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

[Helbereth]

I'm rewriting a big section of the next chapter, so I can't guarantee it'll be ready tomorrow, but this chapter has been done for a week. If any of you thought it would go right into Tanabata next, you're sorely mistaken.

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Chapter 11 - Soliloquy

After the cafeteria incident, Hisao and I made a point to avoid most contact. Neither of us trusted ourselves to be alone together, so we skipped out on swimming for a few days – Joyce even stopped by my room to ask if I was sick. Like the calm before the storm, we knew there would be plenty of time to be together soon, and we didn't want to spoil it with too many awkward moments beforehand.

If this goes terribly wrong, swimming might become awkward...

Hisao joined Shizune in helping build booths for Yamaku's Tanabata festivities, and it actually didn't make me completely apprehensive. Shizune wasn't trying to steal him away; apparently she had been trying to push us together – in her own way. I still had a little green jealousy demon lurking around in the back of my head, but I understood it was irrational. At least I was almost certain of its pointlessness. Unless that was just another play.

No. No it wasn't. Was it?

Whatever apprehension I had about Hisao was apparently linked to making 'us' official, so I find myself much less worried about the actual date. Of course, I certainly want to make a good impression, and for that I'll need a new yukata. Everything about Tanabata should be different from the Yamaku Festival, I decided. That thought in mind, at the end of Saturday classes, Amaya and I meet up with Tadao and Hisao to take the bus into the city, but we separate upon arrival. The girls head off to seek out our own spoils, and the boys wander away to seek something similarly appropriate.

First things first, though, Amaya and I head straight for our favorite cafe. It's actually in the opposite direction from the bus stop, but it has an open-air seating area we like to watch from the air-conditioned interior. For some reason we enjoy watching pretentious people sitting in the hot sun slowly developing melanomas.

It was Amaya's suggestion... okay; and I completely agreed.

This time, the conversation is more subdued as Amaya isn't rambling a thousand words per minute. She's actually blissfully calm compared to our last visit – though she still hasn't shut up since we got off the bus. Most of her questions are rather aimless, but occasionally she hits upon one that makes me think.

“Do you think he'll wear something traditional?” she asks, and I'm not sure who she means.

“Tadao?” I ask, looking perplexed, twirling my empty fork with one hand while I raise my teacup for a sip with the other.

She swats my arm and I almost spill my tea as she exclaims, “no, silly, Hisao. Tadao wouldn't wear a traditional stitch if he were at his own wedding!”

I eye her suspiciously and the mention of nuptials and raise my eyebrow as I formulate a query, “You've discussed weddings with him, then?” I ask, pointing my fork at her.

She giggles nervously and looks away. “No!” she replies, forcefully.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” I goad, fumbling on the English a little, but she understand well enough. She glares at me and sticks her tongue out in response.

Good old Tongue-sticker.

I giggle inwardly and set my teacup down, leaning forward and staring out the window dreamily. “I dunno,” I say, trying to catch a mental image of Hisao in a yukata, “I don't think he'd look right like that, y'know?”

Blue? No, wouldn't work with his eyes. Green, maybe? Earthy, and a good match for his skin tone, but it might look a little gaudy on him. Definitely not bright colors like red, yellow or white. Black would work, but it would need accents. Purple, perhaps? No, he'd never go for that – too girly a color. He looks alright in his swimsuit, so maybe a burgundy color with black accents and white details. Gray could work, too, assuming it's not too bright.

“You prefer the dippy sweater-vests. Is that what it is?” she asks, breaking me out of my imaginings.

“Maybe...” I reply. “It makes him easy to pick out in a crowd, y'know?”

“I wish Tadao were easier to hide sometimes,” she chides, grinning. Then she frowns and looks away like something bad is crossing her mind. I'm perplexed to see such an odd change of face, and I lean forward to confirm my suspicion.

“Are you pouting?” I ask, trying to guess at her state of mind.

She looks back, still frowning, but her eyes are looking through me. “He's just...” she trails off and puts her finger on her chin, “he's clingy, y'know. Like he's afraid I'm gonna fall over or something - all the time.”

“Okay, so he likes to stay close,” I try to lead her thoughts, but she puffs out her cheeks and blows out a frustrated sigh.

“It's like he's cradling me sometimes. Like he's afraid I'm gonna have an 'episode' every second we're together,” she explains, making air quotes. “It was kinda nice at first, but... a month later, I think he's worried just to be worried. It worries me.”

I nod, understanding what she means. I get like that with Hisao sometimes, I've noticed. His heart condition is chronic enough that he really could suddenly have something terrible happen, and swimming could certainly exert him enough to cause an attack. That's most of the reason I slow to keep pace with him; I don't want to make him push himself into an attack.

“Tadao's never actually been around for an attack, though, right?” I ask rhetorically.

She considers the question for a moment then shakes her head. “Not really... he's heard about them, but never actually been there to see one,” she replies.

“He's probably just worried how he'd handle it, then,” I explain, “remember the first time I was there?”

She recalls the incident and nods after a few seconds. “You were a total train-wreck,” she giggles and I see her shoulders relax. “Running through the halls screaming at the top of your lungs,” she frowns and looks straight in my eyes, “you think Tadao would do that?”

“Maybe not that exactly, but his version of that,” I say, “just let him be worried about it for now. Maybe tell him about what it's like dealing with an attack – procedures and such.”

“He's already gone to ask Nurse about it like fifty times, I think,” she groans, “he even got an extra bunch of pillows for his room in case-” she stops and blushes fiercely.

You little minx!

I decide to let the implication slide. “Well, he cares about you – I said that before,” I offer her an affirming nod and she smiles finally. “Eventually, based on historical evidence, you'll end up having an attack around him at some point. Once he figures out how to deal with it, he'll be able to step back a little,” to end my point, I grab a fork full of cake and stuff it in my mouth.

Although, really, I wonder if I'd have the same reaction if I were there to witness Hisao having a heart attack. Somehow I don't think I'd be cheerily distant after watching his mortality falter, but Amaya needs me to be supportive; not morbid. I offer her a sagely nod, closing my eyes and smiling serenely. Meanwhile, I'm trying to fight off the image of Hisao in a hospital bed, connected to a thousand tubes routed through a dozen creepy machines, weakly clinging to life.

Just like my dad...

I hear tapping and look back over at Amaya, who's giggling a little and saying, “Earth to Aiko, come in space-cadet.” My gaze falls over her and the image is blurry -glazed-over- I wipe my eyes with my sleeve as she smiles broadly. “You really like him don't you~?” she asks candidly, her playful lilt edged with an almost motherly tone. Seeing her face, I assume she's no longer on the topic of Tadao.

I sit up straight and lean back defensively, but quickly relax and start nodding, a gentle smile on my lips. She's completely right. I may not fully understand why, but Hisao is important to me; even though I've only known him a month. I just smile at Amaya in response, not having the ability to put it into words. She nods at me and we sit through the rest of lunch rather quietly – both lost in thought.

The clock on the far wall reads, “2:11 pm,” when Amaya stands up and beckons me along, offering a friendly bow to the server who was kind enough to leave us in our reverie. Outside in the city heat, we giggle and talk some more as we make our way to the Soliloquy Dress Shop – and I'm suddenly anxious. Mister Miyoto's perceptive deductions about Amaya were fun to watch, but I wonder what observations he might have about my own future encounter.

He hasn't met Hisao, of course, but I don't think I'll really be able to keep the excitement off my face. For a moment, I consider going to a different shop, but I think Amaya would suspect my consternation and push me even harder toward the fate she might feel I deserve. Not that she's spiteful or anything -well, yeah, she is- but I probably do deserve some payback.

Friends suck.

When we reach the shop, Amaya is leading and she giddily opens the door, flooding the sidewalk with the cool air-conditioned breeze, waving me in; offering a slight bow as I pass. She's mocking me.

Friends definitely suck.

The ringing bell brings the familiar voice out from the back of the store somewhere, and Miyoto's lilting tone makes me smile - and cringe. “Hell-oo-oo~!” his voice leads as he comes out through the curtain and stands with his hands on his hips, leaning back and smiling his disarming smile. A flurry of red suspenders, black pants and a gaudy, blue, floral-print shirt, Miyoto's presence fills the room and we both fall silent. Upon realizing who has come to his shop, he leans forward and pulls up a pointed finger, shaking it vigorously at us – mostly at Amaya.

As the door closes behind us, effectively sealing us in, he begins to chide, “Miss Yamamoto, you've been keeping away – keeping my poor heart in suspense~!” His smile persists as he walks up in front of us, clicking his heels together and placing a finger on his chin contemplatively, inquiring, “dish, darling, how did the festival go~? Did your yukata knock that boys socks off – so to speak~?” The lilt in his voice is even more powerful than normal.

Is that where Amaya picked up that word?

Miyoto stands there and smiles, dropping his hands down behind his back and rising up on his tip-toes expectantly. He bounces up and down giddily on his toes, awaiting her answer. Amaya blushes hard and shoots her gaze down at her feet, making a squeak as she tries to protest. For the moment, I feel bad that Amaya is under such scrutiny, but at least his attention is diverted from the face I was making as I saw him appear. She's probably thinking I'm a terrible friend right about now, but that's fine – it's a mutual contempt.

Tinged with desperate curiosity.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Amaya's stilted voice comes back with a short, “it went fine, Tadao and I had fun.” Her sudden shyness is uncharacteristic of her, but understandable considering the last conversation she had with Miyoto on the subject. His suggestive comments nearly made her face explode as I recall. I decide to hold back information about visits to his dorm room, for fear of making her lash out violently.

Miyoto's pleasant smile dissipates for just a moment as he formulates another query, “he didn't try anything, did he?”

