Golden Slumbers [OC x Lilly] (UPDATED 04/02)

[MutilatedManequin]

Congrats, you bear witness to my first post. I like your character, as well the concept. I've seen another OCXLilly, but I don't think it's been updated in a while.

Anyway, keep up the good work solider!

[Mirage_GSM]

Okay, now Yori is just being the stupidest he can be. He's just been told that he needs to keep eating, then skips breakfast and lunch.

Well, Megumi is obviously one of Chekhov's Gunmen.

[TonyTwoFingers]

Okay, now Yori is just being the stupidest he can be. He's just been told that he needs to keep eating, then skips breakfast and lunch.

Skip breakfast and lunch #unbreakable

Congrats, you bear witness to my first post. I like your character, as well the concept. I've seen another OCXLilly, but I don't think it's been updated in a while.

Anyway, keep up the good work solider!

I'm honored. I believe you're referring to Kitsune Spirit's Sun Blind. I believe Kitsune plans on continuing, and hope he does. And thanks for reading!

Well, Megumi is obviously one of Chekhov's Gunmen.

Can't come up with anything resembling funny or witty for this, so as always I'll just stick to thanking you for reading, Mirage!

[griffon8]

Congrats, you bear witness to my first post. I like your character, as well the concept. I've seen another OCXLilly, but I don't think it's been updated in a while.

I'm honored. I believe you're referring to Kitsune Spirit's Sun Blind. I believe Kitsune plans on continuing, and hope he does. And thanks for reading!

No, that's an OCxMolly fic. It's in the title. I'm not remembering any other Lilly stories without Hisao that hasn't finished.

[Mirage_GSM]

Maybe this one?

[griffon8]

Maybe this one?

I remember that one, but I didn't think the pairing had been made explicit. Strangely, the title never before led me to believe Lilly would be the target.

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hey everyone, this is the 23-days-later update. Sorry it's taken so long, and if you're reading this at all, thanks for being patient.

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Rin scarfs down food faster than should be possible. Shizune and Misha are obviously a little uncomfortable with the unexpected company, but I don’t mind having Rin around. She’s an unarguably nice balance to Misha’s borderline oppressive energy. “Yori-chan, Tezuka is an artist!” Misha announces in an awkwardly forced manner.

“Yeah?” I respond, turning my attention to the girl absentmindedly inhaling food at an unbelievable pace. She briefly pauses before nodding and continuing to eat. “What kind of art?”

Rin swallows a mouthful of food before responding lazily.“I paint.”

“Hey, that sounds really cool. What kind of stuff do you paint?”

“All kinds.”

“Tezuka is having some of her work featured at the school art show this weekend, Yori-chan. She’s very talented!”

The compliment is lost on Rin, who is already lost in the bottom of her bento. “I didn’t know Yamaku had an art show. Are a lot of the other students involved?”

“Mmmmhm. Plenty of the other art students are entered.” This could be an interesting way to spend the weekend. I don’t really know what else there is to do around here, and who knows, maybe I’ll find something I like.

“Would you mind if I came by, Rin? I’d love to see some of your work.”

She shrugs, which could mean anything. “You can come.”

“Wahaha~! You don’t have to ask, Yori-chan! The exhibition is open to all students!”

“I just thought it’d be polite to ask, that’s all.”

My first weekend plans since the stay in the hospital. It’s nice - comfortable. Something that isn’t totally new to me. Like putting on a broken-in sweater. “Are you going to be there, Rin?”

Again, she shrugs. “Maybe. There’s no way to know until then.”

“Do you plan on being there?”

She hesitates for a moment before nodding. “I do.”

“And what about you two?” I ask, turning to Misha and Shizune, who are finishing up their lunches. “Are you going?”

Misha pauses for a moment before turning to Shizune to relay my question. It doesn’t take long to get an answer. “Of course we are, Yori-chan! We’re members of the Student Council! It’s part of our job to support student functions whenever we can!”

Well, if anything, Misha and Shizune are clearly dedicated to their job. Student Council reps at my old school mostly just bossed the other kids around. It’s nice to see some people taking the responsibility seriously.

Before too long, Shizune, Misha, and Rin have finished their lunch. “So, just to clarify, when and where is this art show?”

Misha momentarily panics before turning to Shizune, only to be interrupted by Rin. “Saturday night at 8:00 in the main building.”

