Tomorrow's Doom ~ Up: 04/30/16 ~ recommitted to completion.

[Mirage_GSM]

It's probably an older photo. The no-smiling-rule was only introduced a few years ago.

[Helbereth]

As this is something of a rarity, I should probably mention that I'm likely to miss my usual Wednesday release. Upon reviewing the latest chapter, late on Monday, I decided it got all the points I wanted, except for a few, but I hated how it got there... if that makes sense? Thus in a scramble to readjust things, I set about ironing out some of the problems. That snowballed into basically rewriting the entirety of the chapter--which I'm still working on presently.

I expect it will take a couple days to get everything to a place that I like, and have some peer reviews done, so I might not post until the weekend. If that happens, I'll probably change my release day--which would put them on Saturday or Sunday or something.

[Mirage_GSM]

Good. When I saw you posted here, I was afraid I'd be awake until three o'clock in the morning^^°
Even though tomorrow's a holiday, I'd rather go to bed now

[Hoitash]

Ah, I was worried there for a minute.

I hate it when that happens, but in the long run it should work out for the best. Writing, like any craft, takes time to do well, and is often best not rushed.

[Dumanios]

Well damn, now I have to wait for the next update.

Can't really say anything except it's a great story.

OT: Why the no-smiling rule on German IDs?

[Helbereth]

Chancing a guess: nobody is smiling when you arrest them, and smiling also contorts your face so you might look different to someone reviewing the image. Outside of that, I have no clue...

[Helbereth]

Okay, so, Wednesday was a wash, but hey look... here's a giant chapter! It's long enough that I didn't even consider using just two posts... so, yeah... Anyway, I'll probably aim for Sunday to continue my release schedule, so don't expect Wednesday releases anymore.

Today just so happens to be my little brother's birthday (he turns 31), but I'm here writing this instead of... well, we don't really celebrate birthdays so much as notice their passing and sometimes have cake--it's a much less stressful arrangement, I assure you.

Blarg.

EDIT: As of February 27th, 2014, this is now its own chapter, complete with its own title. Back when I wrote this originally, I was convinced I had to put the whole departure thing along with this sequence. Live and learn.

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Chapter 38 – A Cure For Insomnia

The sound of city traffic and bustle echoes in my ears, but all I can see is a blurry white wall towering over me. Slowly, my vision sharpens to reveal the barely-visible outline of a door at the base of the giant wall. Every instinct is warning me against approaching, and I would turn and run if I were able, but there's nowhere else to go, and my attempt at retreat just pulls me closer. In an instant, I'm standing barely an arm's length away from the door, close enough to see through the small rectangular window.

I see only a black sheet within, but that's actually comforting versus the pervasive white. Before that thought can completely coalesce, I'm inside the dark room, which has suddenly become familiar. In my mind I know this is the entry hall at Olive Riso, but my heart tells me it's home, safe, and filled with love. The dim sconces flicker, and the bar approaches, or I walk to stand beside it—the distinction seems immaterial. In my hand there's a purse, over my shoulder is a shawl, and as I look down at myself, I appear cloaked in a long, plunge-neck black dress.

Where am I?

The silent question seems to spawn an answer, as Hisao appears beside me, dressed in a black tuxedo with a bow tie, holding out his hand as though offering a dance. In my confused state, I accept without thinking, taking his proffered hand and following him into the dining area, which has become a dance floor. There are shadowy figures lined along the edges of the room as he leads me to the center, but the only light seems to fall directly over us, and we hug closely in the ethereal spotlight, awaiting the music.

A flourish from an unseen piano excites his feet, and he whirls me around, laughing and crooning with the music. How I learned a tango doesn't seem to matter; I'm clearly good at it, and I can hear the hazy crowd cheering, yelling cat-calls, and gasping in delight at our skilled footwork. Twirling and stepping, I feel light and full at the same time, beaming my joy through a bright grin, and swaying in rhythm with the violin. Our pace quickens, and the dance becomes more erotic, our hands running over each other in earnest—as though nobody were watching.

A lover's dance, filled with passion.

After a long dip, and a passionate near-kiss, Hisao disappears into the darkness. Reemerging a moment later, now dressed in white with a rose held in his teeth, the crowd has vanished, and the band has stopped playing, but he continues following the rhythm—swaying rhythmically as he approaches. Right before me, he bows deeply, sweeping the floor with one hand, then rises swiftly to extract the rose. As I stand like a statue, now dressed in white, he circles around me, brushing the petals over my bare arms, then down between my breasts, teasing me, and eliciting warm giggles.

Finally catching me in a stiff embrace, one arm around my waist, the other around my neck, he flits his eyebrows, making me laugh. A second later, he swings me around, dipping me deeply and bringing the rose down between us, his lips caressing mine over the thorny stem. The short kiss ends as I close my eyes, and I feel his hands sweep under me. Lifting me into his arms with one swift motion, he leaves the rose in my teeth and begins carrying me away, to destinations unknown. As I feel myself relax into his warmth—filled with bliss—I smile and sigh.

It's so simple: I love him, that's all there is to it...

~^~

With the dream slowly ebbing, I wake to the sound of pattering rain, and the feel of Hisao's tight cotton shirt chafing my skin. It's probably the wee hours of the morning, which I can tell from how dark it is without opening my eyes, but something is missing. A chill wind from the open window accompanies a sudden flash against my eyelids, followed promptly by the rolling rumble of thunder—the storm is close. As I lay here, drawing the blanket up, attempting to fight the chill, I imagine it's possible another lightning strike woke me, but it seems more likely Hisao's apparent retreat caused me to wake.

I doubt he went far...

Lifting my head up slightly, I crack my eyes open and find a strange sight awaiting me between the thin curtains. Through the rain and clouds, the nearly full moon is shining brightly, casting its reflective light down across the silhouetted, rain-soaked treetops, making them glisten behind the thin rainy mist. The moon quickly disappears again behind broiling clouds, and I squint to try and make sense of the sight as it reappears moments later. Thinking it might be a trick of my impaired vision, I grab my glasses off the sill and set them on my nose in time to watch its second disappearance.

I still think I'm imagining things...

As the haze of sleep clears from my eyes, I marvel at the oddity with a detached grin, but a ponderous-sounding sigh draws my attention away, and I turn to find Hisao sitting on the edge of the bed. He seems not to have noticed my movements yet, so I take a moment to inspect his despondent demeanor. With his head bowed, and chin cupped in his laced fingers, he stares absently into the darkness of his room. Although he sometimes gets insomnia because of his medications, I think the slackened bow of his shoulders and tight set of his jaw implies something else is bothering him.

The red numbers on his alarm clock, which he's focused on almost entirely, tell me it's a little after three, but I doubt he's worried about the time exactly. Around me, he tries to put on an air of confidence, but I know he's been obsessing about his trip home ever since he brought up the idea—and probably even before he told me. While he may have seemed casual about packing, he was very specific about everything that went into his suitcase, down to the color of each shirt. Ensuring his parents accept the changes to his life, unintended as they may be, is very important to him, and to me.

I desire their approval, perhaps more than he does...

Reaching over to place a hand on his shoulder, I quietly ask, “Hey... can't sleep?”

Apparently my presence isn't unexpected, or at least hasn't gone unnoticed, as he doesn't even flinch at my touch. “Just my meds again,” he claims, turning to force a smile, “Go back to sleep.”

After a quick, head-clearing yawn, I shake my head and state, “I don't believe that—not one bit.”

My reply makes him shrug and look away for a moment, then he turns back with a wry smirk and claims, “Okay, you got me... your snoring woke me up!”

“I don't snore!” I protest, pouting groggily as I sit up on my knees.

Squinting at me suspiciously, he retorts, “How would you know?”

“You've never complained before~!” I rebut.

“That's because it's so cute!” he says, shattering my sound logic, then looking away again to reiterate, “Seriously, I'm okay... go back to sleep.”

Ignoring his request, I slide over and wrap my knees around his waist, then wrap my arms around his and reply, “Not without you... You're worried about something, which means I'm worried about something—namely you.”

“I'll be fine,” he retorts, but his hands move up to hold mine, almost reflexively.

Hugging him tighter, I nuzzle against his neck for a few moments then turn sideways and rest my deaf ear against his shoulder. “You don't have to tell me what's wrong,” I assure him, then sigh and request, “but, I wish you would... you've been there for me, and I want to be there for you.”

Bowing his head again, he groans, “I know... I just-”

“Don't want to worry me?” I finish his sentence, then lift my chin up to rest on his shoulder. “Too late for that—you should have put me in a deeper sex-coma~!” I lilt with a giggle, then shake him side to side and quip, “Not that I'm complaining!”

Despite his melancholy, he laughs and lets out some of the tension in his shoulders. Taking that as my cue, I turn to rest my good ear against his back so I can listen to his erratic heartbeat. “Your parents,” I whisper, closing my eyes to concentrate on the thrumming, “They love you, y'know—believe me... even when you think they don't...”

I'd almost forgotten that for a while with Mom...

The emotional minefield he'll be walking into will be difficult to navigate, and I don't want to make it harder, at least not right away. That makes telling him about my disease seem like a very bad idea, at least for the foreseeable future; he has enough to consider without hefting my problems on his shoulders. So, in order to ensure his success, I may need to wait until his return before confessing my secrets, but it might be better that way. Although I feel ready, and his worries might be less significant than I'm assuming, the time apart could ultimately make his decision clearer—for better or worse.

I may be deluding myself, but delusions are all I have for now...

Mom's advice about giving myself time comes back to mind, and it provides an excuse, but I don't think I want to wait a whole month; all I need is a week—ten days tops. If he stayed here, we could spend the whole time together, lazing around his room, playing video games, or going at each other like rabbits as Mom so eloquently described, and only leaving our comfortable warren for bathroom breaks and food, not to mention frequent showers—preferably together. My fantasy sounds eerily like a honeymoon, which probably ought to scare me, but I don't think there's anything wrong with it.

I'm getting ahead of myself again...

Nuptial implications aside, the extra week would give me the chance to explain everything, and apologize for keeping it from him. Assuming he can forgive my deception, we would have time to talk it through, figure out whether he's willing to take the risks, and then he could leave on a train next Sunday instead. That way I wouldn't have to spend a month wallowing in guilt, and he would have the whole story to bring home, instead of having to tell them later. Unfortunately, short of a tsunami wiping out the trains, that's not going to happen, so I should concentrate on making the best of the situation.

I'm doing that by tuning myself to the thrum of his heartbeat...

“You'll be fine. It'll be fine,” I state, lifting my head away to place a reassuring kiss between his shoulder blades.

After a long sigh and a few moments of silence, his response comes in a barely-audible whisper, “I know...”

“This arrhythmia thing is just a speed-bump—like that fall you took out of that tree,” I say, reaching down to pull back his boxers so I can trace my finger over the old scar on his thigh, “It worries them, I'm sure, but, when they see how well you're doing... they'll understand...”

“Rationally...” he whispers, trailing off and sighing as he collects his thoughts. “Rationally, I shouldn't be worried,” he continues, squeezing my hands as he speaks, “I'm their only son, I know they love me, and I really have been doing better, especially because of you... it's just-” he stops and shakes his head. After a moment, he leans back and tries to look at me over his shoulder before finishing, “They expect a lot, y'know... I don't know if I can match up with what they had planned anymore...”

Leaning sideways, I release my grip and peer up over his shoulder to catch his eyes with a smile. Giving him an inquisitive look, I prompt, “Which was?”

“Well, they're both professionals...” he says, trailing off with that narrowed look in his eyes.

