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We let that conversation die as we walk through the festively decorated school grounds. Booths are set up with games and food, and the festive decorations strung up in the trees and along the fence make for some interesting conversation among the crowd. Last time, I remember being worried people might get the wrong idea about us walking around the festival, but now I don't even notice their looks. Casual glances catch my eye, of course, but they don't stop me from enjoying Hisao's company – my slowly unraveling mystery man.
Instead of delving into his past, I keep my queries light. I ask about his interests mainly – frivolous things. Apparently his favorite color is green, and he's partial to the shade in my right eye. I don't even care if he's making that part up; I find myself giggling and blushing. Evidently his hospital stay wasn't all bad; he picked up the reading bug there – though he does wonder if it was really an infectious disease hovering in the air.
Explaining his interest in science, I'm reminded of Mutou's lectures. Hisao can apparently practice that same kind of meandering one-sided conversation as he slips between talking about chemistry and biology, then into physics and ecology, through meteorology and then arriving, somehow, in theoretical sciences. The majority of his elective reading is science-fiction, of course, so there's a fair amount of references made to theories used as story devices in those tales.
Geeky, but still adorable.
What I find strange is that Mutou's lectures usually put me in a waking coma, but listening to Hisao explain is actually exciting. I don't respond verbally very often, but I do a lot of nodding. Perhaps because of my non-intellectual interest in the speaker, I'm actually starting to understand the scientific concepts better just listening to him explain. I consider saying he ought to think about becoming a teacher, but I don't want my assessment to seem commanded by euphoria.
“So, what about your family?” he suddenly asks without even hinting at a segue. I barely register that it's a question directed at me for a few moments, but, when I do, I can feel my face darkening into a frown. I try to force it back into a smile, but he's already seen the change, “sorry, I just thought-”
I interrupt him, “it's fine.”
“I've been talking about myself this whole time, and thought you looked a little bored,” he tries to explain. Although it's perfectly reasonable, I don't think I was looking bored with his description of warp technology and anti-matter. Family is just a touchy subject for me.
“I wasn't bored, but you're right,” I say, trying to put a smile back on and nodding slowly. “My mom is an art teacher at a small private school near Rome,” I start explaining with current topics. Slowly steadying myself with a few breaths, I continue, “she teaches culinary arts.” As I finish that, I catch a hopeful expression, but decide to quash it quickly, “I'm an awful cook, though, like my dad was.”
Hisao looks disappointed, but offers a nod. He mentions, “you've talked about your dad before, I think. The ear-plugging thing with the fireworks.”
He remembered that?
Not wanting to dwell on my dad, I just nod and smile, forcing the memories aside. Unfortunately, he's picked up on something and he's shaking his head slowly, looking perplexed. I always talk about my dad in past-tense now, and I know he's astute enough to pick up on it, but I'm just not ready for that discussion.
Please don't ask.
Wondering if I'm making that face he mentioned, I stare at him blankly. Evidently I got it right because he narrows his eyes for a moment to think of a different question. “Any siblings?” he asks, washing the perplexed look away and offering a smile.
“One hellion of a little sister – Midori,” I reply. My face quickly melts into a smile as I recall, “she's a lot like Amaya, really, but she's only thirteen. I haven't seen her since the school year started.” He grins and I'm sure he's picturing a shorter Amaya.
With my hair, maybe.
“She's living with my mom in Rome, attending the same school. They moved there after-” I stop myself again. It's starting to become a cliché, but every time I almost mention my dad, I stop reflexively. “After she got offered the job,” I add, leaving out the reason she went looking.
“Must be an expensive school,” he remarks, “if they brought her all the way from Japan, I mean.”
I'm not sure what to make of his interest in the school, but it's a nice little corner of my family history. I inform him, “my great-grandmother was among the founders, back in the fifties, I guess.” He blinks at the information, as expected. I let him stew in that confusion for a moment, watching his eyebrows furrow and his mouth start to move a few times before I finish the thought. “She was an Italian national living in Singapore during world war two. My great grand-father, an enlisted man in the Kempeitai, was assigned to guard her block and you know how history goes.”
Dumbstruck for a moment, he simply stares at me, but it doesn't take long for realization to dawn on him. “You're-” he starts.
