Rikabro used it in his Rika Story, to my knowledge, so my using it is not so unique.Lumi wrote:[snip]this is the first fanfic I've seen that uses Iwanako's letter in it. So kudos on that.[snip]
Tomorrow's Doom ~ Up: 04/30/16 ~ recommitted to completion.
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/10
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/10
Interesting avatar change. Appropriate though.
I found out about Katawa Shoujo through the forums of Misfile. There, I am the editor of Misfiled Dreams.
Completed: 100%, including bonus picture. Shizune>Emi>Lilly>Hanako>Rin
Griffon8's Writing
Completed: 100%, including bonus picture. Shizune>Emi>Lilly>Hanako>Rin
Griffon8's Writing
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/10
As I finish other concept art, I'll probably use those, too. Liked the way Aiko came out, really. Probably should have ported it into Photoshop to do the coloring, though - Flash is kinda bad at coloring.griffon8 wrote:Interesting avatar change. Appropriate though.
Figure I'll toss an update here; I'll be posting on Wednesdays rather than Fridays. That way y'all will have something to do on hump day, and it won't interrupt anyone's Friday plans.
Odd... "y'all" is not picked up by my browser spell-check, even though I'm fairly certain it's not a proper contraction.
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/10
Oh god, your slowly becoming me! Next you'll start using smileys after every line. ._.Helbereth wrote:That way y'all will have something to do on hump day, and it won't interrupt anyone's Friday plans.
Odd... "y'all" is not picked up by my browser spell-check, even though I'm fairly certain it's not a proper contraction.
-
Mistoffelees
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2012 11:50 pm
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/10
At risk of rampant fanboyism, I've just made an account now to comment on how great this is. That aside, I do have one minor (read: superfluous) critique on your work here, as an unedjumacated unwritery folk. All the adult characters seem jarringly flat compared to your adolescent ones, although perhaps that's simply an artifact of the first person perspective through Aiko. I know not. At any rate, apologies for my little nitpick, and thank you for writing.
P.S. As a Texan, "y'all" better be legit.
P.S. As a Texan, "y'all" better be legit.
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/10
Not likely, considering my long history of not using them - which gets me in trouble.JTemby wrote:Oh god, your slowly becoming me! Next you'll start using smileys after every line. ._.Helbereth wrote:That way y'all will have something to do on hump day, and it won't interrupt anyone's Friday plans.
Odd... "y'all" is not picked up by my browser spell-check, even though I'm fairly certain it's not a proper contraction.
Would you believe that I've been banned from forums for making threatening/harassing comments, even though it was obviously sarcasm, simply because I didn't use a smiley face to assuage the seriousness of the post?
As far as I'm concerned, using them is a wink and a nod to your reader, and that feels like insulting my audience - which I'd rather not do for any reason.
Maybe it's a foolish stance, especially considering the track record I have, but it's how I am, and I'm not changing it because a few ignorant people don't have a sense of humor.
It's largely a result of the first-person teenage perspective. Aiko has little reason thus far to concentrate on any of the adults, having too much going on otherwise to think about them. What little does shine through, I use as fuel to power her internal monologue. It has largely been intentional.Mistoffelees wrote:At risk of rampant fanboyism, I've just made an account now to comment on how great this is. That aside, I do have one minor (read: superfluous) critique on your work here, as an unedjumacated unwritery folk. All the adult characters seem jarringly flat compared to your adolescent ones, although perhaps that's simply an artifact of the first person perspective through Aiko. I know not. At any rate, apologies for my little nitpick, and thank you for writing.
P.S. As a Texan, "y'all" better be legit.
That won't always remain so, just to alleviate your concerns. I can solidly say the adults in her life will become more important and thus more fleshed out as the story moves into Act 4.
As far as the "y'all", it's out of character for me. I happened to write it, and then left it there because of the oddity rather than personal use. My region of origin lacks many colorful colloquialisms, opting for particular accents instead, which I go to great pains to keep out of my speech.
Chapter 18 - Out of the Loop (part 1)
Long chapter inbound - over 13,000 words. Split into two posts like other long chapters, this one covers quite a bit of ground. I almost split it into two chapters, but it just works as one - if a bit long.
Almost forgot to mention here since I posted about it yesterday, but I decided Wednesdays are better for a few reasons. Expect updates on Wednesdays.
This is only important to prudes:
May contain adult subject matter and themes, viewer(reader?) discretion advised.
Previous Chapter|Part 2|Next Chapter
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Chapter 18 – Out of the Loop
Thursday classes are mostly a blur. Ito hands back our exams, sneering and grimacing with various levels of bluster, and is met with a chorus of groans. Playing along, I join in the crescendo of frustration, but I only missed one equation. Other than that, things go back to normal with the chattering couple behind me, and the pall of melancholy is replaced with the looming presence of finals.
Following the three-day-weekend, we'll come back to a day of review, followed by three days of arduous testing. The thought keeps us worried enough to pay attention, but nobody, it seems, not even our teachers, is completely capable of focusing. Murmurs about weekend plans hover in the air, and I catch several whispered snippets of conversation about prospective destinations. Knowing I'll need to act fast to secure the invitations I want to extend, my eyes continually glance at the clock, awaiting lunch break.
During lunch, I beckon Yoko over and introduce her to Amaya, whom I explain will fill in the details. The secrecy about the trip only applies to myself, apparently, so anyone we invite is informed, but told to keep me in the dark. Sent away so she can explain those plans to Yoko, I head down to the cafeteria in search of Kenta; whom I miss having around to keep me honest. With Yoko seeming to get along with him, and Hisao likely finding a kindred in him, it seems reasonable to invite him, though I wonder if he already has plans.
Finding him sitting alone with his cardboard lunch, I don't waste any time with pleasantries. “Hey Kenta, you busy this weekend?” I ask, taking a seat next to him.
Still chewing, he holds up a hand to beg for a pause. Finally swallowing, he smirks at me and inquires, “thought you had a boyfriend?”
Not skipping a beat, I reply, “I'm just stringing him along.”
“Oh, well in that case,” instead of finishing his thought, he takes another bite of his sandwich. Rolling my eyes, I plant an elbow on the table and rest my head in my hand, sighing deeply as I wait for him to finish. Drawing out the suspense, he takes a swig from his orange soda before completing his thought, “I assume you have ulterior motives.”
“Why would you think that?” I inquire sardonically.
“Because I wasn't born yesterday,” he retorts, “and I've known you for longer than two hours.”
Nodding, I pat his shoulder and smile, trying to disarm his concerns. “Okay, I'll admit, I have ulterior motives,” I admit, pausing to watch as he nods. “But I can't even use the destination as a selling point,” I say “because Amaya won't tell me where we're going.”
That piques his interest, making him turn to regard me; inspecting my face. “You're not kidding are you?” he inquires, seeming intrigued.
“Won't even tell me what to pack,” I admit, seeing him smile wickedly.
“Well, I can't miss out on a chance to torture you,” he says with an evil smirk “or watch you being tortured.” Taking a long moment to inspect my reaction, he raises an eyebrow and remarks, “I assume I talk to Amaya for details.”
“Yeah, or Tadao,” I reply, “so you'll go?”
“Sure,” he says, “I can wait 'til summer break to work on my little pet project.” Grinning widely, he adds, “it's not every day I get to see someone pull a fast one on you.”
Getting up, I punch his arm and demand, “don't flake on me.”
“You're not staying for lunch?” he inquires, looking appropriately dejected – just enough to sell the question without appearing to mock me.
“I've developed this new thing called taste buds,” I retort with mock enthusiasm, “they're all the rage, you should look into getting yourself some.”
“Nah, if I did that I couldn't enjoy this,” he replies, immediately taking another bite.
Taking a few steps away, I turn back and smirk. Holding up his hand up in a mock salute, he grins and offers a dumb nod, which is all the affirmation I'm likely to get that he'll follow through. Chuckling quietly, I head out of the cafeteria, mentally going over the revised guest list. Assuming Hisao's invitation extended to the Student Council is accepted, eight people are confirmed so far, including myself, but I want to invite one more person.
Making it back to class, I make a bee-line to Naoko's desk and lean against it with a wry smirk. Regarding me with a look of trepidation, she signs a quick query, [what did I do now?]
Recalling her evening spent stuck working with her lazy brother Nobuo behind the counter of his rice and dumpling booth, I push off her desk and sign, [your Tanabata got messed up, right?]
Shrugging, she replies, [I guess so, why?]
[Do you have weekend plans?] I ask, piquing her interest.
[Not really,] she replies, bobbing her head back and forth. [Just a dumb family cook-out I could miss,] she adds with a slight roll of her eyes.
[Can you get out of it?] I ask, wanting to make sure.
She grins happily and nods swiftly. [Wouldn't even know I was gone,] she explains, and follows by commenting, [I'd love you forever if you gave me a reason not to go.]
[Well, Hisao and the tittering duo are planning a trip,] I sign, nodding toward Amaya. [I don't know where we're going, but they can fill you in on the details they refuse to tell me,] I explain, looking back at her with a smile.
[Refuse to tell you?] she inquires.
[They're keeping it from me; they'll tell you all about it, though,] I explain, smirking frustratedly. [We're leaving before the crack of dawn Saturday morning,] I mention.
[That early?] she inquires, looking a little flustered.
[Long bus trip, apparently,] I remark.
Taking a moment to mull it over, she nods excitedly and signs, [I'll have to bunk with someone Friday night, then.]
Recalling that she lives in town, I smile and pat the air. [We'll figure something out,] I assure her.
Resigning myself to sit in Kenta's seat again, I sigh as I sit down next to Yoko, and finally set out my lunch. She regards me with a wry smile, a knowing smile that feels a little unsettling. Instead of saying anything, she goes back to her lunch and lets me wallow in my bewilderment. This whole weekend getaway idea sounds great on paper, but being so out of the loop has made it rather stressful.
Still, I have no doubts about it being a fun weekend – memorable, even. This will be our last year at Yamaku, so chances to spend time with my friends will start to dry up in the near future. While I'm off pursuing university for business sciences and accounting, my two best friends will probably be focusing on a totally different school for more literary pursuits. All of them will be going to different places, and I may never see some of them after graduation. Maybe it's better that way, though.
“Amaya's kinda sweet,” Yoko says suddenly, breaking me out of my little bout of melancholy. Looking at her, I wonder if she did so on purpose; she probably noticed my despondent look.
Regardless of her intent, I'm glad to not think about the future for a little while longer. Smiling derisively, I inquire, “did you get some other impression of her?”
Yoko frowns for a second, but then grins wider. “She seemed so loud and obnoxious,” she explains, “I used to meet girls like that in ballet class, and they were usually trouble.”
Ballet class? That explains the walk.
Ignoring that little tidbit for now, I look over at Amaya. Noticing Tadao signing to Naoko, I wonder if I might pick up on what he's telling her, but Amaya's sneer makes me look away. Yoko starts giggling after seeing the little exchange and blushes when I turn a curious look on her. “What?” I prompt.
“Nothing,” she says, stifling the giggle. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she says, “she's not so bad, though.”
“She's sometimes more trouble than she's worth,” I reply, laughing a little. Looking at her thoughtfully, I remark, “but, when she's not being a pompous pain in the ass, she's great to have around.”
Yoko nods swiftly, seemingly in full agreement, and I'm happy to see her take a liking to Amaya. Perhaps being included is all she really needs, and I'm glad to provide her an outlet. Though, I still feel a little guilty for not noticing her sooner, and I still wonder what medications she mixed to cause such a bad reaction. Nurse seemed to know that part, and I imagine it had something to do with his decision to ask me for help, but he couldn't tell me even if I asked.
For now, I'm content with bringing Yoko into my own little social circle. My first impression of her was more right than I thought; she really is personable, but hasn't had a chance to show it until recently. There are reasons for that, I think, beyond whatever personal ones she might be harboring, and that's partially why I invited Naoko.
To her credit, Naoko is an excellent tutor, and helped a lot when I was first learning sign language; it's also almost impossible not to get along with her. Secretly, I'm inviting Naoko along to see if she'll help Yoko learn to sign, though I don't plan on mentioning that to either of them. Knowing Yoko is cut off from talking to most of the class because of her inability to sign, I think it'll help her make friends – at least with Naoko, if nobody else.
Finishing my lunch before the bell, for once, I grin at Yoko and return to my seat just as Naoko is leaving. Sharing a conspiratorial glance with Amaya, the bubbly, green-haired deaf girl smiles broadly and bounds back over to her seat. Seeing Kenta return reminds me to inform Amaya, “I invited Kenta along, too.”
“Oh dear God, why?” she inquires mockingly, “did you hit your head or something?”
Rolling my eyes at her, I explain, “I have my reasons.”
“Does your reason have brown eyes and wear sweater-vests?” she asks, implying Hisao is my reason.
She's partially right, but she doesn't need to know the other half. “Something like that,” I say, looking over and waving at the sarcastic gimp, “he'll be coming by to talk to you or Tadao at some point.”
Tadao nods and leans forward to catch my attention. “That makes nine,” he remarks, “a perfect number.”
Amaya chimes in, commenting, “eight and a half – Kenta's not all there, remember?”
Swatting her arm, I grimace and scold, “hey no fun taking pot shots when he's out of earshot!”
“Fine, fine,” she says, then turns to yell across the room, “Kenta I just called you half a man!”
“Good to know, short stuff!” he replies, causing Amaya to sigh frustratedly. Jabs at her height usually don't make her react, but Kenta's dismissive tone is difficult to dismiss. Getting up out of his chair, he hobbles over and sits on my desk, causing me to lean away and roll my eyes. Smirking down at me he comments, “Aiko says you're planning to torture her this weekend.”
“That's the plan,” Amaya replies, leaning forward, “she's to be kept in total darkness. Can you handle that?”
“Certainly,” he replies, “I'm just as fond of torturing Aiko, if you recall.” He nudges my shoulder and laughs maniacally for a few seconds, then stops and goes back to a straight face. Amaya tells him to meet later so they can go over the details, and Kenta heads back to his desk just as the bell rings.
Smiling wistfully at the whole exchange, I'm happy to see Amaya and Tadao back to being themselves. Whatever they talked about last night before things got heated -I try not to think about the possibilities- they've apparently gotten over the whole thing quickly. Listening to them tittering keeps a smile on my face for the rest of the day, even though I'm secretly a nervous wreck. Kenta is right; this is like torture.
Friendly torture... which may actually be worse.
Surmising the trip is somewhere rather distant, I can't even imagine where they're planning to take me, and it's making me a little crazy. Vague and evasive, she basically told me to bring summer clothes and bare essentials, but otherwise wasn't specific about what I might need. Without any glaringly obvious hints to work from, I've been wracking my brain trying to think of a plausible destination, but it mostly just leaves me feeling exhausted.
Arriving back at my dorm after school, I look around at the mess and, feeling strangely domestic all of a sudden, I decide to continue clearing the debris left by Hurricane Aiko. When Amaya visits and asks what got me so interested in cleaning, I lie, telling her I'm looking for my sunglasses; which is at least partially true. She offers her assistance, but I refuse, saying I'm just doing it to kill time, and she has other things to focus on besides. Really, I think it's because of my visit to Hisao's room.
There were no posters on his walls, nor a banzai tree, but it was certainly orderly. Not on the level of Amaya's hospital-like room, but everything was neatly in its place, and I wonder if he's got a penchant for keeping things that way. When I was little, my parents used to berate my lack of organizational skills and warn that I'd make an awful housewife one day, but I was only eight – what did I know?
I don't wanna be a housewife, anyway.
That said, I think being a little more concerned with keeping things in the right place would be a good idea. Hisao might have a heart attack if he saw the disarray on my floor and across my walls. Okay, maybe not, but he'd probably start rubbing his sternum nervously and look at me like I'd led him to the wrong room.
Would he know the difference?
That thought stops me where I stand. Sure, logically, he could figure it out if he saw the name on the door, but he might not be so certain if I blindfolded him first. This little disastrous corner of my life, filled with snippets of information about my past, is as much a reflection of me as the one in my mirror. As much as I'd like to think he would figure it out, I wonder if I've really told him anything about myself.
Having met most of my friends, he can probably glean a number of things about me based on my disparate associations. When Mom and Midori came up, I barely talked about them, though I didn't get much chance. A few nights ago, I showed him my secret hiding spot and told him about Dad, but all he really knows is the end of that story. Everything I've told him seems like a peripheral part of my life as I stand here thinking about them.