He only mentions his parents sparingly, and never told me what they actually do, so I decide to take the opportunity and ask, “What do they do anyway?”

“Well... Mom works as a paralegal at a corporate firm, and Dad runs a small research company—medical research... cancer and such,” he explains. As I nod slowly, he turns a curious look at me and adds, “He's the numbers guy, though... not a scientist or a doctor or anything.”

His dad sounds a little like mine...

“My Dad was a CPA, remember?”

“Yeah, mine's just a businessman, though—he employs an accounting firm,” he remarks, shrugging a little, “I think he used to be an accountant, until he got the chance to start his own business. Your dad probably would have done the same eventually, if he got the chance...” he trails off as I lean away a little, the mention giving me a short-lived frown.

I wonder what Dad would be doing if he were still around...

After a few seconds, he lets out a shocked gasp, “Sorry! I didn't- I wasn't thinking-”

“No, it's okay!” I assure him, renewing my close hold, “You're probably right—Dad was still on his way up when he... started heading down.”

“Still, I shouldn't-”

“It's okay, I'm getting better at accepting him being gone,” I assure him, offering a pat on his shoulder. “It's getting easier, at least—you've helped with that, actually,” I mention, reaffirming my sideways hug, “I don't really know why, but having you around makes me feel better about a lot of things...”

Since I've been seeing Hisao, even long before we became romantically involved, his presence has had a sympathetic effect on my state of mind. In the past couple months, I've been sleeping better, haven't had as many nightmares, I cleaned up my room, eased off my addiction to video games, and even found the courage to put Dad's picture on display. None of that came from any direct prompting, except the picture, though he had influence there, too. Either way, thinking about Hisao has inspired a lot of subtle improvements in my outlook.

I can't rattle off the list without getting specific...

“You help me even when you're not there... if that makes sense?” I say, trying to phrase it in a way that doesn't sound crazy. “If you knew all the little things you've helped me with...” I say, trailing off to kiss his shoulder. “I don't wanna inflate your ego too much, though!”

“Well, if it's worth anything coming from a lowly science geek, I think you'll surpass him—your dad, I mean,” he says, aiming a bright grin at me. “You got a perfect score on that calculus exam, right? Without even trying? That takes talent,” he compliments, nudging me with his shoulder

“It's not like I didn't study,” I protest.

“Well, yeah, but a perfect score?” he reiterates, “I didn't even get a perfect score in science.”

“I get it from my dad, I guess,” I concede, which makes him shake his head and roll his eyes.

“Well, aptitudes can be hereditary, but genius isn't,” he retorts with a victorious smirk, “That brain of yours will take you places, I'm sure. You'll probably be running a conglomerate by the time you're thirty.”

His phrasing leads me to cringe for a moment, which he'll probably take as reluctance to agree, rather than any misgivings about my brain. The truth is, he's probably right, at least partially. Since I started applying myself more, after Dad's funeral, my grades have gone up in every subject, and they spiked again when Hisao became part of the picture. If that trend continues, he might be right about my future containing a lot of success, even if it only lasts for a short while. Regardless of the other implications, his praise inspires me to reciprocate with some outlandish claims.

Turnabout is fair play...

“And you'll be a head-researcher at some giant laboratory—your dad's, maybe! Or... something, by then—we'll both be high-powered nerds!” I state, accenting my claim by adjusting my glasses. “While I build an economic empire, you can form a team of dedicated scientists to unlock the secrets of the universe!”

I wonder if he'll research genetic disorders...

“And how, pray-tell, will I get funding?”

“I'll help fund your research with all those billions of yen I'll be making, obviously!” I suggest, tilting my head and winking, “Then, we'll form a syndicate hell-bent on ruling the world from the shadows!”

Smirking sideways, he rebuts, “Kenji might not approve...”

In sinister fashion, I squint my eyes and deepen my voice to suggest, “But... if he could be turned to the dark-side... he could be our greatest general! Joining us on our climb to power, razing the land with his devilish schemes!”

With a curt shake of his head, he balks, “Him joining forces with a woman? Not likely...”

“Then he can be our arch-enemy!” I retort, sending a glare toward the darkened door, “And we'll get Amaya to lead our paramilitary forces—all trained in the deadly arts of aikido—and Tadao to write propaganda articles~! Nothing can stop our sinister brain-trust!”

“Okay, that'll work...” he concedes with a chuckle.

Instead of furthering the ridiculous discussion, I hug him a little tighter and sigh to myself with a smile. Even though it's mostly bluster, and it's more likely we'll end up in boring careers working for other people, I almost think fantasies like that might be possible with Hisao around. That might be the best thing about having someone there for support; leaning against him, physically and emotionally, gives me reason to ponder the impossible. They may only be fantasies, and some of them are wholly unlikely, but, with him here, some of them could happen.

I never felt like that with anyone else...

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but...” I trail off and smirk, “Plotting stupid fantasies like this is fun—especially with you.”

Nodding he agrees, “It is, isn't it...? My parents will probably like that you dream big.”

Nudging his shoulder, I joke, “If you can get past my mom, I'm sure your folks will want to adopt me.”

I might be overselling myself...

“That'd make things weird... but, I think they'll like you—they're fond of intelligence,” he agrees, nodding at my smile, “and... your mom is cooler than you described.”

Him saying that makes me feel like apologizing, “Sorry if I scared you. I thought she'd be less... accepting.”

With a knowing smirk, he replies, “Maybe she just finds me charming—you sure seem to.”

“That might be it...” I say with an agreeable nod. “But, I think she likes that you make me happy.”

“Well, I try,” he says, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly.

“You're really good at it,” I compliment, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “You make me laugh, help me stay positive, shower me with compliments...” I recount, trailing off as I rest my forehead against his shoulder and start swaying slightly, “and when we're alone you make me feel sexy, and shower me with orgasms... sometimes literally!”

“That was your fault,” he protests, but my bright smile stops him from complaining further.

“I'm still a little sticky,” I joke, bouncing against him playfully, “but, I take full responsibility for that~!”

I may have gone a little overboard earlier...

“Anyway," I say, getting back on track, "Mom's only concern is that you're treating me right, I think.”

“So... you told her about... all this?” he surmises, and I can't help but start to nod.

“Well, not exactly, but kind of...” I trail off and sigh. “I didn't tell her intentionally, but it didn't bother her—like she expected it,” I explain, shrugging as my mind wanders toward trying to figure out her reasons again—it's a losing battle. “All that matters is she's being very encouraging, and... I dunno, she seems to think you're good for me—I agree with her!”

“I wish I could get that kind of... encouragement, from my parents,” he replies, looking away again.

“Mom said it took her about three seconds after she met you to decide,” I recount, shrugging slightly. Patting his shoulder reassuringly, I add, “So, Maybe your mom and dad just need to meet me?”

After a few chuckles, he leans his head back and ponders aloud, “What would they think if I brought you home tomorrow?”

Well, there's an idea...

He goes silent while I take a deep breath, and my thoughts turn inward as I blow out a long sigh. If I went along with him tomorrow, we wouldn't have to separate for the break, I'd get the opportunity to meet his parents, and I could serve as a witness to his improvements. However, even though his parents know he has someone special, they're still getting used to him even having a life-threatening condition, so introducing a serious girlfriend to the equation might just seem reckless. However, hopping on a train to visit him later might make perfect sense.

Instead of staying together initially, I could remain here while he evens things out with his family. In the meantime, I could get reacquainted with Mom and Midori a bit more, see Amaya and Tadao off, and maybe get in some trouble with Yoko. After a week or two, Hisao could give me a call, and I'd head down south to meet his parents, tour his old stomping grounds, and maybe meet some of his old friends. It may be yet another lofty fantasy, but it seems logical. His expression says he's having a similar internal debate, but I'm the first to speak.

“Okay, not that I don't wanna go with you, and I'd love to come visit,” I say, prefacing my refusal, “but I don't think it's the best idea to show up with me on your arm tomorrow...”

“Yeah, I was afraid you'd agree with me,” he replies, sighing heavily as he stands.

“However, it's only a train-ride away,” I mention suggestively, reaching to grasp his hand, “So, once you settle their minds a little, I could-”

“I'd like that,” he interjects, nodding briskly. While I offer a loving smile, he backs away and starts shaking his head. My sympathetic expression plainly asks what's else is bothering him, but he shrugs and turns away.

“Just... thinking,” he replies quietly, and I bite my lip to stifle a question as he starts pacing slowly near the door.

Deciding not to disturb him further, I settle into a sitting position on the edge of his bed, and listen to rain falling against the window panes. Apart from a few rumbles of thunder and his quiet footfalls, not another sound fills his room as he paces through the darkness. Although I think talking helped a little, his face is still locked in that worried pout, and, based on his forlorn expression, I'm not sure I can say anything to help. Beyond his heart condition and our relationship, I'm sure there are a dozen little issues—secrets he's not ready to share—that he doesn't want to worry me with.

I wish I knew everything else that's bothering him...

Another distant flash seems to answer my silent request, but I'm not one to interpret random weather patterns as signs. Undoubtedly the question of my big secret is on his mind, and might be contributing to his pacing, but I doubt it's even a conscious thought for him right now—he has no idea of its significance. Whatever else is on his mind, it's probably much more tangible, and may have nothing to do with his heart condition, his parents, or me. Whether or not he wants my help, I feel obligated to try, even if all I can do is something simple.

I can at least help him get back to sleep...

Lazily lifting myself up, I slide down to rest against the headboard, and turn a hazy smile at him to request, “Hey, you wanna stop pacing and come over here?” When he doesn't respond right away, I slap the mattress and command, “Hisao! Over here, now!”

His expression is hard to read in the dark, but he apparently decides not to argue. With a shrug, he steps over the mess of wires we left across his carpet, then sits on the edge of the bed and sighs. “Sorry, I'm just... thinking,” he says weakly, “and now I'm keeping you up, too...”

“Comes with the territory!” I scoff, patting the mattress next to me again and smirking. “Right along with being your go-to girl for hugs, kisses, and mind-blowing sex,” I remark with a dirty smirk, “I'm also your sympathetic ear, worry-board, nurse, and right now,” I reach over and grab his hand, “a human sleeping pill.”

“What are you planning?” he inquires with some interest.

I wonder what he thinks I'm planning...

Holding my arms out, I smirk seductively and reply, “C'mere and find out...!”

Apparently still suspicious of my motives, he approaches cautiously, but I'm not giving anything away. “Lay down,” I suggest, nodding toward the spot beside me. He turns and lies against the headboard, then offers a raised eyebrow as I grab his shoulder and start pulling him closer. “Don't be afraid,” I say with a warm giggle, nodding down at my chest, “you can use these as a pillow—no biting!”

Complying with my request, he rests his head against my breast and I wrap my arms around his head and shoulders. “How will this help me sleep?” he asks, and I giggle lightly at his muffled voice.

“Isn't it nice and warm?” I retort, and he nods, which causes his ear to brush against a nipple. Stifling my reaction with a sharp breath, I say soothingly, “Just relax... listen to my heartbeat.... and clear your mind...”

Luring him into this position is partly because it should help him relax, but it's also a good memory I feel like sharing. Realizing I'll have to reveal something about myself that I've kept for a while, I hesitate to explain, but I have more than one reason to tell Hisao why this is important.

Realizing he'll need some context, I inquire, “You remember I said Dad was amazing, right?”

“Sure,” he replies sleepily.

I guess it's working faster than expected...

“This is one of the reasons why,” I say, bowing down to kiss the top of his head, “He used to hold me like this when I had trouble sleeping... when I had nightmares, after my accident.”

