water, I think that's a brilliant idea – sort of. Getting a chance to see his dorm room, finally -I wonder if he actually has that little banzai tree- would be cathartic, but I wonder what ulterior motive he might have. “What about Kenji?” I ask, avoiding the more obvious question.

“He's never up this early unless he's headed into town – and that's usually only on Tuesdays,” he describes, “nobody else uses the bathroom there, either.”

“Seriously?” I ask, remembering the line before Tanabata.

“Come on, you wanna sell the cover-story, right?” he says, his logic being difficult to deny. “I'll show you my room, even,” he adds, starting to walk toward the dorm.

“No funny stuff,” I comment as I start following him.

Glancing back, he smirks, but doesn't bother to respond verbally. Thus far he's been a perfect gentleman, but for some reason I can't help having alarm bells ringing in my head. It's probably just apprehension over going into the boys dorm at all; I've only been there a few times with Amaya to drag Tadao out on some excursion. Still, even though I trust Hisao's intentions, that doesn't mean I shouldn't be cautious.

I'm just being paranoid. A little paranoia is good for you.

As Hisao leads me through the halls, I try not to frown at the familiar smell. The girls dorm, I'm used to, but the boys dorm always has a musky odor that seems to permeate the air even though it's well-kept by the students and staff. Thankfully the place is devoid of activity, so there's nobody around to wonder why I'm following him to his room so early in the morning.

Passing through the halls quickly, his room is apparently on the first floor, so there are no stairwells to climb. Coming around one last corner, I find we've reached a dead-end with a door on either side and one on the end. Placing his key in the lock, I read the number-plate. “119,” it says, and below there's a little name plate with, “Nakai Hisao,” written in kanji letters.

Hesitating for just a moment, he pushes the door open and comments, “I still haven't had a chance to decorate.”

As the door swings away, I understand what he means. Not having been in many dorm rooms other than my own, Amaya's, and a few others, I've noticed there's a huge divide in how students decide to arrange and decorate their rooms. Having had mine for over two years, I've had plenty of time to add personal touches to the walls, and land Hurricane Aiko on the floor. Amaya keeps hers in near-clinical order, while others never seem to bother changing it much from when they first stepped through the door.

Inside Hisao's room is very spartan. There's no Albert Einstein or Captain Picard posters, no banzai tree, and, aside from the bed, night-stand and desk, no superfluous furniture. The white curtains, white walls and gray carpeting are unchanged from how I recall my own room looking when I first moved in, and somehow it actually makes sense. Having just started attending Yamaku barely more than a month ago, Hisao hasn't had time to rightly brighten up his room.

With us leading him around to places and taking up his free time with our antics, he hasn't had much time to think about it, much less decorate anything – or go exploring the school grounds, he said. It does surprise me to see an even more extensive pharmacy than Yoko's resting on his nightstand, and my eyes settle there for a long moment.

Noticing my less-than-casual glance at the sprawl of prescription bottles, he lets out a nervous laugh and explains, “those are the meds I mentioned; all seventeen of them.”

“Seventeen?” I echo questioningly, absently counting the bottles. It's a ridiculous number, but he's not kidding; seventeen bottles rest on his nightstand, each with a different label.

“Yeah, well, a number of them are for the condition itself; others are to counteract side-effects from those, and so on from there,” he describes, unblinking and coldly. When he said he gets insomnia from his medications, I had already assumed he was on something for his arrhythmia -Nurse said as much- but I never expected there to be so many. “I try not to think about it,” he says reassuringly, “Nurse keeps track of them and I keep him informed of any side-effects.”

Shaking my head to clear the bewildered expression, I look over at Hisao, now sitting on his bed, and offer a cheerful smile. “You should save the labels and paste them on your walls,” I suggest, glancing around the room, “like a defiant prisoner scratching the days into the walls.”

Laughing, he stands and points toward the door. “The bathroom is the door at the end of the hall,” he explains, then smirks and adds, “I'll distract Kenji if he emerges from his bunker.”

“No peeking,” I scold with a wry smirk as I exit his door. He replies with a quick nod and an innocent smile. Of course, I have no intention of stripping in the shower; I'm just wetting down so I look like I went for a swim. His dutiful nod is still reassuring.

Darting across the hall, I enter the bathroom quickly and toss my bathrobe and towel over on the counter. Slipping out of my track pants and sandals, I step into one of the two shower stalls and turn on the cold water. Hearing it sputter and choke for a second, the stream starts to flow and I step in quickly, getting my hair soaked and wetting the rest of myself down so I appear clammy - like I should after a swim.

Thoroughly soaked and a little cold, I step out, shut off the water, then start drying myself quickly. Wrapping the towel over my hair, I pull up my track pants and throw the bathrobe on before heading for the exit; it only takes me about three minutes. Opening the door, I find Hisao standing in his doorway, staring at me with his eyes widening.