“Well I’ll be there. Looking forward to it already.” I turn to Misha and Shizune, who are silently having a side conversation about something I assume to be tangentially related. “Thanks for inviting me up here with you, I had a great time.”

“Wahaha~! Don’t be silly Yori-chan! It was our pleasure! Shame we didn’t bring enough food for everyone...” Misha laments as Rin unleashes a startlingly loud burp. Misha looks shellshocked, and even Shizune caught the display, burning holes in Rin’s forehead.

“Excuse me,” Rin says plainly. Misha tries to stifle a laugh, but fails in short order.

***

When I was a little kid, there weren’t many things that I disliked more than abstract art. It always struck me as the self-perpetuating profession - that abstract art only existed to inspire more abstract art. But now, sitting in my room just two days after the rooftop lunch, I’m really looking forward to the exhibition. Of course, that’s what people always say: that life is sweeter when you have something to look forward to. Unfortunately, I’m thinking more about the art show than I am the matter at hand.

My nutritionist, Suzuki, sits cross-legged in my desk chair, jotting down notes on her clipboard. She smiles, retracting her pen with measure-once-cut-once precision. “So, how’ve you been holding up, Yori?”

“I’m doing alright,” I respond, fidgeting. “Not much has really happened since you last visited.”

“Well, it’s good to make these things habitual. If I don’t show up today, maybe it’s harder to talk about next week, and even harder the week after that...” her voice trails off, letting the idea finish itself. “Still eating right?”

“More or less.”

She raises her eyebrow quizzically. “More or less?”

“Well, you know. I’m not the healthiest eater,” I confess, thinking back to the cup noodles I’d wolfed down just a few nights ago.

“Well, as long as you’re eating,” she sighs, jotting down a note. I have been eating, except when I haven’t been hungry. Healthy habit. “Any stiffness? Cramping? Muscle weakness?”

“Nothing too noticeable. I was sore a few days ago, but I think that was because I’d taken a walk for the first time in a while.”

“Walking?” she repeats. “That’s good. It’ll keep you on your feet longer.” Her abrupt matter-of-factness stings like a bandage being ripped off too quickly. “And, that... about... does it...” Suzuki finishes with a flourishing pen swipe on her clipboard. “Unless of course you have any questions,” she adds with a smile. Her voice reminds me of the public health ads encouraging people to ask their doctor questions. But now, like whenever I see those ads, I can't think of anything to ask. The woman eyes me over questioningly before standing. “Well then kiddo, if you don't have anything to ask, then I guess we're done here. Do you have any plans for the weekend?” she asks with her sandpaper voice. She must've been a smoker some time in her life.

“Yeah, the school is holding an art show, and I figured I might check it out. A friend is having some of her work displayed.”

“Oh how fun!” Suzuki says in a manner just short of excitement, stealing a glance at her expensive wristwatch. She's definitely the kind of person who lives her life by the second hand. “Well, I'll leave you be, Yori. Be sure to give me a ring if you need anything, okay? And keep that appetite and exercise up! That's key!”

“Thanks for coming by Suzuki, appreciate the help.”

“That's my job, kiddo. See you next week, same time, same place,” she quips, sliding out the doorway.

***

The sun is setting and I'm sitting alone in my room, flipping through the pages of a depressing, but uninspiring novel. The main character is a shoemaker in Russia during World War Two, who tries to protect his young son from the horrors of war by endlessly making shoes in the backroom of their shop. I'm nearing the end, when the pile of discarded patchwork shoes has been seized by the army, and the father is starving to death because he's been giving all of his food to the young boy. The boy repeatedly tries to share the food, but the father continues to insist that he isn't hungry. I set the book down on the nightstand. It's not the kind of thing I want to read on a Friday night. I glance at my all-purple drawing hanging from the otherwise uncomfortably bare wall. After a few minutes of thinking, I grab a sheet of notebook paper and the purple crayon off my desk, and begin to draw.

Holding the finished product up to the light doesn't make up for my sadly lacking artistic skills. It's a man and woman (or at least it's supposed to be) walking down a quiet country road. The proportions and certain anatomic details are off, and it really looks like little more than a doodle. But that being said, it's a bit nicer than the other drawing on the wall. It's certainly more complex, if nothing else. I tack it to the wall just next to the first drawing, observing it from the other side of the room. Sometimes it's necessary to look a work of art from a distance to appreciate it, but the same couldn't be said for my two sad scribbles.