“I assume you were the one down here?” he questions, sounding a little more alert.

Giggling, I nod and answer, “His chest wasn't as soft, though.”

My comment makes him nod again, which results in more nipple-brushing, but it makes me giggle instead of feel aroused. Slowly, he relaxes into the position; his legs bend up and he nestles along my side, he wraps his hands across my waist and around my back, and I can feel him leaning more heavily against my side. For a few minutes, he just lays there, and I can feel his slowing breaths even through the shirt. While I'm not really sure what gave me the idea to cradle him like this, I just want him to feel comfortable and stop worrying, though I may have inadvertently given him another concern.

“You never mentioned the accident gave you nightmares,” he remarks, and I sigh, knowing I need to explain further.

I somehow find his interest comforting, though...

“For years, yeah... bad ones. I nearly drowned, after all... I wouldn't go near water for a year after that, either...” I reply, shrugging as I trail off and notice his hand start to rub against my side.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, which is totally understandable.

“Dad helped with that, too,” I recount, smiling at the memory. “And...” I trail off, taking a moment to steel myself before admitting, “I still get them sometimes...” My admission causes him to sit up and look into my eyes to offer silent support, but, somehow, I'm not feeling sad.

I just feel lighter for some reason...

“Anyway, that's why I get insomnia sometimes,” I say, finding myself smiling.

“I'm sorry,” he says, but I'm starting to shake my head.

“Don't be—it's not your fault... and, besides, they're one of the things you fight back,” I say, smiling as he furrows his brow. “You're like a dream-catcher,” I explain, squeezing his shoulder as I smile and nod, “whenever I dream now, it's about you instead... dancing, swimming, playing games... or-”

“Aiko, you're crying,” he remarks, and I squint, which sends a tear down my cheek.

I still don't feel sad, though...

“Happy tears, maybe?” I remark questioningly, reaching up to wipe away the evidence. “Anyway, I haven't had a bad dream in... weeks, at least—not since before we went to the beach,” I explain with a smile, “I've wanted to tell you for a while...”

“Is this what you were afraid to tell me?” he asks, and I close my eyes.

I should have expected that...

“No,” I squeak, trying to maintain my composure, “but it's... related...”

For a few moments I can feel his eyes on me, and it seems like he's trying to coax a further explanation, but I'm shaking my head. Of all the ways I considered broaching this topic, stumbling over it accidentally is probably the worst, and this isn't a good time. As I reopen my eyes, the expression he offers is surprisingly neutral, which helps me to regain control of myself. The joyful tears threaten to turn fearful, but not because I'm afraid of revealing my secrets. Instead, I'm scared of what he might do if I answer his question fully; I won't be responsible for him skipping the trip home.

I can't tell him while he's still worried about that...

Leveling my eyes on his, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You trust me?” I ask, and he nods.

“Of course,” he replies, reaching up to brush my cheek, “I love you.”

Reaching out, I hug around his neck and gently pull him down, aiming him toward my chest—I'm sure he won't protest much. He complies slowly, but my determined expression tells him to relent, and he shrugs. Once he's settled down again, I hug him warmly and nuzzle against his ear, while he reaffirms his hug around my waist. For a few moments, I just listen to his breathing, trying to figure out how I can deflect his question without making him too suspicious. Unfortunately, all I can think is that it's more important he knows I'm not hiding it for my sake anymore—it's about him, now.

“I love you, too,” I say, smiling as he starts nuzzling against my left breast, “and I want to tell you everything...”

As I trail off, he reaches up to grasp my hand and surmises, “But, not yet?”

“Not before you even things out at home,” I clarify, sniffling and pressing his hand against my cheek.

Starting to turn up, he says, “I could stay here for a while-”

“No! You need to go home,” I scold, pressing him back down and resting my chin on his head to keep him there. “I'll still be here in a few weeks, or I can take a train out and visit once you're settled... but... my problems can wait.”

As I hold him close, I want to add that he'll need their support with what I have to tell him, but I worry he'll get too curious if I imply it's that big of an issue. While he's thinking, I start rubbing his head, rustling his hair, and cooing softly, which turns into humming. The random sounds start to form into a song like a lullaby, and I can feel him relaxing as the vibrations from my larynx seem to resonate through him. Tilting my head to the side, I look down and notice his eyes are closed, and there's a flat smile on his face; it isn't quite the comfort I'm hoping he'll find, but it's close.

“Your problems are my problems,” he mumbles, and I smile.

I guess Mom was right; he wants to help...

“But,” he adds, opening his eyes to look up at me with a furrowed brow, “I don't understand why you can't say-”

“Because you have enough to worry about,” I interrupt, wiggling a little so his chin rests between my breasts. “Your parents, your old friends, and whoever else you're going back there to see,” I say, leaning down to kiss his head softly. “You might worry about it anyway, but if I told you... you might not go at all, and I can't be responsible for that...”

His voice is fading to a whisper as he replies, “You could come with-”

“Not yet,” I refuse sweetly, leaning my head back and turning to look out at the clouded moon. “Maybe in a week or two—I wanna meet your mom and dad,” I reiterate, looking back down to see his lazy smile before adding, “turnabout is fair play, after all, and then-”

“You can...” he mumbles, and I smile as I realize he's barely conscious. Instead of continuing to explain, I sink down slowly against the pillow and reach up to brush his cheek. He flinches against my hand, and grumbles something incoherently, but otherwise doesn't react.

I guess Dad's sleeper-hug isn't only effective on his frightened daughter...

As he's drifting into slumber, I feel myself starting to relax, and I turn onto my side to face him. With his head still cradled in my chest, I can't move too much without disturbing him, but I don't have to go far before I find a comfortable position with my knees against his thighs, and my arms around his shoulders. Staring down at his peaceful, boyish grin, I let my eyes close, feeling happy for having told him about being my dream-catcher—it's a start. Even though I still have more to reveal, I've never told anyone about my nightmares, and I keep that peaceful thought in mind as I fall back to sleep.

I'm looking forward to another fantasy tango...
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Previous Chapter|Next Chapter

[Helbereth]

As things go, sometimes you look back and realize something was wrong with the way you separated things. Well, now that I've had a chance to look at it and read through some monthe later, I realized that this last chapter in act 4 should actually be split in two, with the second half being about two-thirds of the whole.

Thus, where this was part 2 of chapter 38, it's now part 1 of chapter 39.

Confused? Don't be. Nothing really changed.

Previous Chapter|Part 2|Next Chapter
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Chapter 39 - Departure

My eyes crack open suddenly, as I'm pulled out of sleep by a sudden clattering boom—echoing thunder from a nearby lightning strike—and I find myself staring into a blanket as the window rattles with the reverberations. Finding no warm body next to me, I immediately pull away the covers, sit up, and glance around the room. The television is on, and tuned to the weather station, but the sound is turned off and there's no sign of Hisao. A slight feeling of panic runs over me, but he's probably off to find coffee, or visit the bathroom; he wouldn't just leave me here.

According to his alarm radio, it's after eight o'clock, which means we have just a few hours until he has to leave. The rain pouring against the window—which is now closed—tells me the storm apparently got worse, and that notion is reinforced by the big, swirling mass of red they're showing on the Doppler radar. While I'm somewhat disappointed by my selfish thought, I wonder for a brief moment whether the rain might delay Hisao's departure, if only for a day. However, it looks like the storm should pass over within the next few hours—so much for wish fulfillment.

I think the universe has it out for me...

Although it feels like a rude awakening, I'm glad for the thunderous wake-up call. If I sleep for much longer, I don't think we'll have a chance to see each other off properly, though I wonder where he went. Everything he'll need for the trip is already packed into his little suitcase, which I see is still resting beside the closet, so all we have to do is catch a bus into the city. It isn't a goodbye I'm looking forward to, not at all, but I realize it's a necessary one; his family relationship needs the attention—I'd push him into going if he started questioning it now.

Still, I want to prolong his stay as much as possible, which is why I plan to insist on accompanying him to the station. Even if I'll get to see him in just a week or two, I don't think I'll accept that he's gone unless I watch him board the Shinkansen. Since he's a hopeless romantic, I doubt he'll even put up a modest protest; he'll probably adore having the chance to have a clichéd, tearful goodbye out on the platform like in one of those old, sappy movies. After he's long gone, I'm not sure what I'll do alone in the city, but at least I'll have some peace of mind.

He hasn't left yet, though...

With that thought in mind, I slide off the bed and reach up into a revitalizing yawn, then start my swimming stretch routine. Kicking some wires out of the way—we really made a mess checking out his gaming library—I bend down to touch my toes, then sit down facing the door with my legs spread. Throwing my hands up, I bend to each side, and keep an eye on the television as a mild distraction. The chesty, blond weather-girl is saying something about the forecast, which shows some light, rainy weather over the coming week, but I find myself reaching for the nearby remote to end her perky existence.

I wonder whether he was watching the weather, or her...

It's probably a ridiculous notion, especially considering I was lying right there, but it gives me a twinge of jealousy thinking he could have been leering at her. As if on cue, I hear muted footsteps behind the door, and feel a warm rush run over my body. Deciding to put myself on display, and realizing Hisao's green shirt is chafing anyway, I remove it quickly, then lean back against the side of the bed with an alluring smile. The bright red boxer-briefs I borrowed, which look ridiculous on me in the morning light, are cute enough that I leave them on, figuring he won't need to see me completely naked to understand my intentions.

I'm in the mood for a naked tango...

Like always, he knocks three times and whispers a silly message, “The sparrow tweets for worms!”

“Morning~!” I reply as the door opens, giving my chest a playful shake. As he steps past me, headed for his desk without so much as a smirk at my naked breasts, I fix a confused pout on him and fold my arms in contempt.

I guess he's already bored with them...

“Sorry!” he groans, setting down the two coffee cups, “these are burning my hand!”

Ah, that makes more sense...

“Aww,” I sigh, scooting away from the bed and inviting him to sit behind me with a beckoning hand. “C'mere and let me soothe your hands...”

Smirking at my invitation, he sets the cups down on the desk, then steps over, kneels down with his knees around my hips, and presses close against my rear. Wrapping me in a warm, backwards hug, his hands reach up, and each one finds a breast to squeeze tightly. Apparently he wasn't kidding about the burning hot cups because his hands are almost unbearably warm, but I'm not complaining as the heat spreads down to my toes, and up to the top of my head. Whether he realizes it or not, I awoke feeling amorous, seeing that bimbo made me jealous, and his gentle kneading is positively electrifying.

I really doubt he's unaware of the path he's treading...

Kissing my neck softly, he asks, “Storm wake you?”

While nodding, I rest back against him and smile briefly, then pout. “Yeah, and I didn't have my Swooner holding me through the scary thunder!” I mock, then sigh contentedly and coo, “But, your hands feel great~!”

“So do your boobs,” he replies, giving them another tight squeeze.

“Thanks... Masa and Mune say thanks, too,” I say warmly, giggling as he grunts in confusion. “They'd also like to inform you that you're forgiven as long as you keep kneading...”

While following my command, he inquires in disbelief, “You've named them?”

“Of course~!” I chide, leaning against him playfully and adding, “haven't you named Little Swooner and the boys?”

“Little?” he protests.

Laughing outright, I grab both his knees and take a deep breath, then reply, “Comparatively, I mean!”

Sounding suspicious, he prompts, “Compared to what?”

“The rest of you, duh~!” I taunt, wiggling back against him a little tighter. “He's pretty big when he gets excited, though,” I remark, trying to lose the mirth in my voice, “so, I could call him Big Swooner, if you want?”