Amaya quickly responds, “no.” Finally looking up at her inquisitor and smiling. “He's a perfect gentleman,” she says, trying to get her confidence back. “Right, Aiko?” she turns to me with a pleading expression.

Knew she'd rope me in eventually.

Undeterred, I look to Miyoto as I answer, “of course. Had he not, I'd have clubbed him to death.” My voice drips with devious glee, and I almost believe I would have done just that – I'm quite protective of Amaya.

At least when she's not throwing me under the bus.

Miyoto's grin returns ten-fold and he cheerily raises his hands around in front of him, lacing his fingers together and literally jumping up and down. “Oh, I knew it, I knew~!” his voice bounces with his leaping, and I can't help but giggle at his exuberant response. “Are you here for Tanabata preparations, then?” he asks, calming his hopping and looking back and forth between us with excited eyes.

Amaya sighs with relief as I answer, “yes, we have... preparations to make for tomorrow evening.” I try to sound vague, but he doesn't seem to mind.

“We both have dates,” Amaya says flatly. I glare at her, but the damage is done. I wonder for a moment whether Miyoto will notice the comment was plural – but it's false hope.

Et tu Amaya?

Upon hearing that he turns on his heel and marches into the store, holding a hand behind his back and beckoning with his fingers. “Come then, darlings, let's see about making your boyfriends stew in their lust~!” he chirps as he disappears behind the curtain again.

I start walking slowly, but Amaya dashes past me, looking over her shoulder and sticking out her tongue. I expected to be tossed to the wolves today, but I had hoped it would be more subtle. Amaya follows him directly, pushing through the curtain and disappearing into the back room, bouncing with each step.

Miyoto sticks his head through curtain and levels his gaze on me. “Come, then, Miss Kurai. I suspect it won't be as difficult, but you'll want to stun your beau, no doubt, and there's not much time~!” his lilt hangs in the air, echoing off the clothing racks as his head disappears into the back room again.

At least I won't have to act coy.

The back room of the Soliloquy Dress Shop is essentially a small design studio with a pedestal in the middle, benches on the sides, a pair of dressing rooms on one end, and a large wooden workbench with rolls of fabric and other materials scattered around on the other. The lighting is natural, through a series of skylights, and augmented by incandescent bulbs if the day isn't offering enough illumination. Miyoto balks at fluorescent lights -saying they disrupt the look of natural skin tones- and refuses to use them despite being cheaper to maintain.

As I stand on the pedestal, with Amaya watching from a nearby bench, I almost feel like I'm being fitted for a bridal gown. Miyoto's meticulous measurements each come with a happy grin and I can't help but feel embarrassed. He hums and whistles as he dances between me and the workbench, writing down measurements. “You've been working out, Miss Kurai,” Miyoto comments as he writes down his latest figures.

Well, I have been swimming five days a week for a month; I'm glad someone noticed.

Choosing to just nod, I don't mention the specifics. I glance at Amaya, but she just leans forward on her hands, swinging her feet off the floor, and grins sheepishly. Miyoto continues commenting as he starts writing out his final measurements, “It looks good on you, though it means I'll have to adjust my patterns.” He looks up at me to ask, “so, what's his name?”

Amaya chirps, “The Swooner~!”

I glare at her, folding my arms, and she replies with a short raspberry. I turn back to Miyoto, who is giggling at our little exchange, to clarify, “Hisao.” I sound more curt than I intended, so I add, “Hisao Nakai – he's a new transfer student.” I smile sweetly, tossing a foot toward Amaya that she doesn't flinch away from; I'm not close enough to actually hit her.

“I assume he's the one you were trying to impress at the festival~?” Miyoto asks, looking back at his figures, and I decide to stop wondering how he knows these kind of things. Maybe he has a direct line to the social heartbeat of Yamaku, or he's psychic; it doesn't matter. Trying to be coy now would be pointless.

“Yeah...” I say, trying to stall.

“Well,” he says, ignoring my desire to slow this conversation down, “with my help, he'll be eating out of the palm of your hand~!” He picks up the paper and eyes me curiously, asking, “last time we went with orange and black, yes?” I nod, but he seems to be in the middle of a thought. “I think we should play with your eye color this time – something with green or brown.” He drops the paper down and frowns, “well, not brown – too pedestrian.” His smile returns immediately as he holds the paper up in front of him, tapping his foot, concentrating. His free hand starts rolling the measuring tape over absently while he thinks.

The way he slips from asking questions about Hisao to comments about his design plan is a little jarring. I barely know how to respond sometimes because there's almost no segue between subjects. It's a bit like talking to Rin; though I should hardly be surprised by that revelation. I don't really have an answer to offer, but it doesn't seem to faze him as he wanders off into the main part of the store, seemingly unconscious of our presence. I glance over at Amaya to comment, “you still just love using that word.”

“The Swooner?” she asks rhetorically, “damn straight! He swept you off your feet without you even knowing – took you a month to recover. The guy has mad swooning skills~!” She grins and nods, still swinging her feet.

Sometimes I hate it when she's right.

For the festival, Amaya and I purchased stock yukata with minor alterations made to fit, but this time, we decided to get them made custom to order; it's pricey, but Miyoto's work is worth the expense. It's amazing watching him go about his work with practiced diligence; quickly taking the selected fabric and wrapping, tucking, snipping and sewing it into a beautifully patterned custom-fit yukata. An hour or so later, in between dealing with a few other customers, Miyoto has finished piecing together a yukata for me, and has started on one for Amaya.

Before setting off on his second task, he directed me into the changing room with a grinning nod and I complied giddily. As I look in the mirror, I realize he was right about my improved figure. Persistent exercise has toned my legs and strengthened my arms, as well as given my already-flat stomach some definition. Gone are the dark circles under my eyes, as well, having not been so afflicted with insomnia since I started swimming with Hisao. I grin at the image as I compare it to the one I saw at my last visit.

None of those evasive adjectives really come to mind.

The new yukata is also quite different. Where the one for the Yamaku Festival had a wavy black pattern like tree branches stretched over an orange background, this one is a much more complex pattern. The colors are like that of a peacock – dark greens and bright yellow tones in a dazzling floral pattern with indigo accents and some white trim. As I finish it with the bright yellow obi, and pull my hair out of my face to look at myself in the bright yukata, I can't help but smile.

Stepping out of the dressing room, Miyoto is looking away, but Amaya notices immediately and beams a toothy grin. “Oh that's just per-fect~!” she says, bounding off the bench and coming for a closer look.

Miyoto turns, but there are a series of pins between his lips that spread weirdly when he smiles, and he can't talk without spitting them onto the floor. Instead he just offers a slight bow and nods freakishly, squinting with joy and making an odd squealing sound. Deciding to forgo keeping the pins in his mouth, he reaches up and plucks them away with two fingers and grins happily. “Ah, our little mermaid~!” he says finally.

Now where did he come up with that?

“Amaya's been telling you secrets while I was out of earshot, then?” I ask, trying to sound more playful than accusatory.

Amaya lets out a nervous giggle and looks away as Miyoto raises an eyebrow and answers, “I prodded it out of her, Miss Kurai – she held out for a good long minute or two~!”

I eye Amaya narrowly, and she answers with a devious grin.

“Come now, let's get a closer look, then,” he points to the little pedestal and I step over to it quickly. His analytical gaze watches my every step, and he smiles contentedly as he steps around the pedestal to look at all the angles. “I'm amazing, aren't I~?” he asks rhetorically.

Amaya laughs happily at that, while I remain quiet. Miyoto's ego doesn't show through often, but it's certainly there. Brazenly obvious, but somehow subdued. I offer him an approving nod and he spins back around to continue working on Amaya's yukata.

A short while later, while Amaya is getting changed, the bell at the front door rings and Miyoto turns his eagle gaze out toward the curtain and belts out a welcoming, “Hell-oo~!”

There's no quick response, but I hear shuffling feet and a crinkling sound, like shopping bags. Miyoto bounds out the curtain and greets the customers with a cheery, “oh~! Hello there, you must be-” he stops himself and I hear some more nervous shuffling.

Miyoto's voice is reduced to a whisper and I can't hear what he's saying. I'm suddenly quite suspicious, and I step off the pedestal to see who he's having a hushed conversation with. Being careful to move it slowly, so as not to draw their attention, I peer out through the curtain and have to stifle a gasp. Hisao and Tadao are apparently done shopping.

I lean back against the wall and look over to see Amaya peering out from the dressing room with a question in her eyes. I lean toward her and whisper, “the boys are here.”

She scrunches up her face in confusion and whispers, “what?”

Just as I'm about to lean closer to repeat my warning, Miyoto pokes through the curtain and says cheerily, “the boys are here~!”

Amaya and I shoot him bewildered glares and he smirks sardonically, “oh, like they didn't know you were here?” He steps through the curtain and chides, “honestly, they're not aliens or barbarians -they're your significant others- why all the-” He stops as he notices our predicament, his eyes flash open widely and he pinches his lips to stop his lecture.

I'm leaning against the wall wearing the yukata Hisao isn't supposed to see until tomorrow, and Amaya is poking out from the dressing room. I'm not sure what state of undress Amaya is in, exactly, but our expressions tell Miyoto enough to make him turn on his heel, heading straight back out with an explanation on his lips. “They're not ready yet,” he tells them, and I breathe a sigh of relief while Amaya ducks back into the dressing room.

A moment later, Miyoto pokes his head back through the curtain, grinning sheepishly, and asks, “should I send them away~?”

Yes!

“No,” I say, despite my internal reaction. “Are they done shopping?” I ask.