Did I forget something?

Then I hear something strange coming from the door on the other side of the hall; it sounds like a dozen locks being undone and I glance at Hisao with a questioning look. Pointing into his room, he whispers, “hide!” Quickly and as stealthily as I can, I sprint across the hall and into his room.

Closing the door behind me, he whispers loudly, “wait in there.”

A moment later, I hear the door across the hall swing open and batter the wall, followed by a few heavy footsteps and a stifled yell, then a question “who's there?”

A wild Kenji appears.

Leaning against the door and pressing my ear to the surface, there's a long pause filled with silence and a few more thudding footsteps. Covering my mouth to stop a giggle, I hear Hisao answer, “just me, Kenji.”

“Who's me?!” Kenji cries.

There's a short pause, during which I figure Hisao is shaking his head dismissively, followed by his calm reply, “It's Hisao.”

Suddenly sounding much less agitated, Kenji inquires,“Oh, hey man. How's your underwater infiltration going?”

Underwater infiltration? Okay, yeah, I actually understand that one.

“Swimmingly,” Hisao replies, and it's suddenly very difficult to contain my giggles. “What shot you out of your door like that, anyway?” he inquires, feigning ignorance.

“Thought I heard some commotion coming from the bathroom and thought the feminists may have infiltrated already. I wanted to make sure they hadn't discovered the cache I left in there,” Kenji explains his delusion, then finishes with a query, “you didn't see anything suspicious did you?”

Just a strange girl wetting herself down to sell a cover-story.

“Nope,” Hisao replies, “it's been pretty quiet since I got back.”

“Great! Never can be too careful, though. Feminists are diabolical when it comes to using their feminine wiles to deconstruct the carefully constructed institutions of manhood – like bathrooms,” Kenji replies with even more conspiracy theories. Sometimes I wonder if he really believes that stuff, or if it's just an act, but he sounds sincere.

That's probably why it's so worrisome.

At this point, I imagine Hisao is just smiling and nodding while the crazy person finishes his diatribe. “Make sure you keep your eye out for that kind of stuff and let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary,” Kenji requests, “meantime, I gotta do a perimeter sweep for surveillance and listening devices.”

“You're not going to class today?” Hisao asks, sounding like he wishes he hadn't bothered.

“Where did you think I'd be looking? I run a sweep around here every day, but you can never be too careful. If anyone asks, this conversation never happened. Don't want the feminists finding out someone's scouting out their...” the last bit of his sentence is too quiet to make out, but I doubt it was important anyway. This whole one-sided conversation was rather farcical, really.

After a few seconds, I hear his door slam again and I clear away from the door. Hisao waits out in the hall for a few minutes, to assuage suspicion, I assume, and I cast my wandering eyes around his sparsely furnished room. Catching sight of something colorful on his desk, a single beacon of color in a void of monochrome, I peer over and see an envelope left face down on top of a notebook.

Stepping over lightly, I reach out and flip the letter over to try and read the return address. The carefully-scrawled script is easy to read, and the delicate calligraphy seems rather feminine. The address is somewhere on the other side of Japan -Hisao's home city, maybe- but the name at the address isn't among the ones he ever mentioned – Iwanako Amuro.

The door opens suddenly, and I find myself recoiling from his desk to sit on the bed, plastering a grin on my face to hide the guilty expression. Eying me warily, he inquires, “what were you doing in here?”

Standing, I wave my hands around the room in animated fashion -as a distraction, mostly- and whisper, “just having a look-see, no harm done.” Keeping my eyes on him, I offer a girly giggle and head for the door. “I better get going,” I explain, “Amaya will be up soon.”

Suspicion remains in his eyes as he watches me backing out the door. “Remember, four o'clock,” he reminds me. Nodding in response, I quietly slip out of the door and start heading out through the halls.

As cheerful as I made my exit look, there are dark clouds on the edge of my mind. That letter was post-marked a week ago, so it's been in his possession for a few days at least, but it hasn't been opened yet. Wherever it came from, the sender took enough care to choose a colorful envelope and write out the address in girlish script.

Exiting the dorm, I try not to think about it too much. Still, there's a nagging sense that I was supposed to find that letter by some cosmic happenstance. Whoever sent the letter, Hisao seems not to be interested in opening it, so, perhaps it's nothing important. It still makes me worry if he's keeping something from me – something important.

Who the heck is Iwanako?

Trying to push that question out of mind, I head up through the girls dorm and find the interlude visiting Hisao's shower was probably pointless; Amaya is nowhere to be seen. After a real shower, change and a few minutes spent clearing some of the clutter around my room, I'm glad for the distraction when Amaya knocks on my door. Looking despondent, but no more so than yesterday, she grunts a quick, “morning,” before walking away down the hall.

