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

[Mirage_GSM]

I think there are two versions of that chapter in there that contradict each other.
Especially when she thinks about not wanting to interfere with her friends' relationship because it might go wrong and a bit afterwards she does the exact opposite. A few minor bits that don't fit completely later on, too.
You might read this over and see if there's anything left that should not have been in the final version...

Other than that a very good chapter. I do like your story and your characters.

[Helbereth]

<reserved>

[LOL WUT]

Previous|Next (Ha! It's gonna be the future soon! )

HA! I still have the time machine!

Once again... TROLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

But really. I am not surprised by the quality of this story. Since I am reading Five Year Illumination I expected, great things, and you know what?

I got what I expected. Great Things, Great Things indeed. Keep up the good work.

[Panthour]

I really enjoyed this scene, and I especially loved the introduction of Miyoto the dress shop owner, he is amazing and I hope we get to see more of him in the future because he is such a funny character

[Helbereth]

Author's Notes:
Here begins the day of the Yamaku Festival. Now, since there's a lot going on, it was all originally written out as one chapter, but extended past the 14,000 word mark. Yeah. I broke it somewhere around 45/55 with this being the shorter of the two. It turned out to be a decent split.

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Chapter 4 – Subterfuge

The next morning starts peacefully. Sleeping in for once, I crawl out of bed around nine to have breakfast and get my school uniform on; working at a festival booth is not a job for yukata. Being expected there by ten, I have some time to make myself look a little extra special. Not knowing exactly how to go about that, I settle on gathering my hair and wrapping it in a short braid down the middle of my neck, leaving a generous portion to hang in front. Finishing with a green ribbon tied around the braid into little finger-like shapes, I smile into the mirror. My eyes still look a little sunken, so I make sure the hair casts some shadows across them to hide the weeks of missing sleep. Adding my glasses also helps.

Maybe the glasses cause the dark circles, though?

Happy at the result, I grab my laptop and its carry-bag, and bound out the door, making my way out to the festival grounds. Unlike the majority of other classrooms, most of which are selling various junk foods, class 3-1 is responsible for one of the game booths. Naoko is already there, looking chipper as ever. Evidently she started early and already has the game set up. Quietly joining her, I start sorting through the boxes beneath the counter for little stuffed animals, key-chains and other assorted prizes people would be trying to win, and hanging them up around the inside walls.

It's a simple game, really. On a table in the middle of the booth there are twenty-four tiny fish bowls. Each filled with water to the neck, and, sunk into eight of them, there are some colorful plastic goldfish. Players would have to stand about two meters from the closest fish bowls, and try to toss a ball into one with a fish. Remembering a festival like this from long ago, I recall being held up in Dad's arms to try and win a prize playing this exact same game, but this had actually been Naoko's suggestion.

Now she's tapping me on the shoulder, so I turn and inspect her giddy smile. She's a bit taller than Amaya, but still shorter than my five-foot-three frame. Her figure is somewhere in between; having Amaya's narrowness combined with some of my curves. Her school uniform is -as always- pressed and wrinkle-free, but she usually doesn't have the bright red ribbons hanging over her ears – festival fare, I gather. Her hair is dark, forest green and shoulder-length. Usually it's held behind her ears by a dainty barrette, but today it's wrapped in a tight bun with a pair of white chopsticks sticking out on top. Looking her over, I realize how convenient it must be to commute to the school rather than live in the dorms.

Her cheerful expression goes along well with her excited signing, [I love your ribbon!]

Cracking a smile, I heave a sigh, [well, I only had a few minutes. You look nice. Are you wearing a yukata later?]

[Of course,] she beams, pointing to her bag, and the carefully-laid-out package nearby. [You and Amaya went shopping yesterday, right?] she asks with a knowing smirk.

[Yeah but I'm not changing 'til later,] I say. She bobs her head in an excited nod; I think if Naoko could speak, she'd sound cheerful all the time, like Emi.

Or Misha.

Continuing to get the booth ready quietly, we soon have the walls covered with brightly colored prizes, and it's time to wait... And wait. Then wait some more. Tadao was supposed to be here from noon until one-thirty, so I'll be at this booth for almost four hours. Happily, the crowds won't start to get big until after noon, so, while the rest of the setup is happening around us, I look down at my bag and decide to pull out my laptop.

Grinning at the start-up sound, I quickly slip into a game of Call of Duty 2. I'll consider it a study of world history if anyone asks. It occurs to me that I'd rather be playing online, but the school doesn't maintain a network connection outside a few key areas of the building, mainly the library, and they don't reach far enough out here.

A little past ten thirty, Tadao's grim visage suddenly appears in front of me. Feeling him tap the counter I'm leaning against, I look away from the computer to meet his sullen gaze. There's a panicked look in his eyes, and he's rolling a half-chewed pencil between his fingers. Realizing what this conversation will be about, I offer him a sweet smile and half-closed eyes, blinking excessively. My look seems to make him even more nervous for a second, and he turns to look around at the other booths, fidgeting like a criminal informant – I can almost taste his trepidation.

As he looks around apprehensively, I notice he's not in his school uniform. He's wearing black jeans, a gray hipster t-shirt that I can't read because he won't stop moving, and black tennis shoes. Every few seconds he reaches a hand up and fiddles with the gold chain around his neck; at the end of it is a tiny cross, one of the few things that remain of his parents, he once told me. He looks like he might have a heart attack if someone doesn't break the tension, so I tilt my head and give him an opening. “Nervous?” I ask.

He fake-laughs at the rhetoric, but quickly stifles it, drawing his face into a dark expression. He leans forcefully against the counter, making the booth shake. Looking around at the booth apologetically, he takes a deep breath. His wild eyes calm and he flicks the ruined pencil away before he asks, “does it show?”

laughing hysterically, I back away from the counter to avoid the swat at my arm. He swallows hard and looks toward the back of the booth, only now noticing Naoko. Tensing for a second, he quickly remembers she can't hear him. “This is your fault,” he accuses.

Moi? Little old me?

Wiping tears out of my eyes from the bout of laughter, I pat the air and shake my finger at him. “You brought this on yourself,” I say, still giggling.

Frowning, he and puts his head down and starts to say, “I guess I did, but-”

Biting his words back, he lifts his head, centering his eyes on me with a quizzical gaze before accusing, “this wouldn't be happening if you hadn't said anything.” Throwing his hands up in exasperation, he narrows his eyes and remarks, “I thought we had a deal?”

Speech time!

Taking a deep breath, I don't hold anything back. “It was time. The festival is the perfect day for it, and you've been at each other for a year. Even Naoko knew,” I say, pointing my thumb over my shoulder for emphasis, “and I'm sure the rest of the school does.” Waving my hands around at nothing in particular to emphasize my point, I center my gaze on him and continue, “the only ones who remained blissfully ignorant were probably the two of you.” As I spoke, I watched his face move from embarrassment to anger, then bewilderment. Finishing by pointing at myself and grinning proudly, I summarize, “I just turned your parallel lines into a tangent.”

After a few seconds spent scowling at me, he steps back from the counter and folds his arms, finally settling on a serene smile and offering a sagely nod. Once it sinks in a bit more, he raises an eyebrow and begins to ask, “She's really been-”

I interject, “yes.”

He points, asking “and you?” Now with both eyebrows raised.

I sigh, “daily.”

He looks up again like yesterday, contemplating -turning the gears- and then looks back, offering a bow, “I apologize. That cannot have been a comfortable arrangement for you.”

That sounded a little practiced, but that isn't anything new; he probably expected this outcome and had that reply prepared. Returning the bow, I explain, “nobody's fault, really. You could have done something months ago, and so could I – and so could Amaya. Let's just be happy that torment is over.”

He offers another sagely nod and leans back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I get the feeling he's been nervously asking indirect questions until he calmed down enough to ask, “speaking of torment, have you seen Amaya?”

Ah, there it is.

I decide to act a little coy; I think he deserves as much. “I see her most every day, so, yes,” I offer him raised eyebrows, but he doesn't look amused.

His face sours and he flips his head back to toss a stray hair off his nose. “I mean today. Have you seen her today?” he asks in monotone, leveling his eyes and pointedly keeping a smile off his face.

Tadao's murder-face is less scary than adorable.

Leaning against the counter, I look down at my laptop and notice that a stray NPC had apparently killed me.

Sigh...

Turning up at him, I smile and reply, “no, I didn't see her this-morning before I got here, and she hasn't been by.”

He pivots his waist around and scans the area, presumably looking for Amaya. The consternation on his face is palpable. He looks adorably lost, but I think there's a hint of concern in his demeanor, and it's making me wonder how much he worries about Amaya's condition. He doesn't get to see her as often as I do, and hasn't known her for quite as long, so he doesn't really know how severe her condition had been – or could be.

He didn't even know she was epileptic at last year's festival; she just told him the noise frightened her. The infrequency of her attacks doesn't seem to dawn on him, so I decide to offer some advice, “she's not a porcelain doll. You don't have to worry so much.”

“I'm just nervous,” he states. There are more words hung up in his head; I can see him trying to piece them together, so I wait. Finally he finishes the thought, “what if she doesn't show up?”

It's a simple question, and I wonder at how long it took for him to ask, but he's not great at conversation; usually spending too much time thinking about what to say. I decide to give a simple answer, “Then I'll go find her and give her a swift boot in your direction.” Finishing with a wink, I look back down at my laptop.

He shuffles a bit and continues scanning around, “Well, if you see her-”

“I'll tell her you were looking for her,” I finish his request. Waving my hand to shoo him away, I suggest, “go, wander around a bit. I'm sure she's just taking her time getting dressed.” He doesn't know about the new yukata, but I think he probably assumed she would be wearing one, so I decide to drop a hint. “Look for white, pink and black, with ribbons in her hair,” I describe absently, focusing on the loading screen.

Not seeing his nod as I wait for the loading bar to fill, I can still sense his thanks. hearing him wander away, I restart the campaign mode and go back to letting time sink away. Naoko asks about why Tadao was here, but I'm less specific than she probably desired. I don't mind if the whole school knows they're finally dating, but I think the specifics should be between them, rather than public information. Of course, I'll be squeezing all the information I can out of Amaya at my earliest convenience; I'm not the public, I'm her best friend - I need to know.

At least that's what I tell myself.

The morning turns into afternoon, and I continue playing my game in between working with the slow trickle of contestants. Naoko's shift ends at noon, and she departs, giddily darting toward the girls dorm to change, when Yoko arrives to relieve her.

Realizing I haven't talked to Yoko much, I recall she sits in the far corner of the class; a little too far for us to end up grouping together. Having just transferred from a regular school at the beginning of the year, she hasn't been around long enough for us to really have met; even though she's only a few doors down in the dorms. Mentioning she's of French descent and has Canadian parents, her freckled, cream-colored skin and bright-red locks of curly hair suddenly make sense.

Apparently she's deaf in her right ear -opposite of mine- but hasn't bothered learning to sign yet. She speaks flawless Japanese, and, having Canadian parents, she also speaks flawless English – as well as some French. I envy her mastery of English, especially. We share some stories about growing up with balance problems, but the conversation is mostly light; I avoid talking about being teased. As time wears on, I spend most of it staring blankly at my monitor trying to blast my way through Nazis in the British campaign.

Right around twelve thirty, a familiar face -or pair of faces, I should say- appears in front of me. One of them wearing her determined grin, and the other grinning her Cheshire cat smile, Shizune and Misha stand side-by-side wearing their school uniforms – rather plainly. I'm a bit surprised to see Misha isn't wearing any extra decoration, but Shizune probably wouldn't allow her that kind of leeway.

The Student Council should appear official at the festival, Shizune might say, since they were so heavily involved with the production. Acting as overseers to ensure everything is running properly, or at least that's the idea, I think. Mostly, Shizune just prefers to look official even when it isn't necessary. She takes the Class President title seriously – to a fault at times.

Their presence is somewhat unexpected, but am I surprised? No.

Standing, I closing the laptop to hide my frivolous pass-time and greet them with a smile and a nod. Misha's lilting voice -which I'm almost certain Naoko could hear if she hadn't left- follows Shizune's deft signing, blissfully ignoring the fact that I don't need the translation. “Hi, Aiko-chan~! Shicchan was wondering if you've had a busy morning.” Her drill-like pink hair bobs playfully as she speaks, distracting me from what she's saying for a moment.

