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

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

empirical data

I feel like this phrase is becoming overused. Perhaps consider some synonyms.

I consider keeping a change of clothes here in case of future incidents

I'm reminded of that thing about being warned of women "nesting" by observing this. I forget exactly what it entailed, though. It was on some episode of The Big Bang Theory I watched once. I dunno. It's irrelevant.

No feet!

Well, at least we know there's some limit to what fetishistic behaviours in which Aiko is willing to participate.

try something weird later.

Same can't be said about Hisao, I guess.

That explains why I never smelled it on him...

You make it sound like the guy's been smoking.

two months ago and this will all have been a dream.

Call-sideways to April Fools? Maybe I'm reading into it too much.

two separate climaxes
my delightful apex,
two additional orgasms.

two-thousand-two Olympics

Uhhh...

—she's a skier

Never mind.

Hey You, about done?
Almost, You...
Hey You, you planning to drink this coffee?

Do the "you"s really need to be capitalised?

Kenta infers,

I'm not sure if that's the right use of that word... maybe I need to get a dictionary definition to be sure.

Haven't even put my pants on yet

Unless that's a strange metaphor I've never heard before, I'm pretty sure there's only one meaning for not having one's pants on.

The mermaid swims at dawn.
The crab cloaks itself in armor.

I feel like I'm missing something with these codes. Or forgotten something.

Lydia mentioned harnessing jealousy

For reasons I cannot identify, I read that as jewelery... needless to say it caused immense confusion and just a little bit of lulz.

What if I went all Inception on everyone and this is actually a good end, wrapped in a bad end, encased in a good end?

Then it'd be like an OC version of Sisterhood

It's almost a right[sic] of passage. Whether it be from a dorm room, their room, or some other place where there's a potential for authoritative action, shame, and or ridicule, most everyone shares some version of that story.

most everyone

...Welp.

Anyway I mostly just quoted that so I could put [sic] in there. Rite. Rite of passage.

Sperance mostly sums up my opinion of this chapter.

[Helbereth]

empirical data

I feel like this phrase is becoming overused. Perhaps consider some synonyms.

It's a euphemism she uses for sex, one she's rather fond of due to Hisao's frequent use. Other words and phrases have popped up in its place, like liaisons, evening rendezvous, hiding the dolphin, and some others, but this one is sort of unique to them. It doesn't even sound dirty unless one knows the story behind its genesis. They could probably talk about 'empirical data' in the middle of the lunchroom and nobody would bat an eye.

I'll watch to see that I don't overuse it in the exposition, though.

I'm reminded of that thing about being warned of women "nesting" by observing this. I forget exactly what it entailed, though. It was on some episode of The Big Bang Theory I watched once. I dunno. It's irrelevant.

There's a bit of that involved, probably on a subconscious level, but it's largely practicality in Aiko's case--she even reasons out that Hisao has the better location for their meetings. If she intends to engage in future liaisons with Hisao at his room, getting herself trapped there without a change of clothes will make her exit seem more suspicious, and being stranded at the mercy of benevolent friends isn't the best way to spend your weekends. Thus, she formulates a plan to prevent such occurrences from becoming an inconvenience.

No feet!

Well, at least we know there's some limit to what fetishistic behaviours in which Aiko is willing to participate.

try something weird later.

Same can't be said about Hisao, I guess.

They're learning things! If you recall, Aiko put a definite NO on anal in the previous chapter. In Hisao's case, if you consider the rack on Aiko, who among us wouldn't have that thought?

That explains why I never smelled it on him...

You make it sound like the guy's been smoking.

Coffee has a distinct odor, especially for someone who isn't accustomed to its regular use, and if he were drinking it before their swims it would be easily detected.

two months ago and this will all have been a dream.

Call-sideways to April Fools? Maybe I'm reading into it too much.

Sort of yes, sort of no... really it's outward musing. The guy basically says he thinks she's out of his league, and after their extended courtship, probably wonders at the sudden change in her demeanor--especially toward sex. It's an insecure moment, basically--much like him standing outside the shower while he thinks she's pleasuring herself.

We as the audience know that her acceptance of sex as part of the relationship dynamic is merely an offshoot of her already-active, sexually-charged mind. I wasn't even moderately subtle about her being scatterbrained about sex (if you recall, she did offhandedly admit to masturbation to Yoko while at the beach house), but Hisao hasn't been privy to that side of her personality; it's probably no less surprising than Aiko's mom possessing that same dirty mind.

two separate climaxes
my delightful apex,
two additional orgasms.

I don't quite understand the reference here...

two-thousand-two Olympics

Uhhh...

—she's a skier

Never mind.

I had to look it up myself... almost forgot the Winter Olympics run on a 4-year spread and a 2-year offset from the Summer Olympics. He would have been nine in ~1998-99, which means his cousin--8 years his senior--would be just about the right age for the 2002 games. Yeah, I gave myself a facial tic for a few hours figuring that out.