“No, Little is fine... I guess,” he concedes, cupping his hands under my breasts as he adds, “Why Masa and Mune?”

“Because they're awesome apart, but when combined they're legendary—like the Masamune itself.”

I suddenly hope Mom didn't throw out my Super Famicom...

“You play too many video games,” he sighs, but I nudge him with my elbow playfully.

“You knew it was from a game, so look who's talking~!”

“Point taken,” he admits, chuckling as he continues kneading. After a few moments of quiet bliss, he asks, “What happened to my shirt, anyway?”

With a coy grin, I point toward the bedpost and reply, “I thought you'd enjoy the show when you got back... then you walked right by without even looking!”

“Thanks for that—I'll pay more attention to Masa and Mune in the future,” he replies, giving them a tight squeeze to punctuate his gratitude, “And I was gonna wake you, but I needed a bathroom trip, and then with the coffee-”

“No offense taken, really,” I interrupt, leaning back so I can turn to smile at him directly, “So, you wanna start today with coffee, a shower... or bending me over your desk and thanking me more... thoroughly?”

“How about all that in reverse order?” he replies, and I nod swiftly.

I like the way he thinks... quick and to the point...

We barely manage to strip before starting the day with some rigorous lovemaking; my suggestion about the desk apparently struck a chord—or several of them. After collapsing onto the bed for a breather, we stagger down the hall, not even bothering to cover ourselves, and find our way into the shower stall to wash each other lovingly. Afterward, we return to his room to find our coffee has gone cold, but I'm thirsty enough not to complain. Now it's almost nine o'clock as we sit here in our underwear, staring at each other from opposite ends of the bed in loving silence, listening to the rain.

Seemingly at random, I decide to ask, “How do you take your coffee, anyway?”

Looking up from his cup, he smiles and shrugs. “Black, two sugars,” he replies, throwing back his last sip before adding, “Thought about trying it with cream after you mentioned it, but it's an automatic process for me—morning routine, like I said...”

“I tried it black with no sugar yesterday,” I mention, practically gagging at the memory, “I thought it was gross, but my mom seems to like it bitter...”

“Maybe that's to counteract her natural sweetness,” he remarks, which makes a strange kind of sense.

I can't bear to imagine her being much sweeter...

As I slowly nod and take another sip, I wrack my brain trying to determine what made me ask about coffee. Obviously I'm curious about everything, especially where Hisao is concerned, but I wasn't even thinking about it until I asked the question. He doesn't think it's strange, and I'm glad to have an answer—knowing how he likes his coffee could be useful—but I think my subconscious might be playing tricks on me again. There's something else that's been on my mind since he first mentioned going home for the break, but I haven't had the courage to ask.

Does he expect to see Iwanako...?

Some small part of me still worries whether she might hold some influence over him. She was his first love, after all, which might not mean much in a few years, but it was only six months ago, and he held onto that crush for a year before her confession. The results were horrible, but I wonder whether she really let him go, or merely had to step back. If that's the case, then burning her letter may not have been my best idea; I only guessed what it contained. Perhaps she sent it to say she still loves him, and will wait for him; she might even meet him at the station, and I'd only have myself to blame.

I'm not sure if that would be irony, or just my own bad luck...

Of course, there were probably other girls who had their eye on him before the attack, and I really couldn't blame them, nor am I delusional enough to think he hadn't considered his options. However, none had the courage to confront him except Iwanako, and, of all the people he once called a friend at his old school, she's the only one to have sent him any letters—rather, one letter. That distinction is what makes me nervous, more than any thought that I could lose him. Even if I'm right and her letter was nothing more than a belated apology, it was probably sent with love, not resentment.

She could still have feelings for him...

Honestly, I doubt he'll even consider seeking her out, but I can't predict the actions of someone I've never met; Iwanako might feel compelled to visit him, if only to offer that apology. She has every right to seek him out after the fact, and I would never deny anyone that chance—I'd give anything to see Dad again. However, even as I trust Hisao has moved on, the uneasy feeling remains, gnawing at my subconscious. Blurting out my jealous questions would either make me seem clingy and childish, or at least make him uncomfortable, which is the last thing I want to have happen.

Maybe I can ask indirectly, though...

“So, are you excited to see anyone besides your parents?” I ask cheerfully, setting my coffee aside as I add, “Cousins, aunts, uncles... friends?”

Ex-girlfriends...?

“Well,” he replies, tilting his head back and squinting. “Now that you mention it, yeah... There's an arcade a few blocks from home—where I used to hang out with some friends. They'll probably be there...” he recounts, nodding slowly and smiling, “And I'll have to use the public pool to keep my exercise regimen going, so I'll probably run into a few more... But, there used to be a gaggle of girls who hung around there...”

If not for the sincerity in his tone, I'd think he were just trying to get a rise out of me, but I still think he's being overly honest intentionally. “Trying to make me jealous?” I chide, crawling across the bed to sit next to him.

“Is it working?” he retorts, and I manage a nervous laugh.

“No," I lie, trying to sound convincingly sincere, "Why would I be jealous?”

Tilting his head at me, he quips, “You're not that hard to read, y'know...”

“Oh, is that so?” I retort suspiciously.

My question leads him to wink dubiously, then shrug and add reassuringly, “But, you have nothing to worry about,” he nudges my shoulder with his index finger, “I know I belong to you.”

“I don't own you,” I protest.

At least not officially... or legally...

“For all intents and purposes, you do!” he retorts, which makes me smile. “We've been together for, what? Two months, basically?” he adds, and I nod somewhat resignedly, “Here, hang on...” With an impish smirk he sidles away and stands up, then walks over to his closet.

“What... are you doing?” I ask, but he just smirks over his shoulder. Watching him rummage through the drawers, I raise an eyebrow and add, “What are you looking for?”

“Kenji had me make a spare,” he replies absently, then exclaims, “Ah!” and turns around to smile at me brightly with both hands behind his back. “Most of the things he suggests make no sense, and sometimes I think he's just making stuff up to sound important,” he rambles, slowly walking back toward the bed, “but, three weeks later... this one finally makes sense.”

“What one?” I ask, scooting down to sit on the bed's edge as he approaches.

When he's standing in front of me, he looks down and smiles broadly. “You're so cute when you're curious,” he mentions, and I try to look scornful, but his idiotic grin just makes me smirk. Pulling his hands out, both clenched in fists, he holds them up in front of me and asks, “Pick one?”

Looking at his eyes instead of his hands, I ask, “What am I picking?”

“I'll show you both after you choose—consider this an experiment in chance.”

Apparently this is just a play, but his dirty grin and thoughtfully squinting eyes tell me I should take a moment to consider the implications. There's something different in each hand, I gather, and evidently Kenji had something to do with one of them—or maybe both of them. The way he worded his absent rambling, especially the mention of a spare, tells me one of them is probably a key of some sort. That's just conjecture, though, and I have no way of knowing which hand holds that particular item, so, without anything to base my selection on, I resort to an old game.

“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe,” I say rhythmically, tapping his hands individually with each word, “Catch the Swooner by his balls,” I continue, starting to giggle with each word as he rolls his eyes playfully, “If he strays, stab his throat~! Eenie, meenie, miney, moe!”

“The left one—you're sure?” he asks, and I nod gleefully.

“Positive~!”

As he opens the hand slowly, I watch with interest. Finding a key not unlike the one for my room resting in his palm, I furrow my brow. Seeing my trepidation, he explains, “It's a copy of my room key.”

“Yes, but why?”

I can probably guess, but I want him to say it...

“Consider it symbolic as much as functional,” he says, holding out the key for me to take.

Once I've brought my hand up underneath, he drops it into my palm, and I stare at it for a few moments. It's a simple silver key—used to unlock a door, and nothing more—but the symbolic gesture hits me like a train. Levying a thoughtful expression on his smiling eyes, I say, “The key to your room-”

“Is... the key to my heart?” he finishes my statement, smirking and shrugging as he sits down beside me. “I know... it's stupid.”

“No, I like it!” I retort, wrapping my arms around him happily, “I wish I had a copy of mine to give in return.”

I could steal it back from Amaya...

Hugging me back, he sighs and agrees, “That'd be nice... then I could go on a pantie raid...”

The stupid comment just makes me laugh and hug him tighter, though as I ease back, I wonder aloud, “What was in the other hand?”

I bet it was just air...

Once I'm able to look, he holds up his right fist and opens it slowly. In it is a sealed condom package, apparently from a stock hiding in his closet that he hasn't told me about—and I managed not to find yesterday. My first reaction is a lewd smirk, but when I consider the possible symbolism, I frown and ask, “What if I picked that hand?”

“Well, then I'd know you just want me for my body,” he quips, and I almost slap his shoulder, but I can't really blame him for having that thought. “Cosmically, though... you chose the key to my heart over Little Swooner,” he explains, which somehow makes me blush. “So, now that I know chance is on our side—just let me reiterate that I'm all yours... and, I would have given you the key in either case,” he adds with his usual sincerity, then holds up the condom and jokes, “This was just there to show I'm a tool for your enjoyment.”

“I do enjoy your tool,” I remark lewdly, then quickly add, “but, there's a time and a place...”

“Right,” he replies, glancing toward the ceiling with shifty, squinting eyes before clearing his throat to ask, “What were we talking about?”

Somehow I feel like I got the answers I wanted, even if he hasn't been specific. There's still a twinge of jealousy and worry in me, but rolling that little silver key over in my hand helps fight it back. All I really wanted to know is whether I can trust him while he's away, and I probably didn't need the gesture, but I don't think I have to ask him about Iwanako anymore. If he brings it up, I'll be honest about my misgivings, but I feel assured enough to give up on pressing for that answer. Instead, I'd like to hear more about his home life, and I think I know a perfect pretense.

Leaning over to kiss his cheek, I reply, “Well, we were talking about your visit home, but...” I trail off and reach down to pick a Gamecube controller up off the floor. Before I can lift it very far, the cord gets caught in the tangle of wires, pulling the device out of my hand, and sending it bouncing across the carpet. As I turn an apologetic smirk at him, I see he's already nodding, but I finish my suggestion, “We can do that while I wipe the floor with you in Melee?”

“A challenge!?” he exclaims agreeably, then nods sternly and stands before adding, “I accept!” As he darts over to reach around behind the television, presumably to adjust his setup, he looks back to request, “You wanna untangle these while I get it ready?”

“Yesth, mi'love,” I reply in bad English with a terrible lisp as I stand to reach for my satchel. “Lemme put this away first...”

“Thanks...! And, remember... you can use that key anytime,” he says as he's digging around for the right wires. “Even while I'm gone,” he adds, peering up over the television, “You can use my room as a hideout, or something—if I had plants, I'd have you water them!”

I do tend to make things grow around Hisao...

The dirty thought fuels a quick step over to slap his behind, which earns me a delighted grunt. “I always thought you needed a bonsai tree,” I remark as I head back to my satchel, “or something like that—though I have a black thumb, so I wouldn't trust me to keep them alive...”

“Maybe I'll get some fish?” he quips, leaning out to smirk at me, “That might be more your speed.”

Glaring at him scornfully, I retort, “You'd dare trap my people in glass cages for your amusement!?”

“Only criminal fish, then?” he concedes, raising his hands in defeat. “There are laws of the sea, right...?”

“Only for outsiders!” I scold mockingly, shaking a fist at him as I add, “And offenders are turned into chum!”

