It's Wednesday (as of 1 hour and 19 minutes ago), so I'm posting the new chapter. I'm not going to say much else here.
Blarg.
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Chapter 19 - Blindfolded
Unfortunately, my subconscious is much less confident in the likely enjoyable outcome of this trip. Anticipation, excitement, worry, and my overactive imagination result in repeated waking throughout the night. Staying up for an hour or two with each interlude, I add a few things to my suitcase based on Hisao's accidental slip; mostly a few towels.
Unable to find my bikini, I wonder if it's one of the items Amaya stuffed it in that pillowcase. Instead I grab my school swimsuit, just in case my bikini has simply been lost in the ether, and a black and white polka-dotted sarong, meant to match my bikini, that was well-hidden under a pile of neatly folded socks that I rarely wear. Topping the bag with a pair of cutoff denim jeans, strategically cut just above the mid-line of my thigh, I close the suitcase and drop back into bed.
Managing to slip back into unconscious bliss shortly before four, I quietly berate my inability to sleep under pressure. Dreaming about a flowery field that I think looks familiar, I see Hisao there, but I can't reach him. Soon after it began, the pleasant dream scatters and fades, leaving only the warm smile splayed on his peaceful countenance caught in my vision.
Waking with a snort and groaning deeply, I hear repetitive banging coming from the vicinity of my door. Opening my eyes slowly, I can't tell the difference between the blackness behind my eyelids and the pervasive darkness of my room. Feeling the soft bed under me, and hearing the pounding at my door, I know I'm awake, but only barely.
Amaya is trying to break a hole in my door, I think, but she's prone to overreact to things, so I'm not really concerned with her urgency. Rolling on my side to face the knocking, I sputter and croak, “five more minutes!” before stuffing a pillow over my face and trying to drift back into peaceful slumber.
“Get up!” Amaya demands. Realizing my carefully planned and executed request went unheard, I'm subjected to more rapping, preventing me from resting. Her high-pitched morning voice, edged with profound fatigue and frustration, proceeds to threaten, “don't make me come in there, Aiko!”
Ha! Like she can get in!
Thinking that, my eyes snap open at a dreadful realization; I seem to recall giving her a key at some point, but I got it back, I think. Maybe I forgot, I seem to do that a lot lately, but, for her to be so invasive, there would have to be good reason. The sun hasn't even come up yet, and I think it's Saturday, so there's no good reason for her to be bothering me this early.
Or, wait... Was there something I was supposed to do today?
“Shit,” I mumble as I lift the pillow off my face and glare at the clock. It's ten past five in the morning, which is exceedingly early, even for me, but I seem to recall something about getting up really early to get under a bus.
That can't be right; I must mean onto a bus, not under one – getting under a bus makes no sense.
While I'm imagining someone strapping themselves under a bus, I start to hear an odd sound coming from my door. Rattling and clicking, it sounds like someone is fiddling with the lock. Pushing her way through my door, Amaya sighs frustratedly and flips on the light, forcing me to recoil and slam my eyes shut. Apparently I did lend her that key, and I never did get it back; I'll berate her for it later.
Slamming a pillow over my bleary eyes to defend them against the invasive light, I hiss and groan, trying to ward her away. Unhindered by my noisy protests, Amaya tackles me and starts shoving me against the bed. “We have a bus to catch, sleepy-head~!” she informs me, sounding entirely too chipper for five in the morning. “Get up. Get up! Get up~!” she yells.
It's hard to get up with you on top of me.
“Just go without me!” I mumble through my pillow. Grabbing at my fluffy eye protection, she starts pulling it away, invoking my fury. Trying to catch it, I nearly stumble off the bed, but her hand on my shoulder stops me before I can fall, or reach my pillow. Squinting and sneering viciously, I bark, “no! You can't have my pillow!”
“You can sleep on the bus,” she states, “I'll even let you bring the pillow.”
Pawing at her shoulder with one eye closed, I start feeling my senses returning and a yawn comes up through me, leveling my groggy head. Giving up on the pillow, I slump down on the bed and smile. Perhaps I'm just playing at this point, but I do want my pillow back. “Gimme the pillow and I'll go,” I bargain sleepily as I swing my feet off the bed, “just stop yelling; you'll wake the parrot.”
“Fine,” she agrees, handing me the pillow. Sighing contentedly, I wrap myself around it, and look up grinning as she asks, “what parrot?”