Suzuki's words ring in my ears as my stomach grumbles. Keep the appetite up. I put on my jacket and slink out the door, closing it firmly behind me before making my way towards the cafeteria. On my way through the lower floor of the dorm I come across Kenji, who is curled up in the fetal position at the base of his doorway. His breathing is wheezy and labored. “Kenji? Are you okay?” I ask, moving cautiously toward him. A sliver of his spectacles emerges from behind his elbows.

“I'm at my wit's end, Yori. This is bad.”

“What's going on? Are you sure you're okay? You look like a mess.”

“They must've changed the locks on the doors... that's the only thing that makes sense!” he wheezes through gritted teeth.

“Should I get the nurse?”

Suddenly, Kenji clambers to his feet, nearly tripping over his far-too-lengthy scarf. “Yori, you're a pretty strong guy, right?” I was never a strong guy even before the diagnoses.

“No, not really. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Help me break my door down,” he proposes casually.

“... You're serious?”

“Of course I'm serious! They locked me out of my panic-room!”

“I'm not helping you break down your door! And nobody locked you out of your room!”

A scowl spreads across his face. “Yes, yes they did Yori! They locked me out!” he insists excitedly, jiggling the doorknob and producing his keys from the depths of his pockets. “Watch!” Kenji carefully guides the key into the lock, turning it in both directions without any success. “Nothing!”

“Is it upside-down?”

“Do I look like some sort of idiot?” he asks rhetorically, turning the key over in his hand before reinserting it into the first lock. The knob rotates like it'd been freshly oiled. “Oh, good. I fixed it.”

“I'm so happy for you. Have you already eaten dinner? I was just on my way to the cafeteria to get something.” Kenji shoots me a look as if I'd just asked him to kill someone as a favor.

“I don't take my meals in the cafeteria. It's not safe. The sight lines are too long.”

“The sight lines?”

“Yeah man! Sight lines!” he insists, inserting a second key into the second of many locks on his door. “It's a sniper's paradise in there! No cover!”

“I hadn't thought of that. You want anything from there while I'm out?”

Kenji pauses in a moment of strained thought before shaking his head. “Nah, I'm good. The stuff you got me earlier this week oughta be enough for a while.”

“Alright, man. I'll see you later then, okay?” I say, turning down the hallway. Kenji doesn't respond, aside from peeling further into his keyring.

***

The cafeteria is almost totally deserted by the time I arrive, which is strange, given the time of day. I fill a tray up with unappetizing food and seat myself at an unoccupied table far off to the side of the room. Kenji did have a point, the cafeteria has a very open and airy feeling about it when it's empty. Students outside the large windows walk around in pairs and small groups. Some of them head down the pathway leading to the school's imposing iron gates, doubtlessly to get dinner somewhere in town. If I had any sense, that's what I'd be doing. Maybe Shizune or Misha'd have gone with me. Or Rin. Or maybe even Lilly.

But rather than do that, I stay glued to my seat, staring down a mountain of cafeteria food. I don't feel much like making that hike into town again, especially if I'd be alone. A large banner hangs from the ceiling of the room, touting the school art show, tomorrow night at 8:00. It has student council written all over it, being half-transcribed in neon pink marker. The banner practically laughed like Misha. That's gonna be fun. Tomorrow, I'll go to the art show. Tomorrow, I won't feel so lonely.

[OtakuNinja]

I'd forgotten about this fic, so I had to read it from the beginning. Nice update.

[Finn Solomon]

Keep up the good work! I've reversed my opinion of OC fics, Hisao is such a bland character (admittedly intentionally, and by design) that it's refreshing to see other characters with more personality interact with the girls at Yamaku.

[TonyTwoFingers]

Thank you for the kind words, everyone!

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Yamaku's main building is packed to the brim with students and visitors alike. Some of the townsfolk quickly take to mingling with students and faculty, while some cling to the walls, looking more intently at the students than at the art lining the walls. Some of them swirl drinks in their hands, avoiding looking at much of anything.