Realizing the situation, I wonder at the odd question. They both know the festival proper hasn't actually started yet, but here they are asking how busy it has been. Shizune is usually much more direct than that, and I'm a little concerned why she's skirting the issue; whatever it may be. Signing back, I don't bother speaking, [It's been pretty slow, really. Though you already knew that since the festivities haven't officially started yet. Why are you here, really?]

Shizune places her hands on her hips and gives me a stern look, but it softens quickly and she leans back, grinning deviously, [I heard about your discussion with Nakai.] Misha starts to speak, but Shizune elbows her side; desiring to remain covert, apparently.

I don't like where this is going.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I try to smile, but realize it's somewhat futile. Having never been particularly good at hiding my emotions, I accept whatever expressions cross my face as I answer, [yeah. He was saying that he might just sleep the day away. I couldn't let him do that.]

Shizune smiles brightly and signs, [Neither could I.] Now she turns and looks past Misha, stepping to the side slightly, that devious smile returning as she glances toward a figure looking in the other direction.

Uh oh...

It takes a few seconds for the realization to hit, or maybe for the disbelief to wear away, but I feel my eyes widening anyway. I also feel my cheeks getting hot, and I look away toward my laptop. They brought Nakai out here with them, and now all I have the sense to do it stare blankly at my closed laptop.

Feeling it more than I hear it, I notice Shizune gently tapping on the counter, trying to get my attention. Looking up slowly, I hear Misha's laugh almost immediately. “Wahaha~!” she booms, tossing her head back.

Nakai is still looking away, but I see him visibly flinch upon hearing the booming laughter. Shizune starts signing again, and I find myself somewhat distracted, so she bumps Misha to translate. Her clandestine whisper is still loud, but it's closer to the level of normal speech. “We had to go brow-beat him into getting out of his dorm room~!” she says, turning her gaze back toward Nakai.

They went to his dorm room? Isn't that a little too forward?

Well, they are the Student Council, so I guess it's within their boundaries... but still.

What are they planning?

Misha is still talking, but the whisper begins to fade as she's clearly more excited than she ought to be, “Hicchan tried to weasel out of it, but Shicchan convinced him to go for a walk with us, and he explained about your im-pass-ion-ed speech.” Listening to her hang on the big word makes me smile reflexively.

By now I'm looking back at Shizune, finally tearing my gaze away from Nakai's backside -okay, I was staring- so she gives Misha another bump and continues signing, [He said he was inspired to come, but didn't know how to find you. We decided to show him.]

Oh. Oh wait! Oh no...

Smiling despite my sudden discomfort, I see Shizune patting the air. Leaning close, conspiratorially, she signs close to her body, [The game's afoot, Miss Kurai.]

The cryptic challenge is confusing, but the narrowed look in her eyes and the competitive, cat-like grin on her face are quite unsettling. Misha's beaming smile would never have been a solid indicator of anything, so looking to her won't help me figure this out.

Is she declaring a war for Nakai's affections?

If that's the case, she's being rather fair about it; bringing him right to me on the day of the festival. As Shizune leans away again, establishing her cocky grin and placing a hand on her hip, I wonder how she plans to fight this war – if it is a war. Having seen her play Risk, I know she's somewhat of a master strategist -and manipulator- but I never thought she would go so far as to turn something like this into a contest.

Shizune starts signing, still grinning cockily, [I understand you're taking Yoshida's shift, so you won't be able to escort Nakai around until a bit later.] She flashes a triumphant smile, [Therefore, Misha and I shall accompany him until your shift ends.]

Frowning, I realize her game. If there's one thing I know about Shizune, it's that she knows all is fair in love and war, so, if it's a war she wants, it's a war she'll get. Quickly deciding to make a play of my own, I use a secret weapon Shizune can't possibly possess – at least not directly.

Remembering our conversation in the math lab -specifically about wanting me to call him Hisao- I call out in the sweetest, most lilting, happy voice I can manage, “hey Hisao, you made it out~!” As he turns, I offer a sweet, girly smile accompanied by a fast-paced wave, beckoning him over.

Where was that confidence two days ago?

Shizune casts a scowl at me, understanding I've figured out her plan. As Nakai wanders over, I notice that he's still in his school uniform – with that dorky sweater-vest. I shouldn't say dorky, though, since it seems to suit him so well.

Eclectic, maybe.

Watching him, I wonder if he even brought any regular clothes with him; other than sweater-vests, of course, since this one looks different – it's argyle. Perhaps he was rushed to move here and left most of his things behind, or maybe whatever backwater burg he hails from doesn't have any good shopping centers. Keeping those perplexing thoughts off my face rather successfully, I smile contentedly as he steps up into the space between Shizune and Misha.

Wearing a sleepy smile, he greets me, “morning Aiko.” Looking like he just woke up, he scans around the inside of the booth with those big green -wait, they're brown- irises.

Must have been the florescent lights.

“It's already passed noon, y'know,” I chide, looking toward Misha. Apparently, with Nakai between them, it's difficult for her to sign everything to Shizune. A happy coincidence, I decide.

Should I feel bad for using Shizune's deafness against her? No.

“Y-yeah, well. I slept in,” he explains, stretching into a yawn. “I was about to head out to try and find you when these two,” he points to his sides, indicating the duo, “appeared at my door ready to drag me to the festival, kicking and screaming.” He grins widely, disarming Shizune's scowl. Misha is getting some of the conversation across, evidently.

Misha breaks out laughing, scaring some of the nearby festival-goers into a quicker pace, and Shizune starts signing. With Nakai between them, Misha can't see, so she sputters a bit, but remains quiet. [Nice move,] Shizune signs, dipping into a slight bow. [We'll be back just before Yoshida's shift ends.]

“Thank you,” I say, acknowledging her deference to my tactical advance. I don't bother signing it, but Shizune understands my meaning; she answers with a slight nod as I explain to Nakai, “I would have come and found you a bit later, but I'm trapped here for a while.” Glancing back at the inside of the booth, I see Yoko thumbing through a box, trying not to listen; though I don't think she's trying hard. She stands up quickly, realizing I've noticed her for the first time since Shizune and Misha arrived.

Turning back to Nakai, I smile and continue explaining, “I'll be here until one-thirty with Yoko.” I point a thumb over my shoulder, indicating the tall, red-haired girl. “These two have graciously decided to help show you around until then,” I smile and nod at each as I speak.

Nakai sputters, “O-Oh.” He looks a little deflated.

Maybe he was expecting me to abandon the booth?

That just wouldn't be proper, though. Then again, maybe he's still being bombarded with Student Council recruitment requests and isn't looking forward to walking around with them for an hour. He looks to Misha, then Shizune and shrugs. “Well, I'll be back then,” he says in a hopeful tone.

Keep your composure, Kurai.

Grinning, I try to hold the blush back, which seems to make it all the more fierce. Looking back down at my laptop nonchalantly, I pop it open this time, gracefully hiding the blush behind my hair. Nakai steps back a bit, realizing he's blocking the other two from conversing. Soon after, Misha starts signing and speaking, “we'll be back in about an hour, Aiko-chan~!”

As she speaks, I think of another card to play. Needing time to change into my yukata, I innocently ask, “can you make it ninety minutes?” Not bothering to look up I explain, “I might have to wait for my replacement” It's a tactical lie, but a plausible circumstance. Since I'm looking away, they can't get a read the deception on my face, so Misha just signs it back to Shizune.

I might actually be winning this little exchange.

They both turn away and Shizune signs something back that I can't see. Misha speaks again a moment later, “alright, Aiko-chan, we'll be back around two, then~! Don't tell her we'll be watching, Misha.” She stops and covers her mouth, looking nervously at Shizune. “Oops~! Wahaha~!” her laughter seems to shake the key-chains hanging in the booth, making them rattle – maybe it was just the breeze, though.

Shizune glares at her, but it almost looks practiced. There isn't quite as much bluster in the look, and that makes me think this is an attempted psych-out. If it is, I think she knows I'll realize her scheme, but it's bound to work anyway. Even if I don't really think they'll be watching -they'll be wandering around with Nakai, presumably- it will still make me jumpy and self-conscious.

One last gut-punch to keep me honest, I guess.

Realizing I'll have to take special care when I weave my way back through the crowds to my dorm so I can change, I nod at Shizune with narrowed eyes. She offers a sweet smile before turning away, beckoning Misha and Nakai to follow with a loud snap of her fingers.

When they're gone, Yoko walks up to the counter next to me and smirks. “So, Shizune declared war, I take it,” she surmises with a smirk. A cat-like grin replaces the smirk and she adds, “you can take her.”

Evidently she picked up on the conversation, and figured out what was being said, even though she could only have caught snippets of the discussion. Uncertain how she could know I'd be capable of defeating Shizune -if that's what this comes to- I smile dumbly and nod at her vote of confidence. I quietly hope she's right - if not for my sake, then for Nakai's.

The look on his face as Shizune paraded him away was somewhere between confusion and distress, and I wonder how far he is from breaking down and joining the Student Council. I also wonder whether the interest he seemed to have in me is greater or lesser than his interest in Shizune – which was more apparent in hindsight. Maybe he was just being courteous, though. Still, the idea of competing for his affection is somewhat off-putting morally, but I'm not the one who tossed the gauntlet.

Misha's slip of the tongue -a tactical psychological bomb, as it were- keeps me looking up from my laptop as the afternoon continues. Yoko doesn't say much as the crowds start getting busier. She's not used to running a booth like this -it being her first year at the Yamaku Festival- so she defers to my judgment whenever someone shows up at the booth to play the fish-bowl game.

Making a point to quickly fill empty hooks with more prizes from the boxes, she ensures the walls look nicely stocked with plenty of variety. I do most of the talking, and the crowds begin piling up such that I hide my laptop back in its bag, joining in with the laughter and exclamations from players and spectators alike. When the announcement comes over the loud-speaker that the festival has officially begun, we can barely hear it over the jovial crowd.

Reflexively checking my watch anyway, I know my -Tadao's- shift is up in thirty minutes, but I don't want to be caught unaware. Repeatedly glancing into the crowds, I keep a look out for the most distinct indicator of Shizune's likely presence; Misha's pink hair. Although I wonder if she might send Misha to stalk around nearby, just to distract me and further my nervousness. However, I doubt she'd send her translator away unless Nakai understood sign – which I know he doesn't. She could pass notes, I guess, but she hates that practice.

Yoko starts to take a more active role in the ordeal as she seems to be getting a lot of attention. The crowd around here isn't used to seeing foreigners, so they have a lot of questions; they don't realize she was actually raised in Japan. As we're collecting yen and dolling out prizes, she explains how her father, Pierre Guidot, was a businessman from Canada who moved to Japan with his wife in the nineties to fill an executive position. Evidently her parents gave their daughter a Japanese name in honor of the continental change, but I think it's just as likely a nod to The Beatles.

Observing the crowd's complimentary interest in her, and getting to know her a little better, I lose all track of time. When our two replacements, Toru Tanaka and Jun Uematsu, arrive, we continue working with the crowd until I happen to glance at my watch. Leaping back at the startling realization that I've wasted almost fifteen minutes of my changing time, I duck down, grab my laptop, wave a happy farewell to the remaining trio and dart away as quickly as my feet -and my balance- will take me.

Spectacular. So glad I could stick with the plan.

Having no time for it, I don't bother checking for Shizune or Misha's prying eyes as I push my way into the dorms and dash up the steps, down the hall and into my room. Safely behind the door, I lean against it and toss my laptop, gently, onto my bed. After taking a moment to breathe -I just ran faster than I have in weeks- I dig out my new yukata and get to changing.

Looking at my watch repeatedly seems to waste more time than just going about the dressing, but I can't help myself. Like I'm being held in a pit with a bladed pendulum slowly swinging overhead, mocking my need to rush, begging me to look at it over and over as my doom approaches. Of course, it's not that dramatic; I'm not facing an execution. However, if I'm late, Shizune will see it as a defeat on my part, and I have no intention of letting her win.

Finally, I tie the obi around my waist and slip into the decorative, green geta –sandals- that match the ribbon in my hair. Recalling having painted my toenails a few nights ago, I'm glad for a moment that I'm an insomniac. Standing in front of the mirror, I look myself over. The yukata fits comfortably, highlighting my curvy figure, and the pattern works wonderfully with my hair; just as it did yesterday afternoon. Seeing my content smile, I'll have to remember to thank Miyoto for his excellent design sense.