Very few details have been worked into our conversations. He knows I'm fond of video games, but doesn't have any idea how much time I waste with that activity. When I told him I love swimming, I didn't really explain why; though he may have figured out it has to do with Dad. Mom taught me to sing, and encouraged me to keep doing it after the accident, but I didn't tell him that part. Pondering all of this, I realize there are far darker parts of me that I keep hidden; things about the future I don't like to think about.
My insomnia came up, and he knows I get nightmares, but I didn't explain the really bad ones. The terrors haunting my dreams aren't just about falling off a pier or watching Dad die; they're sometimes much worse. Horrible, prophetic dreams that are far more terrifying also keep me awake some nights. Dreams about my future self, withering away in agony, brought on by frightening knowledge. Someday there will be nothing left of me but a horrifying, painful memory, held and mourned by anyone stupid enough to have loved me.
The answer to a question I never even thought to ask, I learned there's a clock ticking somewhere for every living thing on Earth; their own doomsday clock. Counting out the days, weeks, months and years of our lives with cold precision, its pendulum swings incessantly, hurtling through the void as it counts down tomorrow's doom. Some people only get a few years on their clock, while others have dozens, or maybe even a hundred, or more, but almost all of them have no idea when it runs out.
I have about twenty-five years left, if I'm lucky.
Before I even got the sex talk, Mom gave me the death talk. She told me about it because she thought I had a right to know, but, truthfully, I hate her for laying that kind of information on top of an already-troubled teenage mind – her own daughter. Having inherited many things from my parents, when it came to Dad's condition, I lost the gamble. Midori got lucky, though, so there's some consolation in that; except she and Mom will have to bury me someday.
Finding my eyes burning, I slam them shut and sit on my bed, trying to forget; trying to ignore the future. Coldness creeps into me as I sit, reminiscing about such foreboding future circumstances. Nobody here but Amaya knows I have a broken gene that will cause my brain to digest itself someday – and nobody else should.
Not even Hisao.
It isn't something that will come up in conversation, so there's no need to drop it on him like that. Chances are, he'll be out of my life before it even becomes important, so burdening him with that kind of knowledge would be unfair. All he could do is offer condolences, and, in light of that, I'd rather he remain blissfully ignorant. Twenty years from now, maybe Hisao might see my obituary and shed a single, manly tear, remembering the girl who screamed at him in class and showed him the top of the world.
That's how I'd rather he remember me, not as the shell I'll become.
Rolling into bed, I try to smile, but my eyes are still burning, welling with tears that I continually fight back. The darkness remains despite the bright afternoon sun. Being reminded of it usually sends me for a loop, but never for long. Dad never let it stop him, and, remembering that, I know this feeling won't last. Even when he knew his time was almost up, he kept on going, kept fighting, kept living. If he were here, he'd probably give me a hug and smile, and tell me it's not worth worrying about – he always could make me feel better.
Dad was amazing.
Feeling the fight come back into my heart, I sit up and swing my feet off the bed. Looking around at the mess, I think I need a break from digging up memories, so I decide to recruit Amaya to make us some dinner. Shaking the tears away briskly, and wiping my eyes to hide the evidence, I kick a pile of laundry out from in front of my door and head across the hall to batter Amaya's door.
When she pops out looking surprised to see me, I cross my arms and sneer at her. “You're cooking tonight,” I demand, “you owe me.” Smirking at her playfully, I bump her with my hip, wrap my arm over her shoulder and start walking her down the hall toward the common room.
“Lemme go!” she begs, “I'll cook, just-”
“No buts!” I exclaim, retracting my arm. “After the week your stupid argument put me through, it's the least you can do,” I say, offering a solid pout.
She lets out a resigned sigh, slumping her shoulders heavily and glaring at me. “Fine,” she concedes, “but you're helping.”
Smiling sweetly, I agree with a nod and continue leading her down to the common room. Playing sous-chef for her is normal; she does the bulk of the cooking for both of us because I can barely boil water. Watching her work her magic on some rice and vegetables, I'm always awed by anyone who can cook without burning things or accidentally setting fires. Once we've sat down, amidst the longing looks from a few of the other girls, I try barraging her with questions about the weekend, but it's futile.
As with other things, Amaya knows how to keep a secret if she has to, and she's getting way too much enjoyment out of watching me squirm to offer any hints. Apparently, they started planning the trip with Hisao before the blow-out, and, once that was resolved, decided to resume planning immediately – before the dust had settled, even.
While we're entranced by the TV for a little while, Yoko appears beside me, sitting down so quietly she may have simply materialized in the chair. Turning a questioning look toward me that I just catch in the corner of my eye, she seems to want to ask me something. Peeling my attention away from a repeat of Numb3rs, I turn a curious glance at her and smile.
Looking a little pale, but sitting straight as an arrow, Yoko looks like she's filled with worry about something and I wonder if she decided to decline the invitation. Instead, she places a hand on my arm and takes a deep breath, leveling her eyes at me and asking, “did you invite Kenta?” It sounds as much like an accusation as it does a question.
Blinking at her for a few seconds, I notice Amaya's fleeting interest and offer her a glance, but she just shrugs and goes back to watching television; no help there. Of course, I would probably have invited Kenta anyway, but Yoko's interest in him really was a deciding factor. If I tell her that, though, I'm afraid she might think I'm just trying to meddle in her affairs.
Honestly, it's true, but it's only half-true.
“I invited him along, yeah, why?” I ask, trying to sound innocent. “Known him since we were first-years,” I mention. That part is completely the truth. Kenta used to sit next to me, and we got along even when I first started – he brow-beat me into apologizing to Amaya after the seizure incident.
She relaxes visibly at hearing my explanation, but not completely. Color returns to her face in the form of a blush as she rocks back in her seat. “Was he always so...” she starts to ask, but trails off and looks at me confusedly.
I start feeding her adjectives, “funny, sarcastic, gimpy, dry, nerdy.” Seeing her nod after each one, I decide to throw in something less innocuous, “and adorable.”
Now she hides her flustered face behind those red locks, turning away with an ear-to-ear grin. Letting her have the moment of embarrassment in silence, I sit and wait until she has the courage to look back at me, still smiling. It's not quite a thankful expression, given the worried edge in her eyes, but she's not against the idea of having Kenta along – I can tell.
She definitely has a soft spot for Kenta.
Much more subdued than I had first thought, Yoko doesn't seem to radiate personality or charisma, which could explain why nobody seems to notice her in class. When she sat down next to me a few minutes ago, I barely even noticed; like she was a ghost. Waiting for people to approach her before engaging in any social discourse, had Kenta not been her neighbor in class, I doubt she would ever have talked to him. That explains why she seems to lack friends, but the reason she's so shy and withdrawn remains a mystery.
Perhaps she's just too reserved to go around the room and talk with people, but, then again, 3-1 is mostly deaf students and Yoko hasn't learned sign-language. Hopefully having Naoko along will remedy that problem, but I still don't think it's just a communication barrier. Something else is bothering her, it seems, though she hides it well. Whatever it is may be the real reason for Nurse's concern, but I'm not going to force it out of her.
Letting her embarrassment subside, I remember my conversation with Naoko, and I get an idea. Her needing to spend the night with someone, perhaps Yoko would be interested in having a guest. Taking a moment to think it over, I decide there's no harm in asking, “hey y'know Naoko?”
She looks at me quizzically for a moment, but then nods. “From class, right?” she inquires, still looking perplexed. The blush fades as the change in subject lets her relax a little more.
Smiling at that thought, I explain, “She's coming along as well, but she doesn't live in the dorms.” Seeing her nod hesitantly I decide the specifics aren't important. “She needs to bunk with someone Friday night,” I explain, “but my room was hit by a tornado, and Amaya doesn't like anyone messing up her room, so I was wondering...” trailing off, I let the question ask itself.
Yoko catches on pretty quick, but she looks a little apprehensive. “She's deaf, though, right?” she asks rhetorically, adding, “I can't sign.”
“She's the one who taught me.” I say, leading her thoughts. “Well, I took the class too,” I clarify, “but Naoko did most of the heavy lifting – so to speak.”
Blanching a little, she nods in understanding. “It looks hard, though,” she admits, sounding deflated.
“With that little green-haired box of joy teaching you, it'll go by easy – it's not even that hard once you get the hang of it,” I explain, then add for emphasis, “Hisao can hold up a conversation with Shizune after only five weeks, and I know you've seen her darting hands work the language.”
Hearing that seems to make Yoko feel a little better, but she still looks a bit out of sorts. Smiling at her confidently, I give her a light pat on the shoulder. “Anyway, you don't have to learn sign to hold a conversation with Naoko,” I explain. She looks a little bewildered by that admission, so I quickly add, “you can pass notes with her.”
Finally giving me an affirming nod, she smiles and looks away shyly. “Alright,” she says finally. She seems a little apprehensive still, but I doubt she'll have trouble getting along with Naoko.
“Great,” I say, watching her stand up and start to head for the door. “Naoko's a hot ticket, you'll like her,” I call after her, grinning widely.
Turning back, she raises an eyebrow at me, but it dissolves into a warm smile. After bowing slightly, she turns back toward the door. As she makes her way across the room, practically gliding across the floor, he footfalls are completely silent. It's eerie seeing her move so quickly and quietly; like a ghost. Knowing my own walk to be heavy and much less feminine, I marvel at her apparent grace – ballet seems to have lingering effects.
When she's gone, I look back toward the television and frown. Having lost track of the show, I decide to bid Amaya a good night and head for my room. Walking back through the halls, I try to imitate Yoko's graceful lightness, but find it just makes me walk clumsily. Giving up the pretense, I slip back into my normal walk and smile inwardly, fighting away the embarrassment.
I'm no dancer, but I can sing, dammit!
Finding the late-afternoon light dimly lighting my room, I snap the light on and look around at the various piles. Seeing things this organized is rather rare, and I still wonder what Hisao might think is he saw my space. Maybe he suspects I'm a bit messy; he has seen me eat and might surmise I'd be equally disorganized in other areas.
Then again, he also knows I'm great at math and might assume that would translate to good organizational skills. Having never seen me actually taking a test, he doesn't know how scattered I really am when I approach something like that. Jumping around to whichever problems grab my attention first, I don't think I've ever answered all the questions on a test sequentially.
Hisao is friends with my friends, though, and who knows what Tadao has told him in whispered confidence about my quirks. Evidently he shared enough to plan a weekend excursion he's confident I'll enjoy without asking me a single detail about the destination. Then again, I had once wondered if he could simply read my thoughts – maybe that's his mutant power.
Swooner-dar, or something; I'm bad at naming stuff. That's Tadao's department.
Looking around, I realize the mess is dominated by an assortment of gaming paraphernalia – another thing Hisao would likely find surprising. For whatever reason, I've kept the box from every game I've ever owned. Over the last two years, an extensive collection of space-wasting boxes has been slowly filling a corner of my closet. Some of them are empty aside from the booklets, and I'm not even sure if I ever played a few of them, but, there they are, taking up space.
Mom watches a television show about people who keep useless objects, filling their homes with piles of junk so thick they can barely walk around; Hoarders, or something similar. Looking at all these game boxes, I get a clear image of a little countryside home stacked to the ceiling with similarly colorful boxes, and me sitting in a chair at the epicenter of pointlessness, chattering nonsense.
Sweeping my hand along the row of boxes, I shove them out of the closet and send them tumbling into a pile on my bed. Sorting through them to find any actual games still inside, I toss those on my desk and throw the empty boxes in a trash bag. There are enough problems in my future without becoming the crazy-game-box-lady.
Like people need more reasons to think I'm crazy.
Sighing with satisfaction, I sit on my bed and glance at the colorful sunset now bathing the lazy forest outside my window in a warm orange glow. The dimming of the day brings a calm over the bustle of the academy, quieting the hum of chatter through the halls, and stilling the echo of distant laughter. Smiling lightly, I lean against the sill and push my heavy curtains out of the way so I can lift the window open and let some of the evening air into my room.
The rush of warm air carries the scent of lavender, and brings with it a memory from when I was twelve. Spending the summer at my uncle's beach-house again, Midori and I chased each-other around in the nearby fields, abloom with lavender and lilac, forgetting about school for a while. Back then she was my only friend, really, and that following semester we would be trudging off to different schools.
Being the big sister, one might think it fell on me to reassure her about the separation, but she wasn't facing a classroom full of bullies. That's probably inaccurate. They weren't all bullies, but it felt that way sometimes, and they certainly all joined in laughing at me when I fell over. Midori was always nearby when I was feeling down because of the teasing, but, when the new school year started, I wouldn't see her except at home. Somehow I got through it, but, by the end of middle-school, I had changed – everything was different.
When I didn't have Midori around all the time to keep my spirits up, I started searching for other ways to keep me distracted. Escaping into video games, I started ignoring my school-work. The mindless escapism allowed me to retreat away from the biting verbal jabs and focus on something more pleasant, or frightening, or enlightening, or just plain fun.
My parents didn't notice right away, but, even once they started trying to help, nothing seemed to work. The issue wasn't the gaming, really, it was everything else going wrong at once. Being teased, separating from Midori, watching Dad's condition worsen and seeing the worry etched on Mom's face at the end of every day, I remember thinking I'd found myself in a living nightmare.
Taking a deep breath, I push the bad memories aside and concentrate on the present. Somewhere in the distance a cicada thrums a resonating tune, joined by a chorus of crickets. Further beyond, I can hear the distinct chirp from the little frogs living along the stream behind the school grounds. The errant noises somehow come together and flow into a strange natural symphony. Overhead, puffy clouds roll across the sky, bathed in the darkening glow as the sun begins dipping under the tree line, deepening the gloaming.
Recalling my delinquency, I realize Hisao experienced something similar after his heart attack. Being in the hospital for months, his friends just seemed to give up on him, and he retreated into books. It changed him into a cynic, and hardened him against the world such that when he finally got out and found himself here, he was thoroughly depressed, and needed some sense knocked into him – which I provided. A month later, I can laugh about my outburst; it really was more help than harm, I think.
Gazing out as the sun retreats fully below the horizon, I smile at the bright red glow that slowly seeps into indigo as pinpoints of starlight etch their way onto the canvas. Leaning out my window, I watch the deepening darkness filter over the treeline. The glimmering stars cast an iridescent glow, causing the wind-blown leaves atop the distant trees to shimmer. Watching so intently, I wonder if Hisao is watching this sunset.
Sitting here, watching the sky changing for at least half an hour, I'm suddenly surprised when my phone starts playing a familiar tune; Hisao is calling to make sure I get to bed early. Grinning widely, I lurch at my desk and snatch the phone into my hand, flipping it open as I bound back to the middle of my bed.
“Tony's Pizza, can I take your order?” I answer, still bouncing while suppressing a giggle.
“Go to bed,” he replies, ignoring the prompt.
“I'm on my bed,” I say playfully, “what should I do here?”
“Sleep,” he says flatly. “Don't force me to go over and knock you out,” he adds, sounding more mirthful.
Falling back onto my pillow, I giggle at his suggestion and ask, “how would you knock me out?”
“Swooner powers,” he says with a laugh.
“Ooh!” I exclaim, “you know...” I pause and consider my words, “I might sing a song for you, if you visited.”
Biting my lip while he pauses to consider the offer, I imagine he's rubbing his sternum and narrowing his eyes; the image is definitely more adorable than distressing. “Tempting,” he finally answers, “but no. You need to set yourself up for rising early on Saturday, and everything I've read about Sirens says they're bad for a young man's health.”
His refusal doesn't really surprise me, but it's still a little disappointing. ”Aww!” I exclaim dejectedly. “Just remember I offered and you refused~!” I exclaim playfully. After pausing for a moment, I add, “you may never get another chance.”
Chuckling, he doesn't sound worried I'll actually hold him to that; he's probably right. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, “get some sleep.”
“Fine, fine,” I reply, “still not telling me where we're going?”
“Good night, Aiko,” he says, ignoring my question.
Waiting a few seconds to lengthen the conversation, or maybe just to listen to him breathing, I glance out the window and sigh. “You too,” I finally reply, “dream of me.”
“Every night,” he says as the line cuts. It's probably just a sweet nothing, but I somehow like the idea of my invading his dreams. Then again, what I'm doing in his dreams worries me; I wonder if the dream-version of me is as virtuous and chaste as the real one.
Dirty thoughts return again. He always does that to me.
Quickly stepping out of bed, I decide to take his advice. Flipping the light switch, I'm suddenly blind as the darkened sky outside my window isn't casting much more than a dim glow into my room. Stepping toward where I left my bed, I walk tentatively, but still manage to stumble on something slippery and lose my footing.