Misha and Shizune schmooze gracefully, cutting through the crowds with smiles and handshakes. Ever the politicians. Misha spots me hovering silently and alone near the entrance, waving energetically and throwing her head back. Even though I can't hear her over the buzz of the crowd, I can feel the laugh in my brain like a familiar line of dialogue from a movie I've watched too many times. I wave back, shifting my weight around the soles of my loafers.

I'm overdressed. Fellow students simply wear the school uniform, and townsfolk arrive in khakis and sneakers. On the other hand, I'm wearing a sport jacket over a dress shirt and slacks. My mother would be so proud. But the clothes feel too tight. I pull at my collar as a bead of cold sweat runs its way down the nape of my neck. The eyes that scan the display feel as though they linger a fraction of a second longer on me than anything else.

Crowds have never agreed with me. Graduations, dances, school concerts – anything. I'm never sent into a full-blown panic attack, but it's always uncomfortable. I can feel the crowd in my chest – like the feeling of holding my breath slightly longer than I should.

I can't pick Rin out of the masses. She must be in another section of the exhibition. The entry hall and the classrooms immediately branching off it are all being used for display, and she could be anywhere – it could take me all night to find my way to her. Misha and Shizune are already two more heads in the crowd, and don't look like they're making any serious effort to make their way over to me. Maybe coming here was a mistake – I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea. I don't get art, anyway.

Most of the displays are clearly assignments from varying art classes. There are innumerable paintings of fruit bowls and sketches of wooden figurines between the impressive pieces of the clearly gifted art students. I imagine my own purple drawings displayed amongst the works of art before me. Maybe I'd give them really artistic titles, like “Springtime in Violet.” Maybe I'd become a famous artist, and historians would call my time here my “Purple Period.”

A stranger accidentally opens the door into me, reminding me that I'm standing directly in front of the entrance. “Sorry, ma'am,” I apologize, forcing myself into the crowd and away from the doorway. The crowds jostle and push me around like a strong river current before spitting me out on the opposite end of the entry hall, at the top of a small wheelchair ramp. The crowds at this side of the room are much thinner, and consist mostly of students.

The art here is of slightly lower quality than the works at the entrance – just barely enough so to be noticeable. I walk into one of the open classrooms that branches off from the entrance hall hoping for some quiet, but quickly noticing that the exhibit continues into the classrooms as well. The art in this room seem to be the works of Yamaku's youngest and least experienced. Self-portraits of younger children with eye-patches and burn scars line the practically arranged room. Each one wears a solemn half-smile.

I can see why they placed this display further from the entrance.

A rustling from the corner of the otherwise empty room startles me. “Hello?” Lilly meekly calls out against the bustle of the crowd in the hall.

“Oh, hey Lilly. You startled me.”

“Is that you, Yori?” she asks. My heart flutters a little.

“Yeah, it's me. Are you here for the art show?” I ask, trying to make small talk.

Lilly nods, explaining. “I figured that as a Student Council representative, it was my duty to come and support my classmates.”

“I had no idea you were in the Student Council.”

Lilly smiles. “I like to help out where I can.” A silence fills the room after she finishes speaking. The oddness of the situation is catching up to us – the audience of off-putting portraits gazing on in silence.

“So no Hanako?” I ask, desperately grasping at straws to keep the conversation alive.

“I'm afraid not,” Lilly responds with a sigh.

“I'm sorry, I forgot that crowds don't really...”

“It's quite alright, don't worry too much about it. She'll come to terms eventually.” The silence is deafening. I'm on the verge of leaving the room and wishing Lilly a good night, when she speaks before I get the chance. “Yori?”

“Yes?”

“What have you thought of the artwork tonight?”

“It's... impressive,” I respond, searching the room for any comfortingly neutral art. There is none. “Everyone clearly put a lot of effort into their work.” This earns a bright smile from Lilly, who giggles with pride.

“That's such a relief to hear,” she says, wrapping her fingers tightly around the grip of her cane, her smile quickly fading. “Yori, I've always wondered...” her voice trails off.

“Wondered what?”

“Nothing, it's silly.”

“No, seriously,” I laugh to loosen her up. “What's up?”

She blushes heavily, opening her eyes so delicately clouded they look soft. “What are they pictures of?”

I stumble around the unexpected question. “Uh, lots of things, I guess. Landscapes, some still-lives, some...” I glance around. “Other stuff.”

Lilly continues blushing meekly. “What do they look like, Yori?”