“I assume so,” Miyoto presumes. “They look appropriately exhausted and they're both carrying bags from one of the local department stores.” He raises an accusatory eyebrow and frowns as he whispers under his breath, “lousy little sweat-shops.” His smile quickly returns as he continues, “I've had that look on my face before, when I was your age – but that's neither here nor there.” His eyes shift back and forth as he relates the youthful memory, but he settles his eyes on me at the end and offers a pensive expression. “What should I tell them~?” he asks, his lilt returning.

“We'll be here another hour or so, right?” I ask somewhat rhetorically; it's a rough estimate. Miyoto offers a slight nod as I continue, “I'll say something.”

Miyoto pauses, then realizes what I mean and backs out through the curtain. Amaya starts stuttering a preposition of some kind but I hush her with an absent wave of my hand. I tentatively position myself to peek out and take a breath to ready my words.

Quickly popping through the opening, making sure only my face shows, I smile at Hisao. He takes a moment to notice me, but the second I catch his eyes I'm already talking. “Go buy me something... something nice,” I say, and then snap the curtain shut before either of them can respond.

After hearing my request, Amaya pipes up from inside the changing room, “me too~!”

I slink back over behind the wall and close my eyes, trying to stifle my laughter. Amaya is less successful, but I don't think her stifled giggle is audible in the other room. Miyoto lets out a decidedly louder chuckle, covering any tittering the boys might hear, as I hear his heels clicking together; followed by his feet pounding the carpeted floor as he starts shooing them out of the store.

“You heard the ladies, young men. It's unwise to disobey the orders of your beloveds~! Now, be off with you! Find them something precious so I can finish making them stunning~!” his delightful lilt echoes into the back room and causes Amaya and I to break into uproarious laughter.

The bell rings again, and I hear more shuffling, along with a few stuttered protests as Miyoto ushers the two of them outside without another word. The door closes, and I hear Miyoto blow out a relieved sigh. After a minute or two, when he's convinced they've wandered off, he returns to the back room and smiles at me with his arms folded.

I blush a bit under his gaze, but he quickly breaks the tension with a chuckle. “Nice boys, but they're a little slow on the uptake. Yours is adorable~!” he says, nodding at me. “And Tadao is looking healthier – I assume that's your doing, Miss Yamamoto~!”

There's a pause and then a giggle from the changing room. “He likes my cooking, apparently,” she says.

“Don't let him soften up too much, though. He'll need his strength for physical labors... You understand~!” Miyoto's smile absolutely beams as Amaya lets out a nervous giggle. He then turns to me and says flatly, “make sure she uses protection.”

“Hey, I heard that! She's not my mother, y'know,” Amaya protests.

He looks over at the changing room and frowns. “Yes, perhaps, but Miss Kurai is the responsible one – I expect her to have already considered such things,” Miyoto then turns to me and grins widely before asking, “Right~?”

Well, now that you mention it, no.

“Of course,” I lie. I'm not sure if it will work considering his nigh-supernatural powers of perception, but I suppose it's only partly a lie. I certainly would have thought of that before taking such steps. At least that's what I tell myself.

Dirty mind.

Shortly after, Amaya is finally done getting her yukata straightened out. The top half, above the obi, is a peach color with a cascade of white peach-blossoms flowing from her left hip up to her right shoulder. A gold lattice pattern runs along the trim and leads the eye down to the lower half which fades into indigo, where a brilliant field of stars imitates the swirling pattern of the blossoms flowing from her right hip and around the back to her left foot. She's still adjusting the white obi as she steps out and grins.

“I'm a genius~!” Miyoto proclaims as Amaya steps over onto the pedestal.

“It's not too much?” she asks, looking down and leaning from side to side, trying to look it over.

I decide to answer for Miyoto, “he's a genius.” I'm being completely serious; the yukata is stunning and thoughtful, as well as tasteful.

Miyoto smirks at me and then continues touring Amaya's fit; checking the lines and making sure everything falls in the right place. His attention to detail even allows him to see a few stray threads picked up from his design table, which he plucks away and drops to the ground with disdain.

When he's finished he nods with approval and looks to me. “Two sides to this one, I thought,” he comments and we both look at him perplexed. “Gemini – duality personified,” he says, referencing Amaya's zodiac sign, “displayed across her in a flourish of blossoms and stars.” As he speaks, he points to the upper and lower halves of Amaya's yukata, smiling serenely. Evidently he puts a bit of thought into his creations beyond mere color and fabric combinations.

He turns to me, then, and offers the same serene smile. “Yours is that of the Earth-mother; Cancer. Compassion and empathy. Fields of green ebbed with sunshine and resting against the night; defying the darkness.”

I can't help but smile as he recites the description. He was trying to put my personality into the colors and patterns, I gather, but all I saw was colorful constructs. “Thank you, Mister Miyoto,” I say, meaning every word.

“Please, call me Satoru,” he says evenly, his serene smile spreading into a delightful grin.

“Alright, then, Satoru,” I say, “call me Aiko.”

“And call me Ishmael,” Amaya chirps. Satoru raises an eyebrow at her and I roll my eyes. “What?” she says defensively, but our gaze is unwavering and she amends her statement, “I'm Amaya to my friends.”

He nods with satisfaction and we fall silent. I'm not certain, but I think the glassy look he's directing between us means he's committing our names to memory. I hadn't ever heard his first name before, and I find it oddly fitting seeing the look on his face. I had always thought he was such a blustering character -always chipper and bouncy- but seeing this side of him is refreshing. I'm beginning to understand how he reads people so easily; if he can have that much clarity behind those darting eyes, it's no wonder.

The spell is broken quickly, though, as he belts out a chipper, “well~! Will you be needing geta, kinchaku or anything else to accompany your new outfits~?”

I glance at Amaya, but she shakes her head almost immediately. “No,” I say, “just something to hide these from the boys before they get back.”

“Certainly~!” he agrees, and turns on his heel, “get changed and I'll see about the packaging and your bill.” he stops and pivots, looking back at me. “If the boys come back in the meantime...?” he leads.

“Kick 'em out,” Amaya retorts. “Girls only,” she states. “Present company excluded,” she adds, nodding to Satoru.

With a nod, he pushes through the curtain and we head for the dressing rooms. After a few minutes, I've got my blue-jeans and t-shirt back on, and Amaya has slipped back into her denim skirt with a black blouse. The new yukata and obi, carefully rolled and folded, rest in our arms.

Satoru appears almost immediately, clicking his heels together and grinning widely, holding out a pair of large red paper bags for our new yukata. He gingerly ushers them into the bags and covers the top with tissue paper while we look over the bill.

Totally worth it.

Hisao and Tadao reappear in the store just as we're finishing with the bill, and Satoru takes them aside to offer some advice, I assume, while Amaya and I ensure our spoils are well-hidden. As I look over, I can see Hisao's reaction to whatever Satoru is whispering, and he's blushing fiercely. I imagine it's along the same lines as the discussion he had with us earlier.

Satoru Miyoto is quite protective of his friends.

As I stand there watching the exchange take place, I wonder what Hisao might have found based on my directive. Up until now, the only things he really knows are fairly superficial – so I'm not expecting anything on the genius-level of gifting. Still, I almost want to try stealing a look through his bags for whatever trinket he may have found.

Amaya looks like she's having the same idea, repeatedly glancing at their bags; carelessly left near the door when Satoru pushed them into the corner for 'the talk'. She notices me looking at her and raises her eyebrows in a silent question, but I shake my head in response. Whatever they did end up getting, I think I can wait until a more appropriate time.

What I'm really wondering about is what Hisao may have decided to wear for Tanabata. His style has seemed fairly stagnant, though I can't say I expect boys to dress particularly fashionably. There's an inherent sameness in Hisao's attire, though. I've seen him wear at least a dozen different sweater-vests of various patterns and colors, but that seems to be the extent of his wardrobe's variety. Even Tadao has a couple dozen different shirts and different pants that he combines -usually badly- for different events.

Satoru's lilting tone breaks me out of my observations as he steps over to us and grins. “Alright, we're all set then, I think~! If you need adjustments or resizing later, they're covered by the original bill,” he explains, then leans in conspiratorially between us to exclaim in a whisper, “knock 'em dead, ladies~!”

We giggle in unison as he steps off to the side and the boys start gathering their bags. They both offer to carry our bags as well, but we refuse; not wanting them to catch a look at our planned attire. Nodding and waving goodbye to Satoru, we head out the door into the late-afternoon.

There's a quieting lull in the sunset-streaked sky as we set out through the city at a reasonable pace, headed toward the bus stop. It's a peaceful silence, not an awkward one. Neither of us feels the need to fill the empty air with mindless chatter, and we walk contentedly.

Amaya and Tadao hold hands and walk in front of us, while Hisao and I walk side-by-side. Glancing at Hisao, I wonder what he still hasn't told me about his life before coming to Yamaku. Most everything I know is limited to the last month, and a few stray events he described from his life in the big city – before his heart attack.

Hisao had a heart attack. Three weeks ago, he told me about his arrhythmia, but I still hardly know anything about the condition. It's far too broad-ranged a condition to have a clear idea about what it means. As I look him over, the disquieting thought that he might fall over dead suddenly crosses my mind and I wince; he doesn't notice, though. I still barely know anything about him, and I may never get the chance if fate is unkind.

Reaching the bus stop, Hisao looks over and notices my casual gaze, but I don't look away this time. I don't feel embarrassed or unsettled by his knowing I was staring; I want him to know I was looking. I think he understands that, given the serene smile he offers in return; he seems content to stare right back. Even if Amaya or Tadao were to turn around and catch us in this moment, I wouldn't feel uncomfortable because I no longer think there's anything wrong with what we're doing.