“Nevermind,” I reply dismissively, cuddling the plush head-carriage, “it's not important.”
Eying me suspiciously, she takes a few steps back, giving me room to stand. Doing so, I reach up and start pawing the hair out of my face, holding the pillow with my trailing hand. “I'll be waiting outside,” she states, then points at me emphatically and adds, “don't go back to sleep.”
“Wouldn't dream of it,” I reply sardonically.
“You're awake enough for sarcasm, at least,” she comments with a giggle as she heads out of the room.
“What sarcasm?” I ask in a blatantly sarcastic tone. She doesn't react, so I'm not sure she heard me. Glancing at my bed, I decide to toy with her a little. Leaping onto it heavily, making sure she can hear the springs, I listen as she reopens the door. Looking at her innocently, I ask, “What?”
“Just checking~!” she remarks, closing the door again.
So, I'm a little late getting up; I understand she's a little anxious, but we're on vacation. “Stop being like Shizune~!” I scold her loudly. My door rattles from a solid kick, and I hear her groaning frustratedly.
Smirking at her lack of a verbal reply, I set out getting a towel and a change of clothes. Gathering them under my arm like a football, I rush out of my room, headed toward the bathroom. Ducking a punch at my shoulder, I laugh wickedly, “Mwahaha~!” Glancing over my shoulder at her hands-on-hips angry face, I playfully add, “missed~!” Her reply is a frustrated groan accompanied by the stomp of her foot.
Realizing I should probably hurry, I don't dawdle taking a shower and getting dressed. Simple loose-fit jeans and a black t-shirt with a gray, hooded sweatshirt and my white tennis shoes; I might as well get some use out of them, if not for tennis. Figuring I can brush the snags out of my hair on the bus, and predicting I'll probably sleep through most of the ride, I just give my hair a once-over so it looks neat, and head out of the bathroom with the towel draped around my neck.
Outside the door, Amaya awaits, holding my suitcase and laptop. Pausing at her appearance there, I'm a little bewildered. Being unable to check the time with my watch in the suitcase, I inquire, “we're not late yet, are we?”
“Figured I'd save you the trip,” she replies, “c'mon, Shizune just texted saying they're all waiting outside already.”
As she hands me the suitcase, I can't defend against the swift kick to my shin. “I was just kidding!” I protest, hobbling for a moment as I catch up to her, wheeling the suitcase behind me. “What about the towel?” I inquire.
“Bring it along, you might need it later,” she replies. Haste, it seems, is wearing at her sense of secrecy. Hisao's little slip already indicated a likely seaside excursion of some kind, so she isn't actually telling me anything new; though getting some sort of confirmation, albeit vague, is a relief.
Still, having not planned to bring my laptop, I want to go leave it in my room, but I don't think she'd give me that chance. Perhaps she thinks I'll need it for something, or figures I'd bring it anyway, or assumes I'd never leave without an outlet for my gaming addiction, but, whatever the reason, I'll bring it along just to placate her ire.
I just don't want to get kicked again, I think.
“Where's my pillow?” I jokingly ask as we exit into the cool, dimly lit morning.
“He's already waiting for the bus,” she replies with a grin.
“Ah, yes, that,” I remark absently. “He makes for a decent pillow,” I ramble, “Kenta's seen the results.”
Walking toward the gate, we're silent for a while. She apparently chose to dress for later in the day, wearing denim shorts and a blue tank-top. While I was in the shower, she added a white sweatshirt, but her legs are still mostly bare. The light chattering of her teeth is worrisome since I've seen her start a seizure that way, but I try to keep that kind of thinking from making me worry; she's probably just cold.
Don't pull a Tadao, Aiko! Can that be a thing, now? It sounds like it should be a thing. Too soon, maybe.
Approaching the gate, Amaya turns to me and calms the chattering for a moment to remark, “yeah, well, don't get too-too comfortable on that pillow.” Letting out a little yawn, she smirks at me playfully, commenting, “your mom would throw a fit if she saw what's in your drawer.”
“That was a joke from Nurse,” I explain, not feeling the least bit flustered, “he and Joyce conspired to give me that right after Tanabata.” Getting some sleep, erratic as it was, probably helped me finally find the words, and I feel better, but it seems to have been futile.
