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Before he heads back, he steps over to the kid in the booth behind Hisao and kicks his foot. “Wake up, Jun,” he barks, the commanding tone of his voice surprising me more than a little, “break-time is over!”
While Taro walks back toward the kitchen, I watch the scrawny figure standing up in the booth, and I frown reflexively. Small as he is, I'm not surprised I mistook Jun for a kid, but I'm a little embarrassed anyway. Sidling out of the booth groggily, he plants the cap on his head backwards and yawns. Noticing me the moment his eyes reopen, he casts a raised eyebrow at me and smirks devilishly. “Hey, Two-Tone, fancy meeting you here!” His tone is anything but cheerful.
I'm laughing on the inside...
Rolling my eyes at the nickname, I breathe a sigh. If I can keep this cordial, I'll try, but I'm not confident Jun will let that happen. Noticing Toru is nowhere to be seen, I decide to ask, “Where's your better half, Jun?”
Intrigued by the exchange, Hisao looks at me, then cranes his neck to glance at Jun. There's a brief moment where they make eye contact, and I can see Jun's confidence faltering, though I'm not sure how Hisao looks intimidating at the moment. Straightening his posture, Jun turns back toward me with renewed resolve, or something more like indignation; he's somewhat easily offended.
“Toru has some big newspaper deal today,” he explains, “not that it's any of your business!” Taking a quick look at Hisao, he sneers and starts shaking his hands; I think he's trying to distract Hisao for some reason, but it isn't working. Looking back at me he nods like some kind of street thug and asks, “What about your better half?”
“That's me, isn't it?” Hisao states, not missing a beat.
“No, not you, doofus! The nosy chick with the bangs,” Jun explains, his choice of words making me groan.
“He means Amaya,” I say to Hisao, then shake my head at Jun, “the one he's been crushing on since first year.”
That should shut him up.
Standing there, dumbstruck by the accusation, but unable to hide the blush or attempt a denial, he gives up quickly and stomps toward the kitchen, exactly as I expected. Normally I wouldn't be that cruel, but Jun gets under my skin even on a good day, and I'm already cranky—he had it coming. As he disappears through the door, I look back at Hisao and shrug at his surprised expression. “What?” I groan, throwing my hands up in exasperated fashion, “It's true!”
After a few moments pause, he furrows his brow and starts to ask, “Does she-”
“Yes... and no, she was never interested,” I answer both questions before he can finish.
Even thinking about it gives me the creeps...
Noting that his expression is asking for more of an explanation, I'm a little apprehensive about elaborating, but she's his friend, too; he ought to know. Leaning forward so I can keep my voice down, I motion for him to do the same and wait for him to comply before I'll say anything. Assuming a pensive expression, he folds his arms on the table and matches my position.
“He's never gotten up the courage, especially since the festival, and she's usually content to keep her distance,” I say, frowning and shrugging. “Mostly she just avoids him... He's kind of...”
Creepy, disrespectful, obnoxious, vain, insulting... a real jackass...
All of those words fit, but I don't want to sound too insulting. It's difficult to be tactful describing someone as migraine-inducing as Jun Uematsu. There are a lot of similarities between him and Kenta personality-wise, but while Kenta's sarcastic jabs come with a wink and a nudge, Jun always seems genuinely malicious. According to some of my classmates, he's a completely different person when he's playing music, but I only ever see the spiteful, childish delinquent.
Seeing Hisao is still waiting for me to finish my thought, I try to think of the least awful-sounding word to describe Jun, and one strikes me, though it still feels inadequate. “Immature, I guess,” I say with a shrug.
Nodding slowly, Hisao doesn't seem satisfied by the answer, but it's all I'm willing to say without getting into specifics. There was a time when I approached conversations with the same kind of irate indifference as Jun, and it probably earned me a few detractors, but that's mostly in the past. There are times when I still cause friction inadvertently, but it's no longer intentional—at least most of the time. Comparatively, Jun is still the same condescending, vulgar jackass he was three years ago; I don't think I owe him any sympathy.