I don't think there ever was, really.

As the bus arrives, Hisao glances down and our eyes break away for a moment, but he quickly returns the gaze and I feel his hand wrapping around mine. I wrap my hand right back around his; feeling the warmth, the strength and the quickened pulse in his hand. He leads me onto the bus to sit in the seat in front of Amaya and Tadao. He only breaks the gaze to find the seat, and quickly returns to it once we've situated ourselves on the bench.

Hisao takes the window seat, while I sit by the aisle, our hands still entwined and our eyes still locked. After a few comfortable seconds, we release the gaze and I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder – not for support, but for comfort. I listen to the solid thumps of his heartbeat echoing through my ear and close my eyes, letting the weariness from the day be driven away by the vibrations as I'm carried into peaceful slumber.

Awaking sometime later to a solid nudge, I look up through bleary eyes and see Amaya grinning widely at me from the aisle. She nods at my pillow, too, and Tadao holds up his thumb in the most exuberant expression I've seen him make. I turn to look at Hisao, and he's looking down at me, smirking. I realize we've arrived back at Yamaku, but I'm remiss to exit the bus – I want to stay here and rest against Hisao's shoulder.

Just a little longer.

My logical mind quickly bats that idea away, and I stand, feeling Hisao take my hand again, and follow Amaya and Tadao off the bus; clutching the bag with the new yukata in my free hand. Hisao carries his bags -including whatever trinket I sent him to buy for me- and we exit into the flower-sweetened night air of the school campus. Some of the setup for Tanabata had already started while we went on our shopping excursion, but I'm hardly paying attention to the staggered wooden booths in the distance.

I lean against Hisao as we walk toward the dorms, and we talk lightly – mostly about Satoru Miyoto, the strange dress-shop owner. Hisao's impression of him was mostly good, but he seems a little uneasy at the mention of their side-bar discussion. I just giggle and lean against him harder, considering whether I should ask what he decided to buy for me. I don't think I want to ruin the surprise, but I wonder what he could have thought of on such short notice.

I'll find out tomorrow.

Thinking that reminds me I really should tell him more about myself, my family, my life, growing up – my dad. Realizing that I actually want to tell him is shocking, and scares me a little. Spoiling the mood with that discussion would ruin the nice walk we're having, however, so I decide against that course of action.

When we reach the crossroads, Hisao turns to me and backs away a step. It's a subtle motion, and our hands don't actually break apart, but it places between us some needed distance. He smiles at me and whispers, “tomorrow night, then?”

I smile contentedly and whisper back, “with bells on.”

For a few comfortable moments, our hands remain linked and I consider pulling him toward me, but that's how we ended up shoving each other away at the festival. I don't want to repeat the last month of casual avoidance over a mistake in etiquette.

Instead, I allow the hold to break, and we start backing away from each other slowly. Tadao rushes around us, headed for the dorm, and nods at Hisao as he goes, not saying a word. This is all so strangely familiar, but it's somehow ten times better than that night a month ago.

Though, I'd love to hear Tadao recite that poem again.

Of course, the silence couldn't remain forever, not with Amaya around. “Hey, Swooner,” she yells out from behind me and Hisao grins, holding up a hand in a casual wave. She continues, “have her back before curfew~!”

Now I turn to glare at her, but all I catch sight of are her feet darting through the door into the girls dorm. I quickly look back and smile sheepishly at Hisao, who's chuckling at either Amaya's comment or my reaction – I'm not sure.

“Maybe we should worry her for a while,” he suggests.

“No,” I reply, “she'd just torture me about it until I had to make something up, and she'd know I was lying, and then there'd be this face.” I put my finger on my chin, imitating Amaya's thinking pose.

Hisao laughs and shakes his head, “indeed. Tongue-sticker would lean forward and pace around, damning the name of the Swooner.” He plays out his description, hooking his thumbs in front of him and pacing back and forth.

We both laugh for a while until he arrests control and points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Kenji needs constant checking, you understand,” he says as he starts backing away. “He's like a big infant with glasses and a bad temper... he does still ask about whiskey night and war stories with you, though.”

I roll my eyes at the reference as I start backing away. “Tell him I'm still on covert ops or something important like that – make something up,” I say, starting to giggle.

“Will do,” he says as he spins around and breaks into a jog toward the dorm, his shopping bags bouncing at his side.

I should have peeked...

This time I just watch him go; not feeling the least bit bad about watching. Amaya could be recording this on her phone for all I care. She could post it on YouTube so it goes viral world-wide, and I wouldn't even flinch. I no longer care who might know I like Hisao Nakai.

Well, maybe I want to keep it from mom for now...

When I reach my dorm room, even after being bombarded by Amaya's inquisition, I don't feel any stress. I'm impervious to stress today. Everything about this day went swimmingly, and when I drop down onto my bed, my last thought is something more hopeful than I can remember in the past month – maybe the past year.

Tomorrow is going to be a good day.
__________________________________________________
Previous|Next

Again, avoid this until after reading:
I think Miyoto is my favorite peripheral character to write. I haven't posted a bio for him because it would probably give away too much information that I don't want revealed. I wanted to hint at some of the depth to his character - and indicate there's more than his facade. That intuition has to come from somewhere, right?

This chapter is holding up a mirror to the third chapter which went similarly, but this is decidedly different. Before, Aiko was mostly there to support her friend; while this time it's a more equal occasion. I also wanted to hint at some trouble in paradise between Tadao and Amaya - as well as progress in other areas. A bit of white-knighting on Tadao's part has evidently started eating at Amaya, and her natural tendency to remain enigmatic about her condition is starting to bite at their relationship.

I also wanted to show that Aiko and Hisao have become much more comfortable with each-other compared to the festival. I kinda wanted to illustrate how unprepared they were back then compared to a month later. They're following some unspoken rules, though, which keeps them from completely giving in to whatever instinct is drawing them together.

Anyway, the next chapter is being reworked a little, so it might not get posted for a few days.

[griffon8]

Another nice chapter, good to see Miyoto again.

There is no tipping in Japanese culture.

[Helbereth]

Another nice chapter, good to see Miyoto again.

There is no tipping in Japanese culture.

Seriously?

There's a part of me that just doesn't care... but it's only one sentence.

[Bagheera]

Another nice chapter, good to see Miyoto again.

There is no tipping in Japanese culture.

Seriously?

There's a part of me that just doesn't care... but it's only one sentence.

Tipping is actually pretty uncommon outside the United States, since waitstaff are paid appropriately to begin with and not expected to make the bulk of their income from tips. In some places it's even considered an insult.

[JTemby]

Satoru Miyoto

Satoru Iwata + Shigeru Miyamoto? Me thinks you're a Nintendo man.
OrmaybetheyarejustcommonnamesandI'mlookingtoomuchintoit ._.

[Helbereth]

Satoru Miyoto

Satoru Iwata + Shigeru Miyamoto? Me thinks you're a Nintendo man.
OrmaybetheyarejustcommonnamesandI'mlookingtoomuchintoit ._.

Actually, you're spot-on.

Miyoto is a shortening of Miyamoto that I didn't want to type all the time - I also didn't want the influence to be completely obvious.

I came upon Satoru looking through Japanese names by meaning. When I noticed the parallel, though, I just thought it was perfect.

[Helbereth]

I mentioned I was stuck on a section in the next chapter...

Well, I'm jammed on about ten minutes worth of interaction between characters and I've rewritten them... oh... around thirty times so far. I've written everything leading up to it, and most of what happens after, but the little section I'm stuck on is kinda pivotal for later events to happen and I'm practically smashing my face on the keyboard trying to figure out how to do it eloquently.

So, I may end up delaying this another day.

[LOL WUT]

I mentioned I was stuck on a section in the next chapter...

Well, I'm jammed on about ten minutes worth of interaction between characters and I've rewritten them... oh... around thirty times so far. I've written everything leading up to it, and most of what happens after, but the little section I'm stuck on is kinda pivotal for later events to happen and I'm practically smashing my face on the keyboard trying to figure out how to do it eloquently.

So, I may end up delaying this another day.

When you brought up smashing your head on a keyboard, I thought of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gv4B7avZ ... plpp_video

[Helbereth]

I mentioned I was stuck on a section in the next chapter...

Well, I'm jammed on about ten minutes worth of interaction between characters and I've rewritten them... oh... around thirty times so far. I've written everything leading up to it, and most of what happens after, but the little section I'm stuck on is kinda pivotal for later events to happen and I'm practically smashing my face on the keyboard trying to figure out how to do it eloquently.

So, I may end up delaying this another day.

When you brought up smashing your head on a keyboard, I thought of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gv4B7avZ ... plpp_video

That's exactly what happened here, too.

[LOL WUT]

I mentioned I was stuck on a section in the next chapter...

Well, I'm jammed on about ten minutes worth of interaction between characters and I've rewritten them... oh... around thirty times so far. I've written everything leading up to it, and most of what happens after, but the little section I'm stuck on is kinda pivotal for later events to happen and I'm practically smashing my face on the keyboard trying to figure out how to do it eloquently.

So, I may end up delaying this another day.

When you brought up smashing your head on a keyboard, I thought of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gv4B7avZ ... plpp_video

That's exactly what happened here, too.

Well if that is what happened I should pay my respects
R.I.P
Helbereth's keyboard and pencil.

[Helbereth]

I did actually finally figure it out, though.

I have some polishing to do, but perhaps tomorrow.

[LOL WUT]

I did actually finally figure it out, though.

I have some polishing to do, but perhaps tomorrow.

Good to hear.
Post at your own pace, if needed.