Later, though.

With my hair done up the way it is with the green ribbon, I decide I look rather stunning and cute in a girly way, and I hope that's what Nakai thinks; I also hope I'm not overdoing things. This is just a tour, I force myself to remember.

Right?

Taking a last look at my watch, I realize I have just enough time to walk, slowly, confidently, down to the booth to await Shizune's return with Misha and Nakai. Deciding to be cautious, I lock my door; in the event Shizune decides to do reconnaissance while Nakai and I are out wandering. For some reason I doubt she'd stoop that low, but, who knows how far she's willing to go, having decided to set up a competition like this; it's an unsettling thought.

Of course, knowing I have enough time doesn't stop me from running all the way there – albeit at a slower pace than my mad dash to the dorms, now that I'm wearing these shoes. Smiling and nodding at the approving looks -and cat calls- from Toru and Jun, I make it back to the booth and calmly walk around the back. My yukata draws a few grins from the crowd as well.

Yoko appears to have noticed the time and vanished soon after I did, and I muse at the depleted crowd that seemed to result from her absence. The two boys are uncertain why I came back, but I don't get time to explain – not that I would. When Shizune appears behind the crowd with Misha and Nakai in tow, I step out around the booth into view.

Making a face somewhere between shock and anger upon seeing me in the yukata, she folds her arms in front of her and nods. The look she offers seems to say, “brilliant move,” though I don't think she would use such an emphatic adjective.

Misha dances over to me and happily giggles, seemingly ignoring my deception; or she doesn't realize it was deceptive. “Wahaha~!” Her laugh makes me cringe, but I smile anyway, trying to turn my deaf ear in her direction. She lightly touches my shoulders, grinning wildly, and looks me over. “I love your yukata~! You look so pretty~!” she compliments. Turning away, she asks Nakai, “doesn't she, Hicchan~?” He blushes fiercely and shuffles his feet, not giving an answer to the loaded question.

I wonder if he understands Shizune and I are competing?

Maybe he's just nervous around girls, or, worse, maybe he doesn't think I'm pretty. Then again, he's blushing so hard, I think his face might pop. Shizune looks on with a wondering expression, having no real idea what we're saying since her translator is looking the other way and I'm not filling in the blanks.

Misha steps off to the side and starts signing to Shizune, and there's suddenly nothing between me and Nakai except a few meters of air. He's smiling now, and nodding; It's kind of sweet and innocent. The blush is fading, but he can't seem to look anywhere but at me. Smiling back, I hope his is a silent answer to Misha's blundering -or tactical- question.

We lock eyes, awkwardly at first, but we both relax quickly. Misha's boisterous voice fades into the ether, which is very odd considering how loud she is, as we -Hisao and I- stand there, each lost in a contemplative gaze. As I stare back -and I know I'm staring, but so is he- I wonder why I feel so light and entranced.

The sounds around us seem to go silent, and I feel like I've slipped out of time. Maybe this is what it's like to pass through one of those portals in that game I feel like I was playing ten years ago. Standing between worlds in the silence, locked in a friendly gaze that looks a lot like your own.

He has almost a child-like quality to his posture, even though he's slouching a bit and keeps pawing at his chest. I barely know this guy, and I've barely said anything to him –nor him to me- but there's something in his eyes that begs to be known. It's mysterious and adorable, and I can't seem to look away.

Suddenly, Shizune steps between us, breaking the spell. The sound of the crowds and Misha's lilt fill the air again almost immediately, and I turn my gaze down to my feet. I wriggle my toes absently as Shizune starts signing something, but I have my eyes averted. Misha's voice echoes in my ear and I finally look up as she speaks, “Earth to Aiko-chan~! Shicchan asked you a question.”

Looking at Shizune, I breathe an apologetic-sounding, “what?”

She grins wickedly at seeing my dreamy expression and rolls her eyes as she repeats the question. For once, Misha doesn't translate, [are you well enough to show him around?]

There's a hint of concern in her look, and I realize I might have appeared as though I might pass out during the extended gaze. They don't seem to have noticed I was staring at Hisao. Having melded out of reality for a few seconds, it seems, I must look a bit flustered, but I don't think the reason bears mentioning; at least they aren't saying anything.

Oh, am I making fun of the mute, again? Ha!

Nodding, I shake my head and start signing. [Yeah, sorry. Little dizzy spell is all,] I lie again. This time I don't look away; I think I'm getting the hang of lying, as much as I find that thought disturbing.

Backing away, she heaves a sigh and offers an understanding smile. Signing once again, Misha dutifully translates, “we leave Hicchan in your capable hands, then, Aiko-chan~! We've shown him some of the booths already, but I don't think he'll mind repeat visits~!” She turns and winks at Nakai, who looks away and kicks the ground; another child-like gesture. She turns and throws her head back in a booming, “Wahaha~!” In response, somewhere in a tree, I swear I can see a bird exploding into a shower of feathers.

Shizune beckons her over and, after a nodding her cat-like grin at me, the two of them walk away, headed toward the dorms. Watching them go, I wonder if they have master keys.

They are the Student Council, so maybe... Was locking my door futile?

Paling a little at the thought, I brush it aside. I still don't think Shizune would sink that low.

I guarantee this isn't over, though.
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Previous Chapter|Next Chapter

This was the most amicable break I could figure out for splitting this chapter. It's the end of all the morning activities – with Misha and Shizune leaving. From here on, it's the afternoon/evening with Hisao.

I've already written this and three following chapters, but I'm not going to release them all at once. Every few days or so, I'll post another chapter – I kind of like having a backlog and some lead-time. I can work on the story and be able to go over it more thoroughly this way.

I'll also be posting edited versions of the first three chapters (pasting right over them, really) for some minor alterations (nothing drastic, just clearing up the narrative in places, fixing punctuation and grammar, etc.) just so this version is consistent with the one on my hard-drive.

[Helbereth]

<reserved for readjustment>

Back to Page 1|Character Biographies

[Helbereth]

When I was 11, I stayed up late one night with my dad and watched a George Carlin HBO special he'd gotten a tape of from a friend at work. Many of the bits stuck out in my mind, but one of them inspired the title for this chapter.

Airline Language - the Near-Miss

This is the longer half of the festival at 8200 words, so I split it into two posts. I'm not sure how long a post can be, but 8200 seemed like a rather high number. I didn't want to end up having a problem.

Previous Chapter|Part 2|Next Chapter
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Chapter 5 - Near-Miss

Shizune and Misha disappear behind one of the outer walls, and I turn away. As my head settles back in the other direction, I remember Hisao is there – somehow I had forgotten. I also realize that I have absolutely no idea what I've gotten myself into. I've never walked around the festival with a boy before -Tadao doesn't count since Amaya was with us- and I have no clue what he would even want to see. As I'm mulling this over, I notice he's got one hand on the back of his neck and the other in his pocket, looking equally perplexed.

Okay, the first step is to ask a question – I think.

Would he want to try the games first? Would that make me seem too forward? Would he rather walk around first? Has he seen the rest of the school grounds yet? Does he wear anything other than sweater-vests? Where is he from? What does he like? Who are his parents? How did he end up at Yamaku?

Why isn't he saying anything!?

Right, I haven't asked anything. I'm just staring at the ground near his feet -his shoes are obviously new- trying to think of the right question to ask; but I've got nothing. He isn't helping, either; staring at nothing with a dumb expression, running a hand through his messy hair.

This is stupid. We sat through writing those reports comfortably enough, and we even talked a little. I yelled at him during lunch, but it was for good reason. He's here because I told him he should be here, but he also got dragged out of his dorm by the Student Council. Does Shizune like him, or is she just teasing me? Does Misha sleep with that drill haircut? Does she know how awkward she made this?

Stop asking yourself stupid questions and concentrate.

I steady myself, pushing the myriad questions and observations out of my head by closing my eyes – a gesture I hope he thinks is merely contemplative. I'm supposed to be fairly socially adept, Amaya says so; though I might be losing practice interacting with jar-heads and losers via online games.

How is this really different? I can see him, that's how it's different.

Trying to act nonchalant, I open my eyes and meet his gaze again, but I immediately glance away awkwardly.

I should take a break from gaming. It's stunting my social skills.

Finally a single, stilted word -a solitary syllable- flies up through my throat and finds its way over my tongue into the air, “So...”

Excellent, you managed to get one word out. You're practically a philosopher in this conversation.

He sputters back with a few solid, nervous laughs and starts, “I- Um... We were- Uh...” His free hand -the one that was running through his hair a second ago- makes weird gestures with his words -if you could call them words- and his expression changes between confusion, shock, and abject terror with each utterance.

This is going well. Okay, so he's not great at this, either. We can be awful at it together. Work with me, Hisao!

I finally think of something that sounds almost like a conversation starter. “Are you liking the festival so far?” I ask with a grin; more for pride at finally piecing a complete sentence together than any kind of emotional attachment. Meanwhile, he gets this far-away look and starts glancing around at the festival grounds absently.

He's thinking. He's thinking? Stop thinking and say something! This is killing me!

Finally after what feels like a year and a half of waiting, he finally grins and nods. That's all - a slight half-grin and a single bounce of his head. Not a word, not a sound; just a nod and a smile. If there were crickets out this early, they would rise in a crescendo. He continues wandering his gaze around the festival grounds, looking oblivious.

I need input, dammit! I can't run this conversation by myself!

I start giggling nervously, wondering if he's doing this on purpose. Turning my own wandering gaze around the festival grounds, I start looking for something to talk about. Barely conscious of it, I catch a smell that I recognize. Something simple from my childhood that sparks an idea – one I probably should have thought up two years ago when this conversation started. I look back to him with my mouth hanging open and a quizzical furrow of my brow. I try to speak, but the question catches in my throat -the thought obliterated by my inaction- and instead, I just sigh loudly.

Apparently, the tales of my social prowess are greatly exaggerated.

Taking a moment to think, I remember Shizune's challenge. I have to do something here, or she wins by default.

Wins what?

That's different question entirely, but that's not important – not right now. I don't want to lose, regardless of the prize.

Is Hisao the prize? Is that how this works?

I push the contemptible thoughts aside and settle my nerves with a deep breath, closing my eyes to clear the nagging internal monologue. With as sweet a smile as I can manage, I convert my broken thoughts into a question, “have you... eaten anything yet?”

Holy cheese-balls you finally said something marginally intelligent!

As soon as I finish asking, clarity seems to dawn across his confused visage. This is a break-through. Shaking his head emphatically, he says, “no. Shizune insisted I wait until I met up with you.” He looks around, almost like he's expecting to be jumped by a mugger – or the Student Council. “She said -or Misha did, rather-” he mumbles that part, waving his hand back and forth with each few words. “Her company was temporary, since you were the one who insisted I come out today.”

Where was all this clarity when this stuttering contest started three years ago?

I'm not sure if leaving him unfed is part of Shizune's game, but, choosing to forget the awkwardness of his reply, I nod happily. At least now we are able to put two or more words together when we speak.

I step over tentatively, and stand to his side. “Well,” I start, sweeping my hand across the grounds, “pick your poison.” I recall what I was going to ask before my throat betrayed me, and say, “I was going to suggest takoyaki, but there's dumplings, noodles, soup – all sorts of things.”

After our three-year stuttering contest, I feel strangely comfortable talking to Nakai -Hisao, I should say- now that we've gotten past the initial awkwardness.

He wanted me to call him Hisao. I should remember that.

I watch as he looks at the booths. He seems to have relaxed, but he does keep a hand on his chest, rubbing his sternum absently. I see the gears turning like with Tadao, but he doesn't stare at the sky – instead his eyes seem to narrow like he's trying to focus inward. Turning a raised eyebrow at me, he finally asks, “Is the takoyaki good? I haven't had it in a while.”

Shocked out of my musing, I quickly answer, “I highly recommend it.”

“Well, then. You're the one with experience – lead on.” He takes his hand out of his pocket and waves me ahead. Bowing graciously, which probably looks a little strange in the yukata, I start toward the takoyaki booth. As I pass in front of him, I wonder if he's being gentlemanly or just trying to get a look at my behind.