Her lethargic pace as we walk across campus seems to indicate a desire to discuss something along the way, but she keeps her head down; apparently lost in thought. Today, she manages to take her own seat next to the uncomfortable-looking Tadao, but still says nothing.

Their stark silence affords my thoughts the chance to wander, and they automatically drift back toward that strange letter on Hisao's desk. Little stepping between me and contemplation, I ponder what the letter could mean. Maybe it's just someone he forgot to mention sending well-wishes; like a cousin, or an aunt, or a classmate – or an ex-girlfriend.

Or a girlfriend?

Iwanako -whoever she is- seems to have put a lot of care into that letter, so it may be the only one she sent. Still, perhaps he's been corresponding with her since his time in the hospital, and this is just another letter among several. However, keeping something like that hidden doesn't seem like something Hisao would do, and, besides, if there were still someone back home who cared enough to write, then he would likely have been in a better mood upon coming here.

Who does that make her to him, then?

Thankfully, before I can ponder further, Ito barges in through the door, creating an effective distraction. Seeing his glance at our corner of the room, a relaxed smile spreads on his face; noticing the seating arrangement has returned to normal. The smile is short-lived as he throws his briefcase on his desk with a loud bang and turns his narrowed gaze out around the room, peeling his glasses off to wipe them with his shirt and sneering at the whole class – even me.

“Which one of you thinks the proper use for a banana is to shove it in your teacher's car's exhaust pipe?” he inquires, barking the words with disdain.

Looking around the room, there are a few stifled laughs, but nobody motions to confess. Several faces turn toward Jun and Toru, including my own, but their innocent expressions actually seem genuine. Looking around the rest of the room, nobody in particular appears to be taking credit for the prank, nor do any of them look in any way guilty.

“My wife had to drive me to work today,” he complains, “but I'm willing to forgive this whole incident if the person,” he glares at Jun and Toru, “or persons responsible,” he folds his arms and takes a calming breath, closing his eyes to let the anger flow away, “comes forward and admits to their transgression.”

Nobody moves, nor is a sound uttered. All eighteen pairs of eyes are locked on the pudgy, balding man as he awaits a response that doesn't seem forthcoming. Even the deaf students could hear a pin drop as we await the coming storm.

“Otherwise,” he stresses, casting his gaze back toward his desk, “I'll be forced to give you all the pre-test I wrote up last night while I was still angry enough to shove a pencil through the wall in my den.”

Most of the class groans, and a few of them shoot accusatory glances around the room, but none of them comes forward, still. Whomever executed the prank, we're all about to pay for it, apparently. Ito waits a good long minute to hold the suspense before digging the photo-copied tests out and handing them around the room. His stern expression looms over each student he passes, quietly assessing their reaction.

“You'll have until the end of class to finish,” Ito explains. “Don't disappoint me,” he adds with a frustrated grunt.

Flipping through the test, even I'm baffled by some of the complex equations on its pages, so I imagine most the rest of the class is completely stumped. Getting the sense from Ito that looking anywhere but at the test would be ill advised, I focus forward and forget what I was thinking about just moments prior to his arrival – for now, at least.

Skipping over the particularly puzzling problems, I focus on the fifteen or so that I know I can figure out easily. Once I've covered those, I start systematically working out the other ten, more challenging equations. Finishing early, with a half-hour to spare, I mull over my answers, but I feel confident enough to set my pencil down and wait out the last fifteen minutes. Waiting for Ito to ask for the tests to be handed forward, I put my head down; not daring to look around the room.

Thoughts of Hisao's letter from the mysterious Iwanako bubble back to the forefront of my mind, but I try to keep them innocuous. Maybe she's just a neighbor, or it's another class-project type of letter like the well-wishes he got in the hospital. It was laying out in plain sight, so he apparently didn't feel any need to keep it hidden; it's probably nothing important.

Why can't I stop thinking about it, then?

A light tapping on my shoulder breaks me out of the thoughts as Amaya passes her paper forward along with Sora's. Sitting up, I stack them with my own and hand them to Ito when he sweeps by my desk holding out his hand. There are still five minutes left before the next class, so I'm guessing he's going to lecture a bit before leaving.

“This is approximately what your final will look like, so keep that in mind,” Ito informs us, “if you're not confident with this little taste, you should probably consider focusing.” The timbre in his voice is completely different from his barking earlier; lighter, somehow, and full of sympathy rather than frustration. The chorus of groans don't seem to be noticing the change, but I'm not even sure he was really mad about anything when he came in this-morning.

“He's kidding, right?” I hear Amaya whisper. “I think my brains are melting after that nightmare,” she complains.