Falling against my bed in a heap, I giggle at my clumsiness and climb under the covers. That minefield of junk will have to wait for tomorrow because, right now, I actually feel tired. Whatever magic Hisao's calm baritone might have, its echo in my ear is making me feel sleepy, and warm, and I don't feel like arguing with the sensation. Collapsing against my pillow, I don't bother closing the window as I drift away into peaceful slumber.
I love how he can do that to me.
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Previous Chapter|Part 2|Next Chapter
Almost forgot to mention here since I posted about it yesterday, but I decided Wednesdays are better for a few reasons. Expect updates on Wednesdays.
This is only important to prudes:
May contain adult subject matter and themes, viewer(reader?) discretion advised.
Previous Chapter|Part 2|Next Chapter
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Chapter 18 – Out of the Loop
Thursday classes are mostly a blur. Ito hands back our exams, sneering and grimacing with various levels of bluster, and is met with a chorus of groans. Playing along, I join in the crescendo of frustration, but I only missed one equation. Other than that, things go back to normal with the chattering couple behind me, and the pall of melancholy is replaced with the looming presence of finals.
Following the three-day-weekend, we'll come back to a day of review, followed by three days of arduous testing. The thought keeps us worried enough to pay attention, but nobody, it seems, not even our teachers, is completely capable of focusing. Murmurs about weekend plans hover in the air, and I catch several whispered snippets of conversation about prospective destinations. Knowing I'll need to act fast to secure the invitations I want to extend, my eyes continually glance at the clock, awaiting lunch break.
During lunch, I beckon Yoko over and introduce her to Amaya, whom I explain will fill in the details. The secrecy about the trip only applies to myself, apparently, so anyone we invite is informed, but told to keep me in the dark. Sent away so she can explain those plans to Yoko, I head down to the cafeteria in search of Kenta; whom I miss having around to keep me honest. With Yoko seeming to get along with him, and Hisao likely finding a kindred in him, it seems reasonable to invite him, though I wonder if he already has plans.
Finding him sitting alone with his cardboard lunch, I don't waste any time with pleasantries. “Hey Kenta, you busy this weekend?” I ask, taking a seat next to him.
Still chewing, he holds up a hand to beg for a pause. Finally swallowing, he smirks at me and inquires, “thought you had a boyfriend?”
Not skipping a beat, I reply, “I'm just stringing him along.”
“Oh, well in that case,” instead of finishing his thought, he takes another bite of his sandwich. Rolling my eyes, I plant an elbow on the table and rest my head in my hand, sighing deeply as I wait for him to finish. Drawing out the suspense, he takes a swig from his orange soda before completing his thought, “I assume you have ulterior motives.”
“Why would you think that?” I inquire sardonically.
“Because I wasn't born yesterday,” he retorts, “and I've known you for longer than two hours.”
Nodding, I pat his shoulder and smile, trying to disarm his concerns. “Okay, I'll admit, I have ulterior motives,” I admit, pausing to watch as he nods. “But I can't even use the destination as a selling point,” I say “because Amaya won't tell me where we're going.”
That piques his interest, making him turn to regard me; inspecting my face. “You're not kidding are you?” he inquires, seeming intrigued.
“Won't even tell me what to pack,” I admit, seeing him smile wickedly.
“Well, I can't miss out on a chance to torture you,” he says with an evil smirk “or watch you being tortured.” Taking a long moment to inspect my reaction, he raises an eyebrow and remarks, “I assume I talk to Amaya for details.”
“Yeah, or Tadao,” I reply, “so you'll go?”
“Sure,” he says, “I can wait 'til summer break to work on my little pet project.” Grinning widely, he adds, “it's not every day I get to see someone pull a fast one on you.”
Getting up, I punch his arm and demand, “don't flake on me.”
“You're not staying for lunch?” he inquires, looking appropriately dejected – just enough to sell the question without appearing to mock me.
“I've developed this new thing called taste buds,” I retort with mock enthusiasm, “they're all the rage, you should look into getting yourself some.”
“Nah, if I did that I couldn't enjoy this,” he replies, immediately taking another bite.
Taking a few steps away, I turn back and smirk. Holding up his hand up in a mock salute, he grins and offers a dumb nod, which is all the affirmation I'm likely to get that he'll follow through. Chuckling quietly, I head out of the cafeteria, mentally going over the revised guest list. Assuming Hisao's invitation extended to the Student Council is accepted, eight people are confirmed so far, including myself, but I want to invite one more person.
Making it back to class, I make a bee-line to Naoko's desk and lean against it with a wry smirk. Regarding me with a look of trepidation, she signs a quick query, [what did I do now?]
Recalling her evening spent stuck working with her lazy brother Nobuo behind the counter of his rice and dumpling booth, I push off her desk and sign, [your Tanabata got messed up, right?]
Shrugging, she replies, [I guess so, why?]
[Do you have weekend plans?] I ask, piquing her interest.
[Not really,] she replies, bobbing her head back and forth. [Just a dumb family cook-out I could miss,] she adds with a slight roll of her eyes.
[Can you get out of it?] I ask, wanting to make sure.
She grins happily and nods swiftly. [Wouldn't even know I was gone,] she explains, and follows by commenting, [I'd love you forever if you gave me a reason not to go.]
[Well, Hisao and the tittering duo are planning a trip,] I sign, nodding toward Amaya. [I don't know where we're going, but they can fill you in on the details they refuse to tell me,] I explain, looking back at her with a smile.
[Refuse to tell you?] she inquires.
[They're keeping it from me; they'll tell you all about it, though,] I explain, smirking frustratedly. [We're leaving before the crack of dawn Saturday morning,] I mention.
[That early?] she inquires, looking a little flustered.
[Long bus trip, apparently,] I remark.
Taking a moment to mull it over, she nods excitedly and signs, [I'll have to bunk with someone Friday night, then.]
Recalling that she lives in town, I smile and pat the air. [We'll figure something out,] I assure her.
Resigning myself to sit in Kenta's seat again, I sigh as I sit down next to Yoko, and finally set out my lunch. She regards me with a wry smile, a knowing smile that feels a little unsettling. Instead of saying anything, she goes back to her lunch and lets me wallow in my bewilderment. This whole weekend getaway idea sounds great on paper, but being so out of the loop has made it rather stressful.
Still, I have no doubts about it being a fun weekend – memorable, even. This will be our last year at Yamaku, so chances to spend time with my friends will start to dry up in the near future. While I'm off pursuing university for business sciences and accounting, my two best friends will probably be focusing on a totally different school for more literary pursuits. All of them will be going to different places, and I may never see some of them after graduation. Maybe it's better that way, though.
“Amaya's kinda sweet,” Yoko says suddenly, breaking me out of my little bout of melancholy. Looking at her, I wonder if she did so on purpose; she probably noticed my despondent look.
Regardless of her intent, I'm glad to not think about the future for a little while longer. Smiling derisively, I inquire, “did you get some other impression of her?”
Yoko frowns for a second, but then grins wider. “She seemed so loud and obnoxious,” she explains, “I used to meet girls like that in ballet class, and they were usually trouble.”
Ballet class? That explains the walk.
Ignoring that little tidbit for now, I look over at Amaya. Noticing Tadao signing to Naoko, I wonder if I might pick up on what he's telling her, but Amaya's sneer makes me look away. Yoko starts giggling after seeing the little exchange and blushes when I turn a curious look on her. “What?” I prompt.
“Nothing,” she says, stifling the giggle. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she says, “she's not so bad, though.”
“She's sometimes more trouble than she's worth,” I reply, laughing a little. Looking at her thoughtfully, I remark, “but, when she's not being a pompous pain in the ass, she's great to have around.”
Yoko nods swiftly, seemingly in full agreement, and I'm happy to see her take a liking to Amaya. Perhaps being included is all she really needs, and I'm glad to provide her an outlet. Though, I still feel a little guilty for not noticing her sooner, and I still wonder what medications she mixed to cause such a bad reaction. Nurse seemed to know that part, and I imagine it had something to do with his decision to ask me for help, but he couldn't tell me even if I asked.
For now, I'm content with bringing Yoko into my own little social circle. My first impression of her was more right than I thought; she really is personable, but hasn't had a chance to show it until recently. There are reasons for that, I think, beyond whatever personal ones she might be harboring, and that's partially why I invited Naoko.
To her credit, Naoko is an excellent tutor, and helped a lot when I was first learning sign language; it's also almost impossible not to get along with her. Secretly, I'm inviting Naoko along to see if she'll help Yoko learn to sign, though I don't plan on mentioning that to either of them. Knowing Yoko is cut off from talking to most of the class because of her inability to sign, I think it'll help her make friends – at least with Naoko, if nobody else.
Finishing my lunch before the bell, for once, I grin at Yoko and return to my seat just as Naoko is leaving. Sharing a conspiratorial glance with Amaya, the bubbly, green-haired deaf girl smiles broadly and bounds back over to her seat. Seeing Kenta return reminds me to inform Amaya, “I invited Kenta along, too.”
“Oh dear God, why?” she inquires mockingly, “did you hit your head or something?”
Rolling my eyes at her, I explain, “I have my reasons.”
“Does your reason have brown eyes and wear sweater-vests?” she asks, implying Hisao is my reason.
She's partially right, but she doesn't need to know the other half. “Something like that,” I say, looking over and waving at the sarcastic gimp, “he'll be coming by to talk to you or Tadao at some point.”
Tadao nods and leans forward to catch my attention. “That makes nine,” he remarks, “a perfect number.”
Amaya chimes in, commenting, “eight and a half – Kenta's not all there, remember?”
Swatting her arm, I grimace and scold, “hey no fun taking pot shots when he's out of earshot!”
“Fine, fine,” she says, then turns to yell across the room, “Kenta I just called you half a man!”
“Good to know, short stuff!” he replies, causing Amaya to sigh frustratedly. Jabs at her height usually don't make her react, but Kenta's dismissive tone is difficult to dismiss. Getting up out of his chair, he hobbles over and sits on my desk, causing me to lean away and roll my eyes. Smirking down at me he comments, “Aiko says you're planning to torture her this weekend.”
“That's the plan,” Amaya replies, leaning forward, “she's to be kept in total darkness. Can you handle that?”
“Certainly,” he replies, “I'm just as fond of torturing Aiko, if you recall.” He nudges my shoulder and laughs maniacally for a few seconds, then stops and goes back to a straight face. Amaya tells him to meet later so they can go over the details, and Kenta heads back to his desk just as the bell rings.
Smiling wistfully at the whole exchange, I'm happy to see Amaya and Tadao back to being themselves. Whatever they talked about last night before things got heated -I try not to think about the possibilities- they've apparently gotten over the whole thing quickly. Listening to them tittering keeps a smile on my face for the rest of the day, even though I'm secretly a nervous wreck. Kenta is right; this is like torture.
Friendly torture... which may actually be worse.
Surmising the trip is somewhere rather distant, I can't even imagine where they're planning to take me, and it's making me a little crazy. Vague and evasive, she basically told me to bring summer clothes and bare essentials, but otherwise wasn't specific about what I might need. Without any glaringly obvious hints to work from, I've been wracking my brain trying to think of a plausible destination, but it mostly just leaves me feeling exhausted.
Arriving back at my dorm after school, I look around at the mess and, feeling strangely domestic all of a sudden, I decide to continue clearing the debris left by Hurricane Aiko. When Amaya visits and asks what got me so interested in cleaning, I lie, telling her I'm looking for my sunglasses; which is at least partially true. She offers her assistance, but I refuse, saying I'm just doing it to kill time, and she has other things to focus on besides. Really, I think it's because of my visit to Hisao's room.
There were no posters on his walls, nor a banzai tree, but it was certainly orderly. Not on the level of Amaya's hospital-like room, but everything was neatly in its place, and I wonder if he's got a penchant for keeping things that way. When I was little, my parents used to berate my lack of organizational skills and warn that I'd make an awful housewife one day, but I was only eight – what did I know?
I don't wanna be a housewife, anyway.
That said, I think being a little more concerned with keeping things in the right place would be a good idea. Hisao might have a heart attack if he saw the disarray on my floor and across my walls. Okay, maybe not, but he'd probably start rubbing his sternum nervously and look at me like I'd led him to the wrong room.
Would he know the difference?
That thought stops me where I stand. Sure, logically, he could figure it out if he saw the name on the door, but he might not be so certain if I blindfolded him first. This little disastrous corner of my life, filled with snippets of information about my past, is as much a reflection of me as the one in my mirror. As much as I'd like to think he would figure it out, I wonder if I've really told him anything about myself.
Having met most of my friends, he can probably glean a number of things about me based on my disparate associations. When Mom and Midori came up, I barely talked about them, though I didn't get much chance. A few nights ago, I showed him my secret hiding spot and told him about Dad, but all he really knows is the end of that story. Everything I've told him seems like a peripheral part of my life as I stand here thinking about them.
Very few details have been worked into our conversations. He knows I'm fond of video games, but doesn't have any idea how much time I waste with that activity. When I told him I love swimming, I didn't really explain why; though he may have figured out it has to do with Dad. Mom taught me to sing, and encouraged me to keep doing it after the accident, but I didn't tell him that part. Pondering all of this, I realize there are far darker parts of me that I keep hidden; things about the future I don't like to think about.
My insomnia came up, and he knows I get nightmares, but I didn't explain the really bad ones. The terrors haunting my dreams aren't just about falling off a pier or watching Dad die; they're sometimes much worse. Horrible, prophetic dreams that are far more terrifying also keep me awake some nights. Dreams about my future self, withering away in agony, brought on by frightening knowledge. Someday there will be nothing left of me but a horrifying, painful memory, held and mourned by anyone stupid enough to have loved me.
The answer to a question I never even thought to ask, I learned there's a clock ticking somewhere for every living thing on Earth; their own doomsday clock. Counting out the days, weeks, months and years of our lives with cold precision, its pendulum swings incessantly, hurtling through the void as it counts down tomorrow's doom. Some people only get a few years on their clock, while others have dozens, or maybe even a hundred, or more, but almost all of them have no idea when it runs out.
I have about twenty-five years left, if I'm lucky.
Before I even got the sex talk, Mom gave me the death talk. She told me about it because she thought I had a right to know, but, truthfully, I hate her for laying that kind of information on top of an already-troubled teenage mind – her own daughter. Having inherited many things from my parents, when it came to Dad's condition, I lost the gamble. Midori got lucky, though, so there's some consolation in that; except she and Mom will have to bury me someday.
Finding my eyes burning, I slam them shut and sit on my bed, trying to forget; trying to ignore the future. Coldness creeps into me as I sit, reminiscing about such foreboding future circumstances. Nobody here but Amaya knows I have a broken gene that will cause my brain to digest itself someday – and nobody else should.
Not even Hisao.
It isn't something that will come up in conversation, so there's no need to drop it on him like that. Chances are, he'll be out of my life before it even becomes important, so burdening him with that kind of knowledge would be unfair. All he could do is offer condolences, and, in light of that, I'd rather he remain blissfully ignorant. Twenty years from now, maybe Hisao might see my obituary and shed a single, manly tear, remembering the girl who screamed at him in class and showed him the top of the world.
That's how I'd rather he remember me, not as the shell I'll become.
Rolling into bed, I try to smile, but my eyes are still burning, welling with tears that I continually fight back. The darkness remains despite the bright afternoon sun. Being reminded of it usually sends me for a loop, but never for long. Dad never let it stop him, and, remembering that, I know this feeling won't last. Even when he knew his time was almost up, he kept on going, kept fighting, kept living. If he were here, he'd probably give me a hug and smile, and tell me it's not worth worrying about – he always could make me feel better.
Dad was amazing.
Feeling the fight come back into my heart, I sit up and swing my feet off the bed. Looking around at the mess, I think I need a break from digging up memories, so I decide to recruit Amaya to make us some dinner. Shaking the tears away briskly, and wiping my eyes to hide the evidence, I kick a pile of laundry out from in front of my door and head across the hall to batter Amaya's door.
When she pops out looking surprised to see me, I cross my arms and sneer at her. “You're cooking tonight,” I demand, “you owe me.” Smirking at her playfully, I bump her with my hip, wrap my arm over her shoulder and start walking her down the hall toward the common room.
“Lemme go!” she begs, “I'll cook, just-”
“No buts!” I exclaim, retracting my arm. “After the week your stupid argument put me through, it's the least you can do,” I say, offering a solid pout.