I shouldn't think like that, he seems nice; nice boys don't have thoughts like-

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not that naïve.

Besides, do I really mind after I spent at least fifteen seconds staring at his-

“Hey, Aiko!” A familiar voice breaks me out of those lewd thoughts, and I turn to see Amaya and Tadao, arm-in-arm, walking towards us from across the grassy field. For a second I forget Hisao is there and I wave cheerfully. They banter playfully, though quietly, as they walk over and each offers a bow.

Evidently the consternation Tadao was feeling has dissipated; he is no longer glancing around nervously or destroying a pencil. Amaya accepts his hand around her waist unflinchingly. You would almost think they had already been dating for months rather than a matter of hours – though that wouldn't exactly be far from the truth. They seem to walk like they're only one person, falling perfectly in step – it's disgustingly adorable.

“Nice yukata, Aiko,” Tadao states, nodding with approval.

Amaya steps away from Tadao and playfully bats at my hair, bounding around me like a child. “Oh I love the ribbon, it suits you per-fectly~!” she exclaims, the wistful lilt in her voice reminiscent of Misha – though Amaya isn't nearly as loud.

Along with the pink, white and black yukata, she has a pink barrette holding her hair back, and there are pink ribbons tied to it, trailing down behind her. Her gaze turns to my side and she cocks her head to ask, “who's your friend?”

I suddenly remember Hisao is there. I also remember Amaya was out when he came for lunch, so they never met. I stutter a few prepositions and glance at Hisao, but he seems busy looking over my friends. After what feels like twenty minutes, but was really more like two seconds, I hold a hand out toward Hisao, the other firmly planted on my hip, and introduce him, “this is our new classmate, Hisao Nakai. He's in 3-3.”

Amaya's grin is terribly devious as the realization hits her. “Oh, right, your new boyfriend,” she says flatly.

I swat her with the hand I was holding toward Hisao, catching her hip as she leaps back on her toes. Tadao grins, shaking his head, and I almost want to kick his shins, but he's keeping quiet so I let it slide; I also don't want Hisao to think I frequently kick people who make fun of me, even if it's probably true.

“He's not my-” Stopping that thought, I look at Hisao. He's blushing and looks nervous again. I drop that statement and turn a glare on Amaya's giggling face. “I'm just showing him around.” A quick check on Hisao shows the nervousness dissipating into a half-smile. It's not much, but it's something.

Amaya quiets her giggling and leans in, her dimples making her serious look appear much cuter than it should. “Seems more like you're showing him off,” she holds her arms out, as if indicating the entire crowd.

Tadao finally interjects before I can slap the crooked smile off Amaya's face, “ladies, please. If you're going to fight, please let the two of us gather a crowd.” He nods toward Hisao with a wry smirk, but Hisao just looks bewildered by the whole conversation.

Amaya and I glare at Tadao with seething rage for a few seconds, but it breaks into giggling almost immediately. Hisao's quizzical expression when I look back is telling – I haven't introduced my friends yet. Calming myself I hold out a hand to each as I make the introductions. “This is Amaya Yamamoto, she was out sick when you came by.” Hisao nods, and I continue, “this is Tadao Yoshida. I know you met, but I'm not sure if you got his name.”

“I hadn't,” Hisao admits, offering his hand to shake Tadao's. Amaya offers a wave, fluttering her eyelids and sticking her tongue out at me. Hisao starts chuckling as he looks between us and finally says, “you've known each other a while, I gather.”

I explain, “Amaya and I have been dorm-neighbors since our first year, and Tadao's been in our classes since our second.”

Tadao comes straight out with his explanation, “I'm partially deaf in both ears,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. Then, pointing to his left ear, he continues, “This one's worse off, hence the aid. Neurofibromatosis two.” He always uses the scientific name for his condition. Hisao doesn't appear to have any idea what it means, but Tadao just grins. “It's a degenerative disorder, and someday I might be blind, too,” he widens his eyes as he says that, mocking the severity of his condition.

That last part shocks Hisao visibly, but Tadao's disarming smile alleviates his apprehension. Tadao always tells people about his disability right away -sometimes as the first thing he says- so people don't get uncomfortable about it, he once told me. When he first came to Yamaku and stood in front of the class to introduce himself, he explained the whole thing -speaking and signing every word- to the entire class. Considering Hisao's condition -whatever it is- has no outward signs, I guess he feels like he can hide it better. Tadao really can't, considering the hearing aid, so he just explains it immediately - it's actually endearing.

Amaya giggles nervously and buries her face in Tadao's arm. She's on the other end of the spectrum. Amaya would just assume people never find out she has a condition – or have them find out when she has an attack. That was how I found out. Our first week here, we were getting acquainted in her room and doing some studying when she suddenly stopped moving. A few seconds later, she fell over and started convulsing. I hadn't taken it well. Panicking, I'd run across the campus to get Nurse, nearly collapsing in his office. She wouldn't speak to me for a week. I wonder if that's what it will take for Hisao to tell me whatever mysterious condition brought him to Yamaku.

I hope not.

Silence falls over the four of us after Tadao's revelation. Hisao shifts on his feet uncomfortably, and Amaya continues to avert her gaze. You would think a school full of disabled kids could avoid this kind of situation -that the students would be more forthcoming considering the environment- but people are people. Most people don't like revealing their flaws unless they have to, and, even though most of the students have flaws to share -some more obvious than others- they still feel the need to guard them. I know I do.

I smile at Amaya, who's peeking out at me, expecting me to speak next. Hisao is still shuffling nervously, and Tadao ran out of things to say, so I break the tension with a stilted laugh that I hope sounds sincere, followed by a question, “weren't we about to get some takoyaki?”

Hisao grins and nods, happy for the uncomfortable conversation -and silence- to be over. Pointing at Amaya and Tadao, his wordless question hangs in the air. I catch on quickly and ask, “you two care to join us?”

Tadao nods, and Amaya joins him without even seeing his head moving. It's almost as though they're communicating telepathically; or they're just both feeling agreeable. I'm sure Hisao thinks they've been dating for months, given how easily they've adapted in only a day.

The four of us approach the takoyaki booth and soon we're off walking around the festival grounds, junk food in hand. The two of them walking between Hisao and I, Amaya and Tadao help with pointing out the different booths to Hisao as we eat. His expressions are mostly serene, but sometimes full of wonderment. I make a note to mention that the booths are all well-stocked because of his help with getting the reports finished. He smiles proudly at that, but his reflective look makes me wonder if he really feels like he helped anything.

Otherwise, our discussion is mostly about schoolwork, since none of us want to bring up anything serious. Hisao avoids talking about his past, and we don't press him. Every so often I catch him rubbing his sternum again, and I begin to wonder how he developed such an odd habit. I don't mention it, though. Knowing I have some odd conversational habits, I don't feel inclined to ask about his.

As we walk around together, I wonder at how eased I feel. After the outburst in class, I know there are probably a lot of rumors running around the school, but I'm surprisingly comfortable. I should feel self-conscious and awkward having most of the students around in earshot, but I'm just not. Hisao seems relaxed as well, smiling often and laughing at Amaya and Tadao's jovial banter. He hasn't brought up the outburst, so I don't know what he thought of it exactly, but he hasn't complained. I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I think he might even be glad I yelled at him.

After checking through the booths, we decide to wander around the rest of the school grounds – eventually finding our way out near the gate where Rin -the arm-less painter- is sitting, cross-legged, on the ground staring at the mural she had apparently finished. Amaya and Tadao stare at each other as we stop, seemingly lost in their own little world. As I scan across the artwork from afar, I notice Hisao's contented expression and wonder aloud, “have you seen anything like it?”

He leans forward to look around the tittering couple and smiles. “No, not exactly. I ended up helping Rin carry some paints out here the other day, though,” he explains.

“Oh so you've met our school's philosophizing artist, then?” I ask, rather rhetorically.

He looks back at Rin, who is sitting calmly even though I'm sure she can catch parts of our conversation. “I guess so. Though I'm not sure how much I actually know about her even after half an afternoon.”

Rin speaks up, still looking at the mural, having heard his pondering, “you can only know as much about someone else as you allow yourself to hear. I read that in a book, I think. Or maybe someone told me.”

I giggle a bit, but nod in agreement. I tilt my head toward the mural as I ask, “you finished it in time, then?”

Rin casts her wandering glance at me and smiles, “Finished what?”

I shake my head, feeling like I'm shoveling against the tide. “The mural,” I say, pointing.

“Oh that, yeah. I wasn't sure if you meant something else. You should be more specific.” She stands and takes a few steps back, looking back to the mural before saying, “Then again, everyone else has had the same question so I shouldn't be surprised.”

Conversations with Rin always seem to go like this, but I enjoy it anyway. She makes you think about what you're saying if nothing else, and there's a wisdom in her words – even if figuring it out can often take a few seconds.

Amaya and Tadao start walking down along the mural, commenting on the imagery as they go. Hisao walks in step beside me and seems lost in thought as he looks over the brightly colored abstract depictions. He starts mouthing a comment a few times, but holds back. He blushes seeing a few of the images -naked human forms- but he resists the desire to make childish comments like Tadao and Amaya.

I scan over the abstract mural, and I decide that I like it, but I don't know why. I lack the artistic vocabulary to describe it, so I start to look at it like a mathematician. I see the radii crossing and tangents ending, their vectors blending together to form complex shapes that, in turn, form images. It's simple and beautiful, complex and serene. I still don't really know what it's saying, but, when I look back at Rin, quietly sitting again, I almost understand. I stop walking, turning to settle my gaze on the arm-less artist, then scan over the mural again. If I thought I knew what I was talking about, I'd tell her I thought it was her reflection – or something like that.

Hisao comes up behind me explaining, “Emi told me she slept out here Friday night trying to finish.” I finally notice the baritone of his voice. No longer stuttering or reacting awkwardly, its clarity and depth make him sound serene. Or maybe I just like the sound of it – who knows.

I think I know.

I'm pulled out of my musing hearing Emi's name brought up and I decide to ask a question, “I heard you were running with Emi. How's that going?” He gives an uncomfortable smile and looks away. In the back of my mind there is a little green monster that wants to slap him – but I resist.

Jealousy? Why do my thoughts automatically become dark like that?

Finally he looks back at me and sighs, the baritone missing, “I don't think I'm cut out for running anymore.” He paws at his chest again; it seems like a nervous tick, almost. He only seems to do it when he's under stress.

“Did you used to run a lot?” I ask, not expecting the gravity of the question to hit him like a brick. He clams up and looks depressed for a second, and I hate to see that frown creeping back onto his pallid countenance.

He narrows his eyes, staring ahead blankly as we start to walk – he's thinking. I want to offer him some support, but I still feel like I would be overstepping my bounds. After a few agonizing seconds, he centers his gaze on me and smiles, “I used to play soccer, but I kinda can't anymore.” The look on his face says he has more to say, but it also says it's not something he's ready to say – not yet. I feel a little frustrated at his elusiveness, but I'm not going to force him to tell me any more than I forced Amaya – or she forced me. He looks like he wants to tell me eventually, and that's fine for now.

I wish he'd just be out with it, though.

I reach a hand up and pound his shoulder lightly with my fist. “Hey, don't worry about it,” I say, smiling serenely, “everyone has their secrets.” He smiles, relieved by my candor. His hand drops back down into his pocket. Whatever did happen, it apparently hasn't settled well, and I don't want to make it any worse. He can remain a mystery for a while longer.

Deciding to make the most of what he did tell me, I ask, “so, soccer, huh? Were you any good~?” I try to imitate Amaya's lilt, but it just makes my voice crack.

He raises an eyebrow and smirks a playfully before answering, “well, since you asked so nicely, yeah. I was a God on the field. Women used to fall over at the sight of me, stricken with fever.” That confident baritone is back, and I'm glad.

Catching onto his exaggeration, I close my eyes and dramatically hold one hand to my forehead, the other over my heart, to fake a swoon. I lean back, sighing, “oh, Mister Nakai, you do have that effect on a lady~!” I lean back a bit further, closing my eyes dramatically, “I may swoon!” I say, but suddenly I feel cold.
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[Helbereth]

Previous Chapter|Part 1|Next Chapter
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Time seems to slow as the world turns over before my eyes -or it seems to- and I feel myself lurching forward; the fake swoon becomes a real one. I hear Hisao start to laugh, but it's stifled into a gasp. The familiar numb, buzzing sensation runs down my spine, I feel light, my head lolls, and the dizzy spell starts pulling me off my feet.