Looking at me sidelong with a furrowed brow and a sneer, she doesn't reply, but her eyes tell me she isn't convinced. It doesn't matter if she believes me, I guess. Should it come to a mudslinging contest, I can bring up what I saw in the shed – what I tried to forget I saw, anyway.
Don't think about it... Don't think about it! Don't think about it...! Dammit...
Being used to getting up fairly early for morning swims, the light fog and pervasive twilight are normal experiences for me, but the frazzled group of faces watching our approach don't seem nearly as comfortable. Zombie-like and slack-shouldered, they're all caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and I wonder if any of them regret agreeing to this trip, but it's too late to back out now.
Leaning heavily against the wall, Kenta stands with his arms folded and his head bowed. Wearing black denim jeans and a green sweatshirt, his eyes are open, but unfocused. At his feet is a small gray suitcase about half the size of my own; I imagine he didn't bring much. Nodding at us as we approach, he smiles slightly, but quickly goes back to staring at the sidewalk – or toward the sidewalk, as it were.
To his right, Yoko wears a dark green, denim dress over a long-sleeved, beige blouse and white stockings. Beside her, there's a tall, black suitcase with a bright green sweater draped across it; seemingly in case she feels cold. Similarly perched against the wall and slouching down, which I've never seen her do, I think she's trying to seem shorter than Kenta. Leaning on her hands, palms out, with her ankles crossed out in front of her, she smiles sweetly as she sways slightly, her green eyes held shut. In this light it's difficult to tell if that's a blush on her face, but there's a lightness in her expression that makes me feel glad for inviting her.
Misha sits down against the wall, legs crossed, hands resting on her lap, wearing a peach-colored t-shirt with some kind of political slogan, white Capri pants, and white running shoes. Her hair is, as always, wrapped in those ridiculous drills, and I wonder how early she awoke to ensure their usual perfection. Next to her is a refrigerator-sized suitcase, though that may be a slight exaggeration, complete with stickers, tassels hanging from the various zippers, and another handbag slung over the handle; which I assume contains cosmetics. She also appears to be sound asleep; I'm slightly jealous.
Beside her, Shizune stands with her arms folded, faking an alert expression that's rimmed with fatigue, trying not to yawn. Her attire consists of a black and white, knee-length dress with a tasteful blue cardigan to cover her arms and shoulders, black stockings and simple flat black shoes. Her modestly-sized suitcase rests at her feet with another, smaller bag resting on top; both appear to be part of a matching set with black and white stripes that compliment her dress. Seeing my gaze fall on her, she smiles and nods at me, but I think she's using the motion to let out a creeping yawn.
In front of them, Naoko crouches down next to her little green suitcase. Looking a little cold, she's wearing a bright, yellow and orange floral-patterned sundress and a broad-rimmed white hat. Wrapping her bare arms around her knees, I can see a handbag slung across her shoulder swaying gently as she rocks back and forth on her toes, and I think she's using Hisao as a wind shield. Smiling broadly with her eyes closed, I wonder how long she can stay down there in what looks like an uncomfortable position.
Hisao looks a little drowsy, but he's used to being up almost this early, so he looks a lot less zombie-like. Standing at the edge of the sidewalk, he's wearing gray slacks, a long-sleeved white shirt and the usual sweater-vest; though he skipped the tie – how terribly informal of him. Resting beside him is a small, boxy, gray suitcase, which is about the same size as Kenta's; it's eerie how similar they are, actually. Slung over his shoulder is his school bag, though I doubt its usual contents are contained therein. Seeing us approach, he grins broadly and offers a wave, but doesn't otherwise move; I think he's being polite for Naoko's sake.
Tadao stands a few paces behind Hisao with one hand in his pocket and the other at his side, wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, black denim jeans and a black cowboy hat low over his brow. Next to him rests Amaya's pink monstrosity of a suitcase, and a jet black duffel-bag; the latter of which I assume is his. In the morning light, I catch the gleam from the little cross hanging over his collar, and see the even smile splayed across his tired-looking face.
With his eyes closed, you might think he'd fallen asleep standing up, but, as we approach, he grins and reaches up to push the hat higher on his forehead. “Mornin' little ladies,” he says in English, imitating a southern accent.
Theatrics seem to be his forte lately.
Before either of us can respond, Kenta perks up and comments, “I like how your girlfriend plans things, Tadao.” His tone lacks sarcasm thus far, so I assume he isn't finished. Deciding he has our attention, he adds, “two girls for every guy; how considerate.”