I finish the thought, “one-eighth Italian, on my mother's side.”
I continue to explain what I know about my family history. My mother knows the story better, but I'm able to relate that after the war, they moved -were socially forced out of Japan, really- to northern Italy and established the school there. He's fascinated by the story, and hangs on every word; what few I have to tell anyway. After the brief retelling he has one question, “what's it like having your family so far away?”
“Hard, sometimes,” I manage to start, “my sister and I used to do everything together, so I miss having the her around – I think Amaya fills that void, though.” I smile wistfully as I admit that; I hadn't really thought of it that way until he asked. “My mom is a bit scattered most of the time and we never really got along too well,” I stop there, but I feel like I need to qualify the statement, “I mean, I love her, but we get into arguments over stupid things all the time.”
Textbook teenager-parent relationship.
Hisao chuckles and stops walking, causing me to spin around in front of him. He looks down into my eyes and smiles wistfully. “I kinda wish I knew my parents better,” he looks a little forlorn, but he's still smiling. “They work a lot, I guess, and I never really noticed they always seemed to be away. Until I was in the hospital and had nothing to do but wait, I hadn't really analyzed my life.”
He grins and the forlorn expression leaves as he mentions, “I think it was a good experience overall... I mean having a heart attack sucked, losing my friends sucked, being sent off to a school nowhere near home sucked.” He grimaces, then grins and takes a deep breath. His hands come to rest on my shoulders and I feel myself taking a few tentative steps forward; biting my lip to stifle a giggle.
Gravity sucks.
“But then I actually got here and I met new friends, got myself healthy, and...” he trails off for a moment, then looks straight in my eyes, “I met you.”
His last words hang in the air and I find we're very close together; almost uncomfortably close. Standing in the middle of the crowded sidewalk with the sun just starting to edge its way down the horizon, we link eyes and I feel weightless. I don't think he planned this since his face looks as bewildered as I feel, but I'm flashing back to a moment held in time a month ago; when I stared into his eyes, and he stared into mine.
Fireworks echo through my conscious mind again as I lean closer and he does the same, tilting his head slightly to the left. Our lips connect and, instead of merely stopping time, the world around us ceases to exist. Only our reaching bodies continue to exist, and only our thrumming hearts dare fill the void with sound. I feel his heartbeat quicken as his hands run down my arms and he pulls me closer to deepen the kiss. I lift my own arms instinctively and wrap one around his back and the other up to his neck.
There's no whistle to break us out of the reverie, no cat-calls or whooping interrupts our dancing tongues, and no trepidation hinders our wandering hands. With existence suspended, the kiss can last for an eternity and it very nearly does. Only the instinctive need to breathe is powerful enough to end the moment.
When it breaks, my eyes are closed and I feel a rush go over my body; like a piece of his spirit had crept into me and was now leaving. For a moment I feel empty, but the air around us feels electrified and quiet. There's a peaceful stillness around us; like a bubble of harmony in the chaos of the crowd. All I can make sense of is feeling of his hands around me, the sound of his steady breaths, the rustic odor of his cologne and the salty taste of his lips still caught on my tongue - I feel filled by those sensations.
When I finally open my eyes, it's just as he does the same. His face is flushed red and his eyes start to flit in different directions, but I stay focused on his iridescent brown orbs until they find me again and he smiles that happy smile that makes me feel lighter than air. The harmonious bubble starts to dissipate as we lock eyes again, but the feeling remains – crackling like electricity.
The sound of the crowd finally penetrates the bubble and I'm somewhat disappointed not to hear any whooping. I glance around us quickly to take in the situation and notice most of the people nearby are looking the other way. I frown, almost pouting at the realization. Snapping my eyes back on his, I realize my hands are still wrapped around him, and I make use of that situation, pulling myself toward him and wrapping him in a hug.
As I have him trapped in my arms, I coo and whisper in his ear, “my mom would probably punch you if she saw this.”
He bursts into laughter. I have a terrible time hanging on as his shoulders lurch up and down while he laughs recklessly. Joining in the mirth, I rest my chin on his shoulder and tighten my grip. The crowd around us starts to notice our maddened laughter, and I see a few of them turning curious gazes at us, but I don't pay them any heed.