Silence falls over us as we await Taro's return, and I try to put Jun far out of mind. Hisao continues fidgeting, but I don't think he's thinking about our altercation with my indignant classmate anymore. Instead he keeps looking toward the kitchen door in between long bouts of staring at the pie cases along the counter. He indicated that he hasn't eaten either, but I don't think his wandering gaze has anything to do with food. There's a strange smile on his face that I can't quite identify, but I'm also not thinking clearly, and I might just be imagining things.
Where is Taro with the food...!?
As if on cue, the kitchen doors squeak open and I hear rattling and banging, followed by an apologetic, “Sorry.” From my angle, I can't quite see what Taro is wheeling out of the kitchen, but the loud squeaking and continued metallic rattling tell me it's some kind of cart. Apparently, whatever Taro is carting out of the kitchen, it's what Hisao was nervously awaiting, because I notice his shoulders relaxing almost immediately.
Perking his eyes up, Hisao casts a warm smile at me, but I'm too busy trying to see what's on the cart to respond. As it passes out from behind the counter, I realize it looks like a dinner cart, but the food is covered with a white table-cloth that drapes down almost to the floor. The three-pointed tent indicates there are two plates, probably under cloche domes, and a tall point between them. I'll probably have to wait for the reveal to find out the identity of the third object—I don't want to assume anything at this point.
The wheels underneath squeak terribly, drawing the attention of all the patrons lined up on the counter, but Taro continues grinning broadly the whole way, like he doesn't even see them. Watching him push the cart along with one arm, I feel a little awkward, but I resist the urge to ask if he needs help. Attending Yamaku for this long, I've learned that most of my classmates will ask for help if they really need it, but a lot of them react poorly to offered assistance—I get that way when I lose my equilibrium.
As he draws the noisy cart up alongside our table, I notice Taro has changed out of the apron, and into a white chef coat, complete with a monogrammed name tag—apparently this was all planned. Looking at Hisao, I notice he's still staring at me, smiling brightly. I want to ask what this is all about, but I think I can guess well enough to keep quiet until they finish their play. Apparently I've been the victim of clandestine phone antics twice today, but this second surprise isn't a disaster, at least not yet.
Sample Taro's cooking, indeed...
“Nakai-san, Kurai-san,” Taro announces formally, bowing to each of us, “I present today's house special.”
I knew he remembered my name...
Lifting away the cloth, he reveals two plates covered with metal cloche domes, as expected, and a tall, narrow porcelain vase with a single red rose standing inside. There's effort in the presentation that reeks of premeditation, and I can't help smiling at the gesture. This is Hisao trying to sweep me off my feet, probably on very little notice, and so far it's just stupid enough to work—I'm holding back a girlish squeal just to keep them honest.
As Taro removes the domes, I draw a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment, sighing contentedly. The contents of the plates look completely unfamiliar, but it smells heavenly, and I have to resist smacking my lips in anticipation; I don't want to ruin the formal effort. Instead, I clear my throat, turn a curious grin at Hisao and remark, “Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?”
“You don't like it?” he retorts, faking a frown.
“No I love it, but you don't have to try so hard,” I reply, half-joking. He responds with a toothy grin while I roll my eyes; his nerdy antics and dopey smiles are definitely still working.
Turning toward Taro I add, “No offense to the chef, but I'd be fine with a dry sandwich under an awning in the park,” Hisao just nods while I take another curious look at the plates and ask, “What is that, anyway?”
Grinning, Taro replies, “Meat-loaf and mashed potatoes in gravy with sautéed Brussels sprouts and Parmesan cheese.”
There's a few seconds where he just stares at me, expecting a response, but all I can do is nod. Some of that sounds familiar, but I don't have much experience with foreign food. Amaya or my mother would probably know what this is, but I don't think I care; I'm hungry enough to eat lead paint. Hisao looks even more confused, but he gives his head a quick shake to dispel the bewildered stare.
“Sounds great,” he says happily, “or it smells great, at least.”
Nodding, Taro goes about setting the plates down on our table, followed by the vase, which he places in the middle. Producing a pitcher of what looks like iced tea from a lower shelf, he places it, along with two glasses, down on the table as well, then backs away, pulling the cart off to the side.