Laughing, he goes back to fighting with the connection wires while I put the key in my bag and set about untangling the mess of controller cords. Once he gets the Gamecube reconnected, we pile his blankets against the bed and sit down to do battle; it turns out he's a lot better at fighting games than I expected. Unlike racing, which he tried really hard at, but couldn't beat me in an even match, he's much more adept at button mashing, and I lose as often as I win. His boyish pride demands that he toss unfounded accusations of cheating my way, but that just makes it more fun.

I imagine he hasn't knowingly played against many girls...

While we're trading punches, kicks and smashes in the game, he tells me a little more about the people he expects to see. Apparently, unlike I suspected, he didn't really have any close friends back home, but rather moved between social circles and mostly kept to himself. Also, according to him, his room at home isn't much less spartan than the one at Yamaku, which tells me he either wasn't passionate about anything, or moved between passions too quickly to collect anything. It's as though he just drifted through life until recently, which makes me feel a little sad.

He blames the city life for that lonely-sounding existence, but I'm not sure I believe that. Tadao grew up in an orphanage near Tokyo, but, apart from his tendency to ignore the world while writing or reading, he's no less sociable than an average teenager. If anyone's environment could have resulted in being a loner, it would be Amaya; she barely had any contact with anyone her age until after moving to Yamaku. Instead it seems like being alone is just part of how Hisao operates, which is fine, especially since he's willing to share that time with me, but I wonder if that will last.

Could he get bored with me sometime soon...?

That disturbing thought costs me our latest match as I go a little limp pondering the possibility. After he makes quick work of my unmanned Jiggly Puff, he turns a curiously raised eyebrow at me to prompt, “Getting bored?”

It's a reasonable enough conclusion, but the association to my thoughts causes my brow to furrow. “I'm not bored, just... thinking,” I clarify, taking a deep breath and deciding not to hold back. “You talk about how you never really got attached to anything for very long,” I say, shrugging as I let out the breath, “and I wonder if you might get bored with me sometime soon...”

“No way!” he protests, nudging my shoulder playfully, “You're my sexy nerd!”

Casting my eyes downward, I retort, “I'm not the only sexy nerd out there...”

I'm not even the only one at Yamaku, not by a long shot...

“Maybe not, but you're right here,” he says, which I'm not sure I find comforting. “You're with me because I want you here, and you seem to like it here—trust me, I think I'm the lucky one,” he adds, which brings a smile back to my face, “Aiko, if I had them, and didn't think it was creepy, I'd plaster my walls with pictures of you!”

Smirking at the thought, I send a glance around at his mostly-bare walls and remark, “All in compromising positions, and very little clothing, no doubt...”

“Name the time and the place... We can borrow Naoko's camera, and we'll turn my walls into a shrine! Pictures of you, however you like—naked, in jeans, in sweaters, swimsuits, wearing my shirts...” he describes, half-joking, then grasps my hand and calms to a serious tone before adding, “Don't worry about me getting bored with you! You're a lot more interesting than you give yourself credit for being... I still haven't figured you out.”

“Oh, I see, so once you-”

Instead of protesting, he shuts me up with a kiss, and I answer it hungrily. Overcome with sudden lust, I lay back with him over me, and the blankets become a bed. As he hugs me close and we each explore the other's tonsils, I start to forget what I was even worried about. When he finally leans back for a breather, I glance toward the clock and notice it's almost ten-thirty; we have less than two hours before he leaves on a train. That gives us an hour before we need to catch a bus, so as his lips crash against mine again, I decide I'm not going to complain about where this train is going.

All aboard! Next stop: Sexy Town...!

“I love you,” he mumbles, leaning back to assuringly add, “even though I don't think I'll ever figure you out...”

With a fast nod, I reply, “I love you, too, I just-”

“You worry, I know—it's more endearing than you think—adorable, even,” he remarks, reaching up and pressing a finger against my lips to silence my protest. Sending a speculative glance around the floor behind me, he asks, “Where'd that condom go?”

Feeling his eyes move over my body instead of continuing the search, I mumble, “Um...”

Catching his attention by pressing my knee against his thigh, I peer up at the bed and nod toward the mattress. Breaking his stare, he sits up to look, and, after a moment, he reaches out, but his arm stops. As he turns back toward my giddy expression, his brow furrows and he develops a ponderous look, aimed toward the floor. While he's hesitating, I try to encourage him by flitting my eyes toward the mattress, but my effort is in vain as it seems he's making every effort to ignore my advances—apparently he decided to stop.

I shudder to think what could have stopped him like that...

Inspecting him as I sit up, I notice he's aroused no less than myself, but it seems his brain is still active, and he's clearly thinking about something important. Whatever it is, it's apparently enough to halt the interlude he started, and that worries me. There might be good reason for him to stop, even though he hasn't had any problems physically—arrhythmia can be unpredictable. My desires can wait if he isn't feeling up to the exertion, and I'd never expect him to continue if he were having a problem, but I can't help being concerned.

I suddenly regret wishing for that extra week...

Sidling over to sit next to him, I rest my hand on his knee supportively before asking, “Are you okay? You've never stopped in the middle like that... you're scaring me a little...”

“Sorry, it's...” he trails off and turns to smirk at me, then reaches over to cup a hand under my chin. “It's just a stupid thought—I'm fine otherwise,” he explains, pausing and shrugging as I blow out a sigh of relief, then reiterating, “a very stupid thought...”

“You're telling this to the queen of stupid thoughts,” I chide, bumping up against him as I explain, “They spill out of my head faster than water from a faucet—I'm sure it's not that stupid... is it a kinky fantasy? I'm all ears for that~!”

I wonder if he'd like me dyeing my hair pink like Lucca...

He smirks, then pouts, and finally shrugs before saying, “Okay, well, you remember how we started the day, right?”

“How could I forget?” I coo affectionately, recalling our earlier escapade. With assurance that he didn't stop because of a medical issue, I decide to embellish a little and try to arouse him verbally.

I might need the practice for some long-distance fun...

“Your desk, one broken pencil, two shattered jewel-cases, and I came three times~!” I recount, patting his shoulder in gratitude before continuing, “Then you got me all cleaned up, before getting us dirty again in the shower,” I flit my eyebrows lovingly, “then we got cleaned up again... and I can think of no more satisfying way to start the day...!”

Sucking in a breath and shifting uncomfortably as he tries to push his erection down, he replies, “Indeed...”

Reading regret on his face, along with the fierce blush, I wonder aloud, “Something wrong with that?”

“No, definitely not,” he replies, shaking his head sternly, “I agree—it's an awesome wake-up having you here in the morning.” Giving up on pushing Little Swooner down, he crosses his legs and shrugs at my coy grin, then chuckles nervously. Pointing a plaintiff finger at me, he questions, “You're... worried about me straying?”

Shrugging slightly, I admit, “A little, maybe...”

I have no idea where he's going with this...

“I've had similar fears,” he says, then quickly adds, “And don't worry—I know they're probably stupid.”

“Very,” I declare, then pontificate and nod as I add, “Very stupid.”

Nodding at my declaration, he clears his throat with a cough, then flips his legs around, crossing them the other way—it doesn't really help his situation. “Anyway, instead of... allowing ourselves to get... swept up by hormones?” he says questioningly, and I nod with a raised eyebrow. “Why not leave something... unfinished between us?” he describes, and I'm starting to understand his rambling.

I'm not sure I like where this is going...

“We're both ready to jump on that bed and screw each other senseless,” he remarks, and I blush at how direct he's being, but find myself nodding. “But, if we leave that unresolved, we'll each have reason to long for the other... don't you think?”

I don't think I like this plan... although...

While my body is eager to just do what's natural and ignore his silly idea, my brain is starting to see merit in its simplicity. We both want each other, and right now we're in a perfect situation to pursue mutual sexual gratification—I'm wet, he's hard, we have condoms, and we're alone with an hour to kill. On some level, I don't see why we should bother trying to resist each other, but the lure of what he's proposing sounds intriguing. If we restrain ourselves now, and, as he said, leave something unresolved, we'll each have reason to keep the other in our fantasies—wanting to continue this moment.

I think it sounds like super-extended foreplay...

The thought of holding back makes my body react by getting even warmer, but the rationale is keeping my desires contained. My eyes can't help being drawn down to his crotch, but I close them and turn away, trying to ignore the heat I can feel reddening my cheeks—among other things. There's one major problem with enacting this plan, which is that we're still in a room alone together, and the rain outside has made the air muggy. That makes us both sweat more than usual, and seeing him all sweaty and hot makes me even more aroused—no doubt I look similarly more enticing.

I might have to leave for this to work...

“Okay, so, let me get this straight...” I say, trailing off to give myself a few moments to think. “Your stupid plan is to not give in to the easy situation, and stay abstinent until you leave... even though we're both—and I do mean both—completely ready to hop on that bed and screw each other's brains out until the bus gets here?”

“Yes... basically,” he says with a slight whimper. “You could... try to be less graphic, though...”

“I don't like this plan,” I say, but I make a point of sidling away and finally reopening my eyes to set a narrowed expression on him. “However, that's my body talking—it wants to jump on you faster than you can say insatiable,” I remark, then take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, trying to calm myself. “My brain, on the other hand, thinks your plan will result in mind-blowing sex the next time we meet... and that's a powerful motivator.”

I can always tend to myself if things get dicey...

“So your body hates the plan, but your brain likes it?” he inquires, sounding a little surprised.

Nodding, I wince and reply, “My brain doesn't trust my body, though,” I rise up and sit on the bed, “and thinks it might try to shut my brain down... in order to jump you anyway...”

Catching on to my reasoning, he replies, “You can borrow my umbrella.” Standing slowly and reaching for the pants he left over his desk chair, he adds, “No masturbation, though!”

There goes Plan B...

“Why not?” I protest, trying not to sound guilty.

“I know you were thinking it,” he says, shattering my sense of secrecy. As he pulls the pants on, he turns toward me and explains, “But, if you bottle up the frustration, let it wind up like an elastic band... then when you come visit-”

“You're sure you're ready to face a sexually frustrated version of me?” I interject.

I might be protesting entirely too much...

Smirking, he reaches down to grab my jeans off the same chair and toss them over. “I'm looking forward to it,” he replies with a stiff nod. “I'll be keeping my hands to myself, too,” he adds, which actually scares me a little, and that shows in my expression as I'm stepping into the jeans. “I have more control than you think,” he says confidently, “do you have any idea how difficult it is to hear and feel you cumming, and not lose myself?”

Shrugging, I reach for the bedpost to grab the green t-shirt I had borrowed overnight. “Sometimes I just want you to lose yourself,” I mention as I pull the shirt on, then flip my hair to extract it from the collar and add, “But, I'll promise not to handle myself while you're away...”

Restraining our mutual lust will probably have extended benefits for us both, and sounds like something Mom might have experience with, so I can probably ask her about it later. However, for now, I'm not about to leave him totally untouched before I make my exit. So, adding an exaggerated sway to my hips, I step over slowly and seductively, reach up and place a hand on his bare shoulder, then run it down to rest it over the scar as I stare deeply into his brown irises. That's all a distraction as my other hand angles down to grab his groin, and he winces as the fierce blush returns to his face.

“Just one last touch,” I coo, standing up on my toes to place a soft kiss over his lips. Leaning away, I add, “For Little Swooner to remember me by.”

In response, he winces as his hands move up to grasp my chest, and he inquires, “Which one is which?”

“My left one is Masa,” I say with a quiet giggle, “the right one is Mune.”