Hisao calms and starts releasing the hug, catching both my hands in his as we lean back to look each other over. Scanning his messy hair, brown eyes, narrow chin, broad shoulders and steadily heaving chest, he looks the same; though something is different. His shoulders are relaxed and his eyes are peacefully set, tiny wrinkles forming at the corners as he smiles. He isn't fidgeting or looking around nervously, and his calm expression makes him look serene. I've seen this look before only once, and it takes a moment to recall; it was on the day we met, when he commented on my eyes the first time.
Trying to return that look is difficult, but I think I manage well enough. It's a curious gaze; indicating you know a secret or harbor a truth you're almost afraid to understand. There is no trepidation in a look like that, but there is a hint of fear; fear that the other person doesn't know your secret – or that they do.
Barely audible, he whispers, “you're beautiful.” Blushing hard, his grip on my hands falters, so I double my own grip. Feeling the reassuring hold, he grins and bows his head, looking away. “That was the first thing I thought,” he says, seemingly staring at my feet. After a few awkward moments, his eyes look at me, and then his chin rises to meet them. “The day we met, when I was stealing glances in the math-lab,” he explains, “I nearly said it then.”
My reaction is mixed. Part of me is elated that his first impression was something like that, but another part wonders why he didn't act on the thought. Recalling the day, I think I understand why he didn't say it -we barely knew each-other- but I may have had less trouble figuring out how I felt had he said something. Still, I don't want a little bump like that to sour this moment.
No regrets.
That thought steadies my expression and I smile widely, recalling the first time I saw him in the classroom. “I was disappointed,” I say, giggling a little, starting to swing his hands with mine.
He frowns and looks confused, so I explain further, “I heard about a new boy in our class and spent half the morning building up what happened to you in my head.” I calm my giggling and shake my head, remembering some of the variants I had come up with. “I imagined car accidents, severed limbs, severe burns, missing eyes, all kinds of deformations and horrific dismemberment...” Now he's laughing a little, realizing how absurd it all sounds. “When I got to 3-3 and you were just this normal-looking guy, I was disappointed,” finishing the statement, I stop the swaying and grin widely.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he says, giving me a mocking look. “I'll strive to be more interesting,” he remarks.
“Oh please don't,” I say before my mind can filter the response. I laugh nervously for a moment before recovering. “Once I figured out you weren't horrifically burned or dismembered, I started trying to figure out what internal problem you might have.”
Pausing, I break a hand free and place it on his chest over the scar. “After you gave up that information, there were still a million other questions. You're my mystery man, and I like it that way,” Reaffirming my grip on his trailing hand, I can almost hear his thoughts churning as he absorbs my rambling explanation.
“Well,” he says cryptically after some contemplation, “if you put it that way, perhaps I'll keep my secrets.”
I offer a sideways smile and nod, agreeing completely. “I like the mystery, it keeps me interested since you're so boring otherwise,” I say flippantly, drawing a raised eyebrow.
He breaks his hold on my right hand and leans in close over my left shoulder. Planting a kiss on my ear, he whispers something I can't hear and starts chuckling as he leans back, putting on a dumb expression. “You know what I mean,” he says with a shrug.
Feigning understanding, I nod happily. “Of course,” I say, offering a conspiratorial smile. He knows I can't hear in that ear, and I wonder what he said, but I can tell he isn't going to inform me – of that I'm certain.
Never should have said he's boring.
Pulling me around him to his left side, he catches my other hand and grins. “Let's be off then, the public awaits,” he states. Having no idea what he's talking about, I just nod my feigned complicity as he starts leading me down the sidewalk toward town.
The sun dips under the horizon as we walk, and I find myself watching the changing colors; from bright orange and crimson into deep velvet and indigo. Wispy clouds hang in the sky between fields of glimmering stars, and I catch myself staring up at that shimmering blanket. Recalling Miyoto's mention of my star-sign, Cancer, I try looking for the constellation.
Noticing my interest in the sky, Hisao tries to follow my wandering gaze, but I'm not even sure where to look. Grinning at me, he offers, “trying to find something?”
Still staring at the sky, I mention, “trying to find Cancer.”
Breaking his hold of my arm, he stops and turns to face the northern sky for a few seconds, squinting. “Um... wait, what's today?” he asks, still searching the sky.