Tadao laughs while Hisao looks around nervously; inspecting the various girls' reactions. Yoko shakes her head and smirks strangely while Amaya sets a glare on Kenta that could melt steel. Naoko didn't hear it, of course, and Misha's asleep, but Shizune is looking at me like I should translate.
[You don't want to know,] I tell her, [suffice to say; he's being a guy.]
“Hey, no fair keeping the deaf girls in the dark,” Kenta complains. Having forgotten he knows how to sign, I'm a little surprised when he steps away from the wall, but I catch on when he repeats his comment for Shizune to see.
Her reaction is much less antagonized than I'm used to seeing. [You only have one good arm, though,] she points out, rolling her eyes. Her face brightens into a confident smirk as she adds, [so one of them gets three.]
“Touche,” Kenta says, not bothering to sign it as he returns to his spot on the wall. Bowing his head back down, he mumbles, “one's enough, I guess.”
Yoko glances at me, blushing a little and shaking her head. For a quick moment, I catch a faint smile from her, but it's hard to tell given how tired she looks. Glancing between me and Kenta, if I wasn't sure before, I'm almost certain she's harboring a crush my sarcastic friend – though Kenta seems blissfully oblivious.
Kenta oblivious? Yeah, probably not.
Amaya releases his smirking form from her glare and lets out a nervous laugh. “Well, we're all assembled,” she says through another yawn, “bus should be here any minute, so we might wanna wake Misha up.” As she speaks, she walks over and wraps her arm around Tadao's, dragging him down the sidewalk for a private conversation.
“Aww, but she's nice and quiet like that,” Kenta complains, perking up again, “can't we just carry her onto the bus?”
“Oh you'd enjoy that, Elf Lord,” I reply sardonically. Stepping around Naoko, I sign to Shizune, [how asleep is she?]
Turning her gaze down to her softly snoring friend, Shizune plants a foot against the dreamer's thigh and nudges her leg gently. Lolling her head groggily, Misha shifts away from the intruding foot, but shows no signs of waking. Looking back at me, she comments, [She's a heavy sleeper.]
[Let me try,] I sign, kneeling down beside the pink-haired dreamer. Reaching out, I put a hand on her shoulder and shake it softly, whispering sweetly, “Misha.”
Stirring a little, her eyes contract tighter and she mumbles something unintelligible, but shows no signs of waking. Louder and more forcefully, I lean a little closer, applying another stiff shake and remark, “Misha, the bus is almost here.”
Shizune holds up a hand to me and signs, [you might want to step back.]
Heeding her warning, I stand up and take a few steps away. Behind me, I hear Hisao whisper, “cover your ear.” Glancing over at him, I see his half-serious expression and just giggle.
Turning back, I watch as Shizune positions her hand right by Misha's ear, the other hand cupped around it to amplify the incoming sound. Snapping her fingers like a thunderbolt, she leaps away as Misha sits up straight and wide-eyed, exclaiming, “I'll have a parfait~!”
Her reaction is both very loud and odd, causing most of the group to stare blankly or just burst into laughter. Naoko notices the commotion and stands. Darting her eyes around, she follows our gaze and smiles at Misha's bewildered expression, waving giddily. Misha, not skipping a beat, joins in with her trademark, booming laugh, “Wahaha~!”
“Morning, Aiko-chan~!” she greets. Turning her bewildered gaze around at the gathered group, she nods sleepily at the others, absently saying their names, “Hicchan, Naocchan, um... Kencchan...” A sudden yawn stops her recounting, causing her to stretch and end by folding her arms and shivering a little.
Caught by a sudden infectious yawn, I offer a sleepy wave while Hisao greets her. "Morning sleepy-head," he says, "bus should be here soon.”
Chiming in, I look over at Kenta and explain, “Kenta wanted to carry you aboard.”
Taking Shizune's outstretched hand, Misha stands and rights herself. Once on her feet, she laughs again, “Wahaha~!” Yawning and stretching sleepily while grinning broadly, she blushes sweetly and turns toward Kenta to suggest, “you can still carry me if you want, Kencchan~!”
“Oh, that's alright,” Kenta replies, “wouldn't want to impose.” Glancing our way, he adds, “Hisao might, though.”