She lets out a resigned sigh, slumping her shoulders heavily and glaring at me. “Fine,” she concedes, “but you're helping.”
Smiling sweetly, I agree with a nod and continue leading her down to the common room. Playing sous-chef for her is normal; she does the bulk of the cooking for both of us because I can barely boil water. Watching her work her magic on some rice and vegetables, I'm always awed by anyone who can cook without burning things or accidentally setting fires. Once we've sat down, amidst the longing looks from a few of the other girls, I try barraging her with questions about the weekend, but it's futile.
As with other things, Amaya knows how to keep a secret if she has to, and she's getting way too much enjoyment out of watching me squirm to offer any hints. Apparently, they started planning the trip with Hisao before the blow-out, and, once that was resolved, decided to resume planning immediately – before the dust had settled, even.
While we're entranced by the TV for a little while, Yoko appears beside me, sitting down so quietly she may have simply materialized in the chair. Turning a questioning look toward me that I just catch in the corner of my eye, she seems to want to ask me something. Peeling my attention away from a repeat of Numb3rs, I turn a curious glance at her and smile.
Looking a little pale, but sitting straight as an arrow, Yoko looks like she's filled with worry about something and I wonder if she decided to decline the invitation. Instead, she places a hand on my arm and takes a deep breath, leveling her eyes at me and asking, “did you invite Kenta?” It sounds as much like an accusation as it does a question.
Blinking at her for a few seconds, I notice Amaya's fleeting interest and offer her a glance, but she just shrugs and goes back to watching television; no help there. Of course, I would probably have invited Kenta anyway, but Yoko's interest in him really was a deciding factor. If I tell her that, though, I'm afraid she might think I'm just trying to meddle in her affairs.
Honestly, it's true, but it's only half-true.
“I invited him along, yeah, why?” I ask, trying to sound innocent. “Known him since we were first-years,” I mention. That part is completely the truth. Kenta used to sit next to me, and we got along even when I first started – he brow-beat me into apologizing to Amaya after the seizure incident.
She relaxes visibly at hearing my explanation, but not completely. Color returns to her face in the form of a blush as she rocks back in her seat. “Was he always so...” she starts to ask, but trails off and looks at me confusedly.
I start feeding her adjectives, “funny, sarcastic, gimpy, dry, nerdy.” Seeing her nod after each one, I decide to throw in something less innocuous, “and adorable.”
Now she hides her flustered face behind those red locks, turning away with an ear-to-ear grin. Letting her have the moment of embarrassment in silence, I sit and wait until she has the courage to look back at me, still smiling. It's not quite a thankful expression, given the worried edge in her eyes, but she's not against the idea of having Kenta along – I can tell.
She definitely has a soft spot for Kenta.
Much more subdued than I had first thought, Yoko doesn't seem to radiate personality or charisma, which could explain why nobody seems to notice her in class. When she sat down next to me a few minutes ago, I barely even noticed; like she was a ghost. Waiting for people to approach her before engaging in any social discourse, had Kenta not been her neighbor in class, I doubt she would ever have talked to him. That explains why she seems to lack friends, but the reason she's so shy and withdrawn remains a mystery.
Perhaps she's just too reserved to go around the room and talk with people, but, then again, 3-1 is mostly deaf students and Yoko hasn't learned sign-language. Hopefully having Naoko along will remedy that problem, but I still don't think it's just a communication barrier. Something else is bothering her, it seems, though she hides it well. Whatever it is may be the real reason for Nurse's concern, but I'm not going to force it out of her.
Letting her embarrassment subside, I remember my conversation with Naoko, and I get an idea. Her needing to spend the night with someone, perhaps Yoko would be interested in having a guest. Taking a moment to think it over, I decide there's no harm in asking, “hey y'know Naoko?”
She looks at me quizzically for a moment, but then nods. “From class, right?” she inquires, still looking perplexed. The blush fades as the change in subject lets her relax a little more.
Smiling at that thought, I explain, “She's coming along as well, but she doesn't live in the dorms.” Seeing her nod hesitantly I decide the specifics aren't important. “She needs to bunk with someone Friday night,” I explain, “but my room was hit by a tornado, and Amaya doesn't like anyone messing up her room, so I was wondering...” trailing off, I let the question ask itself.
Yoko catches on pretty quick, but she looks a little apprehensive. “She's deaf, though, right?” she asks rhetorically, adding, “I can't sign.”
“She's the one who taught me.” I say, leading her thoughts. “Well, I took the class too,” I clarify, “but Naoko did most of the heavy lifting – so to speak.”
Blanching a little, she nods in understanding. “It looks hard, though,” she admits, sounding deflated.
“With that little green-haired box of joy teaching you, it'll go by easy – it's not even that hard once you get the hang of it,” I explain, then add for emphasis, “Hisao can hold up a conversation with Shizune after only five weeks, and I know you've seen her darting hands work the language.”
Hearing that seems to make Yoko feel a little better, but she still looks a bit out of sorts. Smiling at her confidently, I give her a light pat on the shoulder. “Anyway, you don't have to learn sign to hold a conversation with Naoko,” I explain. She looks a little bewildered by that admission, so I quickly add, “you can pass notes with her.”
Finally giving me an affirming nod, she smiles and looks away shyly. “Alright,” she says finally. She seems a little apprehensive still, but I doubt she'll have trouble getting along with Naoko.
“Great,” I say, watching her stand up and start to head for the door. “Naoko's a hot ticket, you'll like her,” I call after her, grinning widely.
Turning back, she raises an eyebrow at me, but it dissolves into a warm smile. After bowing slightly, she turns back toward the door. As she makes her way across the room, practically gliding across the floor, he footfalls are completely silent. It's eerie seeing her move so quickly and quietly; like a ghost. Knowing my own walk to be heavy and much less feminine, I marvel at her apparent grace – ballet seems to have lingering effects.
When she's gone, I look back toward the television and frown. Having lost track of the show, I decide to bid Amaya a good night and head for my room. Walking back through the halls, I try to imitate Yoko's graceful lightness, but find it just makes me walk clumsily. Giving up the pretense, I slip back into my normal walk and smile inwardly, fighting away the embarrassment.
I'm no dancer, but I can sing, dammit!
Finding the late-afternoon light dimly lighting my room, I snap the light on and look around at the various piles. Seeing things this organized is rather rare, and I still wonder what Hisao might think is he saw my space. Maybe he suspects I'm a bit messy; he has seen me eat and might surmise I'd be equally disorganized in other areas.
Then again, he also knows I'm great at math and might assume that would translate to good organizational skills. Having never seen me actually taking a test, he doesn't know how scattered I really am when I approach something like that. Jumping around to whichever problems grab my attention first, I don't think I've ever answered all the questions on a test sequentially.
Hisao is friends with my friends, though, and who knows what Tadao has told him in whispered confidence about my quirks. Evidently he shared enough to plan a weekend excursion he's confident I'll enjoy without asking me a single detail about the destination. Then again, I had once wondered if he could simply read my thoughts – maybe that's his mutant power.
Swooner-dar, or something; I'm bad at naming stuff. That's Tadao's department.
Looking around, I realize the mess is dominated by an assortment of gaming paraphernalia – another thing Hisao would likely find surprising. For whatever reason, I've kept the box from every game I've ever owned. Over the last two years, an extensive collection of space-wasting boxes has been slowly filling a corner of my closet. Some of them are empty aside from the booklets, and I'm not even sure if I ever played a few of them, but, there they are, taking up space.
Mom watches a television show about people who keep useless objects, filling their homes with piles of junk so thick they can barely walk around; Hoarders, or something similar. Looking at all these game boxes, I get a clear image of a little countryside home stacked to the ceiling with similarly colorful boxes, and me sitting in a chair at the epicenter of pointlessness, chattering nonsense.
Sweeping my hand along the row of boxes, I shove them out of the closet and send them tumbling into a pile on my bed. Sorting through them to find any actual games still inside, I toss those on my desk and throw the empty boxes in a trash bag. There are enough problems in my future without becoming the crazy-game-box-lady.
Like people need more reasons to think I'm crazy.
Sighing with satisfaction, I sit on my bed and glance at the colorful sunset now bathing the lazy forest outside my window in a warm orange glow. The dimming of the day brings a calm over the bustle of the academy, quieting the hum of chatter through the halls, and stilling the echo of distant laughter. Smiling lightly, I lean against the sill and push my heavy curtains out of the way so I can lift the window open and let some of the evening air into my room.
The rush of warm air carries the scent of lavender, and brings with it a memory from when I was twelve. Spending the summer at my uncle's beach-house again, Midori and I chased each-other around in the nearby fields, abloom with lavender and lilac, forgetting about school for a while. Back then she was my only friend, really, and that following semester we would be trudging off to different schools.
Being the big sister, one might think it fell on me to reassure her about the separation, but she wasn't facing a classroom full of bullies. That's probably inaccurate. They weren't all bullies, but it felt that way sometimes, and they certainly all joined in laughing at me when I fell over. Midori was always nearby when I was feeling down because of the teasing, but, when the new school year started, I wouldn't see her except at home. Somehow I got through it, but, by the end of middle-school, I had changed – everything was different.
When I didn't have Midori around all the time to keep my spirits up, I started searching for other ways to keep me distracted. Escaping into video games, I started ignoring my school-work. The mindless escapism allowed me to retreat away from the biting verbal jabs and focus on something more pleasant, or frightening, or enlightening, or just plain fun.
My parents didn't notice right away, but, even once they started trying to help, nothing seemed to work. The issue wasn't the gaming, really, it was everything else going wrong at once. Being teased, separating from Midori, watching Dad's condition worsen and seeing the worry etched on Mom's face at the end of every day, I remember thinking I'd found myself in a living nightmare.
Taking a deep breath, I push the bad memories aside and concentrate on the present. Somewhere in the distance a cicada thrums a resonating tune, joined by a chorus of crickets. Further beyond, I can hear the distinct chirp from the little frogs living along the stream behind the school grounds. The errant noises somehow come together and flow into a strange natural symphony. Overhead, puffy clouds roll across the sky, bathed in the darkening glow as the sun begins dipping under the tree line, deepening the gloaming.
Recalling my delinquency, I realize Hisao experienced something similar after his heart attack. Being in the hospital for months, his friends just seemed to give up on him, and he retreated into books. It changed him into a cynic, and hardened him against the world such that when he finally got out and found himself here, he was thoroughly depressed, and needed some sense knocked into him – which I provided. A month later, I can laugh about my outburst; it really was more help than harm, I think.
Gazing out as the sun retreats fully below the horizon, I smile at the bright red glow that slowly seeps into indigo as pinpoints of starlight etch their way onto the canvas. Leaning out my window, I watch the deepening darkness filter over the treeline. The glimmering stars cast an iridescent glow, causing the wind-blown leaves atop the distant trees to shimmer. Watching so intently, I wonder if Hisao is watching this sunset.
Sitting here, watching the sky changing for at least half an hour, I'm suddenly surprised when my phone starts playing a familiar tune; Hisao is calling to make sure I get to bed early. Grinning widely, I lurch at my desk and snatch the phone into my hand, flipping it open as I bound back to the middle of my bed.
“Tony's Pizza, can I take your order?” I answer, still bouncing while suppressing a giggle.
“Go to bed,” he replies, ignoring the prompt.
“I'm on my bed,” I say playfully, “what should I do here?”
“Sleep,” he says flatly. “Don't force me to go over and knock you out,” he adds, sounding more mirthful.
Falling back onto my pillow, I giggle at his suggestion and ask, “how would you knock me out?”
“Swooner powers,” he says with a laugh.
“Ooh!” I exclaim, “you know...” I pause and consider my words, “I might sing a song for you, if you visited.”
Biting my lip while he pauses to consider the offer, I imagine he's rubbing his sternum and narrowing his eyes; the image is definitely more adorable than distressing. “Tempting,” he finally answers, “but no. You need to set yourself up for rising early on Saturday, and everything I've read about Sirens says they're bad for a young man's health.”
His refusal doesn't really surprise me, but it's still a little disappointing. ”Aww!” I exclaim dejectedly. “Just remember I offered and you refused~!” I exclaim playfully. After pausing for a moment, I add, “you may never get another chance.”
Chuckling, he doesn't sound worried I'll actually hold him to that; he's probably right. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, “get some sleep.”
“Fine, fine,” I reply, “still not telling me where we're going?”
“Good night, Aiko,” he says, ignoring my question.
Waiting a few seconds to lengthen the conversation, or maybe just to listen to him breathing, I glance out the window and sigh. “You too,” I finally reply, “dream of me.”
“Every night,” he says as the line cuts. It's probably just a sweet nothing, but I somehow like the idea of my invading his dreams. Then again, what I'm doing in his dreams worries me; I wonder if the dream-version of me is as virtuous and chaste as the real one.
Dirty thoughts return again. He always does that to me.
Quickly stepping out of bed, I decide to take his advice. Flipping the light switch, I'm suddenly blind as the darkened sky outside my window isn't casting much more than a dim glow into my room. Stepping toward where I left my bed, I walk tentatively, but still manage to stumble on something slippery and lose my footing.
Falling against my bed in a heap, I giggle at my clumsiness and climb under the covers. That minefield of junk will have to wait for tomorrow because, right now, I actually feel tired. Whatever magic Hisao's calm baritone might have, its echo in my ear is making me feel sleepy, and warm, and I don't feel like arguing with the sensation. Collapsing against my pillow, I don't bother closing the window as I drift away into peaceful slumber.
I love how he can do that to me.
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Last edited by Helbereth on Thu Nov 21, 2013 5:45 pm, edited 8 times in total.
Chapter 18 - Out of the Loop (part 2)
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Sometime later, I'm not sure how we got there, but Hisao and I are sitting on the octagonal platform atop the pool building, holding hands. Leaning against each-other, we look toward the dimly-lit pink sky, dotted with beautiful wisps of clouds, and wreathed by tiny dots of starlight. The gorgeous sunset lights our faces as we turn and lock eyes.
His smile is broad and lascivious, but so is my own; our thoughts seemingly in synch. Feeling intense gravity pull me toward him, he reacts similarly, and soon our lips meet. Closing my eyes, I feel a warm sensation spread across my entire body. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I swing around on top of him, centering my hips over his waist.
Pressing him against the cold metal grate, I deepen the kiss. Wincing at the discomfort, he squirms, but, as I sink my hips against him, his face lights up bright red and he sighs contentedly. His hands, meanwhile, trace along my sides and down to my waist where they catch on my sweater and start pulling it upward.
Breaking the kiss, I lean away and let him pull the sweater up over my head, sending my hair flying awkwardly over my shoulders. Feeling his hands tentatively reach for the clasp of my brassiere, I giggle as he fumbles to work the mechanism. Falling back against him, we resume the lip-lock while he makes annoyed grunts, still unable to release the clip.
Quickly growing tired of his inexperience with intimate clothing, I break the kiss again and sit up over him, looking down seductively and swaying my hips as I reach back. Unfastening the clip, I roll my shoulders to push the straps free and fall against him again, meeting his lips before the lacy black bra can slip away. Seeing disappointment in his eyes, I laugh a little through the kiss – he can wait a little longer.
Running his hands up and down my thighs, I can feel his erratic heartbeat quicken, but he shows no sign of distress; quite the opposite. Pushing his hot face against mine, he sits up and leans against his elbows. Retracting with him, I miss the sensation of his hands against me, but we've barely started this dance.
Parting lips once again, I hold up the brassiere with my hands and lean away. Slowly and deliberately, I pull downward, letting him stew in anticipation as I slowly reveal myself to him. Before I can finish, though, he opens his mouth as though he might say something or gasp, but instead a strange noise escapes his lips – and it's not his voice.
It's music, I think, but it sounds distant and muffled like it were being played behind a wall. The pink sky behind him begins to darken suddenly, and soon the whole world is blanketed in cold blackness. Hisao underneath me, his mouth still agape, stares blankly with his mouth open as I stare back at him confusedly; still holding my brazier.
Vanishing suddenly, Hisao is gone and the annoying music becomes louder. There's a strange orange glow to this darkness, and it takes a few seconds to realize I'm staring at my own eyelids. Opening my eyes and quickly squinting at the sunrise beating into my open window, I glare at my j-pop blaster, feeling betrayed.
Dammit, that dream was just getting good!
Still, listening to its perky tune, I can't help but smile. Vivid and visceral, the dream didn't get to the good part, but it left me to wake smiling wickedly with my body tingling and heart fluttering. Evidently the Aiko in my own dreams is the one I should be worried about, since she's obviously aggressive and dominant – forceful, even. Although, I imagine the Aiko in Hisao's dreams isn't much different, and somehow that's a comforting thought.