“Enjoy!” he chirps, offering another bow before walking back toward the kitchen.
Hisao and I share another curious glance, and I smile as I have to look around the rose to see him clearly. There's a loving expression there, but he keeps glancing down at the food, and I do the same. Despite the sappy, romantic circumstances, I know we're both hungry, so I nod toward the plate and he smiles in agreement. Wordless though the communication may be, it's good to know we both have our priorities straight.
Food first, then talk...
Technically, this is our first dinner date, which I choose not to point out for fear of jinxing the whole proceeding; my last one of those ended badly. The presentation makes me feel like I ought to try having some decorum, but Hisao has seen me eat, and my table manners don't seem to bother him. Regardless of my slovenly ways, Hisao seems content to keep quiet and eat for the most part, and I'm in complete agreement. I don't know what Taro went through to create this feast, and it's definitely weird, but so good.
While we're eating, I keep looking at the rose standing between us and wondering how it got here. This is a casual eatery, not a fancy, upscale restaurant, and I'm pretty sure that cart is usually used for dishes, not table service. They don't keep roses around for this type of thing, either, which means someone, probably Taro, had to go fetch one from the florist a few blocks over—in the rain, no less. If I were the gambling type, which I'm not, I'd bet this involved more planning than a few misleading text messages from Amaya and a phone call to Taro.
The Swooner's plot thickens...
Before we left, Hisao looked nervous and I caught him rehearsing something, and now he's employing romantic trickery. He called ahead for special service, took my coat, and has acted like a perfect gentleman—like some master of romance. Even if it is flattering, this whole situation makes me suspicious. It could all be completely innocent, but he has a track record of hiding uncomfortable news in a pocket of ignorant bliss. Even if it turns out that he's just a hopeless romantic focused on making me feel pampered, I plan to keep an eye out for the unexpected.
With most of the meal finished, we start casting looks at each-other like we're about to say something, but I'm still thinking and he looks no less lost in thought. After a few minutes of coy smiles and silence, he reaches out to push the rose off to the side and raises an eyebrow. Just as I'm about to look back down to grab another fork full, he asks, “How's the book?”
Book... what book?
Setting a bewildered look on him, I'm trying to appear clueless, but he isn't buying my false confusion. My deft thievery during lunch on Friday seems to have been noticed, or he just figured it out after he found the book missing. My plan to gain some perspective on his hobbies is something I'm proud of, even if the method is a little underhanded. Either way, he doesn't look mad, just curious. Pouting slightly, I reply, “I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd mind.”
“I don't,” he assures me, tilting his head mockingly, “I just didn't think you were much of a reader is all.”
Deciding to let that little insult roll over me, I explain, “It's not what I'm used to, but you seemed to like it, so I thought I'd give it a try. I got a little addicted to the story, and that's kinda why I barred myself in my room. I wanted to see why you liked it so much.”
I'll leave out the part about the fantasies for now...
“That's fine, just tell me next time,” he says with a warm smile. “I'll need it back, though” he adds, making me frown. Seeing that he holds up a hand and explains, “When you're done, I mean; I borrowed it from someone else, and they expect it returned intact.”
That's strange. I thought he'd gotten it from the library, and I don't remember seeing any markings to indicate it belongs to anyone else. Then again, as I recall, there isn't a library check in the back page, either—I feel like I should have noticed that before. Squaring my shoulders, I catch his eyes with mine and reply, “Sorry, I didn't know.”
“Don't worry, she won't mind. Just don't go losing it or she might- well,” he pauses and looks away for a moment, “no probably not...” as he trails off, shaking his head, I can't help but wonder who he could be talking about.
Who's “she”?
There are a lot of students in the book club—Amaya and Tadao included. Yamaku has a lot of avid readers who share books all the time, and I trust Hisao, or I want to at least, but there's a twinge of suspicion tugging at my insides, making me feel anxious. It's probably someone in his class, and completely innocent, but there's something evasive in the way he mentioned her that has me picturing something awful—Hisao with another girl. Imagining that leaves me thinking I'm being a bad girlfriend, and I realize Hisao has friends outside my social circle—apparently he's friends with Taro, for instance—but I can't help feeling a little possessive.