Not in the face!

Instantly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and I'm pressed against something warm. My senses addled, I can't tell if it's the sun-baked sidewalk or a wall. I think I'm still standing, though, so it's likely a wall – a soft wall. I bury my head down as the waves of nausea wash over me, and blink reflexively as the world rotates out of control. For a second, I try to look up, but my vision blurs and my head pounds. I close my eyes and try to suppress a barely-audible whimper.

“Aiko?” I hear Hisao's voice, filled with worry, from somewhere above me, followed by the sound of footsteps coming from the side. I assume they belong to Amaya and Tadao.

“Oh, nice and smooth, Aiko. Go right for the fake dizzy spell bit.” Amaya's playful tone makes me smile a bit, but I'm definitely not faking. The world is off its axis, and if not for this warm wall, I would be flat on the ground by now. I try to focus on the darkness behind my eyelids, but the banal feeling remains.

“I don't think she's faking, Ams,” I hear Tadao's say, a concerned edge to his usual monotone. I open my eyes again, hoping the whirling has subsided, but I feel my whole body lurch sideways. That might only be in my head, though – this wall is sturdy. My eyes fall shut again and I concentrate on controlling the building nausea.

Keep the takoyaki in!

Hisao's voice comes again from above me, “is she alright?” and I suddenly realize what this warm wall must be. I gasp and try looking up, but the motion makes me turn back down and bury myself against him harder. I can hear his heartbeat in my ears now, and it's somehow comforting; though it sounds a little fast.

My heart flutters a bit as I take in the sound, and I wonder if it's just the excitement or raging hormones making his heart beat so fast – both, probably. I grin at the thought, despite the embarrassment. Realizing I'm now blushing, I'm glad my face seems to be buried in his chest. I can't see his face, but part of me hopes he's blushing too. If Shizune saw this, I think she'd be fuming. Then again, this could count against me if the nausea gets worse.

Time starts returning to normal, and I begin regaining my senses. I can hear hushed voices from somewhere nearby, and the pleasant odor of fried food fills my nose. There's a soapy smell -like laundry detergent- but I think that's coming from Hisao. I smile weakly and look up at him, but his worried expression makes me frown.

Dammit.

He turns a pleading glance toward Amaya, and she responds, “she gets dizzy spells sometimes. Ear thing. Walking around in this heat probably didn't help.”

I feel her arm wrap under mine, and I weakly try to squeak a protest, to have my pride, but Amaya is in mother mode. I want to say I'm fine, but I know I'm not. The world is calmed, but it's still spinning and my stomach feels like it wants to leap out through my throat.

“Help her down,” she says, and I don't have the physical or cognitive ability to argue. A moment later, Hisao's heat fades as I'm lowered to sit on the sidewalk, feeling like a wet rag being left in the sun.

This is mortifying.

Most of the time my dizzy spells are just quick little overbalancing escapades; but every so often the conditions are just right and I flop over like a porcelain doll. Nausea often accompanies the really bad spells, and I remember my parents used to worry terribly that I'd fall down the stairs or from some other precarious place. “Vertigo without the heights,” my doctor said once. I remember not understanding and just giggling – I was only seven. Right about now, I think I'd slap him.

“Usually they're over pretty quick, but sometimes they linger,” I hear Amaya say.

Finally gathering the strength to speak, if not to look at her, I balk, “I'm fine.”

Amaya pets my shoulder as I sit on the curb for a few minutes until I can collect myself. I see Hisao's feet in front of me and I chance looking up as he kneels down. I try to smile, but instead I double over quickly, holding my stomach and trying not to wretch - quietly hoping I don't mess up his shoes, or my yukata. He seems so concerned and pale, and it feels nice that he's worried, but I really don't want to seem like some storybook damsel in a dress.

I will the last of the nausea away and force a smile, remarking, “you really do make ladies swoon.” He starts laughing and i'm glad to see the worried look leave his face. Amaya joins in, adding her giggle to the mix, and I even hear Tadao offering some soft chuckles, which is the most I ever hear when he laughs.

Crisis averted -takoyaki still inside- Amaya helps me back to my feet. “Stop making her swoon,” she chides, bumping her fist on Hisao's shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him. Once I'm righted, she wanders back over to Tadao and I'm left looking at Hisao with an apologetic half-smile. He doesn't look unhappy, though. A little concerned still, but he is trying to put on a happy face.

“Shall we continue the tour?” he asks, holding out a hand toward where Amaya and Tadao are walking away, smiling kindly. I grin, not being able to resist that smile.

I don't think I want to resist it.

He leads now, though he's just following the other two, and I fall in step just behind him, making sure to walk carefully-close in case of aftershocks. I don't tell him that I might need to be caught again, but I'm not afraid; I don't think he'd let me fall over.

My mind wanders as we walk and talk quietly. He explains how he was never really great at soccer, but liked to play socially. I tell him about how I never got into sports because of my balance problems, and he doesn't pry. Looking around as we talk, the sky begins to dim, and the stars start to show through the veil of the sky. Soon the sun is dipping low on the horizon, and the mood in the air begins to change.

During the day the festival is playful and childish; there are random giggling voices floating all around as people visit the different games and try the different foods. As the light drifts away, the atmosphere changes to something between somber and romantic.

It's a bit cliché, but the paper lanterns hanging in the trees and the lights from the festive booths cast a soft glow over everything, turning the whole festival ground into something surreal. Like an impressionist painting, the bright colors flow over the darkened background, and, for a while, it feels like I've stepped into another reality.

Nightfall brings a hush over the festival ground as people pick out spots in the fields, or up on the roof of the school, to sit and wait for the fireworks display. Amaya and Tadao sit down in the middle of the grassy field, and I see her hugging closely to Tadao, burying her eyes in his side. She's still worried about the bright flashes triggering an attack, but she's using that fear to push closer to Tadao. I smile and nod at them, feeling pride in my work – though I really didn't do much.

Okay, I did trick them into this, but they needed to be tricked.

Hisao sits down next to a tree and leans against it, beckoning me to join him with a pat on the grass to his left. I comply without hardly a thought, and sit right next to him, leaning forward with my arms wrapped around my knees, looking up at the sky expectantly. He leans back against the tree and turns his gaze skyward, waiting.

As the first flickers of light begin to burst in the sky, I carefully plug my right ear with a finger, listening to the blood rush in my head as the thundering pops reverberate through my body. Hisao leans forward seeing me with my finger stuck in my ear and raises an eyebrow quizzically. I turn and smile.

“Does the sound bother you?” he asks, looking back up at the sky. A bright flash of blue flickers across his face and I watch the cascade of shimmering stars reflecting in his eyes.

Stop staring!

Sighing, I grin, saying, “no, I just like the vibrations better.” I catch that happy smile on his face and wistfully add, “I used to sit with my dad and we'd both block our ears during the fireworks. He said it was really the reverberations you remember. Like the drumbeat to a good song.”

He leans back against the tree and lifts his own fingers up to block both ears. “Like this?” he asks, looking silly.

I lean back and nudge his arm. With both of us blocking our ears, we need to be closer to continue the conversation. “Yeah,” I say loudly.

“Y'know fireworks are more than just vibrations,” he's almost yelling to reach over the din of explosions – and through my sound-blocking finger. His eyes remain skyward as I turn myself slightly and lean back, resting against his chest and staring skyward. He continues explaining, “the colors are different because the various charges are filled with both black powder and some other granulated metal that burns with a specific color.”

That's... nice. Does he watch a lot of the Discovery Channel?

As I lean against him under the tree, I'm lost in the warmth again, and I lose track of what he's talking about. I think he's still explaining how fireworks get their bright colors, but I'm not certain. It doesn't matter. I feel the vibrations from his talking more than I hear his words. My conscious mind drifts away from his voice such that it becomes a senseless whisper interspersed with colorful explosions that rattle the ground and remind me of my childhood.

I feel as though I should remember what this is like; sitting in the cool grass, the smell of fried foods and smoke on the air, happy laughter and exclamations from the crowd behind me, and his dulcet baritone whispering sweet unknowns. I want to remember the warmth and the safety I feel sitting here, feeling like it's the most right place to be in the world.

As the final flourish of bright flashes explode above us, I turn to look at his face and see a beaming smile that makes me consider doing something drastic. He looks down at me then, and I can almost hear his thoughts in accordance with my own. I feel safe and warm, and my heart flutters as I recognize his own swift heartbeats echoing against my shoulder. I shift, we pause, and the last few blasts, shimmering as they fall, shake through us, showering us in an ethereal blue glow. The echo resonates between us, caught in the space between, and our eyes lock.

Time stands still. The sudden absence of sound creates a vortex of perception, and all I see are those peaceful brown eyes staring back at me, dreamily beckoning. My remaining consciousness screams to push forward, to close the distance and meet with those eyes, his lips; but I hear a sound then, and glance away. The spell is broken by a random whistle somewhere in the distance, directed elsewhere, piercing my impassioned mind, and the vortex begins to recede. I let out a stifled giggle, slowly lurching away, retreating from that warm sensation.

What just happened?

Barely hearing the din of cheers rise up around us, clouded thoughts race through my head and I'm awash with embarrassment. Wrapping my hands around my knees again, I look down, averting my eyes. I feel my face flushed with heat and my breathing is quickened, coming in short gasps, as I try to regain control.

The memory is already hazy, but I'm certain that actually just happened – or almost happened. Flinching at the touch, I feel a hand on my shoulder; a strong hand that feels alien, though reassuring. In its grasp, I recall the beating of his heart, of my heart, and I remember his eyes. The memory is lost almost as quickly as it came, the hand awkwardly retracted.

Amaya's sleepy voice breaks the silence, coming from somewhere far away, “well, that was fun~!”

I feel cold air rushing over me; a late-spring breeze carrying the scent of sulfur, though it's not entirely unpleasant. It chills me at first, but it reminds me where I am. The cool grass, the night air, the star-filled sky and the distant, cheerful laughter fill my senses. My breathing slows to normal and my heart stops racing – I regain control.

I realize I need to say something, but I couldn't bring myself to admit anything, so I decide to lie. “Sorry,” I say, keeping my head buried in my knees, “another dizzy spell.”

I hear Hisao's calmly stilted, concerned voice from behind asking, “are you alright?”

I smile though he cannot see it, and let out a breath, “I'll be fine.”

My thoughts are jumbled, but the embarrassing feeling has passed. My face cools, realizing he believes my little lie for now, and I almost believe it myself. I have heard of cosmic tumblers clicking into place, but never imagined it could feel so real. I had been swept up in the moment, I decide. Nothing had happened. Everything could go back to normal.

Then why do I feel so disappointed?

I finally look up, still facing away from him, and see Amaya walking back toward us with Tadao in tow. “What'd you do to her this time?” she asks, looking over my shoulder at Hisao. Her tone is slightly angry, but I think it's just bluster.

Hisao stutters a response, “n-nothing. We were-”

I interject, “enjoying the fireworks.” Amaya turns to me, raising an eyebrow. I continue explaining, “I had a dizzy spell looking at the sky is all.” I hate lying to her and Tadao -and Hisao- but I barely know what really happened, and I'd be too embarrassed to admit to what I think happened – or what almost happened.

It didn't happen, right?

The certainty I had seems to be lost and I know I'm making a confused face. If Amaya and Tadao can see it, I'm glad they aren't reacting.

“The Swooner strikes again.” Tadao says, nodding at Hisao. If he were close enough, I think I would actually kick him this time – perceptions be damned.

I hear Hisao standing up behind me, and I finally turn to look at him. Standing fully, though slouching, he looks a little bewildered. I think he might even be having the same battle in his mind over what happened - or didn't happen. I just want this to be over. I turn away, trying to hide my own bewildered expression and I notice Amaya extending a hand. I accept it, and decide to play out the dizzy bit, wobbling as I stand.

She reaches to catch me, but I steady myself and smile. “I'll be alright,” I say, “just a bit of reverse vertigo.” I'm not really sure if that's a thing, but it sounds technical enough and Amaya doesn't argue. I'll have to remember that if I'm asked about this later.

Lying is hard work.

“Well, if you say so,” she says, offering a wink neither of the boys can see.