“6:00 am” the clock reads, and I realize I've just slept for almost ten consecutive hours. Feeling a little sweaty, probably because of that dream, I look over at the window and notice it looks a little damp outside. Apparently it rained a little overnight, but only lightly. Reaching up, I pull the window closed, catching a slight chill from the air along my bare arm. Turning, I wrap a blanket around me and bound off my bed, headed for the closet.
Glancing at the cleared carpet I haven't seen in months, dimly lit by the diffused light shining through the curtains, I smile at my recent industriousness. After yesterday's excavation, I'm able to walk across my room without fear of tripping. While there is still debris to be avoided, it's in little piles that only cover a quarter of the carpet it once did, so it's much easier to avoid.
After collecting my swimsuit from the closet, which I'm actually able to close now, I sit on my bed and shrug the blanket off my shoulders. If there's a chance Hisao actually might see inside here, then I want it to at least look partially organized. Aside from that, I need to find my sunglasses, and all the usual places are hauntingly empty. Perhaps Amaya borrowed them, or I simply discarded them and forgot, but she said to bring summer-fare and I intend to follow that imperative.
Taking a quick moment in a last-ditch effort, I crawl across my bed to the edge against the wall and pull at the mattress, trying to peer down behind in search of my missing shades. Not being able to see down into the darkness very well, I feel around, but none of the debris feels familiar. Sighing, I give up the search for now, deciding to get changed and head down for the morning swim with Hisao.
Meeting him outside by the breezeway, he ushers me through the door and keeps his eyes away; playfully avoiding eye contact to prevent temptation. This will probably be my last chance to wile information out of him, but I don't expect to be successful. The sway I try to put into my walk makes me giggle, but with him facing the other direction, it's sadly ineffective. Even if I thought it was working, I don't think I'd take advantage of his entranced state; it's actually more fun not knowing and playing these little games.
Well, okay, I'd bleed every bit of information out of him, but I'd probably feel bad about it; maybe.
Hearing a faint, familiar chuckle coming from the far side of the room, I glance over and smile at Joyce. Returning a slight nod, she doesn't leave her place by the wall; apparently choosing not to interfere. Previously she would walk over on some mornings to watch us swim, but now she does her watching from the far corner. Our quiet chaperone keeps an eye on us, as always, but she has been giving us a wide berth since before Tanabata.
Once we've stretched, I make a point of turning away to remove the track-pants slowly, willfully drawing his attention. He knows it's bluster, though, merely shaking his head and smirking sardonically at my display. The blush is there, but that's involuntary, and doesn't indicate anything more than biology. Tossing them at him with a playful grunt of frustration, I smirk and ask, “did you dream about me last night?”
Not waiting for his answer, I run toward the pool and leap into a cannonball, splashing into the water and letting myself sink to the bottom. Shooting upward with a strong kick, I break the surface and throw my hair back, turning my eyes up to where he stands by the side of the pool.
Reaching my hand up out of the water, I beckon him to join me, smiling seductively. His stoic expression falters for just a moment as he steps off and slips into the water like a spear, but when he breaks the surface again, he's laughing and shaking his head.
“You're enjoying this entirely too much,” he complains.
“I have to find enjoyment in it somehow, otherwise I'd just be a nervous wreck,” I explain, swimming over to him with a wry smile. “How do you even know I won't hate the place we're going?” I ask, knowing it's a loaded question.
“We have our sources,” he answers, not falling for the trap.
Giggling, I motion toward the side and explain, “I might not go easy on you today, just so you know.” Following me, he answers with a groan and gets set to start our laps.
Before we kick off, I lean toward him and kiss his cheek, then whisper lightly, “I had a dream about you.”
Then I kick away, putting all my might into distancing myself from him as fast as possible, giggling and carrying on as a blush flushes my face. Not really able to see him, I hear him start to chase after me, but I reach the far wall and kick off before he even gets half way.
Passing by him, I smile broadly at the bright flush of color on his face, but I don't slow my pace. Speeding toward the first wall, I glance back and see he picked up his own pace, already kicking off the opposite wall. Matching my pace as well as he can, we repeatedly meet in the middle and share glances.
After four laps, I start to see his pace slow, and I decide this has been enough torture. Slowing down as he approaches, I spin and prepare to join at his side for the rest of our laps. Grinning wickedly, I tread water and shake my hair, then stare willfully at him with a mocking pout. “Slow-poke,” I say when he gets close enough to see my face over the splashing water.
“Finally... feeling... tired?” he asks between gasps.
Grinning at him playfully, I don't answer. As he passes, I swim alongside, taking my usual place, though technically a full lap ahead of him. Resuming our usual pace, I listen to his breathing for signs of distress, but mostly I'm just content to watch him pull himself through the water.
Having dreamed about him before, I don't recall them ever being so vivid or explicit, and the echo of those images fills my thoughts. It's normal to dream like that, I think, but I don't think I'm ready to act on those subconscious longings.
That doesn't mean I can't revel in them.
Panting and still flushed, though it's probably not entirely from the physical strain, Hisao leans against the wall when we've finished our last lap and smiles at me contentedly. “You... really are... a mermaid,” he says, still gasping for air.
In response, I take a deep breath, kick off the wall and dive down under the gently rippling waves. Streaking through the water, I spin and start gently pushing myself down until I land against the bottom. Opening my eyes, I feel the chlorine burning my eyes a little and I wince, but it's worth it for the view. Hisao has his face in the water and is looking down at me with a wide grin, but I'm watching his toned legs as they push gently against the water, keeping him buoyant.
Dad used to time Midori and I when we'd dive down, and see how long we could hold our breath. My longest record was ninety-six seconds, but I was twelve and my lungs have grown since then. Counting in my head, after about forty-five seconds, Hisao's face starts to twist into a worried expression, but I just smile at him and offer a thumbs-up. My lungs burn a little, but I'm not distressed at all.
Sixty seconds in, already having looked away a few times to refill his lungs, he looks like he's about to dive down and drag me to the surface. Deciding I've worried him enough, I pull my legs under me and kick hard, exhaling as I shoot upward. Breaking the surface, I take a deep breath and toss my hair back to get it out of my face.
Rubbing my eyes to get the sting out, I see my display had the desired effect on Hisao. Blushing and staring at me, his eyes are filled with wonderment – or maybe that's lust. Paddling over, Hisao stops and treads water right in front of me, unable to keep the lascivious smile off his face. “You could have stayed down longer,” he guesses, looking at me with a crooked smile, “good to know.”
What's that supposed to mean?
“Been doing this since I was eight,” I say flatly, offering a humble smile. “Dad used to call me his little mermaid, too,” I mention, wrapping my hand over his neck, “thanks for that, by the way.”
“What-” he starts to ask, but I cut him off by pulling him close and meeting his lips with my own. Momentarily forgetting to continue kicking, he begins sinking into the water, so I grab his elbow and pull him up awkwardly.
“Hey, no escape for you!” I scold through a giggle.
“You two kids done, or do I need to get a hose?” Joyce says suddenly, appearing at the side of the pool like a ninja stalker.
Hisao pushes away from me and laughs nervously, blushing fiercely while I spin and do much the same. Joyce is crouching at the side of the pool, grinning widely and stifling a laugh. Collecting myself, I take a breath and answer, “no need, we're just leaving.”
Hisao chimes in, “nothing happened, I swear!”
Way to keep cool, Swooner.
“Keep it that way,” Joyce advises, looking at Hisao sternly. “Remember what I told you,” she adds cryptically.
Hearing the little exchange, I'm not sure who to look at, so I just turn my eyes between both of them, trying to see if one of them is going to explain. Then again, if Joyce told Nurse about our relationship, there's a good chance they cornered him at some point, and might have similarly embarrassed him with a gift of prophylactics – or frightened him with threats of medication tampering.
I don't think I want to know.
The good news is neither of them is telling me, so I swim toward the ladder and practically leap out of the water. Joyce can't contain her laughter anymore and begins guffawing hysterically as she walks back toward her little corner of the room. Hisao follows me up the ladder a moment later, immediately reaching for his scar and rubbing it absently as I wrap myself in the bathrobe and start rubbing my hair with the towel.
Sitting on the bench, he shoots me a conspiratorial glance and pats the spot beside him, beckoning me to sit down. Looking at him with a confused furrow of my brow, I follow his beckoning and take a seat beside him, using the low angle to reach down and towel off my legs. “What's up?” I inquire, not bothering to look at him.
“Have you told anyone about my...” his voice fades and I turn to regard his solemn expression.
Nodding with understanding, I don't need to hear the rest of his question. “No,” I reply, “not even Amaya.”
Leaning back against the wall, he places both hands at his sides and sighs deeply. “This weekend, I'm pretty sure it'll end up coming up,” he mentions. Closing his eyes and wincing, he asks, “you think they'll freak out?”
Shaking my head at his apparent apprehension, I offer a disarming giggle and assure him, “don't worry about it so much.” He doesn't look convinced, so I add, “if they even notice, they probably won't care about that thin red line.”
His worried look begins to crack into a smile and I feel relieved. Remembering a conversation from a few days ago, I remark, “Rin seemed to know about it, and it didn't bother her.”
He looks at me questioningly, “she never saw the scar, though. I had to tell her about the arrhythmia or she would have continued thinking the problem was in my pants.” He blanches as I offer him a raised eyebrow and he amends his statement, “she was trying to guess my condition and-”
“Right, whatever,” I interject, rolling my eyes and pouting playfully, “I don't need the details of your sordid affair.” He knows I'm just toying with him, but I do feel better knowing that him telling Rin wasn't intentional.
Finally releasing his white-knuckle grip on the bench, he leans forward and lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “I'm sure they won't mind it,” he says, “but I'm afraid what they might think.”
Placing my hand over his scar, I feel his heartbeat for a few seconds, quick and erratic as always; though that might be my doing. “I think it gives you character,” I remark, “like battle scars.”
Hearing that makes him smile, but he quickly frowns and says, “I've never been in battle, though.”
“Sure you have,” I retort, “you fought off a heart attack, had heart surgery, and cheated death itself – if that's not a battle won, I don't know what is.” Seeing his reaction, I'm not surprised by the incredulous expression. In light of that I add, “you're still fighting it, too. Keeping yourself healthy to ward off future attacks.” Softly punching his arm to drive the point in, I stand and go back to drying myself.
“Thanks,” he says after a long pause, “I guess it's just nerves.”
Realizing there was an implication in his nervousness, I inquire, “was that a hint at where we're going, by the way?”
Smirking as he stands, he replies with a cryptic, “maybe,” but otherwise says nothing.
Heading back to the dorms, walking arm-in-arm, we're pretty quiet, but my head swims through a series of questions. There have been several hints about our destination, but not enough to make a solid guess. Wherever we're going, apparently it's summer-themed, which really tells me nothing. Hisao will have to reveal his condition, it seems, so perhaps it's a theme park or something similar; a place where he'll need to be cautious about his condition.
Then again, he got evasive when I mentioned my uncle's beach house the other night, so maybe we're going someplace by the water. That could easily mean we're going someplace in the woods, like a mountain lake. Some other students are heading out on a camping trip, so perhaps we're going someplace similar. That would explain why he'd have to reveal his condition, too, if he planned on going swimming.
Unfortunately, the fleeting hints aren't enough to come to a solid conclusion, so as we part ways I'm forced to put it out of my mind. Hisao is pretty good at keeping secrets, and Amaya could be a spy if she had the inclination, so I don't expect to know where we're going until we get there. Wherever we're going, I'll just be happy to be there with my friends and not have them fighting about something stupid the entire time.
Friday classes are more review and careful warnings to set aside some time over the long weekend to study; advice that will likely go unheeded. Though, I'll probably bring my English textbook and my laptop; assuming we have access to electricity. Either way, I should probably focus on making sure my weaker subjects get some careful consideration, though I doubt we'll end up doing much studying.
Lunch passes by without incident, and the rest of the day feels like a battle with the clock. More than once when checking its hands, I'm sure they're moving backwards. By the end of history class, most of my classmates have abandoned the pretense of paying attention and instead chatter among themselves. Mrs. Owaku gives up bothering to keep us focused, and instead spends the last twenty minutes of class reading a romance novel she thinks is cleverly disguised in a different slip-cover.
When the bell rings, the class devolves into bedlam as whoops and yells echo from several classrooms. Being on the far side of the room, away from the door, I have the luxury of not getting trampled in the bottle-necking to escape academia. Strangely, I notice that Yoko, Kenta and Naoko stay in their seats, as well as Amaya and Tadao. Once the remainder have cleared out of the room, and I've collected my bag, I find myself flanked by Amaya and Naoko.
Each one hooks an arm around one of mine, Amaya on my right and Naoko on my left, and they walk me out of the classroom with the other three trailing behind. Evidently they planned this, I realize, so I'm not as apprehensive as they probably desired, but when they start walking me up the stairs, I get curious. Glancing behind, I notice we're being followed by Hisao, Shizune and Misha as well – silently marching me to some unknown destination.
Amaya levels a broad grin at me as we approach our apparent destination, the math lab, and we slow to a stop. Shizune walks around ahead of us and unlocks the room, beckoning us to follow. At the door, Amaya and Naoko push me off to the side while the others file into the room, Misha bringing up the rear. When Hisao walks in ahead of her, she turns and glares at me with her Cheshire-cat grin, and remains in the hall as the door closes – assigned to guard the door against my entry, apparently.
“So they stuck you with guard duty,” I remark sardonically.
“Wahaha~!” Misha booms, “Yep~!” Placing her hands on her hips and puffing out her chest, she smiles proudly. Whatever else I might say about Misha, she's always ready to carry out an assignment. The way she looks, I think she may have volunteered.
Wondering what they're discussing inside, I inquire, “you probably can't tell me, but I should probably ask, what's with the meeting?”
“Details~!” she replies, her one-word answer being both cryptic and completely unusual for her normally verbose speaking style. Although, most of the times I've talked with Misha, it has really been as she parroted Shizune's signing, so perhaps that's just a result of her translation.
Come to think of it, I don't recall ever talking to Misha alone.
Unfortunately, as I look into her golden eyes, I realize we basically have nothing to talk about. The way she follows Shizune around most of the time, acting as her interpreter, I find that I know very little about Misha herself. Obviously she's her own person, but I typically only meet her as she's relaying messages from the loudest mute in the world. Usually, it's difficult to tell where Shizune ends and Misha's editorializing begins.
Looking her over, I marvel at her drill-like haircut. I can't imagine the time it must take her to maintain that ridiculous pink hairstyle, but it suits her better than the long, straight brunette style she had when we first met. Always so bright and cheerful, I admire her positive outlook; even though her persistent loudness can be grating. After a few minutes of rather uncomfortable silence, I begin to wonder how I can have spent so much time in a room with her and barely know her.
Just a few weeks later, I can safely say I know Hisao better than I know Misha. Hell, after only a few hours, I probably know more about Yoko than I've learned about Misha in the past two years. The only thing of a personal nature I think I can recall is that she's among the students at Yamaku who actually aren't physically disabled. Sensing she's having a similar internal discussion about me, I glance over and offer a smile. Still not knowing what to say, I remain silent.
For her part, she returns the smile, but, as we both wait, I see a strange expression cross her face. It's slight, but, on someone whose expression is typically incomprehensibly cheery, even a slight frown looks alien. Never having known her to look anything less than bombastically chipper, the maudlin frown cutting at the edges of her cheerful demeanor is rather surprising.
Seeing my perplexed reaction, she quickly smiles again, but I'm left wondering what thought crossed her mind to suddenly make happy-go-lucky Misha frown for any length of time. Trying not to seem too concerned, I look away to wonder if I could have upset her somehow. Maybe it's just fatigue stemming from the extra time she had been putting into studying lately, or I just imagined the frown.
Whatever it was, I don't get very long to wonder as the door pulls open behind her, and Amaya beckons us both into the room. Hisao takes my hand as we step through the door and leads me over to a table. Looking around at the various grins and smirks, I'm pretty sure they're not bringing me in here to tell me where we're going; I think that's the part I was kept outside to miss, actually.
“Now that we're all assembled,” Amaya says, “let me reiterate that Aiko is not to know our destination.”
Saw that coming.