[JTemby]

I mentioned I was stuck on a section in the next chapter...
Well, I'm jammed on about ten minutes worth of interaction between characters and I've rewritten them... oh... around thirty times so far. I've written everything leading up to it, and most of what happens after, but the little section I'm stuck on is kinda pivotal for later events to happen and I'm practically smashing my face on the keyboard trying to figure out how to do it eloquently.
So, I may end up delaying this another day.

I did actually finally figure it out, though.
I have some polishing to do, but perhaps tomorrow.

(GENERIC WORDS OF REASSURANCE)
You got all the time in the world to make this story as perfect as possible, so relax yo' pretty little self.

Geez, I am being way too flirtatious on these forums...

[Helbereth]

I finally finished the section I was smashing my face over, and decided to unleash it before I decide to change it again. I'm mirroring the kind of two-part full-day experience I wrote for the Yamaku Festival, though the flow of the day is very different.

This is the first half of the day, the other half needs some rewrites due to the changes made to this part, and I think I'm gonna take a few days to put some distance between here and future chapters, so I might not update until the end of the week.

Previous|Next
______________________________________________________
Chapter 12 – Morning Tribulations

Sunday morning breaks through my window with brilliant sunshine, stirring me from peaceful slumber with its warming glow. Groggy, but content, I roll into my pillow and smile at feeling the soft fabric brush against my cheek. Last night I had my first good dream in months. I can't remember much of anything from it, but it was a happy, carefree dream, and I'm holding onto that feeling. Hisao was there, somewhere, smiling his happy smile and offering his hand. I took it and embraced him, I think, but the rest is a blur – I awoke with his smiling eyes in the forefront of my imagination.

A sudden battering on my door causes me to roll over and sigh, letting the image fade away. I grin despite the fading memory, lying there and waiting for Amaya to start yelling through my door. I think I can afford to rest here a while longer and make her wait – she doesn't know I'm awake.

The rapping begins anew, and now her strained voice croaks through the door, “I know you're in there, Aiko! Tadao already called after checking with the Swooner.”

She thinks I went back over there?

I groan and roll onto my side, “I'm awake, did you think I snuck out last night?”

She beats on my door again. “Thought you might dash off and jump him in his sleep or something,” she says, her voice cracking. “You were a little bit attached last night,” she remarks lasciviously.

I roll my eyes and swing my feet off the bed. “Nothing happened, I told you that!” I yell, annoyance in my groggy voice.

“Open your stupid door, I need help with this,” she demands, “I need your agile hands.”

Knowing what she probably means, I grumble and stand, quickly unlocking my door and yanking it open. Practically falling into my room, she pushes a bundle of hair pins and a brush into my hand and sits on my bed. “Tadao got me a flower for my hair and I want to frame it,” she explains, leaning forward.

“I just woke up,” I try to explain.

“Just do it, you barely need eyes... just two hands,” she slides over on the bed and turns to the side, giving me room to sit next to her. “Looking beautiful is an all-day torture for Tanabata,” she gripes.

Nodding, I sit down and start brushing her hair up and getting it clipped into place. I've always admired her indomitably straight hair, finding it much easier to manage than the wavy locks I inherited from my mother. After a few short minutes, I have everything wrapped up and she launches off my bed, dashing through my door and to her room without a mention of gratitude.

Not that I expected any.

A few minutes later, I'm still sitting on my bed looking out the window when she comes and stands in my doorway, holding a mirror up to check my work. “You approve, of course,” I state, not leaving her the option to disagree.

She nods and contorts her face to the side, trying to see the back of her head with the little mirror. “It'll do, Kurai... it'll do.” She drops the mirror down and grins. “Now we need to figure out what to do with that mop of yours,” she says with a crooked grin, pointing at my head with her mirror.

Oh, please don't.

“Yeah, we should do something...” I glance over at the big mirror next to my desk and bounce my head back and forth, shaking my hair around. The white strip has started to grow out a bit, now that I notice. Amaya is less than stellar at styling hair, and she has strange ideas about what to do with mine, usually. Right now, it's just too early to contemplate what she might have in mind, but I don't want to disappoint her. “After a shower, though,” I amend my statement, trying to keep the forlorn expression off my face.

Amaya nods absently, looking back in her little mirror and sitting down on my desk chair. I get up off the bed and glance at the clock. It's only ten in the morning, the day has barely started. “You gonna fiddle with it all day so it comes apart?” I ask, headed for my closet.

“No,” she says dreamily. I'm fairly certain that I'll have to readjust her hair no less than twice before we actually leave for the festivities. Having idle hands tends to make her fidget a lot.

Her attention span is sometimes decisively short, as well, so I clap my hands. “Up and out, Amaya. I don't want you searching my room while I'm gone,” I explain, to which she turns an accusatory glare.

“Worried I'll uncover secrets?” she asks as she stands. “Maybe a diary you secret away when I come knocking?” her question hangs in the air, but goes unanswered. I just roll my eyes and ignore her, continuing to dig through my disastrously messy closet. After a brief silence, her sturdy stomping feet march out of my room, leaving the door to swing shut with a bang.

“Don't mess with your hair!” I yell after her, my voice riddled with enmity. I'm glad she wasn't around when I rushed through getting ready for the Yamaku Festival – I'd have probably been late, and then Shizune would have-

Would she?

I shake the thought away, pulling off my nightshirt and tossing on some old blue-jeans and a green t-shirt. Tanabata would be our first real date without pretenses. Everything before this was a scheduled meeting of some kind, but now we were about to spend a night together for our own sake. No exceptions; just the two of us – and our friends. At some point, I hope we're able to get away from them, too, but I'll be glad to have Amaya and Tadao around. I think they gravitated back to me at the Festival for that same kind of security.

Shizune and Misha would be coming along as well, of course; I still haven't had a chance to apologize. Shizune has been aloof since Wednesday's cafeteria incident, and I haven't seen Misha around at all – she's been busy catching up with some classwork, I understand. Having been avoiding Hisao so we aren't tempted, I haven't had a chance to ask him what it was like building the Tanabata booths with Shizune, but I'm not worried. They've become friends through this ordeal, and they get along as such, I've noticed. Hisao understanding sign is probably a relief for both of them – and Misha.

Tanabata is a big deal or a waste of time depending on who you ask, though I think the ones in the latter category merely lack companionship for the event. As I make my way toward the common bathroom, several rooms are buzzing around the girls dorm as a number of the girls have plans for the day. Some of them have dates like myself, or plan to go touring the event with friends. Others are scheduled to work in one of the school's booths.

I managed to dodge that bullet. Or, more accurately, Yoko dove in front of it for me. She was in the cafeteria on Wednesday and came up to me Friday to say she'd take my shift; to help me win the war with Shizune. I meant to ask her why she was so interested, but didn't want her to back out of the offer. I feel a little bad not mentioning the war was basically over – or there never was one, really.

Was there?

When I arrive, there's a line, so I'm stuck standing in the hall with a few of the other girls. Miura is down in front wearing a purple bathrobe, holding a bundle of clothes, and leaning her shoulder against the wall with her stump-hand on her hip. Her long, dark hair is messy, but I can't see her face. Looking her over from this angle, though, she seems to be straining to stay standing; what with having Suzuki leaning against her back, eyes closed and seemingly asleep.

Suzuki isn't completely asleep, though, and she blinks at me when I approach; offering a tired, friendly smile. I don't know either of them particularly well, but I smile back and offer a wave in response. She closes her eyes and seems to drift off to sleep again. Miki grunts at the added weight, but she doesn't seem mad so much as bored.

Behind Suzu in line is a girl I don't know -I think she's a second-year student- with long white braids and red eyes, leaning her back against the wall and glancing at me sidelong as I approach. Taller than the rest of us and very narrow, she looks like she might be an albino, but you never can tell around here. She's wearing a white nightgown, carrying a blue towel, and she's talking with sporty little Emi at the back of the line.

Emi is wearing her track uniform, grinning at me devilishly as I walk up and lean against the wall. “Heya, Kurai,” Emi says sweetly, “I heard you dropped a bomb on Nakai.” As she talks, her twin-tails bounce erratically and the little beaded clips holding each tail seem to rattle.

I suppose I expected a conversation like this...

Miura, always ready to one-up Emi at every convenience, throws a comment back, “that was a full-on nuclear strike, not just a bomb.” She starts snickering, though I'm not sure if it's at her own comment or something Suzuki might be whispering as she stirs and blinks.

Blushing, I turn away, but that just makes Emi giggle. “He would never shut up about you, y'know, when he was still running with me,” she mentions and I raise an eyebrow at her. “He was always asking me stuff about you; in between wheezing and gasping for air, I mean,” she laughs and starts bouncing on her regular prosthesis, staring off dreamily.

I wonder, “did you tell him anything?”

She looks at me with a shocked frown. “No, not really - not my place,” she remarks, “I did say you were probably worth the effort, though.” She smiles and starts shifting her weight back and forth between her legs, looking nervous.

Emi gave me a vote of confidence? Now I feel bad...

The platinum-haired girl is looking me over now, and I cast her a smile. Emi picks up on the action and points over her shoulder. “That's Katayama Rika,” she says in introduction, “she's my new charge.”

I offer a wave at Katayama and she waves back. “Nurse and his buddy-system,” Katayama says with a sardonic edge in her voice, “he sent me to cheer her up when Nakai abandoned her.” She rolls her eyes at Emi and grins deviously.

Narrowing her eyes at the brash, braided girl, Emi commands, “quiet, Rika.” She then lifts an elbow and bumps her flank, blinking her poplar-colored eyes and grinning derisively.