I sneak a glance at her and nod, replying confidently, “I'll help, don't worry.” Catching Tadao's perplexed expression, I smile and assure him, “you too.”

For the first time in three days, I see them look at each-other with surprisingly little enmity in their eyes. Amaya almost smiles, and Tadao almost loses the frown for a short moment. The brief glance doesn't last, and ends with Amaya sneering and Tadao looking away, but for a split second they agreed on something; I think they're ready for the real thing.

Amaya and Tadao, sitting in a shed... um... yeah, let's not go there.

Emi's implications put some spooky images in my head, and I look away to quickly hide the blushing grimace on my face. When Miss Miyagi steps into the room, her beaming smile and bouncing braids are enough to snap me out of my dirty thoughts. Already feeling drained by the calculus quiz, the thought of focusing on English makes me cringe.

Longing for the days when Amaya and Tadao were on speaking terms and could offer assistance with this dastardly subject, I stare at Miyagi and try really hard to pretend like I'm understanding what she's talking about. Not knowing her very well -largely because I avoid her subject like the plague- I wonder if Miyagi is always this chipper or if it's just a show for her students. Whatever the reason, I think if I have to hear her stifled chuckle one more time, I might start pulling my own hair out.

The lunch bell rings and I'm suddenly very interested in getting out of the classroom. Deciding I can leave Amaya and Tadao to their own devices for a while, I head out in search of Hisao. Finding him in the hall near room 3-3, I sneak up behind him and grab his arm, hooking it in mine before he can protest. “Hey there, stranger,” I say with a wistful smile, “long time no see!”

“Funny meeting you here,” he says playfully. “Escaping the dungeon?” he inquires with a sardonic smirk.

“Yes, please,” I say, nodding and pulling him toward me, “it's a bit like being the Berlin wall.”

Chuckling at my reference, he nods and offers a confident smile. “It'll all be over soon,” he says.

“One way or another,” I reply.

Having both brought bagged lunches, we head up to the roof instead of the cafeteria. The midday sun beats mercilessly on the gravel roof, but there's a gentle breeze keeping that heat in check. Scanning around, I notice we aren't alone up here, as Emi and Rin have decided to seek out the solitude of the roof as well. We wave at them, but find our own spot to sit near the fence along the edge.

Sitting there quietly, we hardly say a word through the whole lunch period. My thoughts go back to the letter a few times, but, being in his presence, it hardly seems to matter. His eyes are fixed on me for most of the hour, and it makes me forget about any jealousy I may be harboring. It's silly, anyway, to be jealous of a name on a letter – it's not even a person.

Unless she plans to come here and meet him.

That's a bridge we'll cross when we come to it, I decide. For now, I don't need to know who Iwanako is -was- and I should really stop worrying; Hisao is worthy of my trust. Nothing that I've seen in his character indicates that he'd be dishonest intentionally, unless it's a source of embarrassment. Hiding his heart condition and the reasons for his melancholy came from his desire to appear normal, to fit in, and not be treated differently; the same as Amaya. Badgering him about it would make me no better than Tadao.

That sobering thought makes me push the letter out of mind. Whatever it means, he'll tell me eventually. Leaning close to him, I rest my head on his shoulder as we sit against the fence and I stare dreamily at the clouds.

One of the passing cumulus clouds seems to take on the shape of an elephant and I point it out, exclaiming, “hey there's the elephant that was in the classroom all day!”

Bewildered by my sudden exclamation, he follows my pointing finger and grins stupidly. “That's not an elephant,” he corrects, “it's clearly an iguana.”

“Not that one!” I protest, “the one next to the iguana.”

“Oh, right... that one,” he agrees.

Placing a hand over his forehead to keep the sun from his eyes, he peers upward and I follow his eyes. Way up over our heads, there's a few cirrus clouds swimming through the sky in the shape of a shark. “Sky shark,” I comment, drawing some laughter from him.

As we're staring upward, I hear mechanical footfalls headed toward us, but I don't bother looking. A throaty voice asks, “you two planning to spend the whole day cloud-gazing?”

Breaking my eyes from the sky, I smile at Rin and reply, “no, just 'til lunch is over; care to join us?”

Emi bobs her head side to side, tossing her twin-tails around and smiling widely. “You two are adorable,” she compliments. Narrowing her eyes a little, she adds, “sneaky and adorable.”

Hisao nudges my arm and points toward another gathering of cirrus clouds, mentioning, “the shark just turned into a mermaid.” Glancing up I smile at the addition of a human-like body to the shark's tail.

Rin follows his eyes and twists around to get a better look. For a moment, I worry about her looking almost straight at the sun, but Emi quickly responds by using her hand as a shade. “Mermaid, huh?” Rin questions, forcing Emi to chase her gaze, “I wonder if those water vapors came from the ocean, then. Seems like some clouds choose to become land animals while others imitate sea creatures; maybe they just miss their homes.” Turning again, her knotted shirt-sleeves toss around as she spins, and Emi trails to keep her eyes shaded. “When it rains, does the water feel like it's headed up-river to spawn? Maybe more like down-river...”