What does that wink mean?

She steps around me, grabbing Tadao's hand, and they pass by Hisao after a few strides; I realize I'll have to wait to find out what she meant – nothing good, probably. I wash the confusion off my face with a wave of my hand, flipping my hair, and turn, grinning at Hisao. He replies with a smile of his own and I start walking, him falling in step beside me as I pass.

The memory of our earlier stuttering contest plays out in my head as we walk back toward the dorms in silence. I feel much less awkward than I should, really. We almost kissed. That's what happened. We only met three days ago, and we've barely talked in that time, but somehow out under the stars we got wrapped up in the moment. I can't be certain if he feels the same, but I was attracted to him immediately – I can admit that to myself now. I can also admit that I wanted it to happen -the kiss, I mean- and I still feel disappointed. However, I also know that it's way too soon. Logically, that is, and probably emotionally.

Part of me wants to punch my logical self until it bleeds, but it's ducking the blows. I have other reasons why I shouldn't be getting involved with boys; school, family obligations, total embarrassment, and the potential for rejection – those last two have been keeping me in check so far. The other, deeper reason, I try not to think about. Whenever it comes up, I find myself revisiting that horrible dream. I push the thought aside and concentrate on walking. Walking with Hisao.

That sounds like the title to a movie.

When we reach the crossroads -which sounds much more dramatic than it is- between the boys and girls dorms, we stop. Like earlier, there are about two meters of air between us, but no Shizune or Misha. Amaya and Tadao are somewhere behind me, but I don't feel threatened by them – merely annoyed. The lamps overhead cast a dim glow, illuminating Hisao face.

“I'm glad you yelled at me,” he says, a wistful smile spreading on his lips.

I try Amaya's lilt again, but it sounds forced. “Well, you had fun, right~?” I ask, leaning forward, grinning and putting my hands on my hips in exaggerated fashion.

“Oh you seem proud of yourself,” he says, offering a raised eyebrow. “Mission accomplished and all.”

Tadao passes by me, punching my shoulder on the way, and I swat at his arm in response. “See ya tomorrow, Aiko,” he says, then turning at Hisao, “you too, maybe, Swooner.”

Hisao nods, but then shakes his head a bit, apparently noticing the nickname. Turning to watch Tadao run off, he protests, “I didn't do anything!”

Tadao's laughter, like that of a madman, echoes between the buildings as he jogs out from under the lamplight and reappears at the door to the boys dorm. He waves at us and calls loudly, dramatically reciting a poem he apparently thought up as we wandered around today.

Beware the Swooner, stalking the night.
Hunting in darkness, his gaze burning bright.
Vested in argyle, the Swooner does walk.
Women thus fall aghast, outlined in chalk.
The Swooner cares not, whether they rise.
Forever he searches, for more innocent sighs.

His dark poem finished, he leaps in through the door, leaving us to giggle at his composition. Hisao is shaking his head and stifling his laughter as he turns back to me asking, “is he always like that?”

“He's usually worse,” I admit.

“That's my man you're berating, Aiko!” Amaya says from far over my shoulder. I turn, seeing her leaning forward with one hand on her hip and the other waving a finger in front of her. I think she watches too much television. Rolling my eyes, I shoot her a glare; to which she responds with a messy raspberry and turns to run for the girls dorm. About half way there, she stops and spins to say one last thing, “either slap the Swooner or kiss him, but do it fast. We do have school tomorrow~!” She turns away and continues running. My eyes widen and I remember her wink.

Did she see what almost happened?

I groan at the thought, trying to hide it in a giggle; hands balling into fists. Shaking my head and steadying myself, I look back at Hisao. His eyes are closed and he's chuckling quietly. “She's quite a character,” he comments.

“She's a pain in my ass,” I gripe, blowing a stray hair out of my face and planting a hand on my hip in frustration.

Pointing a thumb at the building behind him, he makes a frown and looks perturbed. “I better go make sure Kenji didn't set the place on fire or something,” he says, and I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic. The name makes me recoil a little, a bewildered expression crossing my face; he grins at my reaction.

Does he mean Kenji Setou?

He explains, “he's my hall-mate. Short, skinny, and kinda wily,” he describes. “I'm pretty sure he's legally blind, too. Big coke-bottle glasses,” he says, holding his thumb and pointer fingers together over his eyes to imitate a pair of glasses – but I didn't need the visual aid.

Setou has a reputation for being odd, paranoid and belligerent. I recall his incensed march into the Student Council room when he blindly berated Shizune's merit badge idea. A crowd had followed him in purely out of curiosity. A blind -mostly blind- man screaming obscenities at a deaf-mute girl – it was surreal; not to mention pointless. Misha was so shocked, she didn't even translate.

No wonder Hisao was thinking of staying away from the festival; Setou probably put the idea in his head. I can't imagine what it must be like to share a wall with him – or a bathroom, for that matter. I shudder at the thought.

“You poor thing,” I say simply.

He closes his eyes, nodding and smirking. “I guess that means he's not flying as far under the radar as he thinks.”

I hold up a hand to shush him, and lean forward conspiratorially, whispering, “I heard from someone he keeps dynamite in his room, so don't make him mad whatever you do.” It's probably not true -I hope it's not true- but the best rumors are often the most outlandish.

I really hope it's not true.

He pales a little, hearing the ridiculous claim, and I wonder if he thinks it could be true – or if he knows it's true.

Could Kenji Setou really be amassing explosives in his room for some fanatical reason?

After a few uncomfortable seconds he starts backing away slowly. “Good advice,” he says, offering a wave, “I'll see you around, right?”

I still can't tell how much sarcasm he's laying on, so I'm a little late to respond. “Count on it,” I say, but it's a little too quiet for him to hear. Instead of repeating it, I just nod and wave back. I feel like lingering to watch him walk into the dorm, but I realize someone might be watching – someone like Amaya – so I turn on my heel and start walking back to the girls' dorm. I don't see Amaya standing in the doorway to sneak a look at our parting, so I turn and glance over my shoulder just in time to see Hisao step through the door.

I feel her eyes on me as soon as I walk near the common room. Amaya steps out of the door gulping down a bottle of water and makes a noise at me so I'll stop walking. I hold up my hand as she bounds over, hushing her questions before they start. “It's late, and we're both tired. We can talk about all this tomorrow,” I state. I have the benefit of being right on all three points, and Amaya nods in reply. As much as I feel like I should talk about it, I want to sleep on the information.

Ever curious, she leans in and asks, “can you at least tell me if you kissed him?”

I roll my eyes a little, reflexively, and stare at her blankly, saying flatly, “You first.”

She pales and turns away to hide a blush. “You're right, we can wait until tomorrow,” she says, ending with a nervous giggle. I think she wants to process the day as much as I do. Her and Tadao were practically -and literally- joined at the hip by the time I saw them. I wonder how their morning went out of my sight. I'll definitely be asking her about it, but it can wait.

We head up to our rooms quietly, agreeing to hold off all our burning questions until tomorrow. I don't even bother taking the braid or the ribbon out of my hair. Flopping onto my bed the instant I've kicked off my shoes and changed into my nightshirt, I almost land on my laptop. I shove it off to the side and lower it down to the floor before drawing the covers up over me and settling into my pillow.

A contented smile spreads across my lips, and the world melts away into serene darkness as I close my eyes. The weight of the looming festival lifts away and I finally relax, drifting into contented dreams about today's near-miss.

Or near-hit, rather. Right?
____________________________________________________
Previous Chapter|Part 1|Next Chapter

The Swooner is born! Mwahaha-ha!

I really would like some feedback here. Delving into the insecurities of a teenage girl is new territory. Through these last two chapters I've been trying to display the duality of Aiko's personality - that she can be confident and manipulative one moment, then awkward and confused the next. Her mind wanders a bit, and it betrays her sometimes - as does her face.

At least that's what I was trying to convey.

[JTemby]

I think you've done very nicely trying to encapsulate the emotional state of Aiko, making her an intriguing and "hug-able" character.
That "Almost kiss" scene was squeal-worthy grade adorable and I love Aiko's reaction to Haiso's heartbeat, shrugging it off as normal, that alone made me giggle a little.
I could of sworn I used to be good at phrasing my thoughts...

[Mirage_GSM]

I really would like some feedback here. Delving into the insecurities of a teenage girl is new territory.

Well, my feedback usually comes in the form of (hopefully) constructive criticism, so I don't have much to say about the story.
Your characters are all very well worked out, and currently this is one of my three favourite stories here.

Oh, and the poem was very good, too.

[Helbereth]

<reserved>

[theartificial]

I'm really loving this story so far, also I'm no critic so I can't give suggestions for it.
The war for Hisao's affection is a brilliant idea, it is a totally believable action for Shizune to do!

Keep up the good work!

[griffon8]

I do have one question, though. What do you guys think of the little 'cold war' with Shizune?

I like it. Unlike theartificial, I didn't see it as a battle for Hisao's affection, so much as Shizune ensuring that Aiko was doing her best to help the new guy. Shizune already knew Hisao wasn't going to be joining the Student Council, so she wanted to be sure there was someone looking after him. My take on Shizune is that if nobody else looks after Hisao, she'll take it on herself to help him.

[Helbereth]

After finishing chapter 9 today, I figured I'd go ahead and post chapter 6 here.

Previous Chapter|Next Chapter
___________________________________
Act 2 – Allegro

Chapter 6 - Reciprocity

Last night felt like a dream more than a reality, but as I wake to the sound of my alarm radio playing another j-pop cacophony, I realize it did actually happen. Hisao and I spent the whole afternoon together wandering the festival grounds, we shared some takoyaki and conversation with my friends, I fell over on him, and we nearly kissed during the fireworks.

Oh God, Amaya's wink.

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, slapping the noise into oblivion on the way. I keep it set to the most annoying local station possible because the beeping never manages to wake me; I challenge anyone to sleep through a bad pop song.

As much as I enjoyed myself yesterday, awkward moments not-withstanding, when I consider the incoming barrage of questions, I wonder if it was worth the effort. I do feel better, though. Actually sleeping through the night probably helps. I may have actually gotten eight consecutive hours if my math is right – and my math is usually right.

Standing, I walk over to the mirror and gasp a bit seeing the braid still in my hair. The green ribbons are crushed and bent, and the braid is hanging apart. I quickly untie it and brush the gathered strands back into position. Satisfied, and feeling energized, I bounce on my toes for a few seconds before plopping down into my desk chair, contemplating some way to waste time.

It's just after six, so I have a couple hours before classes. I look down at my laptop - leaning against my desk where it haphazardly landed - but it isn't beckoning my attention. The homework assignments were finished before we left Saturday, and I don't feel I need the refresher for today's tests. Looking over at my closet, I recall a thought I had when out shopping and a plan formulates. I yawn and stretch, then start digging around for my swimwear. Tossing a bathrobe over the school-issued one-piece swimsuit, I sink my feet into my sandals and head out the door with an extra towel for my hair.

I smile and nod at Emi as she's darting out the door alongside, but she looks a little too hurried to have time to talk. Is she late for her run, I wonder? Will Hisao be there? Should I forgo my swim plans and follow her to-

To what? Spy on them? In a swimsuit and bathrobe? Stalk-er!

The morning air is brisk, and the mist hanging in the air makes the school grounds feel cold and a little bit menacing. It's not oppressive, but it's enough to limit my vision. I try not to let my imagination run wild, but there's a little corner of my mind expecting to hear radio static, and then see some horrific creature leaping out at me from the folds of mist, screeching with wild abandon.

I definitely play too many video games late at night.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and start heading for the auxiliary building. The Nurse holds court there, but my destination skirts that particular part of the building. As I approach the breezeway that leads into the locker room, I start singing a favorite tune*. This little open-air hallway catches acoustics wonderfully, and my solitary voice sounds like a chorus belting out the appropriately creepy Lost Carol from Silent Hill 3. Of course, if I thought anyone were in earshot, I'd stop immediately. This is for my ear only.

Is it bad the song I chose to sing is from a video game? Nah.

Since I don't need to use one, I walk right through the locker room and into the pool area. It's an old-looking part of the facility, but it's actually the newest section of Yamaku. The walls are thick, white-painted brick with an orange band at the bottom ending around waist level. All around the outer walls are decorative pillars that end in high arches and windows. The floor is polished ceramic tile in multiple earth-tones arranged in dazzling patterns. The vaulted ceiling is the only part that really looks modern; It's almost entirely made of glass, like a giant greenhouse, with architectural supports and braces hanging exposed.