Aiming his eyes down at Masa, he says, “I'll miss you,” then turns to Mune and adds, “both of you.” Once he's done saying goodbye to my breasts, he spins me around and reaches down to run both hands down my hips; undoubtedly to silently repeat his farewell to my behind.

I'll let him have his moment...

As his hands continue tracing downward, threatening to become permanent fixtures, he remarks, “You should go... before my brain turns off,” then gives me a gentle push, as he inquires, “You're still planning on going with me to the station, right?”

“Of course,” I reply, stepping over and slipping my feet into the shoes I left by his door while he sits down in his desk chair, crossing his legs conspicuously. “I'll have to bring back your umbrella, anyway,” I say, my flimsy excuse making him groan. “And, besides, I know you want me to be there out on the platform before you go—like one of those silly movies.”

While I'm reaching into his closet for the umbrella, he sits there nodding, then finally shrugs and replies, “Don't forget to bring your umbrella—I'll probably need mine when I get home.”

“In the meantime, you should clean up this mess,” I advise derisively as I head for the door. “I'm not sure where you got the idea you could just leave clothes, wires, and junk hanging around when you have a lady guest, but this is deplorable~!”

As I step into the doorway, he calls after me, “You realize this is mostly your mess, right?”

“Consider it punishment for rebuffing my advances~!” I taunt, grinning broadly at his mock-anger, then kissing the air and adding, “Honestly, I'll clean up after you leave, if you want...”

“Oh... no,” he says, standing up and taking a look around at the moderate disaster. “I'll need something to keep my mind off you, and what better way than mindless busywork?”

“That's the spirit~!” I exclaim, closing the door behind me as I start walking down the hall.

I'm not sure how I'll get my mind off him, though...

As I'm about to turn the corner, I hear his door open and stop to turn a questioning look over my shoulder. “Changed your mind?” I inquire, but then I notice he's carrying my satchel, and I shrug resignedly. “Oh...”

“You'll probably need this,” he says, holding out the shoulder-strap. “Leaving it behind so you can trick yourself into my room may be delightfully devious, but we agreed-”

“I didn't leave it on purpose!” I protest, pouting apologetically, “I'm just not used to carrying a bag...”

“Ah, well, in any case... you probably need your key,” he says, shaking the bag and making the key bundle jingle inside. “Y'know... so you can get back into your room and not,” he ducks down and reduces his voice to a whisper, “play with yourself?”

Squinting at him accusingly, I take the bag with a thankful nod, and use his trailing grip to pull him toward me, then grab his arm and stand up on my toes to kiss his cheek. While I'm there, I decide to whisper tauntingly, “Don't go touching yourself either, or I'll know,” I pat his cheek and grin devilishly, “And, remember who owns Little Swooner~!”

“Keep Masa and Mune to yourself,” he replies with a careful nod, then adds, “And, keep Little Swooner's water-slide closed... for seasonal maintenance.”

Realizing all this innuendo is placing our plan in jeopardy, I give his cheek another kiss, then step back and giggle. “We should probably-”

“Yeah, go,” he replies, taking a sharp breath and turning away. Throwing a hand up high with a wave, he starts back toward his door and remarks, “Bus gets here at eleven-thirty.”

“I'll be back at twenty-five past,” I reply, turning to walk around the corner, then starting to walk away swiftly.

I hope I find something to distract myself for the next hour...
_________________________________________________
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[Helbereth]

Previous Chapter|Part 1|Next Chapter
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~^~

Once I get outside, that distraction becomes obvious—rain really kills my amorous mood. As I cut across the lawns, making my way toward the back entrance of the girls' dorm, the rain sweeps in sideways. That, coupled with a few distant flashes, serves to quicken my pace, and the umbrella helps keep my head dry, but by the time I reach the other door, my jeans are soaked from the knees down. That's partially from the splashing puddles I couldn't avoid, making it a miserable adventure, but when I get through the other door, I'm not blaming the rain for my being soaked—it's Hisao's fault.

I have to remember the end-goal he has in mind...

That hopeful thought helps warm me up as I squish across the darkened girls' game room, which mostly consists of a few arcade machines in a corner, and lots of plush seating; it's like a big, comfortable study hall, though it hardly gets used. My feet leave little puddles in the carpet with each step, and that might draw attention were this a regular day, but, just as I left it yesterday, the girls' dorm is mostly deserted. The whipping wind and rain outside echo through the empty halls, and even fill the cavernous stairwell with white noise—it's not a comforting sound.

Rainy days are usually the loneliest ones over the break, which makes leaving Hisao more difficult, but I'll need to get used to his not being nearby for a while; I used to get by alone just fine before we met. The hallways seem even more empty and dark as I slowly pace toward my room, but, as I near Yoko's door, an errant sound catches my attention. When I get closer, I realize it's music—more jazz if I'm not mistaken. It's about the same timbre as what Amaya and I heard Friday night, and that piques my curiosity, so I stop to listen, and wonder whether Kenta may have stayed an extra day.

They just slept...? My ass...!

Pressing my ear to the door, I focus on the soothing saxophone solo for a few moments, and pick up on some giggling in the background, followed by two distinct voices. Their discussion is muffled by the door, and garbled by the music, but neither party sounds male. One of them is obviously Yoko, sounding particularly confident about something, while the other says little. It isn't until I hear a raspberry sound that I realize her visitor is Amaya; I wonder if she's getting a dance lesson. Seeing as I have an hour to kill, and I don't think I should be alone, I decide to knock.

I'm much less likely to lose my self-control with an audience...

“Hey, Yoko, you in there?” I ask, not wanting them to know I've been listening.

“Hey...! Swimderella~!” Amaya blurts, sounding a little breathless, “Door's open, c'mon in!”

“Amaya?” I question with a curious tone, trying to sound oblivious. Swinging the door in as the music fades to a whisper, I lean against the jamb and grin at the mismatched pair; Yoko's height is much more pronounced standing beside Amaya's tiny frame.

“Kenta left already,” Amaya replies, nodding at Yoko with a careful grin, apparently looking for approval. Not finding any protest, she continues, “Ikaru drove up in the storm to drag him home a couple hours ago...”

So Kenta was here overnight again...

My speculative glance at Yoko draws an exasperated humph, followed by a resigned reply, “We just slept...! Again...”

“Oh, I believe you,” I say with a sarcastic smirk toward Amaya, “I get kinda tired afterward, too.”

“You two are impossible!” Yoko exclaims in protest, throwing her hands up in defeat. Smirking and turning away with an exaggerated eye-roll, she adds, “You're both perverts!”

I'd argue, but it's the truth, and I think she likes it anyway...

While she looks out her window, presumably to hide her soft giggling, I take a moment to look her and Amaya over. For a brief moment, I consider whether Amaya might just be visiting to hear more of Yoko's music—which I admit is quite catchy—but, given their attire and demeanor, that seems unlikely. Wearing yoga pants and oversized sweatshirts with headbands, both their faces are sweaty, which could be from the humidity, but they also look exhausted. Watching Amaya lean against the parallel bar as she drains half a water bottle, I think it's safe to assume they've been exercising—dancing, maybe.

Or something equally rigorous and- yeah, no, let's not go there, brain...

After a few quiet moments, Yoko turns back to face me and smiles evenly. “Did Hisao leave already?” she asks, and I realize my presence probably wasn't expected this early. “I thought you'd stay with him until-”

“We're taking a breather,” I reply before she can finish, which is basically the truth.

Amaya laughs and guesses, “Ran out of condoms?”

Rolling my eyes, I return the accusation, “Is that why you raided my nightstand?”

Unless Yoko took them for- again, stop it brain...

Amaya pales a little, then clears her throat and replies, “Saw that, huh..? Sorry, Dumbass didn't bring any and-”

“Those things fit?” I ask, my mouth getting ahead of my brain.

Wow, I really don't want to know that...

Despite my protesting thoughts, which she obviously can't hear, she answers, “Well, yeah... he's hung like a-”

“TMI, pervert!” Yoko grunts, then dashes over and punches her shoulder.

Surprised by the punch as much as Amaya's admission—or it might be a boast—I stare in shock for a few moments. Meanwhile, Amaya smiles sheepishly and rubs her arm—Yoko apparently put some force into the hit—then shrugs and remarks, “Anyway, if you don't need them...”

Speaking of things I may or may not need...

“My key!” I say, suddenly remembering Hisao's offering. “I need it back,” I add, holding out my hand.

“I'm sorry! I didn't think you'd mind!” Amaya blurts, sounding confused and apologetic.

“Never mind that—I'll make you another one,” I reply evenly, starting to wave my fingers impatiently, “I need it so I can- Um...” I trail off and glance around nervously, “he gave me a key for his room, so...”

Nodding and stepping over to Yoko's desk, Amaya grabs her keys and starts working mine off the ring. “Say no more—I gave Tadao one, too,” she says, then quickly adds, “of mine, I mean~!”

I wonder if that's where Hisao got the idea...

After freeing the key, she hands it over as she asks, “You still have mine, right?”

“Yeah, in case of emergencies...” I reply with a derisive smirk.

“It was an emergency—he's too quick without one...” she remarks with a slight blush. In response, I lightly punch her other shoulder, but I realize her train of thought is largely my fault.

I really need to keep my mouth shut sometimes...

“Again, TMI... And, I'll get you that box later.”

As I'm saying that, a strange thought strikes me about the gift she gave me last weekend—those orange-smelling condoms. It's a disturbing thought, but I wonder how she knew what size to get. Granted, it's not a difficult guess to make, and dumb luck could be a factor, but it's also possible guys talk about that stuff, and she found out through Tadao. However, none of those possibilities lead anywhere I want to take the conversation—preferably ever—so I decide to repress the image of my guy friends all standing around comparing erections, and not mention my internal musing.

I'm gonna stick with the dumb luck theory...

Continuing my previous thought, I remark, “They're too big for Hisao—not that it's any of your business!”

“Cool, whatever—doesn't matter much anyway,” she says with a happy nod, then takes a swig from the water bottle. “Long as he's doin' it right, I don't care what he's packing—though I wish Tadao were a little smaller,” she complains with a shrug, “sometimes, anyway...”

In an apparent effort to change the subject, Yoko yells out, “She asked me for dance lessons!”

I'm with Yoko; this is getting creepy... and awkward... and intimidating...

“I guessed as much,” I say, trying to help break Amaya off the topic of penises.

As I nod, Amaya grins and steps over to throw an arm up on Yoko's high shoulder. “Red's a great teacher,” she compliments, then steps away and sets the bottle down on the window sill. “She already taught me some cool stuff,” she remarks, halting in place to stand straight with her feet together. Apparently setting up to show off what she learned, she offers a toothy grin and requests, “Watch~!”

Yoko backs away and I look on with an inquisitive smile as Amaya starts going into a routine like we saw performed the other night—minus the revealing red dress. With a hand on each hip, she swivels them slowly, following the muffled music as she giggles and turns with light, calculated steps. When she's facing away, she dips down and throws the sweatshirt up to uncover her rear, which makes me roll my eyes—Tadao will probably like that part. Afterward, the swaying continues until she finishes the turn, then she takes three slow-motion steps toward me and places a hand on my shoulder.

As her other hand finds mine and she pulls it over onto her waist, I chide, “You're an idiot.”

She laughs briefly, then pouts derisively, which highlights her ever-present dimples. Chuckling inwardly, she pulls me into a spin, which I follow just to amuse her. When we're facing each other again, she finally replies, “You're just jealous~!”

“Maybe a little,” I say, then squint narrowly and add, “of the dancing, not... what you were-”

I seriously have got to stop thinking about penises...