“We're gonna get in out of the sun,” Emi says cheerily, nudging Rin's side with her elbow. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” she warns playfully.

Emi drags Rin away toward the exit while Hisao and I contemplate Rin's ramblings. Clouds taking the form of creatures from their place of origin sounds crazy enough, but water intentionally sailing into the heavens, collecting in clouds, then raining down in storms to rejoin the rivers, lakes and oceans from whence it came sounds even crazier. The concept is hopelessly romantic, though; it might even be poignant. Looking at each-other around the same instance, we both shake our heads and laugh.

The breeze having died down, the hot sun is starting to feel oppressive, so I nudge Hisao with my elbow and mention, “we ought to head back in.”

Nodding in agreement, Hisao stands and helps me up with an outstretched hand. Walking hand-in-hand, we head back inside and stop on the landing half way down the staircase leading to the third floor. The cool, air-conditioned air of the school building rushes over me, but I still feel warm looking into his eyes. Part of me wants to stay in this moment forever; gazing into his eyes and feeling this lightness – sudden lightness.

Overwhelming lightness.

My head rushes with a tingling sensation that flows down my neck and across my back as I start listing. Evidently the change in temperature and elevation is wreaking havoc, sending a tidal-wave of dizziness over me, and causing me to start falling backwards. Hisao's hand quickly pulls me toward him and I collapse against his chest, slipping downward as the wave of dizziness pulls the strength out of my knees.

“Aiko!” he calls, sounding worried. Smiling slightly, I try to reassure him, but the churning sensation in my abdomen forces me to grit my teeth and concentrate on not losing my lunch.

Slamming my eyes shut, I feel his erratic heartbeat quicken, and a wave of panic rushes over me, but I'm still too weak to try and protest. After a few seconds, I feel his hand come up under my elbow and I'm lowered to the floor while Hisao kneels beside me on the narrow landing.

Hearing the bell ring, I snap my eyes open and nearly leap backward as Hisao's face is just inches from my own. The look on his face is adorably concerned; his eyes darting around, his hand on my shoulder, and a question on his lips, “sorry, I don't know my own strength, I guess. Are you okay?”

Swooner powers activate!

“I will be,” I assure him. In response he sits down next to me and wraps his arm across my shoulder. Students start filtering up through the stairwell, but since we're half a flight up from their destinations, most of them don't even notice.

Breaking away from the crowd, I see Kenta's worried expression notice, though. Offering a wave along with a stilted smile, he reads my pale expression and apparently deduces what happened. Taking a few hobbling steps up, he smiles and inquires, “you okay, Aiko?”

“I'll be fine,” I assure him. Wearing a concerned look, Kenta stays close-by as my head swims with waves of uncomfortable numbness. Swallowing hard and taking a few deep breaths, the numb sensation slowly dissipates and my churning stomach calms.

After a few moments, I manage to meet Kenta's concerned look with a smile and I notice he's glancing at Hisao. “Oh, sorry,” I offer, my voice still caught in my throat, “this is Hisao Nakai, he's my pillow for today.” Leaning against Hisao's shoulder as I say that, I see Kenta grin widely.

Reaching up with his good hand, Kenta nods at Hisao and introduces himself, “Kenta Tomiya.” He follows up with a question, “you're the new guy, right?”

He must be the last one who doesn't know.

Hisao takes his hand in a firm shake and replies, “yeah, I guess.”

Watching Hisao's reaction, he looks suitably bewildered by Kenta's appearance. The boy's left arm, appearing shriveled and useless, is held tightly against his side while his right leg is similarly shrunken, causing him to hobble when he walks. Both are rather obvious, and the look on Hisao's face clearly displays his curiosity. Realizing he's staring, he withdraws his hand and glances at me, looking embarrassed.

“Oh don't bother asking her,” Kenta chides, “she can't even pronounce it.” Frowning in mock-disdain at his sarcastic insult, I roll my eyes and shake my head, but leave him to explain. “Cerebral Palsy,” he says flatly, “it's not as bad as the name sounds.” Like Tadao, Kenta is usually quick to describe his disability.

Hisao pales, and starts to reply, “I didn't mean-”

“S'ok, everyone always wonders,” Kenta interjects dismissively. “This one over here likes to toy with people,” he says, motioning toward me, “but at least I know I look totally screwed up – she's in denial.”

Offering him a sardonic smirk for his continued sarcastic insults, I shake my head and lean more heavily against Hisao. “Can you let Mutou know I'll be a little late?” I request of the sarcastic gimp.