"The eighth," I reply, trying to follow his eyes.
"Ah, that's why - Cancer won't be visible until around the twentieth or so," he explains, and I frown. Looking back at me, he grins infectiously and my frown turns into a smile. Raising an eyebrow, he inquires, “why the interest?”
Blushing, I almost don't want to answer. After he just gave me that anklet, the thought of bringing up my birthday might seem like a suggestion. Deciding to be a little evasive, I simply answer, “it's my star-sign.”
Pausing for a moment -to think, I assume- he exclaims, “oh! Your birthday must be coming up soon, or it went by and you didn't say anything.” He narrows his eyes, thinking for a moment, but chooses to just shrug.
“It's this month,” I say before quickly adding, “but that's not why I thought of it.” He looks a little perplexed, so I put my hand on his shoulder, leaning against his side as I explain, “someone mentioned my star-sign recently, and seeing the sky so clear, I wanted to look for it, I guess.” The wistful smile on my face as I scan over the sky, still trying to see the constellation, causes him to stare at me rather than the heavenly bodies.
Perhaps he is looking at a heavenly body in his own mind, though.
That look of childlike wonderment crosses his face and I'm caught in his sidelong glance. “Curious, like I said,” he comments, echoing his earlier assessment. “What day is your birthday?” he inquires specifically, putting me on the spot.
Relaxing my shoulders, realizing he's just curious, I smile and inform him, “the eighteenth.” He grins and looks away, narrowing his eyes as he commits the date to memory. “Don't plan anything big,” I add, trying to sound cute.
“Like announcing it to the whole cafeteria?” he retorts, playfully shrugging my hand off his shoulder.
“Don't you dare,” I respond, using that hand to lightly punch his shoulder. Scanning his expression, I wonder if he may have brought it up for another reason. “You're not mad about that are you?” I inquire, trying to sound sympathetic.
“No,” he replies, smiling and giving a few solid laughs. “I half-expected it, really,” he comments as he lets out a contented sigh. “Tadao has been on my case about it, and after their library setup I figured Amaya must have been on yours – it was kinda inevitable.” Turning his wistful gaze at me he smirks, “I was a little surprised, but I think making the whole school aware was a smart move. It kinda takes some pressure off, y'know...?” he trails off with the rhetorical question hanging in the air.
Placing a hand around my waist, he pulls me closer before finishing his thought, “nobody staring and whispering questions around us – they just smile and nod and leave us alone.”
My thoughts exactly.
After that we slip into a comfortable silence. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and we continue along the road down to the well-lit town. The streets are aglow with paper lanterns, while the lamp-posts and buildings are adorned with strings of lights and colorfully decorated banners. People are milling about everywhere, and there's a cascade of wonderful odors coming from the various food booths set up around the park. Catching the familiar smell of fried rice and dumplings I turn to Hisao and suggest we find something to eat – walking around is tiring work.
Agreeing wholly, he mentions not having eaten lunch as he was too nervous to start with a full stomach. Leading him toward the booth I caught the smell from, I notice a familiar pair sharing a silent conversation at a nearby booth. Topped with her pink drills, Misha's green yukata with little blue flowers falls across her figure and jiggles as she bursts into her trademark laugh, “Wahaha~!” Angling toward us, she points us out to Shizune, who turns and grins at us, waving us over excitedly.
Hisao is actually the first one to say anything, signing to Shizune, [there's something different about you.] His eyes scan her over for a second, raising an eyebrow in mock confusion. Responding with a roll of her eyes, she puts on a pouting look to play along with the indirect insult – she knows he's faking, though.
Misha, apparently oblivious to the intent of his remark, giggles and points out, “we're wearing yukata, Hicchan! Of course we look different~!” I'm actually not sure if she's just playing along or really trying to assuage his confusion.
Hisao shakes his head and chuckles a bit, probably just as confused about the response as myself. “You both look lovely,” he remarks, “it's good to see you out of your uniforms.” His eyes widen with realization and a moment later he redacts his statement by saying, “I mean, not...” He trails off and closes his eyes for a moment, blushing with embarrassment. “In yukata instead of your school uniforms,” he clarifies.