“Okay, okay, fine!” she concedes, throwing a devious smirk toward Yoko before adding, “I'll try not to mention Tadao's massive cock anymore~!”

She is not helping with that goal...!

“Anyway!” I groan, aiming a sympathetic smile at Yoko, who looks like she's about to burst a blood vessel. “You really know what you're doing, huh?” I remark, shoving Amaya aside, “Kenta probably enjoyed it... assuming you showed him.”

Before Yoko can protest, Amaya chirps, “They just sle-ept~!”

“What she said,” Yoko says, completely deadpan, then nods swiftly and answers my previous question, “I've danced almost since before I could walk... losing my ear limits me to simpler stuff, but... it's still great exercise!”

“No kidding!” Amaya blurts, letting out a sharp breath and lifting the sweatshirt to rub her abdomen. “We stopped like ten minutes ago,” she says speculatively, “but, my core is still on fire.”

“You sure that isn't because you're imagining Tadao naked?” Yoko chides, then giggles at her own joke.

Meanwhile, we both turn perplexed looks toward her, and Amaya voices our inquiry, “You say we're perverts?”

Crossing my arms mockingly, I jokingly add, “Look in the mirror, hypocrite!”

I wonder whether she had that dirty mind before we met...

She stops giggling for a moment, then shakes her head and continues laughing. That draws a glare from Amaya, but I smirk knowingly and remark, “I think she's just as much of a pervert...she just keeps it in—bottles it up... it's not healthy.”

Nodding, Amaya agrees, “Ah...! A closet pervert! They're the spooky ones you have to watch out for...”

“Yeah,” I reply with an agreeable nod, “probably into bondage, sadism, or she's a furry... did you check her closet for handcuffs or costumes?”

“Haven't had the chance yet,” she says, nodding complicitly and aiming a curious look at the questionable closet door, “but she has to use the bathroom sometime...”

“Check her nightstand for toys, too,” I add, realizing I'll probably strike a chord of worry with where my devious smirk is leading, “no doubt she spends lots of time... just sleeping... when she's alone...!”

For a few seconds, Yoko tries shaking her head, but the laughing makes that difficult and she gives up with a shrug. “Maybe I'm all of those things,” she retorts between giggles, then aims an accusatory finger at each of us and exclaims, “but, you're both a bad influence!”

The laughing fit catches all three of us, and takes a few minutes to work itself out. Eventually, we're calm enough to sit down and continue talking about Yoko's dance history, which apparently used to involve some serious time investments. Until the accident that stole her balance, she was a rising amateur competitor in dance contests and talent shows. According to her then coach, she was on the way toward becoming a professional ballet dancer, which sounds like something that would be heart-wrenching to lose, but Yoko recalls it being a relief, which I can kind of understand.

“I wanted to be more normal, I guess,” she recounts, shrugging as she sits cross-legged on the floor to my right.

I wouldn't want my life to be spent in a spotlight, either...

Seated beside her, Amaya frowns and throws an arm up over Yoko's slackened shoulders. “Just remember, Red: nobody's normal,” she says, pointing at me, “even this one—she's actually an Italian spy.”

“It's true,” I agree with a stiff nod. “I was born in Italy,” I say, which neither of them needs to know is apparently true, “and raised as a sleeper-agent—I've been training my whole life to bring the economic downfall of Japan... of course, now that I've told you, I'll have to kill both of you...”

As I trail off, I turn an icy stare into Yoko's paling, green-eyed gaze, and slowly lean closer as she leans away. Once I'm close enough, I snap my hand out and grab her knee, which elicits a frightful yelp and sends her leaping backwards. Her reaction results in riotous laughter from both Amaya and myself, and Yoko joins in after she recovers.

“See?” Amaya says, giving Yoko a squeeze on the shoulder, “She's so abnormal she makes up stories about her nationality and deludes that she's some kind of sleeper-agent!”

“Total delusion,” I say with a nod, then lean toward Yoko to whisper, “I'll be much more subtle about the way I kill you—don't worry. You won't even know it happened...”

“Ahem~!” Amaya lilts, rolling her eyes, “Stop scaring the poor girl—she's impressionable!”

“I'm not that gullible!” Yoko protests.

“Frustrated virgin says what?” Amaya retorts.

“Wha-” Yoko starts to say, then scowls and shouts, “Pervert!”

Casting me a questioning look, Amaya inquires, “Like you, methinks,” she points at Yoko, “this one needs to get laid?”

“Stop being a pain in the ass,” I rebut, reaching over to pat Yoko's shoulder, “She means-”

“She's right!” Yoko blurts before I can finish.

“Er... well,” I finish, my mouth continuing despite my brain's protests.

Okay, I did not expect that...

An awkward silence falls over the room as even Amaya is surprised by the admission. Meanwhile, sweet, innocent—apparently sexually frustrated—shy, unassuming Yoko folds her arms and stares at the floor between us, apparently flustered by her outburst. Evidently, and this may just be a guess, but it seems she wasn't kidding about the sleeping part, or the not doing anything bit. It also appears that she isn't happy about those turns of events, and I'm completely flabbergasted that it seems Kenta has been rebuffing her advances—it would explain why she was practicing a seductive dance.

I doubt she planned to use it quite so soon, though...

Honestly, I reacted similarly to Amaya's alarmingly accurate deductions, and the only difference is that I didn't go blurting out my feelings—although I did brutalize her shoulder. In any case, Yoko's reaction is perfectly understandable, and, considering how much we've been pushing the issue, her current despondence is probably our fault. Looking at her expression, I realize she doesn't want to talk about it at the moment, which I'm hoping has nothing to do with the company; she hasn't asked us to leave, which is an encouraging thought, though I don't look forward to breaking this silence.

“Kenta's a dumbass!” Amaya blurts, saving me from having to be the icebreaker.

I probably wouldn't have gone down that route, but, oh well...

Although she obviously meant it affectionately, I notice a tinge of disdain in Yoko's reaction, but that fades against Amaya's irrepressibly dimpled smile. “Thanks... I think,” she replies evenly, looking toward me for support.

“Oh, I'm with her,” I agree, pointing at Amaya and nodding carefully. “Kenta's a great guy, but if you offered up all that,” I say, waving an objective hand over Yoko's embarrassed form, “and he refused...? He's a bigger idiot than I ever imagined...”

While I'm trailing off, Yoko sucks in a deep breath and closes her eyes. Blowing it out slowly, she requests, “Can we... not talk about this?”

“I'm all for that,” I reply.

“Just one thing before we skip this topic across the lake,” Amaya says, which draws an inquisitive look from Yoko's opening eyes, “He's kind of awesome for resisting.”

Nodding carefully, Yoko mumbles, “I guess...”

I sort of think the same about Hisao's abstinence plan...

After another short silence, the topic of parents crosses Amaya's lips, leading to some speculation about Hisao's, which leads nowhere, though it eventually prompts Yoko to ask about Amaya's doting parentage. That misguided inquiry leads to a very long, boring, and totally familiar story. Secretly, I think Amaya rehearses the tale of her parents' obsession with her epilepsy, though I've never mentioned that suspicion. After telling it to me, I've heard her retell it to Tadao, a few other classmates, and now Yoko, and each time it's like she's reading a speech off an invisible teleprompter.

I keep expecting her to add a Powerpoint presentation...

My attention span wanes after about thirty seconds, and I find myself staring out at the falling rain while my mind wander back toward Hisao. There's a small flaw in his plan to remain abstinent during our separation, though I didn't think of it until now. Although I'm sure the chance is slim, leaving him unsatisfied, even at his behest, could make him more vulnerable to the feminine wiles of an old flame. It's entirely possible I'm not giving Hisao enough credit, and maybe Mom's story about Keno is affecting my outlook more than it should, but I'm worried that he's just a man—one with needs.

I know he isn't perfect, but I wonder how imperfect he is...

While my mind wanders into dark places, my friends' chatter fades into the background, and I barely notice the slight vibration coming from my satchel. Apparently it's much more obvious to Amaya because she slaps my arm and sets an exasperated look on me, which finally wakes me up enough to reach into the bag for my phone.

“I worry about her sometimes,” Amaya says to Yoko as I fumble with the pocket, “zoning out like that—I sometimes think she's suffering brain damage from all that swooning.” As I glare at Amaya, Yoko covers her mouth and giggles.

“Quiet, both of you!” I scold, trying to sound confident rather than frazzled. They ignore my request and burst into laughter, but I expected as much. Finally, I manage to extract my phone, then flip it open to find a text message from Hisao.

[Twenty past. RTG?]

Sending a glance at Yoko's clock, then down at my still-drying jeans, I quickly stand up and grab my bag. Pocketing my phone, and kicking Amaya's foot for good measure, I turn down at their questioning looks and say, “Gotta go, ladies!”

“Tell Hisao I'll miss his cow-lick,” Amaya mentions, then nudges my shin with her bare foot and requests, “and give him a hug for me—grope him thoroughly while you're at it~!”

Dammit, Amaya...

Rolling my eyes and nodding at her, I turn toward Yoko and ask, “Dance lessons? Sometime this week?”

“Okay!” she replies, nodding happily, “I have a request, too... but it can wait.”

“Nothing too kinky,” I reply as I head toward the door, which makes her scoff.

“Pervert!”

Giggling as I close the door, I rush down the hall to my room. Somehow I lost track of time, but that's probably fine—I needed the distraction. Once I'm in my dorm, I quickly change into a fresh pair of jeans and one of my own shirts—I'll keep Hisao's as a trophy—then throw on my raincoat, grab my umbrella, and head for the door. While I'm headed for the rear stairwell, I dig out my phone and send Hisao a text to inform him I'm on my way, then slip the device back in my satchel. Somehow, even when he's not around, I lose track of myself thinking about him, which may or may not be a bad thing.

I'm starting to understand it's mostly good...

The past hour really wasn't so bad, and the fears I'm harboring about Hisao's faithfulness are probably silly, so I'm strangely happy as I step back out into the dissipating rainstorm. Walking with two open umbrellas just makes the trek awkward, and the rain is falling straight now, so I close his after a few clumsy steps. As I near the rear entrance, Hisao leans out the door, grinning despite the inclement weather—that's probably because of me, though. After handing off his umbrella, we start making our way toward the gate in silence, walking separately so we aren't tempted further.

Sitting together on the bus leads to some awkward moments as we're both still uncomfortable with this abstinence idea. Neither of us seems to know how to sit anymore, and we end up using his suitcase as a barrier—we can't even decide who gets to use it as an armrest. The other passengers probably think we had a fight considering I'm staring out at the rainy streets while he's absently flipping through a travel pamphlet someone left on the seat. What passes for conversation between us consists mostly of grunts and nods, and he mentions that he put all my things in a bag, but forgot them in his room.

I've had more interesting conversations with my laptop...

When we reach the train station, we share more of the same kind of silence; he walks ahead, carrying his suitcase and keeping his eyes perpetually forward, while I follow, smiling brightly and sending my curious eyes around randomly. It's a fairly small building by most standards, but it's an institution based on efficiency and practicality, not elegance. As we make our way through the crowd, numerous voices shout over the bustle, the tin roof clatters loudly with the falling rain, and everything echoes off the steel beams along the ceiling; it's quite a noisy place.

While Hisao gets his ticket checked, I sit on his suitcase nearby, watching some of the people that seem to wander around aimlessly. It's a wet, windy, nasty day out, but the city doesn't notice when the weather takes a downturn unless it's something truly crippling—like a Godzilla attack. That kind of resilience is almost inspiring, except it results in the people seeming ten times more frightening. Most of them seem like regular visitors—men in business attire, women wearing power-suits, and very few smiles among them—but every one seems to wear the same maudlin frown, exuding misery.