“Anyway, just bring it back when you're done reading,” he says finally.
Going back to his food, he seems completely oblivious to the wealth of anxieties he inspired, but I'm doing my best to look like I'm not about to have a nervous breakdown. Considering that he's here with me instead of roaming around with some girl he borrows books from, it probably shouldn't bother me at all, but it does—more than I can rationalize.
Over a little book trading, no less...
Despite how irrational I know I'm being, the same feelings that fill my head with fantasies also make me paranoid, and I'm not proud of it, but I just have to know which girl is letting him borrow books—if only for my peace of mind. Misha isn't much of a reader, and Shizune probably spends more time in textbooks than is healthy, so it's probably neither of them. Hisao sits near Molly too, along with Suzu and Ritsu, but I don't know any of them well enough to guess if they're into books. There are probably a half-dozen girls sitting near Hisao in class, and twice that many he might run into on a daily basis, so trying to guess probably isn't helping.
It's just making me feel crazy...
In an effort to calm myself down, I take a deep breath and try to think rationally, but I can't stop picturing him with some mysterious other girl. Without flying my jealousy flag, or my crazy banner, I can't just ask him where he got the book. However, if I suggest bringing it back to its owner, the book itself might help lead me right to her doorstep. That's even more underhanded than the means I used to acquire the book in the first place, but if I don't find out soon I'm probably going to start looking as crazy as I feel.
Putting on a worried frown, which comes easily since that's not far from the truth, I smile evenly and suggest, “I could bring it back to her.”
I'm officially Hisao's crazy girlfriend...
My fishing attempt catches his attention enough to look up from his food, and he doesn't appear suspicious, but I feel like I need to explain further. Nodding, smiling, and hoping I look sincere rather than out of my mind, I add, “I should probably apologize for taking it without her permission, anyway.”
Cordially crazy...
While he ponders my suggestion, I try to maintain my smile, but his troubled wince and the hand rubbing the back of his neck have me concerned—I hope he doesn't suspect my motives, not that they aren't worthy of suspicion. When he finishes squinting through the thoughts, he smiles and nods. “Yeah, I guess you could. You know Hanako? Um... Hanako Ikezawa.”
Bacon-face!?
Closing my eyes reflexively, I silently berate myself for having a such horrible thought, especially about someone who doesn't deserve the insult. There are plenty of rumors about Hanako, especially about how she got her scars, and more than a few unkind nicknames get whispered behind her back—most of which are far worse. Still, I'm disappointed in myself for thinking it, and I already feel guilty enough for my irrational jealousy, but I can't dwell on that while Hisao is waiting for an answer.
“Yeah, the shy, quiet girl with the-” I stop myself before saying the word, but I can't help picturing the scars covering her face. Hisao seems to understand my hesitation, but that doesn't make me feel better—worse, actually. “She's on the same floor as me,” I continue, trying to shrug away my disappointingly shallow thoughts, “I can bring it to her after I'm done.”
Hopefully his squinting, contemplative expression is just more thinking, rather than the judging I feel I'm due for being so duplicitous and shallow. This is what I get for feeling possessive: a giant brick of guilt weighing down my shoulders. It's completely my fault, I know, but I can't help feeling insecure sometimes. The plastic smile I'm keeping up seems to be working its magic, though, as he starts nodding in agreement.
“I'll let her know to expect you,” he says, pausing to take in a breath, “she can be a little...”
“Timid,” I say, drawing a stiff nod followed by a drawn-out sigh.
Now that I know who he got the book from, I suddenly don't feel threatened at all, but that somehow doesn't make me feel better—worse, really. It shouldn't matter who it is, I should still feel jealous, but Hanako just doesn't bring that out in me. The little I know about her has come from third parties, but the things that sound like truth are mostly horrible, and even some of the exaggerations seem plausible. If Hisao managed to make friends with her, that's probably a good thing, but the thought that he could fall for her seems completely ridiculous. However, thinking that makes me feel like a condescending bitch.
I need to stop thinking about this.
“It might be a while, I'm not as fast a reader as you,” I say, trying to lead us toward a different subject.