Hey You, about done?
Almost, You...
Hey You, you planning to drink this coffee?

Do the "you"s really need to be capitalised?

As they're used as terms of endearment(nicknames), yes. It's similar to how Aiko calls Hisao 'Sneaky' while in the stairwell after they slip past the guard.

Kenta infers,

I'm not sure if that's the right use of that word... maybe I need to get a dictionary definition to be sure.

Infer is basically to deduce, or conclude. That's what he does; concludes that Aiko is officially an adult by social reckoning, following penetration.

Haven't even put my pants on yet

Unless that's a strange metaphor I've never heard before, I'm pretty sure there's only one meaning for not having one's pants on.

It's because she doesn't actually have any pants to put on, at least not yet. She doesn't mention that particular problem, though. In terms of the actual metaphor, she's basically saying she stayed in bed and didn't go to class--didn't bother putting pants one because... why bother?

The mermaid swims at dawn.
The crab cloaks itself in armor.

I feel like I'm missing something with these codes. Or forgotten something.

On some level he's communicating within earshot of potential listeners, so he's using the metaphors, but it's mostly just him being a goof. The result of having Kenji as a neighbor, Hisao uses silly pass-codes for no really good reason, other than to entertain his girlfriend. Aiko is perplexed the first time, and just laughs at the second. The two codes are related to the situation, though.

The first one he's talking about Aiko(mermaid), dawn, and a water activity; they just woke up with plans to shower together. In the later one, Aiko is referenced as a somewhat appropriate sea creature (she was a little grumpy/crabby despite the nice wake-up), with the mention of 'cloaking itself in armor'; he's saying he's back with her clothes.

He could easily knock, or something mundane, but the codes relay his intent and allow her to hear exactly who's at the door. Basically they're "it's just me, I'm coming in" with some dramatic flair.

Sperance mostly sums up my opinion of this chapter.

I think of this chapter as outwardly fluffy, but with some meaty subtext.

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Infer is basically to deduce, or conclude. That's what he does; concludes that Aiko is officially an adult by social reckoning, following penetration.

Perhaps he does, but that's not something that Aiko would be explicitly privy to; I was objecting more to its use as a speech tag. One is not inferring when he is talking; one talks about what he infers.

I don't quite understand the reference here...

three climaxes

Welp.

that fifth delightful release of the morning
his third release today

Sweatingman.jpg

At this rate, they're gonna kill each other with orgasms. I'd think this was some kind of silly exaggerated doujin if they got off any more frequently. And if it were a doujin. This was a bad metaphor.

[Helbereth]

Infer

Perhaps he does, but that's not something that Aiko would be explicitly privy to; I was objecting more to its use as a speech tag. One is not inferring when he is talking; one talks about what he infers.

I moved the speech tag to where the double-hyphen was, thus placing it after the inference, and making Aiko's description thereof make more sense. On second look, I decided to change the word to 'concludes' which seems like a more adept description in retrospect (one of those 'why didn't I think of that before' moments).

“Officially, I think you are an adult," Kenta concludes, sounding pleased with himself, "by standard social reckoning.”

At this rate, they're gonna kill each other with orgasms. I'd think this was some kind of silly exaggerated doujin if they got off any more frequently. And if it were a doujin. This was a bad metaphor.

Standby, giant wall of text incoming:

First, I stand by their being young, full of desire, and completely capable of achieving multiple orgasms over a 4-hour period. They rise before 8, hit the shower ~15 minutes later, and end their second experience shortly before eleven-thirty; it really isn't a narrow timetable.

Aiko, if you didn't notice, is highly sensitive, as evidenced by her reaction to his touch now, and also the earlier notations about being ticklish; it's a sign of erogenous zones, especially when associated with unusual places like shoulders--most women have a few of them in weird spots like calves, shoulders, forearms, etc..

She's perfectly healthy aside from the ear problem, and the Huntington's won't have any detrimental effects for a long time, plus Aiko is chronically in love with Hisao, and that's a big factor in female orgasms. Women achieve orgasm through brain chemistry more than direct stimulation. If she's really into the guy, she can climax sooner, more powerfully, and more often; sex is better with someone they love--the same is true with men, to a lesser extent.

Coupled with her teaching Hisao how she masturbates (and vice versa), and him wanting to please her, results in the experience becoming increasing gratifying. Five is a low-ball number for her, in my humble opinion, though she doesn't really count the little ones.

The only limitations on Hisao's virility is the heart condition that he's been steadily improving over the past two months, and the production capability of his genitalia--which is usually faster in young men. He's 18, and in his sexual prime, so after 3 orgasms in quick succession like that, he's probably spent (I believe I mentioned that, actually), but by no means is he down for the count. Besides, there's more than one way to stimulate a woman, and he's already displayed his willingness to please her sans penetration--he probably focused on that for most of the second session.