The room looks like a giant bath-house. Around the edges there are benches, privacy walls, and on one end there is a large set of bleachers angled such that crowds could come and watch the swim club doing high dives. My footsteps gets caught in the giant empty space, vanishing before they can be heard; except for the tinny echo from above where sounds racket between the steel beams. Giant florescent lamps hang from the ceiling, but the morning light coming in through the giant windows and skylights is more than enough – especially considering there are lights in the pool itself. A modern building with modern conveniences that reeks of old money – Yamaku Academy is well-funded.

Picking a bench near the exit, I remove my bathrobe and lay it across the bench with the towel on top, then kick my sandals underneath. As I'm doing so, I hear footsteps and turn to see the night-watch woman giving me a nod. We talked once last year, and I found out her name. It was something foreign. For whatever reason, I remember her saying she moved to Japan with her husband and decided to stay when they got divorced.

Her name, though? Totally blank.

Tall, blonde, and kind of broad, I think she said she was of Icelandic descent. I feel safe knowing she's there -she's a trained lifeguard and EMT- but a little embarrassed. I don't like people watching me swim.

I considered it when I first came to Yamaku, but I never joined the swim club. To me, this is a hobby and a way to keep fit without the risk of falling over. Besides, I get vertigo on the ground; I can't even imagine being up on that diving board. I'm also not sure how much I would enjoy having it be a regimented activity.

I sit down near the pool and start doing some stretches; mostly to work any kinks out from sleeping. My mind wanders while I do so, and I wonder if Hisao might join me for morning swims if I asked. Then I think about being alone with him in a bathing suit, and I start blushing. I admit I was attracted to him immediately, but having talked with him a lot yesterday, I also find him intriguing.

When he wasn't being awkward and started opening up, he was easy to talk to – though he definitely wasn't an open book. Anytime the subject came close to his medical issues or specifics about the recent past, he clammed up, but I don't think that's unusual – he did say he's still adjusting to whatever happened. Amaya and Tadao seemed to like him, even if they did spend most of the time poking fun. Hisao took it in stride, even accepting the new nickname.

“The Swooner.” I'll need to ask Tadao for a written copy of that poem.

Satisfied that I've limbered up enough, I find my way over to a ladder and step over. The pool is heated, so I'm not worried about it being cold, but it still feels chilly as I slip down into the buoyant water and kick away from the side. Leveling into a backstroke, I let my body get used to the temperature, trying to keep my eyes closed, and my thoughts clear.

A whole lot of good that does, though. Remembering Amaya's wink, I start dreading our upcoming conversation. As much as I want to ask her everything there is to know about what happened with Tadao -when I wasn't looking- the reciprocal part of that conversation fills me with dread. What am I going to tell her, anyway? It's not like anything actually happened. Well, it kind of did, but really didn't. Something came really close to happening, but nothing actually happened. It's confusing.

Should I have just gone for it?

That thought makes me roll over and dive down into the water; which has the desired effect of making me focus on keeping my breath as I swim down to touch the bottom of the pool. When I come back up, I shake my head, flinging water around, and brush my nose with my hand to push the water away. The chlorine burns a little, but the subtle sting manages to push the jumbled thoughts away, so I'm glad.

Head cleared, I arrest control of my breathing and launch myself into a breast stroke.

Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.

Recalling my lessons, I propel myself all the way to the far wall and spin around, kicking off and swimming back the other way. When I reach that end, I spin and kick again, letting the muscle memory take over.

Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.

On the fourth lap, I start feeling the heaviness in my legs and I slow my pace to compensate. My lungs burn and my heart races, but I feel genuinely relaxed.

Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.

Swimming always made me feel better, even when I was little. Now it's serving a double-purpose, and I grin into the waves as I pound through another four laps before reaching up to catch myself on the wall. I float there, idly treading water for a few seconds to catch my breath. As I do, I hear a voice from behind me that I don't recognize right away.

“Nice form, Miss Kurai,” says the voice. I turn and see it's the night-watch woman. As I realize she remembered my name from that one past conversation, I feel a rush of embarrassment at not remembering hers. Evidently that's written on my face as she adds, “Joyce Chambers.” Her accent is a little thick, but she speaks Japanese surprisingly well.

How can I have forgotten such an odd name?

“Sorry,” I try to bow in apology, but it probably looks like a nod with me still being in the water. “Thanks,” I say, remembering her comment.

“How come you're not on the swim team?” she asks. I look away, unwilling to comment. She continues, “you're pretty good at it, you don't even look tired.”

She's lying. I'm breathing like an asthmatic, elderly dog. And why is this coming up now?

I've been swimming here for almost three years and this woman has probably seen me down here a hundred times. I'm curious about her sudden interest, but I also want this conversation to be over quickly. “It's... complicated,” I answer, trying not to sound defensive.

She nods, not looking offended. “Well, it's something to consider. You have a knack for it,” she explains, smiling and offering a thumbs-up that makes me grin a bit, but I feel more bewildered than happy.

I swim over to the nearby ladder and climb up, headed for the bench with my robe and towel. She wanders over with an apologetic look and holds out her hands. As she approaches I sit on the bench and start toweling my hair.

“I don't mean to pry...” she starts, but trails off and frowns.

Then don't.

I want to say that, but I'm trying to be polite. She doesn't need to know why I choose to swim alone.

“It just seemed like something you were good at, so I thought I'd point it out,” she says, an encouraging smile on her face. “And you looked so far-away when you walked in...” she trails off seeing me turn a surprised look at her.

Oh... did I look that distraught?

“I-...” I start, then stop. I heave a sigh and explain, “lot on my mind, I guess.”

She nods and shrugs, “well, don't be a stranger if you wanna talk about it.” I realize she's just trying to be supportive, and her smile is calming. As I recall, the last time she talked to me, I was in a foul mood and came down here to clear my head – maybe I had that same expression on my face.

“I'll be fine,” I say, “just post-festival woes.” It isn't a lie if it's actually true.

“Tell me about it!” she waves her hand at me sardonically and laughs, “sad to see it go, but so glad it's over right?” I offer a nod which seems to satisfy her. She turns and starts wandering away back to the side of the room.

I quickly slip into the sandals and throw my bathrobe on, wrap the towel around my hair and head for the door. I feel bad for reacting so poorly to the complimentary gesture, and the concern, but it roused a particularly sore memory. I walk briskly back to the dorm and flop down on my bed, digging into my nightstand for a picture frame I keep hidden.

It's an image of my dad and I at the beach when I was ten, building a sandcastle. I dig it out when I feel homesick. Lying on my bed, I run a finger over the picture and recall the vivid memory of adding layer upon layer to that teetering monstrosity until the tide rushed in and toppled Kurai Keep. Giggling and playfully tossing sand around, we spent the day chasing crabs and tossing rocks – and he started teaching me to swim. Later that summer, his condition started catching up with him and-

I push the memory away and shove the picture back in the drawer. I want to remember the happy day, not what happened after. Now it's in my head, though, and there's no going back. I start feeling the tears well up again and I think about the dream – and my dad's face.

The hazy wash of images replay in my head but I can't make sense of them. The pier I usually recall, but it always looks wrong. The feelings are what I usually remember – emptiness and numbness. It gnaws at me to know what it means and still have it haunting me – I thought dreams went away when you figured out the meaning.

Only in stories, I guess.

A knock on my door could never have come at a more opportune time. I push the tears back, wiping my eyes, and take a deep breath. I try not to let my voice crack as I call out, “who's there?”

“Swooner inspector.” Amaya says playfully through the door. I roll my eyes, sitting up and adjusting the towel.

Oh good, just the thing to pick me up. Girl talk. Slash sarcasm.

“Come in, it's not locked,” I say.

She opens the door and steps in with an analytical raise of her eyebrow and a hand on her chin. “Any Swooners in here I should know about?” she asks with a nasal voice, peering around the room like she might find someone stashed in a corner.

“You just like saying that word,” I chide.

“It's kinda catchy, isn't it?” she says, dropping the facade. “Tadao was writing that during the fireworks,” she explains.

I'm not surprised. He's always got a notepad hidden on him somewhere. “Close the door,” I say.

She does so and turns, commenting, “smells like chlorine in here.”

“I went for a swim,” I explain, pulling the bathrobe aside to reveal the swimsuit for a moment. She nods. I quietly thank the chlorine for giving my eyes an excuse to look red and irritated.

Just get to the questions, already.

She sits down next to me on the bed and assumes a contemplative expression, considering her words. “So...” she starts, raising an eyebrow, “what the heck happened during the fireworks. And don't try that 'dizzy spell' bull on me.”

Good, right to the point.

Still, I feel like I should have prepared an answer so I wouldn't have this dumb expression on my face. I'm only half-way shocked she saw through the deception, but that's splitting hairs. Her wink was a knowing one, apparently. “Well...” I trail off contemplatively, trying to stall.

Amaya knows me too well. She puts a hand on my shoulder and leans in close to whisper, “I looked over my shoulder and saw you about to kiss that boy, so dish.”

Sometimes, I hate having friends.

I bow my head and groan, “nothing happened.”

She swats the back of my head with her open hand and chides, “why the hell not?” She then pats my head with the same hand. “He's adorable,” she chirps.

I try to explain, “I just met the guy.”

She doesn't buy it, “so?”

Somehow I don't think I'll win this logic game.

I fall back onto the bed and sigh, “he just got here like five days ago.”

She flops down with me and nudges my shoulder. “Yeah? And?” she asks, her nudging makes me giggle a bit.

“There's a waiting period or something, isn't there?” I ask, not really knowing what I'm talking about.

“Wait for what? Some other girl to snatch him up?” she asks, and I feel like I've been physically slapped.

Like Shizune.

I fight that thought and instead say, “for him to adjust or whatever.” I'm just making stuff up, I realize.

“You are helping him adjust – probably in more ways than you know,” she giggles and pats my shoulder awkwardly. I let the lascivious tone of her comment slide.

She rolls onto her side and puts on a cat-like grin. “What about after I left you two between worlds,” she asks dreamily.

Between worlds? Oh, between the dorms. Ha!

I roll my eyes and sigh, “we weren't even close enough to high-five.”

She rolls back, looking disappointed. “Well, I guess it might be a little too soon,” she decides, folding her hands across her chest.

"Too soon, Executus! Too soon!"

Realizing her line of questioning is spent for now, I decide to turn the tables, “so, what about you and Tadao?”

She sits up and looks at the ceiling. “W-we uh...” she stutters, trying the same contemplative stall.

I sit up with her and put my arm on her shoulder. “You were hanging onto him like a Siamese twin practically all day,” I say, building momentum, “and he was shaking like a leaf when he talked to me earlier, so I wanna know what happened in between.”

Her face does something I don't think I've ever seen. A serene expression crosses her face, and she looks relaxed, “we talked... About... stuff.” She looks over at me and smiles, “I really wish you'd said something sooner.”

“You're dodging the question,” I say.

She closes her eyes and looks down at her feet, letting out a frustrated sigh, “we just... talked.”

I don't feel satisfied with that answer -neither does she, apparently- but I can tell it's genuine. I rub her shoulder and smile when she turns back. “It's a start,” I say.

“Yeah...” she replies, not convinced.

I really don't know what to say, so I just smile dumbly and pat her shoulder reassuringly. She expected things to move faster, I gathered, but I don't think anything is really wrong. They're not exactly alike, of course; far from it, if I'm being honest. Amaya tends to rush into things while Tadao steps lightly. Tadao is sardonically blunt -unless he has something prepared- while Amaya is playfully loquacious - except when she's feeling contemplative. Once they figure out how to meet in the middle, so to speak, they'll be fine. I wasn't expecting an overnight success.

Well, okay, I was. I'm not surprised or worried, though.

On our way to class, we pass Shizune and Misha in the halls, but I avert my eyes and Amaya doesn't seem to notice. Before ducking, I think I caught a cat-like grin on Shizune's face, but I might just be seeing things. I really wonder what this whole competition is about. She was making quite the show of keeping it a secret, but she could have just been toying with me for whatever reason. Maybe I'm just a ball of yarn for her to kick into the air for a while; if so, what does that make Hisao? The cat-nip?