“No problem,” he says, turning to walk -hobble- down the steps, ”I better get headed there.” At the bottom, he turns back and winks, “if you're gonna play hooky to make out, you should find a more private spot; wouldn't want there to be rumors spreading around!”

Hisao blushes furiously, but I'm used to Kenta's antics. “Vamoose, Elf Lord,” I retort, “and no editorializing!”

“Wouldn't dream of it!” he says with a sardonic grin. Pushing through the door, I can hear him whistling as his arrhythmic footfalls echo through the emptied halls.

“Elf Lord?” Hisao inquires, smirking at me sidelong.

Smiling, I reply, “you don't wanna know.” Feeling one last wave of dizziness run over my head, I reach up and rub my temple. Smiling at his worried look, I shake my head. “Gotta live up to your name once in a while, Swooner,” I remark, laughing heartily.

Nodding as the second bell sounds, he makes no motion to stand. Instead he smiles at me and asks, “you ready to go back?”

Shaking my head slowly, I want a few more minutes in his kind company before going back. The dizzy spell having passed, I feel fine, but I don't think I want to go back yet. Sitting in the empty stairwell, listening to our steady breathing, I just want to enjoy his presence for a few more minutes.

“Thanks for the fast catch,” I say after a long silence. “You're pretty good at that,” I mention. Smirking suspiciously, I add, “or you just know when it's gonna happen.”

“My pleasure,” he replies, grinning widely.

Getting up, I stretch my arms and smile. Wondering if I might get a sympathy hint, I look at him sidelong and ask, “so where are we going this-weekend?”

Shaking his head, he returns a little laugh and replies, “nice try.”

Pouting, I start trudging down the stairs. “Fine,” I say, “just know I may be bringing more friends along.” Not giving him a chance to retort, I head through the door and walk briskly back to my classroom, glancing back a few times to giggle at his bewildered expression.

Mutou nods at me as I enter, and I catch Kenta's knowing smirk as I walk to my desk where Amaya and Tadao are both wearing concerned expressions. “Swooner strikes again,” I explain to them, sitting down. Both offer smiling nods, but the grim expressions return quickly.

The rest of classes go by quickly as the lunch-period events replay in my head, making me smile wistfully. When the last bell rings, I gather up my bag and nod toward Amaya. She responds with a slight nod and follows me closely back to the dorm. Checking the time, I make sure to keep myself distracted for a while to waste time and make sure we're headed for the tennis court just around four o'clock.

Changing into my gym outfit, I head out at quarter to four to knock on Amaya's door. “Be right out~!” she says cheerily.

“Good news is,” I say as she opens the door, “I already had my swoon for today, so I might be able to stay upright.”

Hearing her giggle, I can't help but feel good seeing her look more like her usual cheerful self. Wearing the school gym outfit, she looks a little uncomfortable, but the competitive look in her eyes as she toys with her racket is endearing. She's going to hate me for a few hours after what I have planned, at least, so I smile at her oblivious cheerfulness.

Walking and talking lightly, I lead Amaya across the track where there are a few students taking advantage of the shade from the fruit trees to wile away the afternoon. Passing shed, I measure out half the distance to the tennis court and look at my watch. Seeing there's a few minutes to spare, I stop and kneel to tie the shoe I left untied.

When there's a slight vibration coming from my pocket -Hisao's signal via text message- I glance up at Amaya and frown. “Hey I don't have a racket, can you go grab one for me from the shed?” I ask, keeping a straight face. Selling it by looking down to continue fiddling with my shoe, I hear her grunt an affirmation and then watch as she jogs back toward the shed.

Standing, I follow slowly behind, watching for Hisao and Tadao to make their appearance. As Amaya walks into the shed, I slip behind a tree. Peering around it, I watch Hisao nudging Tadao toward the shed, playfully asking him to fetch a basketball. Not being able to hear the exchange from this distance, I can only assume what's being said, but it seems to be working. Agreeing with a nod, Tadao heads for the shed and I give Hisao a thumbs up from around the tree.

Seeing my signal, he heads over behind Tadao and, once he's inside, closes the door, slipping the key in the lock as I step out and start jogging over, grinning wickedly. Backing away from the door, Hisao smirks at me and then winces as a frustrated yell escapes from within. “Dude, you locked me in?” Tadao sounds worried, but a moment later there's a shriek.

Amaya yells, “what the hell are you doing here!?”

“Me?” Tadao sounds equally displeased, “don't look at me, Ams, I think we've been had.”

Taking that as my cue to explain, I remark, “you two need to talk.”

“Aiko!” Amaya blurts, “lemme outta here, right now! Or so help me, I'll-”

Cutting off her threat, I admonish, “this isn't about me, it's about your silly dispute! We have the keys, and, until you come to some kind of agreement, you're not getting out of there.”