“It's all I did for four months, practically,” he remarks, “you're just not used to the neck cramps and eye strain.”
Clearly he doesn't know enough about my hobbies, so, in an effort to help him understand, and get my mind off the jealous feelings, I start talking about the countless hours I've spent in digital worlds. Usually I'm inclined to keep my nerd flag at half-mast, but I'm comfortable enough with Hisao to let that banner fly in all its pixellated glory. Most of what I tell him is probably little more than gibberish to his inexperienced ears, but he keeps smiling and nodding throughout; that's probably what my face looks like when he talks about science. Still, I think there's genuine interest hiding behind his facade of politeness, but I'll leave dragging him into my bad habits for another day.
Resistance is futile...
After we've both finished dinner, stopping just short of licking the plates, Taro comes by to take away the dishes, and Hisao covers the bill without even letting me offer to pay my share. Leaving the iced tea for us to sip while we talk, our cheerful host shares a quick nod with Hisao before heading back to the kitchen—mission accomplished, apparently. The whole idea of having someone take care of me feels a little alien after basically living on my own for the past three years, but I'm not about to complain.
Looking out the window, I notice the rain has stopped and there's an orange sunset casting a warm haze across the rain-soaked street. The conversation has dried up much like the rain, but Hisao is looking at me intently, apparently trying to pick a moment when he can start talking again. There's still tension in his expression, and I don't think he got around to asking what he rehearsed yet, so the silence is starting to feel uncomfortable. Not oppressively so, but enough that I want him to get it over with, so I turn into his tense gaze, lace my fingers together and smile.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He fidgets in his seat a bit and averts his gaze for a moment, but after clearing his throat, he places his elbows on the table and leans forward. His expression shifts between contemplative and confused, and I start to feel a little nervous about what he's going to say, but he looks anxious enough without worrying about my reaction, so I keep the smile on my face and try to look casual.
“So, I talked to my parents Tuesday night,” he says, smiling evenly.
Huh, that's all?
That doesn't sound particularly unusual, but, knowing how infrequent his contact with them has been, I am curious. “Everything at home okay?” I ask, hoping he didn't just get some awful news.
“Yeah, they're fine,” he replies, nodding, “they haven't gotten an update in a while is all.”
Nodding, I rest my chin on my laced fingers and remark, “They called to check up on you.”
“I called them, actually,” he says, surprising me a little.
Apparently it surprises him just as much because he immediately goes silent. The few times he's told me about talking to his parents, it's always one of them—usually his mom—calling to make sure he's eating well, doing alright in class, taking his medication and whatnot. Thinking about it, I'm more curious about why he didn't say something sooner. The forlorn expression he was walking around with on Wednesday morning probably had something to do with that call, but he told me it was nothing. If I'm interpreting his introspective look correctly, it was definitely something.
“Remember how we were talking about your mom and your sister?” he asks, to which I nod, still feeling a little confused. “That got me thinking about my parents,” he says, which makes sense. Nodding against my hands, I recall him being somewhat envious of the relationship I have with my family, even though I wouldn't exactly call it great.
Even though I'm nodding and smiling supportively, he still looks uncomfortable, but he clears his throat and continues, “Since my... Heart-attack... and the hospital stay that followed, things have been a little more... strained... than usual, with my folks.”
That's disheartening to hear. Usually something like that brings families closer, I thought—it did with mine, anyway. Although, after everything with Dad ended, it does seem like we grew apart, and not just physically. Mom moved half way across the planet, of course, but we've also been talking less over the past year. Thinking that makes me feel bad for missing Mom's call earlier, even though it wasn't my fault.
That's for me to deal with later, though. Right now Hisao is waiting for me to respond.
Considering my scattered thoughts, I reply, “That might be normal,” which probably isn't what he wanted to hear, but it's honest. “It's a lot to consider,” I add, trying to clarify, “they probably don't know how to deal with it any better than you did...”
After saying that, I immediately want to take it back. Hisao shouldn't blame himself for feeling depressed after what he went through; it's a perfectly justifiable reaction. Besides, he's gotten over it mostly by now, I think. Getting adjusted to the idea of mortality is only difficult when you don't have a frame of reference, and Hisao knows better than most that life can be a fleeting and unpredictable thing.