Misha blushes and Shizune looks bewildered. A moment later, Misha lets out another booming laugh, “Wahaha~!” and I think I see a lantern nearby blink and go dim. Perhaps it just ran out of oil, or maybe Misha's laugh pierces the fifth dimension causing a cascade of echoing sound waves that reverberate into and shatter parts of our own universe; I wouldn't be surprised by the latter.
Listening to Hisao has had an effect on my imagination...
After she calms, she starts signing and speaking again, “Aiko-chan, Shicchan didn't do your yukata justice in her description~!” she exclaims, her sing-song tone filling the air as she smiles brightly. “Hicchan looks quite dapper, too~!” she comments, nodding at him happily.
Shizune, who's still looking uncomfortable after Hisao's gaff, places a hand on her hip and uses the other to adjust her glasses. Clearing the bewilderment, she smiles at us and signs, [you two are adorable together. You even dressed in similar colors.] Looking at me sidelong, she starts to sign something else, but shakes her hands instead.
Guessing what she was going to ask, I point at Misha and inquire, “Hisao hasn't eaten since breakfast so we were looking for something, is there anything you can recommend?” While she's giggling and Hisao is distracted, I turn to Shizune and sign, [he found me first.]
Shizune nods, looking disappointed, but can't reply as Misha is already turning to her and asking, “we were going to get takoyaki, but that might not be enough if he hasn't eaten.”
Shizune nods agreement, and looks at me; expecting I already had the answer. I mention, “I was thinking of rice and dumplings.” After a few moments, they both nod and look up to Hisao; who seems, at this point, willing to agree with whatever we say. I take his hand and smile at the two girls. “Join us?” I say as I start walking with Hisao in tow.
Misha's giggling indicates their agreement as we walk over to the colorful booth. Marked with a huge green and red sign, intricate calligraphy spells out
Yamada Rice and Dumplings. Behind the counter is a familiar face whom I greet happily. “Naoko?” I ask, but, realizing she can't hear me, I tap the counter. Drawing the attention of her dark green eyes, she bounds up from behind the counter, seemingly set on springs.
[Aiko, you look great!] she says, looking me over. Noticing my accompaniment, she blushes shyly and nods toward Hisao, [does he sign?] she asks.
Hisao replies, [indeed, some. I don't think we've met.]
Holding my hand toward the bubbly girl, I introduce her, “this is Naoko Yamada, she's in class 3-1 with me.”
Nodding, he offers a wave. “I remember seeing her, I think, in the halls at least,” he says, and Misha seems to be translating behind him. Smiling, he reaches out and offers his hand to shake.
Naoko blushes a little deeper as she shakes his hand and quickly retracts it, turning her eyes to me quickly. [Here for some dumplings?] she inquires, apparently remembering she's running the counter. [My brother does the cooking, so don't worry about me burning anything,] she signs as she throws a kick behind her, hitting a shadowy figure crouched in the darkness of the booth.
The heavy-set figure stands, looking surprised -and half-asleep- wearing a crooked ball-cap and a black chef's coat with a tiny frying pan monogrammed over the breast pocket. “What now?” he asks bluntly. Noticing customers at his counter, he grins stupidly and bows, causing his voice to fade in and out as he apologizes, “sorry, I hadn't realized we had customers.”
Naoko turns away, so I can't see what she's signing to her brother, but his expression tells me enough; she's reading him the riot act. When she turns back, her face is lit up with a bright smile as she informs us, [that's my brother Nobuo. He's the older one, but you'd never know considering I'm the responsible one.]
Looking her over quickly, I notice she's not wearing a yukata as she normally would for an event like this. Instead she's wearing a pink blouse with a denim skirt and a full-length white apron; looking the part of the country dumpling salesgirl for her brother's benefit, I imagine.
Nobuo sets to the task of preparing our rice and dumplings; dropping the dumplings in a pot of boiling broth while scooping some cooked white rice onto the flat-top to brown. Drawing a bunch of celery from beneath the counter, he dices quickly on a bias into thin strips, which he adds to the rice. Repeating that process with a yellow onion, I notice he keeps the knife sheathed at his side – like a culinary samurai. Following that, he scrambles a few eggs into the mix and adds some spices from a shelf over his head. His deft hand is reminiscent of Miyoto's, but the sleepy expression on his face is disconcerting.