“Oh, sure, bump the girl with the heart condition,” Katayama chides. Emi giggles nervously. “You're supposed to be preventing me from falling down dead, not causing it intentionally,” she states, rather mockingly. There's a lot of sarcasm in her tone for someone with a heart condition. She offers me a nod and grins, adding, “by the way, call me Rika.”

She's not shy, I guess.

“Aiko,” I say, being cordial.

Miura turns, ignoring Suzuki's groans. “Rika stop buggin' Emi,” she says, playing peacemaker. She then looks at me with one eye closed and a toothy grin. “That took balls, Kurai. If he hadn't said yes, I was gonna deck him,” she boasts, holding up her stump. She quickly drops it down behind her and grins sheepishly.

Was that was an attempted thumbs-up?

“Uh... thanks,” I reply, not really knowing how to respond.

Most mornings, the girls in the dorm don't end up running into each other in this fashion, but with everyone getting gussied up for Tanabata, the bathrooms are in high demand. Glancing back, I notice Yoko walking up in her green night-shirt, towel in hand, with a tired half-smile on her lips; a smile that fades when she notices the line. Nodding at me, her groggy voice barely manages to croak out, “heya, Aiko.”

I offer her a smile, but seeing her pinch the bridge of her nose and slam her eyes shut, my smile fades to concern. “Morning, Yoko. Headache?” I ask, squinting at her flushed expression.

“Migraine,” she corrects, “happens a lot.”

I offer her a nod, but I can't really relate. I'm used to getting dizzy spells and the occasional swoon, but I don't get migraines. “You take anything for it?” I ask.

Sighing, she stretches her neck to one side and then the other, keeping the pressure on her nose. “Nurse gave me a prescription, but they make me kinda foggy. Kinda wanted be alert for today, y'know? There goes that, I guess,” she explains, and I understand what she means. Popping pills is usually not my first solution to anything; especially the kind that can alter your state of mind. “They don't seem to be helping, but a hot shower should probably help it out. Don't worry, I'll be running the fish-bowls as planned,” she remarks, starting to rub her temples.

I balk, “I'd send someone else if you were that out of it, so don't worry about it too much.” Smiling cheerily, I add, “you shouldn't be miserable today, besides.”

As Yoko smiles at my understanding, I notice another figure walking up behind her. Rin's short shock of red hair bounces and her pink bathrobe sways as she walks; the latter seeming to practically fall open with each step. She leans to one side as she walks, coming to a stop a few feet behind Yoko and raising her eyebrows at the line.

“Hey, is there a concert or something?” her throaty voice asks. “Usually only see lines this long outside theaters or concerts and I know there isn't a theater in the bathroom. So, I assume there's either a concert or a run on hot water,” she rambles as she leans to one side to look around Yoko, trying to see through the bathroom door. Looking at her eyes, I almost believe she could actually see through the door – if only metaphysically.

Armless girl with x-ray vision – comic book logic.

Emi answers, “today is Tanabata, Rin.” Then she rolls her eyes and groans, “everyone's taking their sweet time in there.” It's then I notice Emi is bouncing back and forth on her false legs, not just swaying, and I don't think it's because of her usual boundless energy. Her knees are knocked together and the pleading expression in her eyes almost makes me start laughing aloud, but I stifle it; not everyone is here for a shower, apparently. I smile helplessly and lean against the wall.

“Oh,” Rin says, “Is that what all that hammering was out behind the school? I fell asleep on the steps back there the other day and this weird blue-haired figure woke me up and started shooing me away. I recognized her, I think, but she might have been a phantom 'cause she was mostly blurry and kept motioning with her hands instead of saying anything. Or I could have been dreaming the whole thing; it was a pretty long day.” Her cloudy green eyes close and she stretches into a yawn. The loosely-hung bathrobe opens as she does so and I turn away to avert my eyes.

It's a good thing the dorms aren't co-ed.

Emi shrugs spitefully and balks, “that was probably Deaf-charge.”

“That's an odd name for a phantom,” Rin comments. “Don't ghosts usually get a spooky, cryptic name instead of a belligerent one?” she asks randomly, and I can't help but start to giggle at the absurdity.

Emi, noticing the situation behind me, darts over to help Rin close her bathrobe. “Modesty is the best policy,” she chides. I resist the urge to hide my face in my hand, instead closing my eyes while my shoulders start shaking with laughter.

I just had to take a shower right now, didn't I?

As I'm reconsidering my timing, the bathroom door opens and Hanako Ikezawa steps out into the hall wearing a soft smile and her pink nightgown with a towel hung across her neck. Freezing in place when she sees the line, seven pairs of eyes reflexively fall on her, and I see her recoiling from their gaze. The tension is palpable for a few seconds while she looks us over, seeming to shake slightly.

Wanting to say something -a greeting or anything to break the tension- I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Hanako is caught like a deer in the headlights, and we're all equally dumbstruck. Hisao mentioned he had tried to befriend her during his first week, but she ran away in a huff when he sat down with her in the library. Recently I heard from Naoko that she's getting involved with the school newspaper, but years of crippling shyness don't dissipate overnight.

Finally, Miura breaks the silence. “Heya, Hanako,” she greets.

Hanako tenses even more for a second, but then relaxes upon seeing the familiar face. Seeming to gather up all her courage with a quick, deep breath, she squeaks out a quick, “m-morning, Miki.” Smiling slightly, she steps to one side, no longer shaking. Miura and Suzuki start heading for the bathroom, nodding at Hanako on the way by, and I breathe out a relieved sigh. Miura exchanges a brief, hushed conversation with the timid girl, but I can't hear what's being said.

As the door closes, Hanako starts stepping swiftly past the line of girls, moving with amazing stealth and speed. Quickly disappearing around a corner, she's gone faster than she arrived. She is kind of infamous around the school; though that feels like an unkind description. Being prone to panic attacks and overwhelming shyness, not to mention the scars she's constantly trying to hide, led to some unfortunate rumors over the years. I try not to think about it, but having the worst moment of my life painted on my face forever would be torturous – never mind the unenlightened teasing.

I'm glad my past isn't written on my face.

With the awkward moment still hanging in the air, Emi lets out a giggle and picks up the previous conversation. “Shizune was out there working with Hisao, right?” she inquires. I nod and follow her gaze back toward Rin.

Looking her over, I notice she's staring at Yoko, and it's apparently making the ailing girl uncomfortable. I decide to try and get her attention with a query. “Was Hisao- er... was there a tall guy in a sweater-vest back there with her?” I ask, not sure if she's really going to understand.

Rin breaks her gaze and turns her analytical gaze on me, blinking sleepily. “Um...” she starts to reply, “might have been...You mean that guy you're always hangin' around with – the one with the broken heart. What's his name?”

I just said his name... wait, broken heart?

Yoko relaxes -or at least she looks less tense- turning her gaze at me and smiling at my attempt to free her from Rin's inspection. Unfortunately, I'm too distracted by the mention of Hisao's broken heart to respond. While I'm caught dumb by the revelation, Emi clarifies, “Hisao, silly. The one that was running with me for a couple weeks until Aiko stole him away,” she explains, not bothering to move.

Rika pipes up, “Emi, seriously, stop bringing him up. You just stopped crying about it like two days ago. If you keep dredging it up over and over, I'm gonna end up having to listen to you whine.” That earns her another elbow bump from Emi, and she doesn't comment further. Repeatedly tempting the wrath of Emi like that, I wonder if Rika has a death-wish. Although, remembering Emi's dejected return after Hisao told her he was going to start swimming with me instead, I wonder how much truth there might be in the teasing.

Noticing Rin nodding, I turn a curious gaze at her. “Yeah he was out there, I'm pretty sure,” she says, screwing up her face in thought. After a moment of consideration she explains, “mostly sure. About ninety-five percent certain. Nice guy. Kinda flaky, though.”

Strange accusation considering the source.

Without blinking, she continues relating the story in her rambling fashion, “that phantom kept waving her hands at him and snapping her fingers like a voodoo witch-doctor, cursing his ancestors. I didn't wanna get any more curses cast on me than I already get from people commenting on unfinished paintings, so I left.” She offers a sagely nod, like it was the right thing to do, while I stifle a giggle at her description of Shizune.

A voodoo witch-doctor casting silent curses. It's fitting.

Emi is basically dancing now, back and forth, making her prosthetic legs squeak. She looks like she's about ready to abandon etiquette and dash into the bathroom, but, taking a deep breath, she leans against the wall and closes her eyes; making a face like she's trying to mentally control her bladder. Rika looks on with a bemused expression, her arms folded, sighing while shaking her head. “You should have worn your spikes, Emm,” she says simply, and Emi nods.

A few minutes later, Rin's throaty voice resonates from behind me. “Hey I didn't mean anything by it,” she says, making some kind of apology.

Turning, I see she's shaking her head with her eyes closed; her bathrobe has started falling open again. “I probably misremembered the flaky part. I do that sometimes – remember something different from how it happened. Sometimes I remember things that didn't happen, or forget things that did. It's a real problem, sometimes.” Rin leans against the wall with her eyes half-open, but doesn't say anything else.

Looking from Rin to Yoko, I notice a strange smile on her freckled face. Her eyes keep looking at Rin and then back to me, but all I can offer is a shrug. Unsatisfied with that answer, she leans against the wall, using her folded towel as a pillow, and asks, “ever try to forget something you didn't want to remember?”

Rin doesn't move, but she blinks at the question and furrows her brow. “All the time,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

“Ever work?” Yoko asks, looking hopeful.

Rin closes her eyes again and frowns. “Not really,” she replies.