As she speaks, I notice both Tadao and Misha translating. Having not seen Tadao sign in a while, I smile at the difference between their signing styles. While Misha tends to sign quickly and with a lot of animated motions, similar to the way Naoko does, Tadao signs close to his body and hardly moves at all. Misha's vocabulary contains a lot more specific signs, and she uses a few that seem more like special signs she and Shizune use for various purposes. Tadao sticks to more traditional JSL, and only uses a few special signs – mostly for people's names.
This meeting is basically her getting everyone together to go over the specifics of the trip, so it's mostly things I've already been told. Carefully avoiding the topic of our destination, Amaya explains that we all need to be packed and waiting at the bus stop by five thirty tomorrow morning. Reiterating on her advice to bring summer-fare, she advises bringing sunglasses, sunscreen and something to read on the long bus trip. Once she's gone down her short list of recommendations, she adjourns the meeting and we break off into groups headed to the dorms.
Shizune and Misha head off together, both looking at me with conspiratorial smiles; the frown I thought I saw seeming to have never happened. Hisao leaves with Tadao and Kenta, and I'm happy to see the three of them getting along as I'd suspected. The rest of us walk back to the dorms together, and Yoko seems excited to have a guest for the evening. Naoko looks a little confused about spending the night with Yoko, who doesn't sign, but I suggest giving her some perfunctory lessons.
Stirring the pot, one might say.
Amaya and I end up in my room, where she insists on helping me sort out my junk piles and get the floor cleared of debris. Once we've cleared it out a bit, she insists that I leave the room while she collects a few things she thinks I'll need, but won't know to pack.
“No peeking,” she demands, pushing me into the hallway.
Shrugging in response, I lean against her door, wondering why I'm letting her dig through my room; regardless of the reason she gave. Frustrated by her secrecy, I guess I'm letting her do it because, while I'm curious about our destination, I'm excited to be heading for an unknown. That she's putting this much work into keeping it a secret tells me she cares a lot about making it a surprise, and I guess that's comforting.
In a backwards kind of way.
When my door opens and I see a strange accusatory look in her eyes, I stare back confusedly for a few moments. Dragging me back into the room by my elbow and closing the door swiftly, she leans in close and places an upraised finger against her chin, observing my bewildered expression with her analytical stare. Uncertain why she's looking at me so curiously, I can't even guess what brought on this sudden inspection.
Stepping away, she lets out a quick breath and then inhales deeply. “What the hell, Aiko?” she says, her other hand coming up in front of her. Within its grasp is a small, oddly labeled cardboard box that I'd forgotten about.
Goddammit, Nurse!
Upon noticing the paling realization on my face and the inevitable blush, she pushes the box out toward me, making me flinch. “In a drawer by your bedside?” she asks in an accusatory tone, her dimples pulled taught by an angry grimace.
“It was- I didn't- There was never- Nurse said-” my explanations keep starting and stopping, and Amaya looks a little more frustrated as I stutter through each preposition. “Nothing happened, I swear!” I finally blurt.
Nice and cool, just like the Swooner.
“Damn straight!” she yells, sounding less angry and more relieved. Placing her hands on her hips, she continues to glare at me, the box wrapped in her slender fingers. “Swooner or no, these are way too big!” she balks, but the statement makes me raise an eyebrow.
Having never really inspected the packaging, being too embarrassed to do so, I never noticed the whole label. Amaya holds it up at me and starts giggling, apparently losing control over the angry face she had been faking. Evidently, there was more to their joke than just giving me condoms – they had given me a box of the largest size available.
My mind wanders a bit as I stare that the box, and I wonder if Nurse may have been trying to tell me something. He is a medical professional, after all, so it's completely possible he's seen Hisao's... region. Maybe it wasn't a joke, and there's a kernel of truth in the seemingly obvious jest. Then again, I'm probably just letting my dirty mind get the better of my sensibilities.
Time to stop thinking about that.
Shoving the musings back into whatever dark corner of my mind they came from, I snatch the box from her hand and stuff it back in the drawer. Regaining my senses, I turn back to regard her giggling countenance with a stern glare and accuse, “you're not supposed to look in that drawer!”
“Okay, I was snooping a little,” she admits, “can you blame me?”
Her question is valid, I suppose, but the constant giggling is disarming the earnestness of her serious tone. The query makes me wonder if she knows about my late-night excursion to meet with Hisao, but I'm not going to bring it up if she doesn't. Instead, I lean against my desk and continue my accusatory glare; edging it with knowing eyes.
I know things about you, Amaya... dirty things.
“Are you done snooping?” I ask, deciding not to play those cards over something so frivolous.
“I found what I needed, yeah,” she says, still stifling her laughter.
“Good, then, vamoose, I have packing to do,” I scold, pointing at the door. Seeing her stare dumbly for a moment, I add, “I know secrets about you, too, little miss judge, so don't tempt me.”
Staring back with an innocent expression, she fumbles with a few responses, but decides to stick her tongue out at me instead. Grabbing a pillowcase she apparently used to hide whatever items she actually went looking for, she storms toward the door, reminding me, “I'm waking you up at five; don't stay up all night.”
Wouldn't dream of it.
Leaving me to pack and count down the hours, I hear Amaya stomp across the hall through her door, and I wonder what she could have taken. Immediately looking through my closet, I try to identify what could be missing, but, considering the usual disarray and the recent upheaval, my chances of finding what's missing are almost incalculable. The only thing I know I can't seem to find is my sunglasses.
They really should be easy to spot considering the frames are shaped like a star and a heart, and they're practically glow-in-the-dark neon green, but they seem to have been swept off to another part of the world by Hurricane Aiko. Picking through the closet, I don't have any luck identifying any missing objects, so I decide to give up and start packing.
Aside from the basic essentials like my hair brush, toiletries, sunscreen, and the anklet Hisao gave me, I figure I'll need a few changes of clothes. Nothing really indicates what I should bring, but Amaya isn't one for formal wear and neither am I, except for occasional yukata, so I assume it's a casual weekend. With that in mind, I grab a few pairs of jeans, some shorts and matching t-shirts, along with some sweaters and a couple nice sundresses Mom picked out for me during last year's summer visit.
Packing it all neatly into my bright yellow suitcase, I close the lid and sit next to it on the bed, trying not to think about what I could be missing. Amaya knows me well enough to have thought of whatever other essentials I'll need beyond her vague suggestion, but I'm still anxious I'll end up missing something important. Glancing at my desk drawer, I wonder if I should toss that little box in my suitcase, but that might be presumptuous; not to mention exceedingly embarrassing if someone else found them by chance – especially Hisao.
Scanning around my room, I take note of my school bag and wonder if I should bother bringing my English textbook. The idea has merit, but I think I really want this to be a vacation from school-work. When we get back, I'll be able to get Amaya and Tadao, and maybe Yoko, to help me cram for the final, so I should be able to get through it even if I likely forget everything later. Hisao already volunteered to help with Mutou's final, history is easy enough to remember with a little word association, and everyone will be asking me for help with calculus.
Thus my eyes skip the school bag and instead center on my laptop. Whether or not we have electricity where we're going, I sort of doubt there will be much time to bother cracking it open for anything. Amaya tends to plan everything, so she probably has a full itinerary mapped out and written down; complete with bullet-points, time stamps and check-boxes to indicate which things we've finished. Short of something drastic happening with the weather, I won't likely get much chance to make use of my laptop, so I'll leave its extra weight here.
One less thing for Hisao to carry.
That thought makes me giggle excitedly. Imagining Hisao with his own bag slung over his shoulder, as well as carrying my suitcase and schoolbag, I can see his face straining under the weight. Meanwhile I'd be dancing around him and smirking playfully, calling him slow, weak and other unmanly adjectives. Watching him climb up a long grassy hill to some undisclosed location, red-faced and panting, I'd revel in his distress – fair punishment for making me wonder all week.
It won't come to that, I'm sure, but thinking about it sends me into a giggle-fit and I fall back on my bed, caught up in the mirth. Looking at the time, I glance outside and see the sky is lit up in a hazy pink glow, and it's a comforting sight. Remembering an old saying Dad used to use to calm us down when we went out deep-sea fishing, I smile and bound up to get a closer look.
Pink sky at night, sailor's delight.
It's a good omen, I think, and, as I'm kneeling there watching the sunset, I hear my phone again. Excitedly bounding off the bed, when I reach the phone, I calm myself before answering. For whatever reason, I don't want Hisao to know I'm so completely carefree about this weekend.
Well, mostly... kind of. Okay, not really.
“Hello,” I answer, forcing a melancholy tone through my grinning teeth.
There's a brief pause as he's assessing the tone of my answer, followed by a stilted reply, “uh, hello?”
“Oh, hi Hisao,” I offer, trying really hard not to laugh.
“Heya, Aiko,” he greets, worry edging his voice. Perhaps I won't get to see him lugging all our luggage, but I have to torture him somehow. After I don't say anything in response, he continues, “thought I'd call and say hi before you go to bed.”
At this point, my eyes are closed and there are tears running down my cheeks as I bite back the incoming laughter, but I can't hold it any longer. “Bwahaha~!” I start laughing over the phone, and after a few seconds, when he decides it isn't crying, he joins in; though in much more subdued fashion.
Once I regain enough control to speak, I scold him, “you made me laugh, dammit!”
“Sorry, I- wait, what? You're the one who-” he stops himself and there's a pause while he chuckles a little. “You're impossible sometimes, y'know that,” he states.
“Yeah but I'm cute,” I reply, back to myself again. “Did you see the sky?” I inquire.
“Yes, on both counts,” he replies, making me smile shyly. “Pink sky at night, sailors delight,” he recounts the old saying, adding, “kinda appropriate considering where we're-” he cuts himself off and goes silent.
Oh! Now that's a hint!
A few seconds pass as we both remain silent. Eventually one of us speaks, and surprisingly it's me. “I won't tell her you slipped,” I assure him.
He sighs audibly and replies, “thanks, I'm not gonna say anything else, though.”
“I'd expect no less,” I say, then add emphatically, “this whole thing has me wrapped up in knots, but I'm loving every minute of it.”
“I'm glad one of us is enjoying it,” he complains, sounding a little stressed, “Amaya's a little taskmaster, y'know.”
My giggle is response enough, and he laughs a little, too. “She's getting me up at five,” I mention, “so I think I should go to bed.”
“Right,” he affirms, “I should too.” Hearing him let out another sigh, I wait for him to continue, “Kenta said he'd be down here battering my door if I'm not outside by ten past.”
“Oh he's harmless, and was probably kidding,” I assure him, “Kenta likes to mess with people.”
There's a short silence, followed by an agreeable grunt. “Well, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, then,” he says cheerfully, “good night, Aiko.”
“Sleep well, Hisao,” I reply, quickly adding, “dream of me.”
Laughing lightly, he whispers, “you too.” The line cuts and I'm left being reminded of last night's dream.
Oh not again...! Well, okay, it wasn't a bad dream...
Grabbing the suitcase, I set it down on the floor at the foot of my bed and spin around to turn off the light. The diffused sunset filtering in the window is light enough to see as I remove my uniform and quickly pull on my nightshirt. With the floor cleared, and the twilight glow highlighting my room with a pink haze, I have no trouble getting back to my bed and crawling under the covers. Finding my pillow, I curl up and smile contentedly.
Part of me is really anxious about this whole weekend, but the giddy, excited, optimistic side of me is in control. That's the side I like to shine with; the lighter side that sees the good parts of the future instead of the dire possibilities. It's the side that keeps me moving forward instead of hesitating, that makes me go for things I'm reluctant to pursue, and that affords me the ability to forget, if only temporarily, that I'll someday be someone's distant memory.
I'll be a good memory, though, like Dad – I hope.
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Previous Chapter|Part 1|Next Chapter
This is probably a spoiler of epic proportions if you didn't read the chapter yet:
Yeah, so, Aiko inherited Huntington's from her father. Having mentioned the disease before, I never really stated whether she ended up with it, though it was probably assumed. She was told about it before starting at Yamaku, and the prospect has loomed over her since. Being among many reasons she meddles the way she does, and wants to push ahead without regrets, the reality of her doomed future is what she's been shoving out of mind on occasion throughout the story.
Lighter spoilers:
Yeah, I got nothing. I think the chapter speaks for itself. Put a bow on a few previous little conflicts and finally set down the basis for the major conflict. Also assembled the complete trip group - which contains 9 people. The Fellowship of the Trip. Yeah, I'm still not saying where they're going, but there have been hints and it's possible to guess.
That was my first partial H-scene, for what it was. Turned out to be a dream, but I decided not to italicize it because, until the end, Aiko doesn't think she's dreaming.
Stories of Hisao's endowment are likely carefully crafted lies... probably.
________________________________________________
Sometime later, I'm not sure how we got there, but Hisao and I are sitting on the octagonal platform atop the pool building, holding hands. Leaning against each-other, we look toward the dimly-lit pink sky, dotted with beautiful wisps of clouds, and wreathed by tiny dots of starlight. The gorgeous sunset lights our faces as we turn and lock eyes.
His smile is broad and lascivious, but so is my own; our thoughts seemingly in synch. Feeling intense gravity pull me toward him, he reacts similarly, and soon our lips meet. Closing my eyes, I feel a warm sensation spread across my entire body. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I swing around on top of him, centering my hips over his waist.
Pressing him against the cold metal grate, I deepen the kiss. Wincing at the discomfort, he squirms, but, as I sink my hips against him, his face lights up bright red and he sighs contentedly. His hands, meanwhile, trace along my sides and down to my waist where they catch on my sweater and start pulling it upward.
Breaking the kiss, I lean away and let him pull the sweater up over my head, sending my hair flying awkwardly over my shoulders. Feeling his hands tentatively reach for the clasp of my brassiere, I giggle as he fumbles to work the mechanism. Falling back against him, we resume the lip-lock while he makes annoyed grunts, still unable to release the clip.
Quickly growing tired of his inexperience with intimate clothing, I break the kiss again and sit up over him, looking down seductively and swaying my hips as I reach back. Unfastening the clip, I roll my shoulders to push the straps free and fall against him again, meeting his lips before the lacy black bra can slip away. Seeing disappointment in his eyes, I laugh a little through the kiss – he can wait a little longer.
Running his hands up and down my thighs, I can feel his erratic heartbeat quicken, but he shows no sign of distress; quite the opposite. Pushing his hot face against mine, he sits up and leans against his elbows. Retracting with him, I miss the sensation of his hands against me, but we've barely started this dance.
Parting lips once again, I hold up the brassiere with my hands and lean away. Slowly and deliberately, I pull downward, letting him stew in anticipation as I slowly reveal myself to him. Before I can finish, though, he opens his mouth as though he might say something or gasp, but instead a strange noise escapes his lips – and it's not his voice.
It's music, I think, but it sounds distant and muffled like it were being played behind a wall. The pink sky behind him begins to darken suddenly, and soon the whole world is blanketed in cold blackness. Hisao underneath me, his mouth still agape, stares blankly with his mouth open as I stare back at him confusedly; still holding my brazier.
Vanishing suddenly, Hisao is gone and the annoying music becomes louder. There's a strange orange glow to this darkness, and it takes a few seconds to realize I'm staring at my own eyelids. Opening my eyes and quickly squinting at the sunrise beating into my open window, I glare at my j-pop blaster, feeling betrayed.
Dammit, that dream was just getting good!
Still, listening to its perky tune, I can't help but smile. Vivid and visceral, the dream didn't get to the good part, but it left me to wake smiling wickedly with my body tingling and heart fluttering. Evidently the Aiko in my own dreams is the one I should be worried about, since she's obviously aggressive and dominant – forceful, even. Although, I imagine the Aiko in Hisao's dreams isn't much different, and somehow that's a comforting thought.
“6:00 am” the clock reads, and I realize I've just slept for almost ten consecutive hours. Feeling a little sweaty, probably because of that dream, I look over at the window and notice it looks a little damp outside. Apparently it rained a little overnight, but only lightly. Reaching up, I pull the window closed, catching a slight chill from the air along my bare arm. Turning, I wrap a blanket around me and bound off my bed, headed for the closet.
Glancing at the cleared carpet I haven't seen in months, dimly lit by the diffused light shining through the curtains, I smile at my recent industriousness. After yesterday's excavation, I'm able to walk across my room without fear of tripping. While there is still debris to be avoided, it's in little piles that only cover a quarter of the carpet it once did, so it's much easier to avoid.
After collecting my swimsuit from the closet, which I'm actually able to close now, I sit on my bed and shrug the blanket off my shoulders. If there's a chance Hisao actually might see inside here, then I want it to at least look partially organized. Aside from that, I need to find my sunglasses, and all the usual places are hauntingly empty. Perhaps Amaya borrowed them, or I simply discarded them and forgot, but she said to bring summer-fare and I intend to follow that imperative.