“What if I decide to beat him to death with a baseball bat?” she retorts.

Ignoring her empty threat, I add, “if you wanna complain, talk to Tadao. Hisao and I are gonna take a walk.”

“There's a cooler in the back with water,” Hisao explains, “try not to kill each-other.”

“Don't leave me in here with him, dammit!” Amaya protests as Hisao steps over to wrap an arm around my waist. She continues making idle threats and calling us names, but we expected as much; and the sooner they realize we've left, the better. Walking away toward the bleachers on the other side of the track, as planned, her cries calling me,  “a meddling traitor,” or, “dysfunctional malcontent,” and, my personal favorite, “the queen bitch of the universe,” go largely unheard.

I'm pretty sure that last one's from a movie.

Looking around at the mostly empty fields, I see a few looks directed at the shed from our perch on the bleachers, but nobody bothers to inquire what's happening. Every so often, for the first half-hour, we hear raised voices -even Tadao's- drifting across the field, though what they're saying is drowned out by the distance.

Eventually the screaming stops and it's mostly quiet for a while, but we're not fooled by a lull. Hisao and I look over a few times and consider checking on them, but there's a part of me repeatedly quashing my curiosity; I don't want to disturb them. Our directive was to get them in a room, not influence their discussion. If Amaya's admittance of the possibility that her argument is silly serves as any kind of indicator, I'm not worried that they'll work it out.

Not until after they're done screaming at each-other, though.

Sitting there with Hisao, we're largely silent ourselves. Both of us try to keep distracted by looking around at the various students that come by, but we're too wrapped up in worry to talk. Miki stops by to ask us what's going on when she comes out for her evening run, but neither of us provides her with an adequate explanation. She leaves looking a little disappointed and curious, waving cheerfully, but squinting at us suspiciously.

With the sun starting to dip toward the horizon, we remain seated and waiting patiently. The one problem with our plan is that we really don't know when they'll be finished. Neither of us thought to bug the room somehow -Kenji would have thought of that- though that would have been against my non-interference plan. Instead all we can really do is sit and wait, hoping when we decide to finally check, they'll have reached some kind of agreement.

When stars start appearing behind the blue veil and the sun begins casting a bright red gleam across the horizon, I finally ask, “you think it's been long enough?”

Checking his watch, Hisao replies, “four hours later; they're either out of breath, sitting on opposite sides of the room, tittering like they used to, or one of them is bludgeoned to death while the other cries in a corner.”

“Let's hope it's not the last one, at least,” I say, standing up and beckoning him to follow.

Marching quickly across the track, we slow our approach when we get near the little wooden building so they can't hear our footfalls, but I think it's more nerves than stealth. When we get within a few feet of the door, Hisao hands me the key and I walk up slowly. Listening for any kind of motion or voices from the inside, I'm unable to hear anything telling.

Deciding to knock first, I'm concerned when there's no answer. Knocking a second time, I also inquire, “Amaya? Tadao?”

No answer, not even a groan or a shuffle or anything indicating they're even still inside. We weren't actually able to see the door from the bleachers, but we have the only other key and none of the staff has been by all day. They must still be inside, but they aren't answering for some reason.

Suddenly feeling panicked, I shove the key into the lock and pull the door open a crack, holding out my hand, motioning for Hisao to stay back. Taking a tentative step across the threshold, the interior is rather dark and gloomy, but it isn't a bloody mess; that's an encouraging thought, at least. Still holding my hand behind me to ward off Hisao's approach, I take another step inside and scan the darkness for any movement.

A yelp catches in my throat as I look down at the dimly lit floor. Barely recognizable in the darkness, lying on a small pile of workout mats, there is a bare leg lit by the shaft of light from the door. Following its form upward, I note that it's wrapped around another leg, which is also naked and much larger; though narrower.

…!?

Quickly stepping back out through the door, my face paling and my cheeks blushing, I bump into Hisao and yelp loudly. Snapping a hand over my mouth, I slam the door closed and lean against it heavily. Looking into Hisao's eyes, I see curiosity and worry etched on his features, but I'm too embarrassed by what I've just seen to say anything intelligible.

A voice from within the shed breaks the pall of silence, “what was that?” Tadao has never sounded more tired or content in my life.

Atta girl, Amaya! Wait, no, dammit! Bad images!

“Shut up, it's nothing,” I hear Amaya say groggily. “Come back here~!” she adds playfully.

God, I hope they didn't see me.

Raising an eyebrow after hearing their brief exchange, Hisao looks me straight in the eyes. Trying to suppress a giggle, I bite my lip and grab his arm, walking quickly and quietly a few comfortable meters away from the shed so I can get control over my breathing. Closing my eyes, I find my vision is filled with unwanted images, so I open them again and look at Hisao. “I think they made up,” I say cryptically, adding a shrug for emphasis.