Naoko cracks a smile, seeing me mesmerized, and explains, [he's studying culinary arts at University; here for an early summer break. This is his booth, but his girlfriend ditched him, so here I am – picking up the pieces.] Her fast signing indicates her frustration, but the smile hasn't left her cheery expression.
Misha giggles behind me, and I look to see Shizune covering her mouth again while Hisao looks a little bewildered. Evidently, her signing went too fast for him. “She's covering for her brother, Nobuo,” I explain, pointing at the sleepy chef, “apparently his girlfriend abandoned him.” Frowning, Hisao shakes his head, offering a sympathetic look that goes unnoticed.
Naoko taps my sleeve, getting my attention. [How's your date going?] she asks, looking like she needs a distraction from the responsibility.
[Good so far, I think,] I sign, not quite knowing how to answer. At least, not knowing how much I should say. [He's a perfect gentleman, and fun to talk to,] I comment, but her reaction is a little mixed.
Cutting to the core of her query, she quickly signs, [did he kiss you yet?]
Caught off guard, I grin and blush, but my hands fall silent. Looking over at Hisao, he's looking away toward Shizune and Misha, so I know he didn't see the question – which is probably why Naoko asked it so bluntly. Considering we weren't exactly being secretive about it, I don't think he would mind my answering truthfully, but I'm still embarrassed. Instead of signing, I just nod and smile widely.
Naoko clasps her hands together, her eyes sparkling, quietly cheering. After a few brief seconds, it seems Hisao has looked back, so she quickly turns herself around and drops her hands to her sides; making like she's glaring at Nobuo. That may not be far from the truth considering Nobuo is barely paying attention to what he's doing; instead wandering his eyes around the park lazily.
Nobuo finishes the cooking quickly, and Naoko packages the four meals into paper boxes. She nudges my shoulder and winks as we leave, smiling widely. Carrying them over to a nearby picnic table, the four of us sit down to eat. Misha and Shizune sit at the far end of the table, leaving Hisao and I enough space to converse without eavesdropping – or maybe they wanted to talk about us out of earshot.
Is it possible to be out of earshot from Misha?
As it turns out, we say very little during the meal. Hisao is more hungry than I thought, hardly breathing between bites, while I make an effort not to make a complete mess. During the meal, he manages to steal half my rice, but I don't mind. The dumplings are surprisingly filling, and the rice is wonderfully seasoned. Nobuo is apparently an excellent cook, though I wouldn't recommend watching him prepare your meal.
Soon after finishing, Misha and Shizune excuse themselves. Making up an excuse about Misha being tired, they leave Hisao and I alone under the dim glow of the paper lanterns. The cool of the day translates to a comfortable night air that seems enchanted; like nothing could disturb the calm. Sitting next to him, I try not to disturb Hisao while he finishes off the rest of my rice; which I offered happily. The quiet stillness of the night air is broken by some playful music starting up from a nearby pavilion, to which I turn my wistful gaze and smile.
“Did you always like to sing?” Hisao suddenly asks, and I realize I'm humming along with the tune.
Turning back to see him smiling despite the piece of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth, I grin and nod, raising my hand to flick away the stray grain. “My mother used to sing me lullabies to try and get me to sleep, and they kinda stuck in my head,” I explain, “every so often I'm reminded of one, and I just start humming it absently.”
“That doesn't sound like a lullaby,” he says, indicating the boisterous song echoing off the trees across the grassy park.
“Well, no, but it's kinda catchy,” I reply with a grin. Demonstrating my point, I start humming along with the tune; harmonizing around the melody as he looks on with a contemplative gaze. Uncertain what he's thinking, I just keep humming around the tune, letting myself get swept into the music; happily keeping him entertained for a few brief moments.
When the song finishes, I blush and turn away, sending my hair flying around to land on my shoulder. Though I'm not embarrassed about Hisao listening, I still get a little edgy when someone -anyone- hears me sing. Since the accident, I'm never sure if I'm really getting the pitch right since I only get half the information. After a few seconds of silence, I feel his hand pulling the hair off my shoulder and I turn to catch his look, piercing into my eyes and smiling.