Despite my feeling bad about what I said, Hisao is nodding, even smiling. “Maybe...” he says, shrugging. “But, after talking with you, I realized I've been avoiding them,” he adds, glancing away and frowning.
That's a look I'm familiar with; the guilty, shamed pout someone makes when they realize something horrible was their fault. I've worn it a few times in the past, and it's usually accompanied by an empty feeling I can sympathize with. It's how I felt when I selfishly avoided visiting Dad in the hospital, and how I subsequently felt after he died while I was still being stubborn. Apparently, Hisao's strained relationship with his parents is more bothersome than I realized, or at least that's the impression I'm getting.
Looking back and summoning some resolve, he winces a little as he continues, “So, with that in mind, I called home Tuesday night, and talked to my mom. I was gonna stay here for a while after summer vacation started, so I could spend more time with you, maybe meet your mom, and-” stopping, he shakes his head and smiles.
Settling a warm smile on me, he continues, “That sounded great, actually, but I got to thinking; I don't want my... condition... to push my parents even further away.” As he pauses to collect his thoughts, I suck in a breath and bite my lip, already guessing what he's about to say.
“So, when she asked if I'd head back a little sooner... I agreed,” he says despondently, almost like he's apologizing rather than relaying the news.
The face I'm making is probably something more akin to shock than happiness, but I think I'm smiling despite myself. Not that I'm unhappy about him wanting to reconnect with his parents, but it's strangely sudden. There's good reason behind it, and I'll support it completely, but I wish he'd been more forthcoming. The thought that he'll end up missing Mom and Midori's visit makes me frown, but Mom will understand, and would never hold it against him. If Dad taught me anything, as much in life as in his death, it's that you have to cherish the people you love while you can because you don't get second chances once they're gone.
That doesn't make this easier, though...
“That's good, really,” I say, trying to shove the melancholy frown aside with a smile.
“Even though I'll probably miss meeting your mom?” he asks, reaching up to start rubbing the back of his head, “I kinda agreed to go without-”
“It's fine,” I interject, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. "Mom will be disappointed, but she'll understand. Family is important to her... and me, I guess,” I add, trying to put things in perspective.
“You're really not mad?”
Well, I probably could be, but I'm really not. This means we'll probably only have until next weekend before we're separated for a month, but he'll be back after break. Besides, maybe we need the time apart. Things have been going great between us, outside of my inability to tell him my most horrible secret, but otherwise I still feel like I've been moving too fast with Hisao. Summer break will give us both a chance to step back, breathe, and let the distance make us fonder, or however that saying goes.
“No, not at all,” I say firmly, “I'm your girlfriend, but they're your family, and I want you to be on good terms with them, if you can.”
Letting out a relieved sigh, he sits back and shakes his head. “I thought you wouldn't take it quite this well,” he remarks, shrugging, “guess I was worried for nothing.”
“Don't get me wrong,” I retort, “I'd rather keep you to myself, but-” I stop to consider my words more carefully. “I'd rather not cause any more friction, y'know? You've had a tough year. Me getting bent out of shape over this would just make it worse.”
“So you do care?” He asks sardonically, grimacing and eying me curiously.
“Of course!” I reply a little too excitedly, causing him to smirk. “I'll miss you, but I got along fine before The Swooner showed up to sweep me off my feet,” I chide, starting to giggle.
Giving up the feigned grimace, he leans forward and reaches for my other hand. The warm smile I'm always craving plays across his face and I really have to try and stop myself before I end up absorbed into his hypnotic eyes. Sitting there staring at each-other in silence for a few moments, I suddenly don't care about the strangers who might be watching. Leaning closer, I feel a blush streaking my cheeks. Seeing that same blush reflected on Hisao's face, I reach up to touch his cheek and inch closer until our lips meet softly, just barely reaching across the table.
“Get a room!” an obnoxious voice calls out from behind me.