Rin doesn't say anything else, but the look on her face makes me think there are memories churning within her. What she must have gone through being born without arms was probably harrowing, but there's probably a lot more to it, like anything else. Yoko looks similarly troubled as she leans back against the towel and breathes out a long, introspective sigh.

Everyone has baggage, I guess.

Their contemplative exchange, and their mournful expressions make my thoughts turn inward. There are so many things I haven't told anyone here – almost anyone, at least. Amaya knows most of my secrets, but she isn't privy to everything in my past. Mostly, I just don't want to remember some things. Were there a way to remove bad memories and retain only the happy ones, I think I almost would; especially the things haunting my dreams. Talking about troubling memories can be therapeutic, I've heard, but the prospect of letting anyone else in on that knowledge makes me feel sick.

Minutes pass as we stand there in silence. Relative silence, that is; Emi's continued squeaky bounces break the quiet repeatedly, as do Rika's stifled giggles. Rin sits down against the wall and stares up at the ceiling, though I'm certain she isn't inspecting the tiles. I almost think she's looking at her own messy locks of hair caught in her peripheral vision. Yoko joins her on the floor, and looks as though she might be falling asleep – or resting her eyes at least.

The door to the bathroom opens suddenly, banging against the wall and waking Yoko from her snoozing. I turn to see Miura and Suzuki headed out the door, side-by-side, giggling to each-other about something or other. Emi bounds between them quickly, and leaps into the bathroom with Rika following close behind. I'm glad for the diversion, and giggle a little when Rin starts laughing and comments, “Emi at her Emiest.” To which I can only smirk and nod.

When she reaches me, Miura holds up her good hand and nods at me, smiling widely. “Miki, by the way,” she says. “And you can call her Snoozu,” she adds, pointing at the blue-haired girl.

“Suzu,” she corrects, nudging Miki with her elbow. Her tired expression is still there, but she's not clinging to Miki like a crutch anymore. “Stop telling people that, Miki,” she complains.

I chuckle a little at their their banter and offer a warm smile. “Aiko, then,” I say, grinning.

“I knew that already, Aiko,” she says, holding her hand out. I take it awkwardly and she shakes it vigorously, grinning widely before pulling me toward her to whisper, “whole school is watching, y'know.”

I nod, unfazed. “That was part of the plan,” I say without a hint of uncertainty. The moment I decided to make it a public proposition, I knew what I was getting into, and I accept whatever consequence that might have for the Yamaku rumor-mill.

I do kinda wonder what Hisao thought of it, though...

“Damn...” Miki looks bewildered for just a moment as she breaks her grip, but the toothy grin returns quickly. “Well, good luck. don't think you'll need it, though,” she confides, “Hisao seems pretty well wrapped around your finger.” Patting Suzu's shoulder with her stump-hand, she smiles at her sidelong. “C'mon Snoozu, we have to make ourselves bee-you-tee-full for the boys,” she says, starting to walk away.

“They're just friends,” Suzu argues, dropping her hands down in front of her in frustrated fists. “What's the point?” she asks as she starts to follow.

“Even friends are worth looking your best when you're supposed to,” Miki says, holding up her stump hand up to emphasize her point. “I read that somewhere, I think,” she adds. Suzu just sighs, shaking her head, and they've soon disappeared around a corner.

Looking down at Yoko and Rin, sitting quietly on the floor, I glance at the bathroom door and let out a sigh. Sliding down the wall, I sit cross-legged and lean forward holding my head up with one hand while the other hand starts absently running across the carpet. I lean over toward Yoko and notice she's still a bit flushed and holding her eyes closed.

I'm concerned, so I ask, “you sure you're alright?”

Stirring a bit at hearing the question, she opens her eyes and rolls her neck, turning her head toward me instead of just her eyes. She offers a stilted smile and I notice sweat along her brow, “I'll be fine, really, mom.” I'm a little confused by her tone – it doesn't sound like she's joking.

Does she think I'm her mother?

“You don't look fine,” I reply. “Are you sure it's just a migraine?” I inquire, reaching up to pat her shoulder. The casual contact startles her, causing her to jump back reflexively, but I'm too busy noticing that she's radiating heat to be worried about her reaction. “You're burning up,” I comment.

Lolling her head back to center, she looks away and lets out a whimper. Even Rin is watching with some concern now, and I wonder if she noticed something was wrong earlier. I move my hand off her shoulder and feel her forehead, with the back of my hand. It's unusually hot, and my brain automatically switches over to mother-mode. “You have a fever,” I say calmly.

She doesn't argue, but she shrugs her shoulders. The expression on her face is far-away and seemingly confused. Looking more closely, I notice dark circles under her eyes, and, where she isn't flushed, her usually creamy complexion is clammy and pallid. Her eyes are also bloodshot like she's been crying, and there are tears forming there now.

I pull my hand back and look over at Rin, who's already nodding at me. “Keep an eye on my stuff, I'm getting Nurse,” I tell her and she leans toward Yoko, agreeing to stay with her until I return.

Suddenly happy I decided to wear jeans and a t-shirt instead of just a bathrobe or a night-shirt, I head out of the dorm and across the campus. Even being barefoot, I quickly, calmly, make it down to the auxiliary building and find Nurse alone in his office. After I explain about Yoko, he grabs up his little medical bag and follows me back to the dorms looking somewhere between curious and concerned.

When we arrive, Emi and Rika have emerged from the bathroom and are kneeling by Yoko. Rin is offering her lap as a pillow, smiling down at her sweetly, but looking a little bewildered. As we approach, Nurse sidles up beside them and kneels, checking her over with deft hands and calm eyes, his expression locked in an unreadable grimace.

“Miss Guidot, how are you feeling?” he asks, a caring edge to his usual monotone. She doesn't respond.

Emi answers for her, “she's been kinda out of it, but she's feverish and said she was nauseous.”

Nurse nods at her and frowns. Grabbing for his stethoscope, he wraps it around his ears and places one hand on her forehead, while the other holds the device against Yoko's chest, listening to her heartbeat. Seeing his eyes concentrate on his watch, I imagine he's timing the beats.

After a few seconds, his grimace returns, and he holds up a hand asking Emi and Rika to back away, which they do quickly. “Was there anything else you noticed about her?” he inquires.

Recalling her reaction to my touch, I mention, “she was kinda jumpy, too. Practically leaped away when I touched her shoulder. Said she had a Migraine.”

He nods grimly. “Miss Tezuka, thank you, but I think she needs a cooler place to lie down,” he offers her a smile and she gently stands, letting Nurse hold Yoko's head. “Miss Kurai, would you mind helping me get her up?”

I nod dutifully and walk over to her other side. “Her room is just down the hall,” I mention. He nods and reaches under her elbow; I do the same with her other elbow. A moment later, we have her on her feet, but she's hardly able to stay standing. We walk her slowly over to her door, which Emi opens, and carry her over to lie her down on the bed. Considering I've never been in her room, I think of taking a look around, but I'm too worried about Yoko to bother.

Nurse looks up at me and smiles. “I need a second opinion, can you go find Joyce?” he asks.

As I'm headed out the door, I glance over and see a number of pill bottles on Yoko's nightstand; Nurse notices them as well, and he's checking through them as I leave. Emi follows me down to the pool building, being the only other person dressed in something other than a bathrobe or night-shirt, and we quickly find Joyce, asking her to come back with us. I worry what Nurse might need a second opinion on, but I don't want to pry.

When we return, Joyce checks Yoko over with the same procedures and nods grimly at Nurse, who holds up a few pill bottles - presumably from Yoko's nightstand. “I didn't want to jump to conclusions, and we'll need to confirm, but she'll need a hospital for that,” he remarks grimly.

Whoa... Hospital? I thought she was just sick.

Joyce agrees, “better safe than sorry.”

As they're sharing a nod, I notice Yoko twitching on the bed and point. Nurse looks over and frowns. “Make the call, I'll stay with her,” he motions to Joyce and then sits on the bed next to Yoko, placing a calming hand on her shoulder as I see tears streaming down her face.

Joyce heads out of the room and gets out her cellphone to call for an ambulance while the four of us look on, all wearing bewildered expressions. Rika looks less bewildered than Emi and I, and Rin's expression is unreadable, but we all understand the implications of a hospital visit being recommended considering the facilities available at Yamaku.

After Joyce finishes making the call, she heads back into Yoko's room and Nurse starts ushering us out of the room. Thanking us for the quick reaction, he recommends we should go about our day and not worry.

Easier said than done.

We disperse awkwardly, and I make my way to the bathroom for that shower. Still in shock, I drone through it while trying to keep my mind off the sound of a gurney wheeling down the hall, and the medical jargon echoing through the door on the return trip. There have been times like this before with other students, so it's not really new; that doesn't make it any less disturbing.

Walking back to my room, I feel like a zombie. Whatever happened to Yoko, it's serious; maybe life-threatening. Perhaps I'm overprotective of my friends -especially Amaya and Tadao, and probably Hisao- but the thought of any of them ending up in a hospital frightens me. The fact that I don't know Yoko particularly well doesn't seem to matter – she's a friend.

When I arrive back at my door, Amaya pops out of her room immediately asking questions about the ambulance. I tell her what I know; surprisingly little. Neither of us really knows how to make sense of it, nor do we know how to deal with the implications. Amaya gives me a friendly hug, saying everything will be fine, but it's hard to shake this dreadful feeling.

“C'mon, we can't let a little drama get us down,” she says cheerily. “Yoko wanted you to have a good time,” she grins and elbows my side, “she'll wanna hear about it when she gets back, so you can't disappoint her.”

Uncertain why it's working, Amaya's little speech makes me smile. Perhaps it's the goofy grin or the cadence of her voice, but she's always been great at digging me out of my worries to see things a little brighter. Optimism isn't one of my strong suits, but it's one of her best qualities; even if she can sometimes be even more cynical than myself – her cheerful smile is contagious.