Seeing my flustered expression, and the reaction I had to acquiring that information, he looks disappointed at the brevity of my explanation, but he doesn't press me with questions. “Good,” he says. Apparently gleaning some assumptions from my reaction, he inquires, “should we come back later?”

“Yes,” I reply quickly, adding, “and never mention we came back this early.”

For my sake if not for theirs.

Taking his hand, I lead us back toward the bleachers. Once we're far enough out of earshot, I can't stop the bubbling giggle from erupting out of me. Sinking down to the ground, I'm completely overcome with infectious giddy laughter that Hisao catches, following me down to sit on his knees on the grassy paddock in the middle of the track.

Feeling the weight lifting off my shoulders as I laugh, I think back over the past few days and wonder aloud, “I was so worried, and now I don't know why.” He doesn't respond with words, just his eyes.

Our plan worked, apparently, and I'm thoroughly relieved. Though the exact results are something I hope never gets brought up, it seems all they really needed was some time alone to sort out their differences. My worry about their possible future hang-ups is pushed away by the mirth that continues giggling out of me while we watch the sun fall under the horizon. Nightfall brings a close to the last thee days of melancholy, worry and introspective guilt.

Watching the far edges of the field, I see dancing lights flit between the darkened underbrush -fireflies out for their evening rounds- and smile inwardly. Hisao nudges my shoulder and offers a questioning smirk. Remembering the days at my uncle's beach-house, I turn and grin. “Fireflies remind me of summers by the ocean,” I explain, “my uncle owns a beach-side haunt and we used to spend a few weeks there every year.”

Laughing nervously, he looks away toward the shed and remarks, “well that explains it.”

What the heck does that look mean?

“Explains what?” I inquire. Seeing his evasive eyes looking away, I wonder aloud, “what are you planning?”

Smiling back at me, he shrugs and stands. “Never-mind, let's go get them out of there,” he says, changing the subject. Taking his outstretched hand, he pulls me to my feet and leads us back to the shed.

Approaching less stealthily, I call out ahead of us, “did you two kill each-other yet?”

“Kind of, but not really,” Amaya's cryptically cheerful response is accompanied by Tadao's mirthful chuckle.

Innuendo, the lost art of verbal bull-shit.

Playing dumb, I reply, “you've come to an agreement then?”

“We came to something,” Tadao retorts.

Rolling my eyes, I glance sidelong at Hisao and see he's catching on to the suggestive conversation. Wanting this to be over before my face lights on fire, I quickly step over and fake unlocking the door – having forgotten to re-lock it previously.

“Everybody out,” I command.

On her way by, Amaya swiftly kicks my shin causing me to wince and nod. Grimacing, I acknowledge, “I deserved that.”

“Thanks,” Amaya says sweetly, patting my shoulder. Walking over toward Hisao, he recoils, but she wraps him in a hug. “You two are quite the team,” she says, breaking the hug and looking back at me.

Tadao adds, “they swim in synch, so I've seen; such that it's hard to see who leads.”

“Tennis, though?” Amaya balks, holding her racket at me suspiciously. “I should have suspected something was up,” she concludes. Batting Hisao's back lightly with the racket, she leans toward him and whispers something. His reaction is a swift nod and an affirming whisper, but neither of them motions to explain the exchange.

Walking over to Tadao, she drops the racket and takes both his hands, pulling him toward her. Averting my eyes, they share a kiss that ends with her shoving him away and twirling around to grab the racket. “C'mon, Aiko, we have a guest list to proof,” she says cryptically as she starts walking toward the dorms.

Glancing at Hisao, he just shrugs at me and shakes his head; apparently sworn to secrecy. Tadao pats my shoulder as I walk by, and I turn to see his thankful expression. “Thanks,” he whispers, “that's twice now.”

“Just once,” I whisper in correction, “you tried with the study-thing, remember?”

Bowing slightly he straightens up and lightly punches my arm before stepping over to do the same to Hisao. “This one owes me at least five now,” he comments.

Hisao looks at him with a crooked smirk and protests, “I think I made up for a couple of those with this.”

Amaya's distant yell breaks us out of the one-upping, “get your butt over here, we only have a few days!”

Rolling my eyes at Tadao, I chase after her. Feeling happy at the peaceful resolution, the conspiracy she's describing doesn't have me worried. Judging from the cryptic whisper to Hisao, and her mention of it being something in a few days, I imagine it's about the mysterious weekend plans. Perhaps I can weasel out of her what they are, but it seems she just wants to find out who to bring along; a three-day weekend is an event worth sharing, especially with finals coming soon.

Time to stop worrying and have some fun.
_________________________________________________
Chapter 18: http://pastebin.com/01h2MmRC