“Curious,” he says again, his hand lingering on my shoulder. “Mermaid, and a Siren. I'd love to hear you sing something lyrical,” he remarks, offering a reassuring nod.
“Maybe,” I say, keeping my tone mysterious. “When you've earned it,” I add cryptically.
Grinning, he starts getting up, and I join him, taking his hand as we start walking across the grassy park; meandering back toward the road leading to Yamaku. Our steps are slow and measured, drawing out the walk back to the school; neither of us wanting to end the night anytime soon. Noticing the area has started to clear of people, I imagine it must be past ten o'clock. We do have classes tomorrow morning -and swimming before that- but neither of us seems to care.
Looking skyward, I notice the clear sky has given way to some drifting cumulonimbus clouds that might threaten rain later in the evening. It's a foreboding sight, but we'll be back at the school long before they gather enough to start showering. Grinning at the timing, I quietly giggle at the weather's willingness to put itself on hold for a day so as not to dampen our long-expected date.
While walking, we stay silent for the most part -comfortably so- only speaking to offer greetings to some of the other students making their way up the hill. Headed toward us, I catch sight of Miki, dressed in a blue yukata with bright yellow flowers, leading a disdainful-looking Takashi Maeda and a grinning Lezard Valeth, both in their school uniforms.
Carried by the two boys, Suzu, now dressed in a bright green yukata with a delicate star-field pattern, appears to be asleep; her feet hovering over the pavement. Maeda strains to hold her up, but Valeth looks more like he's blushing furiously than having trouble carrying the sleepy girl.
Giggling at the spectacle, I wonder why they're headed down into town at this point, but I can't help finding the whole thing comical. Hisao and I both wave, but the only one to reply is Miki; leveling her stump-hand in a wave accompanied by a Cheshire cat grin and a wink. Turning to watch them pass by, my gaze angles toward a pair of figures a few hundred paces behind, following us briskly.
Walking in front, Amaya beats a fast pace, wearing a frustrated scowl. Tadao follows behind her, his arms out at his sides, palms out, with a confused frown engraved on his usually stoic face. Quickly stifling my laughter, I hold up a hand toward Hisao, indicating that we should stop.
Turning, he notices Amaya's stormy expression and comments, “uh-oh.”
Uh-oh, indeed.
Angry Amaya is a rarely-seen torrent of icy glares, harsh words, frustrated punches and kicks to the shins and shoulders, and usually unabated by anything until she can escape the source; which seems to be Tadao. Glancing at her paramour, I'm surprised he can walk. The look on Amaya's face indicates she likely already tried to cripple him, but it didn't seem to work.
Coming to a halt a few feet away, her eyes are fiery and stern, and her expression is dire. Trembling with rage, her face is flushed red; hands clenched so tightly at her sides they've begun to turn white. Not even acknowledging Hisao, she looks straight at me and glowers. “Tell that idiot,” she starts, directing a pointed finger back at Tadao, “I'm done talking to
him about
anything!” her straining voice echoes down the hill, and I see a few bystanders stopping to find the source. Unconcerned with any onlookers, Amaya continues gaining volume as she speaks, ”he can jump in front of a bus or lie down on a railroad track for all I care; if I ever have to look at his empty-headed face again, I can't guarantee there won't be
bloodshed!”
Whoa...
Half-expecting blood to start shooting out of her eyes, I watch her turn and snarl at Tadao's pallid expression. He stares back at her, mouth agape, eyes set wide open with shock and remorse. His expression shifts between bewildered, apologetic, frustrated, angry and crestfallen in an instant. After the quick glare, which stops Tadao dead in his tracks, she storms between Hisao and I, stomping the asphalt and huffing like a dragon ready to immolate anything in her path.
Tadao starts to stupidly follow her, but Hisao stops him with an upraised hand. I nod my thanks at him and step over to grab Tadao's shoulder briskly, spinning him in place and meeting his eyes with my own icy glare. “What in the hell did you say to her?” I ask, my disdainful tone makes Hisao flinch, and turns Tadao's face pale white.
Shooting his gaze downward, he grimaces and fidgets, completely at a loss for words. Taking a moment to look him over, the one remaining emotion I see overtaking his expression is guilt. I recall the discussion Amaya and I had in the cafe yesterday afternoon and the realization clicks.