Taking a quick moment in a last-ditch effort, I crawl across my bed to the edge against the wall and pull at the mattress, trying to peer down behind in search of my missing shades. Not being able to see down into the darkness very well, I feel around, but none of the debris feels familiar. Sighing, I give up the search for now, deciding to get changed and head down for the morning swim with Hisao.
Meeting him outside by the breezeway, he ushers me through the door and keeps his eyes away; playfully avoiding eye contact to prevent temptation. This will probably be my last chance to wile information out of him, but I don't expect to be successful. The sway I try to put into my walk makes me giggle, but with him facing the other direction, it's sadly ineffective. Even if I thought it was working, I don't think I'd take advantage of his entranced state; it's actually more fun not knowing and playing these little games.
Well, okay, I'd bleed every bit of information out of him, but I'd probably feel bad about it; maybe.
Hearing a faint, familiar chuckle coming from the far side of the room, I glance over and smile at Joyce. Returning a slight nod, she doesn't leave her place by the wall; apparently choosing not to interfere. Previously she would walk over on some mornings to watch us swim, but now she does her watching from the far corner. Our quiet chaperone keeps an eye on us, as always, but she has been giving us a wide berth since before Tanabata.
Once we've stretched, I make a point of turning away to remove the track-pants slowly, willfully drawing his attention. He knows it's bluster, though, merely shaking his head and smirking sardonically at my display. The blush is there, but that's involuntary, and doesn't indicate anything more than biology. Tossing them at him with a playful grunt of frustration, I smirk and ask, “did you dream about me last night?”
Not waiting for his answer, I run toward the pool and leap into a cannonball, splashing into the water and letting myself sink to the bottom. Shooting upward with a strong kick, I break the surface and throw my hair back, turning my eyes up to where he stands by the side of the pool.
Reaching my hand up out of the water, I beckon him to join me, smiling seductively. His stoic expression falters for just a moment as he steps off and slips into the water like a spear, but when he breaks the surface again, he's laughing and shaking his head.
“You're enjoying this entirely too much,” he complains.
“I have to find enjoyment in it somehow, otherwise I'd just be a nervous wreck,” I explain, swimming over to him with a wry smile. “How do you even know I won't hate the place we're going?” I ask, knowing it's a loaded question.
“We have our sources,” he answers, not falling for the trap.
Giggling, I motion toward the side and explain, “I might not go easy on you today, just so you know.” Following me, he answers with a groan and gets set to start our laps.
Before we kick off, I lean toward him and kiss his cheek, then whisper lightly, “I had a dream about you.”
Then I kick away, putting all my might into distancing myself from him as fast as possible, giggling and carrying on as a blush flushes my face. Not really able to see him, I hear him start to chase after me, but I reach the far wall and kick off before he even gets half way.
Passing by him, I smile broadly at the bright flush of color on his face, but I don't slow my pace. Speeding toward the first wall, I glance back and see he picked up his own pace, already kicking off the opposite wall. Matching my pace as well as he can, we repeatedly meet in the middle and share glances.
After four laps, I start to see his pace slow, and I decide this has been enough torture. Slowing down as he approaches, I spin and prepare to join at his side for the rest of our laps. Grinning wickedly, I tread water and shake my hair, then stare willfully at him with a mocking pout. “Slow-poke,” I say when he gets close enough to see my face over the splashing water.
“Finally... feeling... tired?” he asks between gasps.
Grinning at him playfully, I don't answer. As he passes, I swim alongside, taking my usual place, though technically a full lap ahead of him. Resuming our usual pace, I listen to his breathing for signs of distress, but mostly I'm just content to watch him pull himself through the water.
Having dreamed about him before, I don't recall them ever being so vivid or explicit, and the echo of those images fills my thoughts. It's normal to dream like that, I think, but I don't think I'm ready to act on those subconscious longings.
That doesn't mean I can't revel in them.
Panting and still flushed, though it's probably not entirely from the physical strain, Hisao leans against the wall when we've finished our last lap and smiles at me contentedly. “You... really are... a mermaid,” he says, still gasping for air.
In response, I take a deep breath, kick off the wall and dive down under the gently rippling waves. Streaking through the water, I spin and start gently pushing myself down until I land against the bottom. Opening my eyes, I feel the chlorine burning my eyes a little and I wince, but it's worth it for the view. Hisao has his face in the water and is looking down at me with a wide grin, but I'm watching his toned legs as they push gently against the water, keeping him buoyant.
Dad used to time Midori and I when we'd dive down, and see how long we could hold our breath. My longest record was ninety-six seconds, but I was twelve and my lungs have grown since then. Counting in my head, after about forty-five seconds, Hisao's face starts to twist into a worried expression, but I just smile at him and offer a thumbs-up. My lungs burn a little, but I'm not distressed at all.
Sixty seconds in, already having looked away a few times to refill his lungs, he looks like he's about to dive down and drag me to the surface. Deciding I've worried him enough, I pull my legs under me and kick hard, exhaling as I shoot upward. Breaking the surface, I take a deep breath and toss my hair back to get it out of my face.
Rubbing my eyes to get the sting out, I see my display had the desired effect on Hisao. Blushing and staring at me, his eyes are filled with wonderment – or maybe that's lust. Paddling over, Hisao stops and treads water right in front of me, unable to keep the lascivious smile off his face. “You could have stayed down longer,” he guesses, looking at me with a crooked smile, “good to know.”
What's that supposed to mean?
“Been doing this since I was eight,” I say flatly, offering a humble smile. “Dad used to call me his little mermaid, too,” I mention, wrapping my hand over his neck, “thanks for that, by the way.”
“What-” he starts to ask, but I cut him off by pulling him close and meeting his lips with my own. Momentarily forgetting to continue kicking, he begins sinking into the water, so I grab his elbow and pull him up awkwardly.
“Hey, no escape for you!” I scold through a giggle.
“You two kids done, or do I need to get a hose?” Joyce says suddenly, appearing at the side of the pool like a ninja stalker.
Hisao pushes away from me and laughs nervously, blushing fiercely while I spin and do much the same. Joyce is crouching at the side of the pool, grinning widely and stifling a laugh. Collecting myself, I take a breath and answer, “no need, we're just leaving.”
Hisao chimes in, “nothing happened, I swear!”
Way to keep cool, Swooner.
“Keep it that way,” Joyce advises, looking at Hisao sternly. “Remember what I told you,” she adds cryptically.
Hearing the little exchange, I'm not sure who to look at, so I just turn my eyes between both of them, trying to see if one of them is going to explain. Then again, if Joyce told Nurse about our relationship, there's a good chance they cornered him at some point, and might have similarly embarrassed him with a gift of prophylactics – or frightened him with threats of medication tampering.
I don't think I want to know.
The good news is neither of them is telling me, so I swim toward the ladder and practically leap out of the water. Joyce can't contain her laughter anymore and begins guffawing hysterically as she walks back toward her little corner of the room. Hisao follows me up the ladder a moment later, immediately reaching for his scar and rubbing it absently as I wrap myself in the bathrobe and start rubbing my hair with the towel.
Sitting on the bench, he shoots me a conspiratorial glance and pats the spot beside him, beckoning me to sit down. Looking at him with a confused furrow of my brow, I follow his beckoning and take a seat beside him, using the low angle to reach down and towel off my legs. “What's up?” I inquire, not bothering to look at him.
“Have you told anyone about my...” his voice fades and I turn to regard his solemn expression.
Nodding with understanding, I don't need to hear the rest of his question. “No,” I reply, “not even Amaya.”
Leaning back against the wall, he places both hands at his sides and sighs deeply. “This weekend, I'm pretty sure it'll end up coming up,” he mentions. Closing his eyes and wincing, he asks, “you think they'll freak out?”
Shaking my head at his apparent apprehension, I offer a disarming giggle and assure him, “don't worry about it so much.” He doesn't look convinced, so I add, “if they even notice, they probably won't care about that thin red line.”
His worried look begins to crack into a smile and I feel relieved. Remembering a conversation from a few days ago, I remark, “Rin seemed to know about it, and it didn't bother her.”
He looks at me questioningly, “she never saw the scar, though. I had to tell her about the arrhythmia or she would have continued thinking the problem was in my pants.” He blanches as I offer him a raised eyebrow and he amends his statement, “she was trying to guess my condition and-”
“Right, whatever,” I interject, rolling my eyes and pouting playfully, “I don't need the details of your sordid affair.” He knows I'm just toying with him, but I do feel better knowing that him telling Rin wasn't intentional.
Finally releasing his white-knuckle grip on the bench, he leans forward and lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “I'm sure they won't mind it,” he says, “but I'm afraid what they might think.”
Placing my hand over his scar, I feel his heartbeat for a few seconds, quick and erratic as always; though that might be my doing. “I think it gives you character,” I remark, “like battle scars.”
Hearing that makes him smile, but he quickly frowns and says, “I've never been in battle, though.”
“Sure you have,” I retort, “you fought off a heart attack, had heart surgery, and cheated death itself – if that's not a battle won, I don't know what is.” Seeing his reaction, I'm not surprised by the incredulous expression. In light of that I add, “you're still fighting it, too. Keeping yourself healthy to ward off future attacks.” Softly punching his arm to drive the point in, I stand and go back to drying myself.
“Thanks,” he says after a long pause, “I guess it's just nerves.”
Realizing there was an implication in his nervousness, I inquire, “was that a hint at where we're going, by the way?”
Smirking as he stands, he replies with a cryptic, “maybe,” but otherwise says nothing.
Heading back to the dorms, walking arm-in-arm, we're pretty quiet, but my head swims through a series of questions. There have been several hints about our destination, but not enough to make a solid guess. Wherever we're going, apparently it's summer-themed, which really tells me nothing. Hisao will have to reveal his condition, it seems, so perhaps it's a theme park or something similar; a place where he'll need to be cautious about his condition.
Then again, he got evasive when I mentioned my uncle's beach house the other night, so maybe we're going someplace by the water. That could easily mean we're going someplace in the woods, like a mountain lake. Some other students are heading out on a camping trip, so perhaps we're going someplace similar. That would explain why he'd have to reveal his condition, too, if he planned on going swimming.
Unfortunately, the fleeting hints aren't enough to come to a solid conclusion, so as we part ways I'm forced to put it out of my mind. Hisao is pretty good at keeping secrets, and Amaya could be a spy if she had the inclination, so I don't expect to know where we're going until we get there. Wherever we're going, I'll just be happy to be there with my friends and not have them fighting about something stupid the entire time.
Friday classes are more review and careful warnings to set aside some time over the long weekend to study; advice that will likely go unheeded. Though, I'll probably bring my English textbook and my laptop; assuming we have access to electricity. Either way, I should probably focus on making sure my weaker subjects get some careful consideration, though I doubt we'll end up doing much studying.
Lunch passes by without incident, and the rest of the day feels like a battle with the clock. More than once when checking its hands, I'm sure they're moving backwards. By the end of history class, most of my classmates have abandoned the pretense of paying attention and instead chatter among themselves. Mrs. Owaku gives up bothering to keep us focused, and instead spends the last twenty minutes of class reading a romance novel she thinks is cleverly disguised in a different slip-cover.
When the bell rings, the class devolves into bedlam as whoops and yells echo from several classrooms. Being on the far side of the room, away from the door, I have the luxury of not getting trampled in the bottle-necking to escape academia. Strangely, I notice that Yoko, Kenta and Naoko stay in their seats, as well as Amaya and Tadao. Once the remainder have cleared out of the room, and I've collected my bag, I find myself flanked by Amaya and Naoko.
Each one hooks an arm around one of mine, Amaya on my right and Naoko on my left, and they walk me out of the classroom with the other three trailing behind. Evidently they planned this, I realize, so I'm not as apprehensive as they probably desired, but when they start walking me up the stairs, I get curious. Glancing behind, I notice we're being followed by Hisao, Shizune and Misha as well – silently marching me to some unknown destination.
Amaya levels a broad grin at me as we approach our apparent destination, the math lab, and we slow to a stop. Shizune walks around ahead of us and unlocks the room, beckoning us to follow. At the door, Amaya and Naoko push me off to the side while the others file into the room, Misha bringing up the rear. When Hisao walks in ahead of her, she turns and glares at me with her Cheshire-cat grin, and remains in the hall as the door closes – assigned to guard the door against my entry, apparently.
“So they stuck you with guard duty,” I remark sardonically.
“Wahaha~!” Misha booms, “Yep~!” Placing her hands on her hips and puffing out her chest, she smiles proudly. Whatever else I might say about Misha, she's always ready to carry out an assignment. The way she looks, I think she may have volunteered.
Wondering what they're discussing inside, I inquire, “you probably can't tell me, but I should probably ask, what's with the meeting?”
“Details~!” she replies, her one-word answer being both cryptic and completely unusual for her normally verbose speaking style. Although, most of the times I've talked with Misha, it has really been as she parroted Shizune's signing, so perhaps that's just a result of her translation.
Come to think of it, I don't recall ever talking to Misha alone.
Unfortunately, as I look into her golden eyes, I realize we basically have nothing to talk about. The way she follows Shizune around most of the time, acting as her interpreter, I find that I know very little about Misha herself. Obviously she's her own person, but I typically only meet her as she's relaying messages from the loudest mute in the world. Usually, it's difficult to tell where Shizune ends and Misha's editorializing begins.
Looking her over, I marvel at her drill-like haircut. I can't imagine the time it must take her to maintain that ridiculous pink hairstyle, but it suits her better than the long, straight brunette style she had when we first met. Always so bright and cheerful, I admire her positive outlook; even though her persistent loudness can be grating. After a few minutes of rather uncomfortable silence, I begin to wonder how I can have spent so much time in a room with her and barely know her.
Just a few weeks later, I can safely say I know Hisao better than I know Misha. Hell, after only a few hours, I probably know more about Yoko than I've learned about Misha in the past two years. The only thing of a personal nature I think I can recall is that she's among the students at Yamaku who actually aren't physically disabled. Sensing she's having a similar internal discussion about me, I glance over and offer a smile. Still not knowing what to say, I remain silent.
For her part, she returns the smile, but, as we both wait, I see a strange expression cross her face. It's slight, but, on someone whose expression is typically incomprehensibly cheery, even a slight frown looks alien. Never having known her to look anything less than bombastically chipper, the maudlin frown cutting at the edges of her cheerful demeanor is rather surprising.
Seeing my perplexed reaction, she quickly smiles again, but I'm left wondering what thought crossed her mind to suddenly make happy-go-lucky Misha frown for any length of time. Trying not to seem too concerned, I look away to wonder if I could have upset her somehow. Maybe it's just fatigue stemming from the extra time she had been putting into studying lately, or I just imagined the frown.
Whatever it was, I don't get very long to wonder as the door pulls open behind her, and Amaya beckons us both into the room. Hisao takes my hand as we step through the door and leads me over to a table. Looking around at the various grins and smirks, I'm pretty sure they're not bringing me in here to tell me where we're going; I think that's the part I was kept outside to miss, actually.
“Now that we're all assembled,” Amaya says, “let me reiterate that Aiko is not to know our destination.”
Saw that coming.
As she speaks, I notice both Tadao and Misha translating. Having not seen Tadao sign in a while, I smile at the difference between their signing styles. While Misha tends to sign quickly and with a lot of animated motions, similar to the way Naoko does, Tadao signs close to his body and hardly moves at all. Misha's vocabulary contains a lot more specific signs, and she uses a few that seem more like special signs she and Shizune use for various purposes. Tadao sticks to more traditional JSL, and only uses a few special signs – mostly for people's names.
This meeting is basically her getting everyone together to go over the specifics of the trip, so it's mostly things I've already been told. Carefully avoiding the topic of our destination, Amaya explains that we all need to be packed and waiting at the bus stop by five thirty tomorrow morning. Reiterating on her advice to bring summer-fare, she advises bringing sunglasses, sunscreen and something to read on the long bus trip. Once she's gone down her short list of recommendations, she adjourns the meeting and we break off into groups headed to the dorms.
Shizune and Misha head off together, both looking at me with conspiratorial smiles; the frown I thought I saw seeming to have never happened. Hisao leaves with Tadao and Kenta, and I'm happy to see the three of them getting along as I'd suspected. The rest of us walk back to the dorms together, and Yoko seems excited to have a guest for the evening. Naoko looks a little confused about spending the night with Yoko, who doesn't sign, but I suggest giving her some perfunctory lessons.