Turning to see Jun leaning out through the kitchen door, I scowl at him, but he's already laughing and sidling back through the door. Looking back at Hisao, I see he's still blushing, but rolling his eyes and shaking his head. I think he's starting to understand my aversion toward Jun, and that makes me feel better about my earlier assessment.
Yeah, no sympathy at all.
Sitting back, we both sigh and have a laugh at ourselves. Considering the list of important things he's told me over the past month, this is probably the least terrible of the bunch. The tension he was holding seems to have relaxed finally, and that makes me happy. There's a certain quality to Hisao's demeanor that's much more attractive when he isn't wrapped up in anxiety. He smiles more when there isn't something weighing on him, and I prefer it when he stays that way.
That desire to see him happy is why I'm so interested in him reconnecting with his parents. Undoubtedly, the burden of being their only child is probably enough pressure without the addition of a life-threatening heart condition. My Mom expects a lot from me, though her way of getting it across is more subdued and gentle than most. With the arrhythmia, Hisao had to give up a lot of possibilities, and that probably doesn't sit well with his success-minded parents. Anything I can do to help mend that rift can only be beneficial for us both.
Thinking that, I furrow my brow and set a questioning look on the boy across the table. “Have you told them about me?” I ask, though I realize I haven't exactly done him the same courtesy.
“Not... specifically,” he replies, wincing, “I told them I made friends, and that there's someone special, but...”
That's basically what I told Mom, but the wince makes me curious enough to ask, “What does that mean?”
Taking a deep breath, he sits forward and shrugs. “They didn't ask, so I didn't tell.”
That's fair, I guess.
“What about your mom?” He asks, making me wince, “Have you sent her my vital statistics, or is she still perusing through my academic history?”
Ha, ha... Hmm... I wonder about that myself...
Getting the question turned on me should have been expected, but I don't think he expects my answer to be anything approaching serious. “She sent me a book titled 'To Serve Hisao', but I'm not much of a cook,” I say, smirking deviously.
“Speaking of the Twilight Zone,” he remarks, turning to look outside, “suppose we should head back before Amaya starts messaging me again?”
That's a weird segue, but... wait-
“What?” I prompt weakly, fixing a confused stare on his smirking face.
Instead of answering right away, Hisao starts sidling out of the booth. Once out, he stands beside the table and holds out a hand to help me out, but I'm too dumbstruck to move. “Tell her I'm glad she stole your phone,” he adds, leading me to raise an eyebrow and fold my arms.
Regaining my composure, I state evenly, “You knew.”
“The whole time, pretty much,” he confirms, smirking proudly, “I was suspicious when you were texting instead of talking, but you also don't use smiley faces and hearts—that's Amaya's signature. I don't think she knows I knew, though.” Wriggling his fingers before me, he smiles calmly and waits while I process the information.
If what he says is true, then the only person who is still being fooled is none other than the puppeteer herself. That brings a devious grin to my face, which Hisao notices and mirrors. “Should we bother telling her?” I ask, taking Hisao's hand and standing.
Once I'm up, he takes a step back and starts shaking his head. “Nah; let her believe she got away with it,” He says, to which I nod, “got a good day out of it anyway, and we can use it later if she gets out of line.”
“I love that you're devious and evil sometimes,” I reply, springing up on my toes to kiss his cheek.
Standing there smirking for a second, he looks toward the kitchen, then back to me. “I'll be right back,” he says, heading over to the lunch counter. Stopping there, he calls out, “Hey! Taro!”
A few seconds later, Taro emerges from the back room wiping his hand on a towel. “What's up? You heading out?” he asks cheerily, flipping the towel onto his shoulder.
Hisao leans against the counter and beckons Taro to do the same, then I stand there watching as they share a brief whispered conversation. Whatever they're talking about, I'm apparently not supposed to hear, but I can guess it has something to do with the setup he prepared. While they're conversing secretively, I reach over and pull the rose up out of the vase, lifting it to my nose to draw in the flowery scent.
Roses, red ones specifically, are a symbol of love, which didn't really strike me until this moment. Even knowing he was being lured out by Amaya's deception, Hisao took the time to make it an opportunity, to plan something special. There was no need to, and I told him that much, but I don't think that was the point. He wanted to make me feel special, perhaps especially because I'd locked myself away for a couple days, and despite my bouts of jealousy and irrational suspicion, I think he succeeded.