Negative feelings spawn negative results.

Deciding I should try to stay positive about the whole thing, I shrug the worries into the back of my mind and offer her a nod. Whatever happened with Yoko, there are skilled professionals attending to her by now, and I trust them enough to know they wouldn't let anything bad happen. Though it couldn't have happened on a worse day – she's going to miss Tanabata.

I can't cheer her up with stories if I don't go.

Remembering that, I realize we have a night to prepare for and push through my door to grab the little red bundle before heading over to Amaya's room. Usually, Amaya will come to my room in the morning to wake me up, bother me, ask me a question or some combination of the three. When it comes to really sitting down for some girl-time, like getting prepared for Tanabata, we plan to use her room for a few obvious reasons.

Most prominently, I'm a total slob; my room is usually a scattered mess of discarded clothing, papers and other assorted junk haphazardly strewn about and completely disorganized. Usually, I can't even manage to close my closet, much less find anything inside. I just leave things wherever I happen to drop them instead of making the effort to put them someplace more appropriate, and my tendency to stay up all hours of the night has resulted in finding some intriguing science experiments. Growing in discarded cereal bowls I'd completely forgotten about and left someplace inconspicuous for a few days -or a few weeks- I've come across them and marveled at the little green and black wonders, but Amaya isn't quite so forgiving.

Should I have cleaned my room before tonight?

Pushing that thought -and all its dirty implications- aside, I take a moment to look around her room; not much has changed since my silent vigil last month. Being on the less-sunny side of the building, her window doesn't let in quite as much light, but she isn't terribly fond of excess illumination. The burgundy-stained mock-mahogany desk she uses as a writing table is the only non-modern piece of furniture in her room, though it's obviously a reproduction. Her laptop rests atop it, sitting on an office calendar with carefully marked days, and there are a number of books lined up against the wall – her rainy day stash.

Her bed is neatly made with the black and white striped comforter laying across it and neatly tucked under the mattress. If I were to pull that top-layer off, I'd find the corner of her sheets crisply folded like a hospital bed. She spent a lot of time in hospitals when she was little, and I guess she got used to the feeling. There's a strange sterility to her room that I always found uncomfortable, but the excess number of pillows and stuffed animals make it homey.

Her closet is carefully closed, unlike mine. If I were to open it, I know I'd find every piece of clothing she owns neatly folded or hanging from the crossbar, meticulously color-coded and arranged by season. Hung along the green-painted walls there are a number of posters for various video games and movies; Amaya has a lot of interests that conflict with her epilepsy. Otherwise, the room is spotless and usually smells like a combination of peach shampoo and pine-scented cleaner. She's a neat-freak, but I think it has a lot to do with her condition – preventative measures and such.

As I'm scanning around, she darts over to her closet and draws out a small metal box; carrying it over to her desk and opening it quickly. “I figure turquoise for you and indigo for me,” she says, holding up two bottles of nail polish.

I sit on her bed and sigh, taking a second to look over her hair as she's looking away. “I'll have to fix your hair too,” I mention, noticing it's already starting to fall out of place.

She nods as she comes over to sit next to me, handing me the little bottle of indigo nail polish, and scooting over to the foot of her bed while I slowly make my way to the head. “We can take care of that while these dry,” she suggests. I nod as she drops her left foot onto my right knee, and I drop my left foot onto her right.

About half an hour later, we have bunched-up tissues between our toes and I'm sitting behind her, fixing the mess she made of her hair. As I'm adjusting the hair-pins, I glance over at my little red bag and grin. “Who's going first?” I ask, nudging her shoulder.

“You are, duh,” she says, likely with a roll of her eyes. “Are you done back there?” she asks, squirming.

I set the last pin and pat her on the shoulder. “Done,” I inform her, though she's already jumping away to look it over in the mirror next to her closet.

“Your turn,” she chirps, turning back and coming to sit beside me. “I think we should do a braid – a double braid. Like a princess braid.”

“You're not making me look like Princess Leia,” I say, frowning.

She punches me, hard, on the shoulder and lets out an exasperated, “why not?”

I choose not to answer, offering her a glare instead. She frowns and rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out for good measure before grinning. “Okay, still a braid, though. Maybe wrapping around the sides then down the middle in the back?”

“Like a garland?” I ask, trying to imagine what she means.

“Yeah, like a crown kinda thing,” she starts describing, ”pull the hair out of your face so he doesn't have to choke on it when-” I elbow her flank to shut her up before she can finish that thought.

Thinking over her idea, it sounds alright and I smile, sitting back on the bed. “You're gonna need to be right behind me,” I mention.

“It'll look great, I promise,” she says, kneeling on the bed and sitting behind me.

Peering at the clock, nearly half an hour has passed since she started diligently twisting and layering my hair, and I'm anxious to see whether it looks alright. She had to start over twice, getting the braids backwards the first time, and then accidentally losing the left braid before she could link them together on her second try. Meanwhile I have some time to think over some of the events from earlier, but they don't go back to Yoko; I start thinking about what Rin said about Hisao having a broken heart.

Emi probably knows about it for the same reason he told me, but as far as I know he hasn't told anyone else. When the subject comes up, he gets nervous and starts fidgeting, rubbing the scar through his shirt and trying to change the subject. I thought he was like that with everyone, but, if he told Rin, maybe that assumption is wrong. This many hours later, I can't exactly ask her about it now, but I think I'd rather hear it from him; for my own sanity's sake if nothing else. Rin would likely attack the query with her usual roundabout language and I would have to piece together the story from her scattered wispy thoughts.

I don't even know what she really meant by broken heart, either.

Amaya chirps, “done, finally,” as she falls back onto her pillow and lets out a frustrated sigh. The suddenness of her movements startle me out of my contemplation, and I quickly jump up to have a look in the mirror.

Surprisingly, I'm impressed. The tight braids along the side wrap up over my ears and link together just above my neck, combining into a large braid that hangs down on a bed of my carefully brushed, wavy hair. The way it wraps around makes it look like a crown, as Amaya described, and I can't wait to see it with my new yukata. The white strip is woven into the left braid, giving it an asymmetrical look that I find appealing.

“You approve, of course,” Amaya echoes my earlier statement, not leaving an opening to disagree.

I turn back and nod at her, then reach down and pick up my red bundle, tossing it to her and smiling. “Should we get dressed now, or wait?” I ask.

Setting the bag aside, she looks over at her analog clock, hanging on the wall over her bed, and sighs. “We should probably wait, it's still a little early,” she says as I note the time; it's not even two o'clock yet.

We decide to wait before getting dressed, instead heading down to the common room to make lunch. Well, technically Amaya is the one who does the cooking; I just watch and hand her things when she asks. Cooking eludes me more than I think it should considering my mother's chosen profession, but I suppose my ability to accidentally set fires and overcook everything was inherited from my father.

While we're there, I have to field unanswerable questions about what happened with Yoko, so we take our food back to her room. Amaya is less than thrilled with the idea because she knows I'm excellent at making a mess with my deplorable eating habits, but she grins and bears the consequences – not wanting the constant reminder to dampen the mood.

Yoko will be fine.

Surprisingly, I don't make a mess of her room, though she still complains. After eating, it's nearly three o'clock, and we're to meet the boys at four, so, once we've cleaned up -rather, once Amaya disinfects the room and takes care of the bio-hazard container- we unroll our new yukata and set about wrapping them, tying them and securing them with brightly colored obi.

It turns out the turquoise nail polish is a perfect match for the colors in my yukata, and the indigo on her toenails blends into the night-time scene along the lower half of hers. She slips into her peach-colored geta and grins at the mirror, turning left and right to check for the proper lines and folds. Dragging the tied bow in my obi around to the back, I slip into the green geta I wore last time, completing the look.

Peeking at the clock on her wall, I have to try really hard to keep the excited smile on my face. We both giggle as we look into the mirror, and, for a few minutes, I completely forget about the morning tribulations. In less than an hour, I'd be meeting up with Hisao for our first official date, and I can barely contain myself.

I hope he likes green...
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Previous|Next

Stop peeking! read the chapter first! Geeze, some people's kids:
See? I told you I'd be bringing Yoko back... Unfortunately, it's kind of a downer, but c'est la vie. Yes, I know exactly what happened with her; I didn't just make it up on the spot. I still have a few tabs containing descriptions of medical complications open so I could effectively be vague about what the Nurse is thinking.

It's setting up some stuff with Yoko when she comes back.

That actually wasn't the hard part to write, though... getting the waiting in line sequence to not fall apart is what made it difficult. Striking a balance between boredom and wisps of conversation kept throwing the pace off, but I think I successfully reined it into something passable.

I wanted to use Rin's knowledge of Hisao's condition as a point of contention. Aiko doesn't know what to make of it, and asking Rin would probably have been even more confusing. Her little green jealousy demon rearing its ugly head, as it were - insecurities abound.

Like I said, it may be a while before I post the next chapter.

[Total Destruction]

Like I said, it may be a while before I post the next chapter.

You're unreasonably quick at churning out the good stuff, dude. I feel that "a while" in Helbereth-Fanfiction-ese is going to translate into "like a day, maybe, if that." YOU'RE KILLING ME OVER HERE.

Great effin' chapter, though. You made waiting in line to shower and piss a vivid, joyful experience. Which is weird, because I'm actually waiting on a shower in real life. Eerie.

The little snippet between Miki and Hanako made me simultaneously squeal like a girl because it was fucking adorable and hit myself because you're writing my damned story better than me, hahah. Props for the botched thumbs-up, too.