“W-what do you mean?” I ask knowing fully well what she means, simply hoping to delay the inevitable.

“The school is displaying art in this room, correct?” she asks, glancing around as though she can see.

“Y-yeah.”

“Would it be too much to ask for you to describe a picture or painting for me?” she asks, standing from her seat with a hopeful grin.

“I-I guess it wouldn't be too much trouble,” I choke out, my body twitching with fear and excitement. Lilly smiles widely, shuffling her way to my side before grabbing hold of my arm.

“You don't mind, do you?”

“O-of course not,” I bumble, slowly walking us to a wall on the opposite side of the room. I can't decide if I'm supposed to dictate the pace, or if she is. My legs feel weak, and my chest feels achy. I can't tell if I'm about to die or if I've never been more alive. The last time I was this close to a girl who wasn't in my immediate family, it was even months before my stay in the hospital. And a lot has changed since then. We come to a stop in front of a well-constructed self-portrait of a young boy who is missing his right ear. “Well...” I begin, still beading sweat. Lilly appears to sense my nervousness, and tightens her grip on my arm without so much as a word. I can't help but stare into the melancholic eyes of the portrait – into the forced smile of the young boy. Something about the face seems off – as though it had been drawn by someone who only knew what happy looked like, not what it felt like.

“It's a landscape,” I lie. I don't know if I lie for me or for Lilly. Or for both of us. Lilly nods silently, her eyelids dancing gingerly, as though trying to channel the false image into her own mind. “It's sunset, over a wide-open field of wild grass,” I continue, looking at the boy before us. “The wind is blowing the grass like waves. There's a small village in the background, with smoke coming from a few chimneys there.” Lilly continues to nod. I don't know how to continue.

“What does it feel like?” Lilly asks.

“I'm sorry?” I ask in return.

“What does it feel like?” she repeats. “If you had to describe the scene with one word, what would the word be?”

I feel Lilly's warm shoulder against me, and hear the quiet night above the droning of the crowd. I feel my legs wanting to give out, but my body not letting them. I see the open field in the eyes of a boy missing an ear. “It's... peaceful.”

“Hmm...” Lilly hums, imagining her own field with wild grasses and a small village in the background.

And for a while, we imagine the same thing. A knock on the door interrupts the best moment of my life since my stay in the hospital. Lilly and I simultaneously turn to the classroom entrance. It's a staff member of the school, wearing a name-tag identifying him as an administrative assistant. “Excuse me,” he begins. “But the principal is about to deliver his address.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Lilly responds, releasing her grasp on my arm and moving toward the door. “We'll be right out.” The assistant smiles and nods, disappearing back into the hallway. Lilly takes a moment to adjust the black ribbon keeping her hair in order before turning to me. “Thank you so much, Yori. I really appreciate you doing that for me.”

“It was my pleasure,” I respond with a smile. Lilly turns to leave the room, but courage swells up inside me – the warmth of her shoulder still lingering on my arm and resonating in my chest. “Lilly?” I call out, my voice nearly faltering. She turns once again, grasping her cane with delicate poise.

“Yes, Yori?”

“I... you... would you want to go into town again tomorrow? Just the two of us?” I ask, feeling the knot in my throat loosen with each word. Lilly pauses in a moment of hesitant surprise.

“Yori, I... I'm not sure I can,” she explains, her face caught somewhere between confusion and sadness. My heart sinks into the depths of my stomach. The knot is back. I've read enough books and seen enough movies to know what that means.

“Oh, don't worry about it,” I respond, playing it off as less painful than it actually is. “I totally get it.”

Lilly nods with the same forced smile as the boy in the portrait. “Well, the address is about to begin,” she says, gesturing towards the door. “We should probably go...”

“Yeah. Go ahead, I'll be right there.”

Lilly tilts her head, opening her eyes slightly. She wears a genuinely pained expression. “I'm sorry, Yori,” is all she says before she leaves the room.


I'm alone again.

[OtakuNinja]

Nice chapter.

[Oddball]

Not too bad.

I do have one minor nitpick.

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re holding up, Yori. Do me a favor, here’s my card. It has my email, phone number, and fax...” People still fax?

In Japan, fax machines are still in wide use.

[griffon8]

I wouldn't be surprised. The guy who started J-List has mentioned how low tech Japan can be.