I regret wanting to be an adult when I was little...

Soon we're on the move again, this time headed for Platform C, which sounds like such an anti-climactic place to have our sappy, overly dramatic farewell. The weird thing is, what I thought would be a tearful, gut-wrenching departure feels less somber and more surreal. As we stand holding each other's hands with his suitcase acting as a barrier again, this time at our feet, I'm surprisingly calm. His serene expression helps with that, and I know neither of us wants to part, but I think we're both ready for it somehow. Although, just because I'm calm doesn't mean I'm not emotional.

“Aiko?” he prompts, tilting his head slightly, “You're crying again.”

“You're leaving...! I think I'm allowed...” I reply, surprised by the crackling in my voice.

Apparently he finds it amusing because he smiles, but then shakes his head suddenly. “No crying—no tearful goodbyes,” he says sternly, giving my hands a quick tug. “I'm not leaving forever—this is just a speed-bump,” he adds, echoing something I remember telling him earlier, “when we look back, we'll laugh at this moment... I wanna see you smiling in the memory.”

The exact source of his concern is a mystery, but I think I understand what he means. Setting my jaw, I fight back the misty feeling to bring out a smile, which somehow isn't faked, and reply, “I love-”

My declaration is interrupted by an electronic beep from the nearby loudspeaker, which is followed by a garbled voice; though it's nearly impossible to understand, I think it's the last call for his train—we should have picked a spot further from the speaker. During the cacophonous announcement, Hisao stands there and smirks at me, his brown eyes fixed on mine, and my strange smile widens. After the speaker cuts, he raises an eyebrow at me, then glances toward the big clock over my shoulder. At most, he has a couple minutes before the train leaves without him, but that doesn't even phase him.

I should be pushing him toward the train, but I just don't have the strength...

“I love you,” I say, bouncing on my toes as he smiles calmly—the smile I fell in love with.

Instead of replying verbally, he steps forward and breaks his hold on one of my hands to reach up and cup my cheek. Hovering just a few centimeters away, his eyes watch as his hand traces down to my chin, gripping it gently with his thumb and forefinger, and lifting ever so slightly. Our lips meet, his hand falls away, and I close my eyes. Somehow, despite having kissed dozens—perhaps hundreds—of times already, this gentle, almost innocent kiss is wholly electrifying, as though it's our first time again. Knowing he has a time limit, I consider breaking away, but he's the only one with the power to do that.

I could probably live in this moment forever...

It ends as it began—gently. His lips lean away and I chase them for a moment before his hand returns to my chin. The separation makes me whimper, and I feel a tear run down my cheek, but his finger sweeps it away before anyone else can notice. My eyes reopen to find a bright grin and a loving squint, and I take a long, deep breath, staring into his eyes and trying my hardest not to leap forward. Seeming to notice my internal conflict, he takes a step back, keeping his hand on my chin as he dips down to retrieve his suitcase, then placing his hand on my shoulder.

“I love you, too,” he says finally, then squeezes my shoulder and adds, “I'll call when I reach the station—gimme a call when you get back to the dorms?”

Barely conscious of his statements, I manage to nod at his question, but I'm too addled to speak. After my stilted reply, he nears again and wraps me in a one-armed hug that I'm too frozen to return, but that doesn't bother him.

“Gotta go,” he says, leaving a soft kiss on my cheek, “Remember to call...”

As he turns and heads for the train door, I nod slowly and stare blankly. He looks back after almost every step, and I manage to add a wave to my otherwise motionless stance, which nearly causes him to trip over a bench when he tries to answer the gesture. There's a flood of emotion running over me, which only grows as he disappears onto the train, and peaks as the train starts rumbling down the tracks. Advice from people I trust tells me I'm doing the right thing letting him go, waiting to tell him my secrets, and allowing him the chance to gain some familial support.

However, as I watch the train vanish from view, there's something I realize: it's not just Hisao riding that train, it's everything he represents—or might represent. The conflicting mess of worries I'm harboring about his trip, the people he'll be facing, and the potential for all of it to go horribly wrong leaves me wondering if it's worth the weight on my shoulders. Two months ago, one person's departure wouldn't have affected me much, but with Hisao I feel like there's a tether pulling me along with him; an invisible thread connects us together, and I feel like I can hear his thoughts as he sits on that train.

I don't know how I came to depend on him so much...

Even though I know it's ridiculous, at least rationally, it feels like he's carrying a piece of me, and it's something I feel hollow without. If that's what love is supposed to feel like, I think I understand those stupid romantic movies a little better. Now that I'm experiencing that kind of separation first hand, the claims Mom made about leaping into marriage because it just felt right makes a strange kind of sense. Unfortunately as I stand here, staring at the empty tracks, all I can do is trust in the platitudes and gestures he left behind, and hope for the best.

I hope my stupid romantic movie has a good ending...
_________________________________________________
Previous Chapter]Previous Chapter[/url]|Part 1|Next Chapter

In the event that anyone is wondering, that was ~17,200 words. Each post is actually using a natural time-break (hence the ~^~ atop part 2 and 3), and it's not a perfect split mathematically (part 2 is the longest, while part 1 is actually almost exactly 1/3), but that only matters if you have OCD, which I don't--I think.

I have to say I'm a little bothered by them not all being closer in size, but... fuck it, right?

*obsesses silently*

Is now a good time to mention I'm breaking the mold by starting act 5 with the next chapter? Probably... yeah, that seems like a reasonably good idea. Its name is yet undecided, but, then again, I didn't see the remainder being its own act until late in the game. For reasons of sense, I may end up harvesting the Act 4 title "Cadence" for Act 5, and thus renaming Act 4--it's the best word I can think of to indicate the last act of the tale while retaining the musical theme.

Anyway, someone is yelling at me, so I should probably go see what they want--assuming it's not just a voice in my head.

EDIT: As of February 27th, 2014, this chapter is now ~11,700 words as it's been split away from the first third due to that really being its own separate chapter. Anyway, on we go...

[neio]

To be honest I think there was far too much of a focus on sex in this chapter.

he'll probably adore having the chance to have a clichéd, tearful goodbye out on the platform like in one of those old, sappy movies.

See attachment #1

accenting my claim by adjusting my glasses.

See attachment #2

Don't be—it's not your fault...

Augh, AUGH! I have no problem with this being in the story, as it's a fairly common thing to say, but I hate it when people say it. "Sorry" can be an apology or an expression of sympathy. By saying "it's not your fault," you're rejecting their expression of sympathy rather than being grateful. They know it's not their fault; why do you feel the need to tell them explicitly?
[/rant]

[Hoitash]

See attachment #1

Well, at least Hisao won't regret getting on the train. Hopefully, anyway.

One thing I've been pondering, but forgot to ask earlier; could Kenta's condition render him impotent? That might be his... pace regarding Yoko, and was something I started pondering.

[Helbereth]

To be honest I think there was far too much of a focus on sex in this chapter.

There are reasons--beyond the physical--why that's the case, though. It's a convenient allegory for some of the things they're unwilling to admit to each other on some level--the abstinence plan isn't just about sex, for instance. In other cases, especially with the conversation in Yoko's room, it's something that Aiko just has on her mind and ends up adding it to the conversation--also, it's largely a running gag. Sex as an abstract idea is better than what was there originally--ask Hoitash.

See attachment #1

Yes, well, if you think about it, where else would their parting really take place considering it's Japan? It's not a big country, and is traversable in ~10 hours or less by train--end to end. At least I didn't have her chasing the Shinkansen, running into telephone poles, and yelling about the watch he left behind.
(Airplane! reference ftw)

See attachment #2

If you wear glasses, you have done this at some point--I honestly don't know why it took 38 chapters for me to have Aiko try it out.

Augh, AUGH! I have no problem with this being in the story, as it's a fairly common thing to say, but I hate it when people say it. "Sorry" can be an apology or an expression of sympathy. By saying "it's not your fault," you're rejecting their expression of sympathy rather than being grateful. They know it's not their fault; why do you feel the need to tell them explicitly?
[/rant]

If I said I put that in just to make you pop a blood vessel, would that suffice?

I made adjustments based on your PM as well--I'm surprised there were so few, honestly.

One thing I've been pondering, but forgot to ask earlier; could Kenta's condition render him impotent? That might be his... pace regarding Yoko, and was something I started pondering.

Potentially, I imagine cerebral palsy could cause or contribute to erectile dysfunction. It's a neuro-muscular deficiency, and erections are largely vascular, but not entirely--there is musculature involved, not to mention a giant network of nerve-endings.I'm not giving anything away by stating medical conjecture, though.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Post removed due to page borking. Even though I have no idea what that even looks like.

[Helbereth]

I internally giggled.

You should hear Hoitash's description thereof... he drew some terrifying historical parallels.

Stuff about Hisao taking Aiko home.

In fairness, I'm pretty sure arriving home with SURPRISE GIRLFRIEND would be a bad idea no matter what else was happening. If you're going to compare it to Suzu, I'll be forced to mention that it's not dissimilar--Aiko sort of hates her future and doesn't want to deal with it. The difference here is that instead of constantly trying to convince herself not to say anything--which Suzu does repeatedly, ad nauseum and to her detriment--she's trying to reason out how to go about telling him, and accounting for his state of mind is part of that.

Frankly, of the two, hers is the one that can't.

While I know that, and you know that, Aiko isn't so certain. She doesn't even trust her own feelings at this point, and worries she's just being swept up by hormones. There's a little bit of 'carrying the idiot ball' going on, but these are all new experiences for a very socially inexperienced young girl who has inherent trust issues resulting from an ostracized youth, multiple neurosis about her attire, messy room, table manners and a dozen other seemingly inconsequential things, jealous tendencies, a complex about her body image and hobbies, and more than a few Daddy issues. It's amazing she can tell up from down some days.

Bullet train.

Where was this complaint in Chapter 1 (she references them when drawing a comparison to Shizune)? Also, I've heard them called Shinkansen even in passive conversation.

[confusion over reference relative to Famicom]

Almost called it a Super Nintendo, which would have been wrong.

When I was a kid, these rhymed. Also, that third line is rather morbid.

It doesn't have to rhyme--it's more a matter of the words containing the same number of syllables. As for the last line, it's just a little yandere with your breakfast!

Please refer to the previously mentioned atomic facepalm.

Yes, I love these kind of lines, too... so stupid, and yet so fitting--at least I think so.

I think you mean "bonsai tree"

That's what I get for acquiring my spelling information from anime subtitles.

[?]

Sure, Gamecube isn't online, but it's more of a generalized statement about his experience playing multiplayer games.

No hyphen. Lrn2Pokémon, dood.

I know exactly jack squat about Poke-mon. Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-Jiggly-PUFF! Honestly, I had Aiko playing that character because I always wanted to murder people who picked him/her/it.

Hisao's words echo throughout the world beyond the fourth wall...

Being Little Swooner is suffering.

Well shit.

HA!

It's always the quiet ones...

"RTG"?

Is "Ready to go" somehow not common texting vernacular? Being honest, I've never sent a text message via phone--I assumed basic chat-channel rules (like in MMOs etc.).

Oh good. I've noticed each act encompassing increasingly greater numbers of chapters. And each chapter getting increasingly verbose.

On some level it's because I'm experimenting more as a writer (this whole thing is still practice), but I kind of knew there would be a 5th act as soon as I started the 4th--before then I thought it would round out soon enough.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Post also removed due to page borking.