He's an idiot, sometimes.
“You
are an idiot,” I say, and he finally looks at me, confusedly; surprised by the harshness of my tone. “Do you have any idea how much she wants to let you in?” I ask, though it's mostly rhetorical. “You're the most patient guy I've ever met,” I'm not sure I believe that right now, but I say it to get his head straight, “she'll let you in when she's good and ready.” I almost want to shake him to get the point across, but I'm afraid he might just fall over given how weak he looks right at this moment.
He looks like he wants to cry or scream; maybe at me, but probably at himself. His eyes well, but he stifles the forming tears and leans back, looking skyward. I glance over at Hisao and he's looking back at me, his eyes in silent agreement. I don't think he even knows Amaya has epilepsy, but he knows what it's like keeping a secret or hiding a condition. Tadao has always been completely up-front with his condition, so, for him, this whole situation must be extremely frustrating.
Finally he looks back down at me and tries to keep his voice from cracking as he inquires, “what should I do, then?”
I smirk at his question and shake my head. Whatever just happened, there's no fixing it until Amaya comes down from that rage. “Go back to your dorm for now,” I advise. He gestures like he wants to disagree, but I stop him with an upraised hand. “She'll need to cool off before you even get a chance. Right now she's liable to lop your head off with one of those hair pins,” I roll my eyes and grin wickedly as I finish the thought. After a moment, he nods in understanding.
I don't exactly trust him right now.
Looking over at Hisao, I hold out a hand. He makes a face like he doesn't know what I mean for a second, but he quickly catches on and steps forward. “I'm gonna send you back with Hisao,” I say, keeping my eyes on Tadao, “he's gonna stand guard at your room to prevent you from doing anything stupid while I try to smooth things over with Amaya.”
Glancing at Hisao, I offer an apologetic smile, but he holds up a hand and shakes his head. Moving to place a hand on Tadao's other shoulder, he gives his friend a sturdy shake and then nods at me, silently agreeing to make sure Tadao doesn't screw anything else up tonight.
Relieved at how quickly Hisao stepped up to help, I cast a last look at Tadao's depressed face and offer a sympathetic nod. He hangs his head dejectedly, but nods slowly; agreeing to be compliant. Satisfied, I lean toward Hisao, placing a hand on his shoulder, and kiss him on the cheek, whispering, “to be continued,” into his ear. That said, I let go of his shoulder and walk around them to chase after Amaya.
Her small form is still walking away briskly, and I'm not really sure how to handle this as I break into a jog to catch up, but right now she probably just needs to vent. I glance back and notice Hisao has held them up; waiting for me to reach Amaya, I assume.
Hearing my hurried footfalls, she turns and glowers at me, but it quickly fades into a mournful frown. When I catch up to her, she's already starting to cry; her eyes closing and her arms falling limply to her sides as tears begin streaming down her cheeks. The dimples that usually indicate her mischievous smile, instead catch her tears in a distressed grimace.
When I reach her she lunges forward, latching onto me like a child, and immediately starts bawling. Blubbering nonsense and choking on her own tears, she falls against me and I embrace her warmly, trying to offer comfort. Pushing her lightly, I nod toward the road and she starts walking slowly, leaning against me awkwardly.
Listening to her, I find it hard not to get caught up in her sadness. One of us needs to be the calm presence, though, and it clearly isn't going to be her. Casting my glance back on the boys to ensure they aren't gaining on us, I steer her up along the road, trying to listen for snippets of information in the nonsense, but not being terribly successful.
When we reach the school, she's largely stopped bawling, but her face is still bright red and the angry expression returns. Keeping quiet as we make our way across the common area and down the winding walkway toward the dorms, Amaya continues to hold onto me; apparently needing the support. Whatever sleep I thought I would be getting after tonight is probably now a fleeting dream, as my inconsolable friend clings to me like she might her mother.
Guiding her up the stairs while she buries her face in my side, hiding from any bystanders, I lead her into her room. Sitting her down on the bed, I taking a seat on her desk chair and lean forward with a pensive expression; ready to listen to whatever she needs to say – even if it takes all night.
She would do the same for me.
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I'm going to bed now... I stayed up all night to put the finishing touches on this.