When he shakes Taro's hand and walks back over to wrap an arm across my shoulder, and ask, “Ready to go?” I'm still spinning the rose in my hand, smiling obliviously. While he collects our coats, smirking over his shoulder, I feel a moment of clarity, an epiphany perhaps more powerful than I've ever felt.
The way he gets nervous when he tells me bad news, or seems to smile weirdly whenever we're sharing a silent moment, and the way he's always paying attention when I talk, even when I know I'm boring him to tears, all point to one thing: Hisao really does love me. Not only did he say he loves me, he believes it, he's trying to show it, and I'm awed by my inability to have seen it before his confession, and especially afterward.
Whenever he has bad news, he probably wonders whether it will cause me to reject him, and the guilty feeling I get for holding things back is likely something he knows all too well. During those silent moments, he's probably thinking about me, wondering about my thoughts, maybe even fantasizing—well, that probably happens anyway. The genuine interest I see in his expression when I talk about inane things that happened in class, or my favorite games, or anything else, probably comes from a desire to hear what I have to say, regardless of the subject.
In perspective, it all makes sense...
“I love you,” I announce suddenly, wanting to get it out before I start to think too much.
Gathering the coats across his arm, he turns that warm smile at me, the one that always makes me feel better, and nods. “I know,” he says, then purses his lips like he's ready to take a slap.
Instead I leap forward, wrap him in a hug, and start planting kisses on his cheeks. He gasps a little in surprise, but manages to wrap his free arm around me once he realizes I'm not attacking him with anything but affection. After settling down, I lean back to make eye contact and explain, “I wanted to say it,” recalling our parting earlier in the week, “I owed you one.”
“I love you, too,” he replies, and this time it's more like music to my ear. Before another thought can cross my mind, I brush my hand across his jaw and he ducks down to meet me in another soft kiss. There are probably ten people in the diner watching us, including Taro, and even Jun, but I don't care. If they start spreading rumors around school and I end up being the butt of everyone's jokes over the break, I still won't care. I love Hisao, and I want to be with him, to whatever end.
When I sink back down to my feet, I feel a sense of calm I haven't felt in a while; I can't even think of when that was, but this feels better anyway. There are things I need to tell him, and they're still too terrifying to say aloud, but as I gaze into his piercing brown eyes, I'm beginning to realize he'll understand. Even if it takes until after summer break, or beyond, I'm determined to make sure he knows everything about me because he wants to know, not because I have to tell him. For now, I'm going to take my chances and spend as much time as I can, as often as I'm able, with my handsome, nerdy, slightly mysterious master of romance—The Swooner. Hisao Nakai.
I just hope he doesn't go looking through my coat pockets...
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Such that I'm a fan of the Suzu route written by Scissorlips, I decided to use the Beijing as it's part of fanon, or head-canon, or whatever term you want to apply. The description he wrote left a lot of holes to fill, so I took liberty with the interior design, and I extrapolated a few things from how he described it in a few one-shots. Taro working there is straight out of the same fanon, but the sling idea is something I just thought sounded logical.
The reason for Jun's presence is never described exactly, but he's no cook--I'm pretty sure he's washing dishes. This is probably the first time I mentioned that he's musically inclined (I think), and, yes, I sourced his last name from a composer Final Fantasy geeks should know.
Let me just say this to get it out of the way: I am not a 'brony', or however that term is spelled. Do I regret having cartoon characters, video games, and other pop-culture references strewn about in the story? No. They live in 2007 Japan, not some other-world fantasy realm. I'd rather just use them as references than try to make them totally nondescript, and spend extra time writing prose meant to function as a wink and a nudge:
Wink, wink, nudge, I'm talking about small, cartoon ponies, right? Get it? They're little, pastel colored, doe-eyed, miniature horses with funny names! You can guess who they are, right? Right!?
That just sounds insulting. Kinda like calling Hanako Bacon-Face!
Even Shizune?“Thank you ma'am, may I have another!” he yells, causing everyone in the room to bust out laughing – even Amaya.