“He'll do no such thing,” I command, looking up at him sleepily. Pointing at myself with an outstretched thumb, I add, “he's my pillow.” Leaning close to him, I grab his arm and pull him to me, hearing his backpack rattling as he lurches over. Smiling at him sweetly, I rest my head on his shoulder and turn a pout toward Kenta.
Standing around sleepily on a street-corner, bantering playfully isn't how I expected my Saturday morning to start, but it has been good for a laugh thus far. Kenta's commentary keeps us alert, or at least prevents us from drifting back to sleep before the bus can arrive. Trying to follow the conversation, Naoko watches our banter and looks a little forlorn; Shizune is similarly frustrated. Misha seems a little distracted, checking her luggage, so I decide to translate the conversation for the two deaf girls.
Finally returning from their sidebar, Tadao and Amaya rejoin the group, and the nine of us wait with various levels of patience for the bus to break the silence. Noticing Yoko and Naoko seeming to get along, and seeing Yoko reply with tentative signs to a few of Naoko's slower-than-usual gestures, I'm glad I put them in a room together. Kenta watches them both with some interest, and even corrects a few of Yoko's attempted signs, saying she's picking it up as quickly as he expected – a rare compliment.
Hearing it before seeing it, the bus arrives shortly after five-thirty. Loading our larger bags into the compartment on its side before boarding, I shove the towel I'd forgotten was around my neck into my suitcase before Hisao hefts it into the bay, but I keep my laptop in hand. After helping Misha lift her giant suitcase into the compartment, which it barely fits into, Hisao leads me onto the bus. His backpack continues to rattle strangely as we walk down the aisle to seats near the very back of the bus, where he sits against the window and I slide in to his left.
Misha and Shizune sit together behind Hisao and I, mostly out of sight, with Yoko and Naoko slipping into the seat across the aisle from them. Glancing at Yoko, I note that she's all smiles; especially when Kenta sits in the narrow seat behind them. She and Naoko continue pass notes and sign sporadically, while Kenta peers over the seat offering approving nods and comments.
Taking the seat across the aisle from us, Amaya and Tadao look considerably more fatigued than they had while waiting for the bus. Undoubtedly, Amaya has been losing a lot of sleep planning this, and she passes out leaning against Tadao's side almost immediately. He, on the other hand, pulls a little notepad out of his pocket, tilts his hat downward, and starts writing something as the bus begins rolling forward.
Feeling the lack of sleep catch up with me, I lean heavily against Hisao, drawing a tired comment, “didn't sleep well, did you?”
Smiling and turning up to meet his eyes, I shrug and remark, “got quite the workout in my sleep.”
Chuckling softly, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, allowing me to rest against his side. “You might wake up blindfolded,” he mentions.
“Blindfolded?” I echo questioningly, already feeling my eyelids getting heavy.
“Blame Amaya; she wants a big reveal,” he explains, “just don't worry you're going blind, okay?” He rests his head against mine and adds, “your hair's damp; smells nice though.”
Too exhausted to reply, and feeling his radiating warmth, I just sigh and let my eyes close. This is nice and comfy, like a nice warm bed after a long day – except it's a warmhearted guy after a long night. There doesn't seem to be much difference between the two as I think about it now. Drifting into slumber, I feel safer on this bus leaning against Hisao than I usually do in my own bed.
The bed can't whisper sweetly in my ear, either.
Sleeping soundly as he bus rumbles over the countryside, I don't get to see the sunrise, but when I wake there's a bright smile greeting me. Groggily glancing around at the other passengers, I grin back at Hisao and ask, “how long was I out?”
“Few hours,” he replies, “you were drooling on my sweater.”
“Was not!” I retort, checking for evidence. He just laughs and looks out the window, apparently not minding the little wet spot that I find myself staring at, smirking apologetically. “Sorry,” I say.
Continuing to chuckle, he turns back and smiles. “I brought more than one sweater,” he says.
Yawning, I stretch and lean away, blinking my bleary eyes and peering past him out the window. The tree-filled country-side near Yamaku apparently melted into a cold, gray cityscape at some point, and I wonder whether their hints may have been leading me to some extremely incorrect suppositions.
Apparently noticing my disappointed expression, Hisao mentions, “we're just passing through the city.”
Meeting his eyes, I smile contentedly. “I figured as much since I didn't wake up blindfolded,” I say, “how much farther?”