I've successfully referred to him as a type of drug; it's oddly fitting.

Tadao is already at his seat when we walk into class, but he's distracted by his notebook, like always, and doesn't notice us until Amaya rustles his hair as she sits down. He looks up at her dreamily and smiles, but then looks over at me with a question in his eyes.

Big brother is in the room.

“I had a friendly chat with your new friend last night,” he starts. “Dude is definitely into you,” he winks.

Amaya chimes in, “Swooner like~?”

“Indeed,” he runs a hand through his hair, grinning.

Great. Guy talk. About me. I'm thrilled.

I shake my head, turning away. “I suppose he told you, then?” I say in a half-interested tone. That's pure bluster, though. If he has a read on Hisao, I'm definitely interested in hearing. It's feels more likely he's messing with me, though.

To use Amaya's word; dish, dammit!

“I gave him 'the warning',” he says, making air quotes I can just see in my peripheral vision.

How predictable.

“How thoughtful,” I say.

“Nah, the guy seems legit,” he leans forward, trying to see the side of my face. I have the benefit of being able to see between the hairs hiding my eyes. “Dude was walkin' on air practically - or maybe he just had to pee...”

I needed that image; thanks Tadao.

Amaya slaps her desk and cheerfully adds her two cents, “The Swooner was swooning?”

This conversation needs to end.

As if reading my thoughts, Ito-sensei plows through the door and marches -stumbles- to his chair. That guy needs to get some exercise or he's gonna fall down dead one morning. I hate being grateful for it, but his loud entrance has the effect of switching off banter mode, and turning my two friends back into straight-edged, studious pupils. Well, they at least imitate that description. The test he digs out of his briefcase a few minutes later ensures that I won't have to listen to their tittering for at least until English class.

Even as we sit through the test I hear Amaya humming -badly- under her breath about The Swooner. Friends are awesome at making life's most mortifying moments even more embarrassing. I hope I can return the favor someday soon.

During English, I glance over at Yoko. She's probably more adept at English than Tadao, and we seemed to have a lot in common; I don't think I'd be allowed to escape, though. Perhaps some other day. The adorable duo decide to focus on each other rather than continuing to antagonize me – which really might be worse.

I can't decide whether I'm happy to see them getting along so well or whether I want to punch them in the face for being so cute. I think this might be my penance, though. It's my fault they're like this now, so I should have to suffer their antics. That's what friends are for – committing acts of abject torture. I've been sentenced to relationship Gitmo; let the adorable-boarding commence.

And I'm officially the grumpy third wheel; it took less than two days. I'm fast like that, I guess.

When the lunch bell rings, I make a decision. I can't stand watching them anymore, and it has been a while since I checked on the cafeteria food. Maybe they started making edible concoctions instead of substituting the entire pantry with corrugated cardboard and candle wax. I brought a lunch with me either way, so this equation lacks a wrong answer.

After bowing out gracefully -okay, I ran the hell out of there before they could protest- I find my way through the crowds all the way down to the bastion of cliques – otherwise known as the cafeteria. Looking around, I see the usual groups sitting together. The art club is over by the windows; many of them seem to be in a different room entirely – or another planet, perhaps. The literature club is over near the lunch line; their faces in various books, they periodically cast disdainful glances at the loud students standing in line – as always. I think they sit there so they can look moody without raising suspicion. The track team is by the door; ready to run out when the bell rings. In in the middle -like a pair of mismatched referees- is the Student Council. Deaf-charge and her pink-haired sidekick, Drill Sergeant.

I'm beginning to embrace that nickname for Shizune.

I could run out the door without them seeing me, but my luck is never that good – nor am I that quick on my feet. Misha practically leaps out of her seat and starts waving at me cheerily, beckoning me over. Shizune sits back in her chair with her legs and arms crossed, wearing a contemplative expression. It's almost like she knew I was going to break my classroom lunch habit. The mixed reaction makes me feel uncomfortable – especially when I notice they don't actually have lunches. That worries me, but I'm not sure why.

I think I'd rather be facing a Nazi firing squad.

I try to keep the bewilderment off my face -probably unsuccessfully- as I walk over, waving calmly, and sit down across from Misha. Her unreadable, excited expression is unnerving, but now Shizune is grinning like a bobcat. She starts signing, and Misha remains eerily silent, [How did the evening go with the new student?]

Her choosing to refer to Hisao not by name makes me cringe a little. [Well,] I begin to reply, [he didn't come right out and say it, but he seemed to enjoy himself.] I pointedly keep my face neutral as I sign, as though I were giving her a financial report.

[Good,] Shizune replies. I'm not sure if she's doing so mockingly, but she's imitating my neutral expression.

I'm so glad I came to the cafeteria, really. This isn't awkward at all...

Both of them lean in and I see their faces twist into wry smiles. Misha speaks in a loud whisper, “he said you recommended joining the Student Council~!” I've often wondered why she doesn't just sign to me – she knows I don't need the audio. She'll converse with Shizune without speaking, but always -almost always- speaks and signs when there's someone else around. I guess it's just a habit she picked up being a translator.

I respond with a confused look. I didn't exactly recommend joining the Council – I just said he should try to get along with Shizune.

Ah, right... Shizune is the Student Council.

Social recommendations have transitive properties. Just a day away from video games and I'm getting my social legs back. I'd still rather be in a trench somewhere in Africa with an M1 taking pot-shots at Gestapo. I think it would be less dangerous than being at this table right about now.

I hear tapping that breaks me out of my musing and look to Shizune, who has started signing, [I wanted to thank you; he's decided to join.] She relaxes back in her seat and offers a nod.

Wait, what?

Before I can start digesting that information, or think of a response, I feel a presence next to me – like someone standing over my shoulder blocking the overhead lights. I turn and see Hisao, looking surprised to see me, carrying three lunches precariously across his arms.

I knew the lack of lunches worried me.

He places two of the lunches down in front of Misha and Shizune, then sits down in the seat next to me, pointedly looking anywhere else. I notice him pawing at his sternum again and I don't expect he'll be saying much through this lunch period. I quietly regret that, I rather enjoy the sound of his voice.

Concentrate, Kurai! This is a war, right?

Shizune is grinning that bobcat grin again, and I'm starting to think that's her version of maniacal laughter. However, I'm not uncomfortable about Hisao sitting next to me, so I don't feel particularly challenged to say, “hey Swooner, Amaya said you're adorable.”

Why the hell did I say that?

I didn't sign it, having my hands wrapped around my elbows, so Misha translates to Shizune as I watch a blush spread across Hisao's face. I feel bad for torturing him, but my comment is having the desired effect on Shizune. She flushes a bit as Misha spells out the nickname, and I think I actually see a bead of sweat inching its way down her forehead – it might be a trick of the fluorescent lights.

Smirking, she starts signing back, nudging Misha to silence her translation, [I'm glad you and your friends have made him feel welcome.] I'm somewhat surprised she's blatantly hiding what she's saying from Hisao.

Hisao looks a little perplexed that Misha isn't yelling the translation, so I do it for her, “Shizune is glad you're adjusting and making friends.” I almost expect a kick to the shins, but that's an Amaya trick. I lean over to whisper in his ear, “she likes the nickname, I think.”

It's probably true... okay, maybe not.

Shizune scowls at me, having no idea what I said. Her face plays right into it, though, and Hisao can't help but laugh a little. I might be better at this than she anticipated. I've just made Shizune look foolish without actually saying anything important. I feel a little bad for toying with a deaf girl, but she started this war.

Wait, never mind; she was just doing the same thing to Hisao. Turnabout is fair play.

Misha seems to be catching on to what's happening and her face scrunches up as she speaks, “It's not nice whispering secrets like that, Aiko-chan.” The frown and the crestfallen look in her golden eyes almost makes me feel bad. I do feel a little bit bad since I don't think she'd torture her friends like this.

However, “almost only counts in horse-shoes and hand-grenades.”

I nod apologetically, but this is between Shizune and myself. If Shizune wanted Misha to know what was really going on, she would have said something. I look over at Hisao and he's looking a little bewildered, so I say something to change the subject, “I hear you joined the Student Council.”

He turns to me with a half-smirk and nods. “Yeah well, your advice made sense, and they've been helping me out, so I figured I'd give it a try,” he explains. He really only sounds semi-interested and might have only done it for lack of anything better to do. Still, I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing. I can't pretend to be his only friend here. He's stopped rubbing his sternum, too, so I think he's calmed down.

I still feel like I wanna shove a flag in his forehead that says, “Mine -Aiko,” though.

Misha translates as Hisao speaks, and Shizune calms. She gives a triumphant nod, and Misha translates for her as she signs, “Hicchan will be a welcome asset. Thanks for the en-dorse-ment, Aiko-chan~!”

I'm on the fence about whether it's a good thing, but I can't really offer a protest now without sounding spiteful. I decide to be pleasantly cordial, “no problem.”

Not to mention brief.

The rest of the lunch period flies by with considerably less tension. We eat, talk about class, reminisce about the festival a little -avoiding certain topics- and groan about the tests we had to take earlier. Our class got the calculus test in the morning, and Mutou-sensei was bringing a science test for the afternoon. Shizune made a point of not discussing the test contents, even though we knew they would be slightly different per class.

We even walk back to class amicably; though Shizune does keep giving me that bobcat grin over her shoulder on the way up the stairs. I'm glad Hisao is making friends and smiling, though, so I can't really stay mad at Shizune. Then again, as much as I may have won the round in the lunchroom, she knows they have the whole afternoon to pluck at Hisao's heart-strings. Strategic circumstance.

Assuming that's what she's doing. I'm still not sure what her end-game is.

Mutou's test goes... reasonably well. Science isn't my best subject, but parts of it are math-like, so I get a handle most of it easily enough. After the test, Mutou gets up and lectures about string theory for a while. His excited tone doesn't make it any less boring, but the idea of alternate quantum realities sparks my interest. I wonder if the other versions of me have to sit through his lecture. I don't mention that particular theoretical diversion, however.

I wonder if another version of me had actually gone through with the kiss.

History goes swimmingly until it ends, and the doorway to salvation opens. Leaving briskly, I manage to get ahead of the too-cute couple walking hand-in-hand. Weaving through the halls, I escape into the courtyard and sit down in the shade of a tree. I close my eyes and effectively shut out the bustling noises of the exodus.

Considering the events of the past week, I find my mind to be surprisingly clear. The birdsong that always seems to be in the background around Yamaku intensifies as I relax against the tree, and its lulling effect seems amplified. After a few minutes, I feel my breathing start to slow and I start drifting in and out of consciousness. Soon, the sounds slowly peter out and I'm consumed by sleep.

Not long after, I snap my head up and look around to find the courtyard is empty. Feeling a little disoriented, I look around and wonder at the time. My watch reads, “5:13 pm.”

Did I just fall asleep here for over two hours?

Groggily, I stand up and stretch into a yawn. Blowing out a sigh, I start heading for my dorm; I realize I'll probably be in for another sleepless night, but I'm comfortable with that by now. Insomnia is something one adapts to over time. Like prison. During vacations, I often sleep like a cat; short periods of sleep followed by short periods of waking, short periods of lounging and then more sleep. My mother used to call me Kitten because of it – most people thought it was just a random term of endearment.

I miss my mom, I should give her a call.

As suspected, once I return to my room, I'm unable to sleep. I find myself sitting up at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop droning my way through the rest of the British campaign. I hear Amaya creeping back to her room after curfew, and I consider bothering her about it, but I think it can wait. Sometime around two in the morning, I crawl into bed and slip into unconscious bliss.

I forgot to call my mom...I'll neglect to tell her that.
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* Lost Carol from Silent Hill 3
It's a favorite, brief tune of mine, and something I figured Aiko would think of on a misty morning - like she'd just walked into Silent Hill. Another little quirk of her character, Aiko's half-deaf but she's still fond of singing - if only when she's alone. That's actually based on a friend of mine from when I worked in retail.

Comments welcome.

[Mirage_GSM]

However, “almost only counts in horse-shoes and hand-grenades.”

What?

The rest of the lunch period flies by with considerably less tension. We ate, talked about class, reminisced about the festival a little -avoiding certain topics- and groaned about the tests we had to take earlier.

Prime example of switching tenses.