Stirring the pot, one might say.
Amaya and I end up in my room, where she insists on helping me sort out my junk piles and get the floor cleared of debris. Once we've cleared it out a bit, she insists that I leave the room while she collects a few things she thinks I'll need, but won't know to pack.
“No peeking,” she demands, pushing me into the hallway.
Shrugging in response, I lean against her door, wondering why I'm letting her dig through my room; regardless of the reason she gave. Frustrated by her secrecy, I guess I'm letting her do it because, while I'm curious about our destination, I'm excited to be heading for an unknown. That she's putting this much work into keeping it a secret tells me she cares a lot about making it a surprise, and I guess that's comforting.
In a backwards kind of way.
When my door opens and I see a strange accusatory look in her eyes, I stare back confusedly for a few moments. Dragging me back into the room by my elbow and closing the door swiftly, she leans in close and places an upraised finger against her chin, observing my bewildered expression with her analytical stare. Uncertain why she's looking at me so curiously, I can't even guess what brought on this sudden inspection.
Stepping away, she lets out a quick breath and then inhales deeply. “What the hell, Aiko?” she says, her other hand coming up in front of her. Within its grasp is a small, oddly labeled cardboard box that I'd forgotten about.
Goddammit, Nurse!
Upon noticing the paling realization on my face and the inevitable blush, she pushes the box out toward me, making me flinch. “In a drawer by your bedside?” she asks in an accusatory tone, her dimples pulled taught by an angry grimace.
“It was- I didn't- There was never- Nurse said-” my explanations keep starting and stopping, and Amaya looks a little more frustrated as I stutter through each preposition. “Nothing happened, I swear!” I finally blurt.
Nice and cool, just like the Swooner.
“Damn straight!” she yells, sounding less angry and more relieved. Placing her hands on her hips, she continues to glare at me, the box wrapped in her slender fingers. “Swooner or no, these are way too big!” she balks, but the statement makes me raise an eyebrow.
Having never really inspected the packaging, being too embarrassed to do so, I never noticed the whole label. Amaya holds it up at me and starts giggling, apparently losing control over the angry face she had been faking. Evidently, there was more to their joke than just giving me condoms – they had given me a box of the largest size available.
My mind wanders a bit as I stare that the box, and I wonder if Nurse may have been trying to tell me something. He is a medical professional, after all, so it's completely possible he's seen Hisao's... region. Maybe it wasn't a joke, and there's a kernel of truth in the seemingly obvious jest. Then again, I'm probably just letting my dirty mind get the better of my sensibilities.
Time to stop thinking about that.
Shoving the musings back into whatever dark corner of my mind they came from, I snatch the box from her hand and stuff it back in the drawer. Regaining my senses, I turn back to regard her giggling countenance with a stern glare and accuse, “you're not supposed to look in that drawer!”
“Okay, I was snooping a little,” she admits, “can you blame me?”
Her question is valid, I suppose, but the constant giggling is disarming the earnestness of her serious tone. The query makes me wonder if she knows about my late-night excursion to meet with Hisao, but I'm not going to bring it up if she doesn't. Instead, I lean against my desk and continue my accusatory glare; edging it with knowing eyes.
I know things about you, Amaya... dirty things.
“Are you done snooping?” I ask, deciding not to play those cards over something so frivolous.
“I found what I needed, yeah,” she says, still stifling her laughter.
“Good, then, vamoose, I have packing to do,” I scold, pointing at the door. Seeing her stare dumbly for a moment, I add, “I know secrets about you, too, little miss judge, so don't tempt me.”
Staring back with an innocent expression, she fumbles with a few responses, but decides to stick her tongue out at me instead. Grabbing a pillowcase she apparently used to hide whatever items she actually went looking for, she storms toward the door, reminding me, “I'm waking you up at five; don't stay up all night.”
Wouldn't dream of it.
Leaving me to pack and count down the hours, I hear Amaya stomp across the hall through her door, and I wonder what she could have taken. Immediately looking through my closet, I try to identify what could be missing, but, considering the usual disarray and the recent upheaval, my chances of finding what's missing are almost incalculable. The only thing I know I can't seem to find is my sunglasses.
They really should be easy to spot considering the frames are shaped like a star and a heart, and they're practically glow-in-the-dark neon green, but they seem to have been swept off to another part of the world by Hurricane Aiko. Picking through the closet, I don't have any luck identifying any missing objects, so I decide to give up and start packing.
Aside from the basic essentials like my hair brush, toiletries, sunscreen, and the anklet Hisao gave me, I figure I'll need a few changes of clothes. Nothing really indicates what I should bring, but Amaya isn't one for formal wear and neither am I, except for occasional yukata, so I assume it's a casual weekend. With that in mind, I grab a few pairs of jeans, some shorts and matching t-shirts, along with some sweaters and a couple nice sundresses Mom picked out for me during last year's summer visit.
Packing it all neatly into my bright yellow suitcase, I close the lid and sit next to it on the bed, trying not to think about what I could be missing. Amaya knows me well enough to have thought of whatever other essentials I'll need beyond her vague suggestion, but I'm still anxious I'll end up missing something important. Glancing at my desk drawer, I wonder if I should toss that little box in my suitcase, but that might be presumptuous; not to mention exceedingly embarrassing if someone else found them by chance – especially Hisao.
Scanning around my room, I take note of my school bag and wonder if I should bother bringing my English textbook. The idea has merit, but I think I really want this to be a vacation from school-work. When we get back, I'll be able to get Amaya and Tadao, and maybe Yoko, to help me cram for the final, so I should be able to get through it even if I likely forget everything later. Hisao already volunteered to help with Mutou's final, history is easy enough to remember with a little word association, and everyone will be asking me for help with calculus.
Thus my eyes skip the school bag and instead center on my laptop. Whether or not we have electricity where we're going, I sort of doubt there will be much time to bother cracking it open for anything. Amaya tends to plan everything, so she probably has a full itinerary mapped out and written down; complete with bullet-points, time stamps and check-boxes to indicate which things we've finished. Short of something drastic happening with the weather, I won't likely get much chance to make use of my laptop, so I'll leave its extra weight here.
One less thing for Hisao to carry.
That thought makes me giggle excitedly. Imagining Hisao with his own bag slung over his shoulder, as well as carrying my suitcase and schoolbag, I can see his face straining under the weight. Meanwhile I'd be dancing around him and smirking playfully, calling him slow, weak and other unmanly adjectives. Watching him climb up a long grassy hill to some undisclosed location, red-faced and panting, I'd revel in his distress – fair punishment for making me wonder all week.
It won't come to that, I'm sure, but thinking about it sends me into a giggle-fit and I fall back on my bed, caught up in the mirth. Looking at the time, I glance outside and see the sky is lit up in a hazy pink glow, and it's a comforting sight. Remembering an old saying Dad used to use to calm us down when we went out deep-sea fishing, I smile and bound up to get a closer look.
Pink sky at night, sailor's delight.
It's a good omen, I think, and, as I'm kneeling there watching the sunset, I hear my phone again. Excitedly bounding off the bed, when I reach the phone, I calm myself before answering. For whatever reason, I don't want Hisao to know I'm so completely carefree about this weekend.
Well, mostly... kind of. Okay, not really.
“Hello,” I answer, forcing a melancholy tone through my grinning teeth.
There's a brief pause as he's assessing the tone of my answer, followed by a stilted reply, “uh, hello?”
“Oh, hi Hisao,” I offer, trying really hard not to laugh.
“Heya, Aiko,” he greets, worry edging his voice. Perhaps I won't get to see him lugging all our luggage, but I have to torture him somehow. After I don't say anything in response, he continues, “thought I'd call and say hi before you go to bed.”
At this point, my eyes are closed and there are tears running down my cheeks as I bite back the incoming laughter, but I can't hold it any longer. “Bwahaha~!” I start laughing over the phone, and after a few seconds, when he decides it isn't crying, he joins in; though in much more subdued fashion.
Once I regain enough control to speak, I scold him, “you made me laugh, dammit!”
“Sorry, I- wait, what? You're the one who-” he stops himself and there's a pause while he chuckles a little. “You're impossible sometimes, y'know that,” he states.
“Yeah but I'm cute,” I reply, back to myself again. “Did you see the sky?” I inquire.
“Yes, on both counts,” he replies, making me smile shyly. “Pink sky at night, sailors delight,” he recounts the old saying, adding, “kinda appropriate considering where we're-” he cuts himself off and goes silent.
Oh! Now that's a hint!
A few seconds pass as we both remain silent. Eventually one of us speaks, and surprisingly it's me. “I won't tell her you slipped,” I assure him.
He sighs audibly and replies, “thanks, I'm not gonna say anything else, though.”
“I'd expect no less,” I say, then add emphatically, “this whole thing has me wrapped up in knots, but I'm loving every minute of it.”
“I'm glad one of us is enjoying it,” he complains, sounding a little stressed, “Amaya's a little taskmaster, y'know.”
My giggle is response enough, and he laughs a little, too. “She's getting me up at five,” I mention, “so I think I should go to bed.”
“Right,” he affirms, “I should too.” Hearing him let out another sigh, I wait for him to continue, “Kenta said he'd be down here battering my door if I'm not outside by ten past.”
“Oh he's harmless, and was probably kidding,” I assure him, “Kenta likes to mess with people.”
There's a short silence, followed by an agreeable grunt. “Well, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, then,” he says cheerfully, “good night, Aiko.”
“Sleep well, Hisao,” I reply, quickly adding, “dream of me.”
Laughing lightly, he whispers, “you too.” The line cuts and I'm left being reminded of last night's dream.
Oh not again...! Well, okay, it wasn't a bad dream...
Grabbing the suitcase, I set it down on the floor at the foot of my bed and spin around to turn off the light. The diffused sunset filtering in the window is light enough to see as I remove my uniform and quickly pull on my nightshirt. With the floor cleared, and the twilight glow highlighting my room with a pink haze, I have no trouble getting back to my bed and crawling under the covers. Finding my pillow, I curl up and smile contentedly.
Part of me is really anxious about this whole weekend, but the giddy, excited, optimistic side of me is in control. That's the side I like to shine with; the lighter side that sees the good parts of the future instead of the dire possibilities. It's the side that keeps me moving forward instead of hesitating, that makes me go for things I'm reluctant to pursue, and that affords me the ability to forget, if only temporarily, that I'll someday be someone's distant memory.
I'll be a good memory, though, like Dad – I hope.
__________________________________________________
Previous Chapter|Part 1|Next Chapter
This is probably a spoiler of epic proportions if you didn't read the chapter yet:
Yeah, so, Aiko inherited Huntington's from her father. Having mentioned the disease before, I never really stated whether she ended up with it, though it was probably assumed. She was told about it before starting at Yamaku, and the prospect has loomed over her since. Being among many reasons she meddles the way she does, and wants to push ahead without regrets, the reality of her doomed future is what she's been shoving out of mind on occasion throughout the story.
Lighter spoilers:
Yeah, I got nothing. I think the chapter speaks for itself. Put a bow on a few previous little conflicts and finally set down the basis for the major conflict. Also assembled the complete trip group - which contains 9 people. The Fellowship of the Trip. Yeah, I'm still not saying where they're going, but there have been hints and it's possible to guess.
That was my first partial H-scene, for what it was. Turned out to be a dream, but I decided not to italicize it because, until the end, Aiko doesn't think she's dreaming.
Stories of Hisao's endowment are likely carefully crafted lies... probably.
Last edited by Helbereth on Thu Nov 21, 2013 5:45 pm, edited 7 times in total.
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
Something tells me that there's gonna be some giggity in the near future...
I'm a writer and artist for the new visual novel project Learn to Be. Check it out!
http://learntobevisualnovel.blogspot.com/
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Mistoffelees
- Posts: 11
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2012 11:50 pm
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
Time for me to wear out my welcome in record time! I'm fairly certain this isn't an intended bit of character development- but if it is, feel free to slap me silly. I found it actually fairly amusing that as much as Aiko states she "lost" the allelic gamble, in some ways, she was actually relatively fortunate. Inheriting the disease from a heterozygous father is nothing to be made light of, sure, but seeing as her life-span projection puts her at what I'm assuming is ~43 years old, that rules out he having juvenile Huntington's, which is (relatively) prevalent amongst those who inherit the condition from the paternal line (due to genomic imprinting through DNA methylation and acetylation and whatnot). Seems interesting that our math/science enthusiast would possibly ignore that? Or maybe I'm reading too deeply into this and should try sleeping rather than posting in public forums. :\ Exhibit A in why I'll never be a writer. . . ha-ha.
On a lighter note http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw was playing through my head as I read today's update. . . perhaps there's an art-appreciating bone in my body yet.
Thank you again for the words.
On a lighter note http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw was playing through my head as I read today's update. . . perhaps there's an art-appreciating bone in my body yet.
Thank you again for the words.
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
Technically there's already been some giggity if you count her friends. Things like that happen naturally, I suppose. For now, it's just a dream. Technically, they've only been realistically dating for a week (the first month was all near-misses), so it's probably early for that kind of intimacy - especially among awkward teenagers. Not to burst your bubble, and I don't think it's giving anything away, but other things need to happen first; though it's certainly in the future.Lumi wrote:Something tells me that there's gonna be some giggity in the near future...
Juvenile Huntington's would be turning her into a wreck right about as the story is developing. Would have put a real damper on any possibility of her having a life after Yamaku - and might end up ending her life mid-story, really. The bit of research I did on the condition, and the story I wanted to tell, brought me to the conclusion that the juvenile kind would just make the story incredibly heavy and depressing.Mistoffelees wrote:[snip] her life-span projection puts her at what I'm assuming is ~43 years old, that rules out he(sic) having juvenile Huntington's, which is (relatively) prevalent amongst those who inherit the condition from the paternal line[snip]
I've never heard that song before. It's fitting, though, I think, having listened to it while writing this reply. Though it has a generality to it that could allow it to apply to a number of different love stories.Mistoffelees wrote:On a lighter note http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw was playing through my head as I read today's update. . . perhaps there's an art-appreciating bone in my body yet.
Much obliged, and I also thank you for yours.Mistoffelees wrote:Thank you again for the words.
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YourFavAnon
- Posts: 239
- Joined: Mon Jul 02, 2012 12:58 pm
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
Quite an enjoyable chapter. Felt a bit like a filler, but it also tied up some loose ends and established the party for the trip. Definitely ready for the next chapter.
I write things occasionally.
Dumps of my 35+ fics can be found here and here (including some non-KS stuff).
Dumps of my 35+ fics can be found here and here (including some non-KS stuff).
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
Well, it seems like they might as well have been dating for that time. Despite it not being official.Helbereth wrote:Technically there's already been some giggity if you count her friends. Things like that happen naturally, I suppose. For now, it's just a dream. Technically, they've only been realistically dating for a week (the first month was all near-misses), so it's probably early for that kind of intimacy - especially among awkward teenagers. Not to burst your bubble, and I don't think it's giving anything away, but other things need to happen first; though it's certainly in the future.Lumi wrote:Something tells me that there's gonna be some giggity in the near future...
Look at me, arguing with the author...
I'm a writer and artist for the new visual novel project Learn to Be. Check it out!
http://learntobevisualnovel.blogspot.com/
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
It's a bridge between the end of the Amaya/Tadao altercation and the trip. I could have glazed it over with a few paragraphs, but there were a few things I wanted to close down, and a few others I wanted to open up - I also wanted to live in Aiko's head while she's kept out of the loop. She starts nesting, has some suggestive dreams, thinks about the past, her future, etc., and I wanted to make sure her reasons for inviting the various other characters was clear.YourFavAnon wrote:Quite an enjoyable chapter. Felt a bit like a filler, but it also tied up some loose ends and established the party for the trip. Definitely ready for the next chapter.
Aiko also pretty much says she's not ready, but I take your point. She's a little bit of a prude outwardly (Emi did call her 'priss'), even if she has the same dirty mind you'd expect of someone her age; she enjoys teasing him.Lumi wrote:Well, it seems like they might as well have been dating for that time. Despite it not being official.
Happens all the time. It makes me think about some things and consider alternatives, so don't feel bad about saying something seems wrong; just don't expect me to change my plan to suit your whims.Lumi wrote:Look at me, arguing with the author...
Re: Tomorrow's Doom - Aiko Kurai (OC) Updated 8/15
Welcome to my world :3Lumi wrote: Look at me, arguing with the author...
Also, I have no comment on the chapters yet again.
Looking forward to what happens to what happens at the beach.