Looking down at his watch, he narrows his eyes and blinks. “Couple hours at least,” he explains, turning back to me, “you could go back to sleep.”
“And drool on you some more?” I say questioningly.
“Well, if it helps you sleep,” he says, “I don't mind.”
Smiling at his offer, I shake my head. After the spotty sleep last night, and the restful slumber on the bus, I'm feeling alert enough to sit and talk for a while. “Unless you wanna sleep, I was thinking we could talk,” I say, looking at him with a hopeful grin.
“I actually slept last night, so I'm fine,” he explains, “what did you wanna talk about?”
His question forces me to think, but I'm pretty certain what I wanted to talk about. “Myself,” I say, glancing away shyly, “I realized I skipped most of the details.”
Looking back at me pensively, he nods and remarks, “okay, but I can't guarantee I won't fall asleep.”
Pouting, I shove his arm and retort, “better not! I stayed awake through your science lecture!”
Laughing and patting the air, he shifts around so he can regard me more easily and leans forward, prepared to listen. Starting with lighter parts, I explain about my childhood growing up with my bothersome little sister, and loving parents. He winces when I explain about the incident that left me deaf, and laughs loud enough to wake Misha when I tell him about being coaxed into the swimming pool wearing inflatable arm floats.
Telling him about school post-accident is hard, but he understands my sentiments. Recalling his experience being left in the hospital to wallow in misery, he knows how cruel kids can be; even young adults. He professes that he wouldn't have been among those who teased me, if given the opportunity, and I actually believe him – if only because of the person he is now.
Shedding light on that, I start explaining about my video game addiction, and why the ring-tone he chose for me is more appropriate than he might have thought. At his request, I get my laptop out and open it to show him the strange science fiction game Amaya pirated a few months ago. Unfortunately, the shaking of the bus, and the game's repeated crashing, limits our enjoyment of
Portal.
When explaining about Dad's condition a little more, mostly how it affected me, he starts asking some questions about the disease, but I keep it vague. Fearing he might know the disease can be hereditary, I don't tell him the name of the condition, and I hope he doesn't know enough about brain disorders to figure it out. Laughing off the frustrated expression he directs at my evasive explanation, I don't want him to ever know about my Huntington's Disease – it will just hurt him.
...and me by proxy.
After that particularly heavy conversation, we're somewhat pleasantly surprised to see Misha leaning up over the seat, grinning dreamily. Noticing us notice her, she blushes and laughs, “Wahaha~!”
The rest of the passengers, except for our classmates, turn curious glances at the boisterous laughter, but Misha doesn't notice their disapproving looks. “Sorry, Hicchan~!” she beams, “watching you and Aiko-chan is just too adorable to ignore~!”
“And how long have you been eavesdropping?” Hisao asks in an accusatory tone.
Looking away shyly, she lets out a little yelp and frowns, but quickly recovers. “I heard a little,” she claims, “but nothing important, or anything I didn't already know, really, except-” Sighing she looks toward me and offers a sympathetic smile, “I'm sorry about your dad, Aiko-chan.”
Hisao frowns at her, but, seeing a maudlin frown like the one she put on yesterday afternoon, I cast him a smile to disarm his glare. If she heard me talking about Dad, I'm a little angry, but her concern is comforting. “It's okay,” I tell her, offering a smile, “thanks.”
Nodding and smiling brightly, she remarks, “I won't tell anyone about your illicit downloads, either~!”
Ah, good, because I was worried... wait, dammit!
Grinning nervously, I glance over at Amaya, who is still huddled against Tadao, fast asleep, and let out a stifled giggle. “We appreciate your complicity,” I say, looking back up at her golden doe-eyes. Holding my laptop up and smiling conspiratorially, I inquire, “wanna try it out later?”
She can't blackmail me if she's just as guilty!
Why I'm worried about that happenstance, I don't know, but seeing her face light up, I'm glad I made the offer. Perhaps I may not know a lot about Misha, but I actually do like how chipper she can be; especially when she knows there's a secret involved. “Wahaha~!” she laughs, drawing more irritated glances, but I just grin happily and wonder how much she knew about the pseudo-war Shizune and I fought over Hisao.
“I'll take that as a yes,” I say, offering a wink.
“Not on the bus, though, I get a little motion sickness~!” she replies, plopping back down in her seat.
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