Both sessions in this read a lot quicker because I truncated all the details (I think both actual love sessions were only 3 paragraphs in length, and probably totaled less than 800 words). Perhaps that was a mistake, and I should have described it better, but I'm counting on my readers to look at the time they spent together as a factor in how they achieved such repeated success--plus, I don't want to clutter the narrative with descriptive sex scenes, especially not in back-to-back chapters. Factoring in their desire level (they're smitten), young age, sexual compatibility (she likes it from behind, and he's obsessed with her ass), willingness to experiment (which is a hugely helpful factor), and a little bit of luck, I don't think it's an unrealistic result.

Second, as for the metaphor, release is within the bounds of what an orgasm really does. In both men and women, they release fluid during orgasm--in men it's semen, and in women it's additional lubrication. Meanwhile, glands in their body and brain release a concoction of chemicals (endorphins among them) that cause euphoria, release muscle tension, cause moderate convulsions, shut off pain receptors, lower blood pressure, even heart rate, and most medical professionals believe are responsible for reinforcing chemical bonds, increasing their desire for each other, and thus strengthening the pair-bond.

Besides that, Aiko is still herself. Her vocabulary isn't likely to involve crude or clinical terms, except in rare cases--for emphasis or shock value. She's kind of a prude still, even if she's somewhat of a hellcat in bed. She's more likely to use euphemisms (delightful apex, shuddering climax, etc.) for every part of the experience, at least internally, and that shows up in her monologue.

Also, using direct terms for sex in the exposition is more likely to induce giggling than anything else; words like cock, pussy, load, cum, jerking, fucking, and other assorted vulgarity would be out of character for my narrator, and break the flow of the story--though some of them can end up sneaking into her speech, in the interest of brevity, or the reasons listed above.

She always had that dirty mind, if you recall.

In most cases, I try to avoid specifying what's going into what, actually. Some writers have a more puerile approach to writing sex scenes, and are prone to use such vulgar terms either out of irony or personal preference, but I'm taking my cues from the VN itself, and other erotica, which tend toward focusing on the intimacy of the experience, rather than the pornographic quality.

Thus, instead of:
"He slides his massive cock deep inside my aching pussy."

This spends most of its effort describing a penis jabbing into a vagina, which nobody reading the passage should need to be told is happening quite so bluntly. It also doesn't sound like an intimate experience in this version. Rather, it sounds like cheap porn; all it does is provide visual cues, presumably so we can picture the action for masturbatory reasons. It almost reads as a third-person perspective, like we suddenly exited her head and are now just watching a dick slip into her cunt from some weird angle--again, as in porn.

I would write:
"He slides inside, filling me with his massaging heat."

It's shorter for one thing (just barely), and still relates what's happening, but describes the experience from her perspective, rather than the bluntly physical occurrence; it sounds more intimate this way. It doesn't take a rocket scientist or much context to realize what he's sliding inside where (he put his thingy in her thingy), and we get a deeper understanding of how it feels; you can infer that he's hung reasonably well if he fills her, it's a hot feeling, and she's more interested in the massaging effect he has, rather than the ache of desire itself.

Maybe I'm just bullshitting myself, but I prefer version two.

[Mirage_GSM]

I should warn there's some moderate explicit content,...

You really call this "moderate?"

he places a kiss on my naval

Her naval what?

It's almost a right of passage.

No proofreaders for your regular posts?

two-thousand-two Olympics

Uhhh...

—she's a skier

Never mind.

My thoughts exactly

That explains why I never smelled it on him...

You make it sound like the guy's been smoking.

It's a smell I do not like either. Not quite as bad as tobacco, though.

[Helbereth]

I should warn there's some moderate explicit content,...

You really call this "moderate?"

It doesn't go into much detail is what I meant by moderate. There's no full-on love scene described here, except as recaps, which I don't think qualify as being predominately explicit. The only reason it might be considered explicit is the opening scene, and one could argue that it starts right out of the gate with a low-key love scene, but it stops before it starts.

he places a kiss on my naval

Her naval what?

Urg... I kinda looked at that word every time I passed by in editing, and thought it looked wrong, but never actually checked, so that one's on me.

It's a smell I do not like either. Not quite as bad as tobacco, though.

It's more that it's a distinct smell than anything else, and she never states that she doesn't like it; she only doesn't drink her coffee because it was too hot at the time, then got forgotten. She's just noting mentally why she didn't know he had the habit of drinking coffee; it's a random thought, really.

[Hoitash]

...it's a random thought, really.

Aiko seems to get them a lot.

Narrator's prerogative, I imagine; Hisao tended to be a bit random, too.

[Mirage_GSM]

It doesn't go into much detail is what I meant by moderate. There's no full-on love scene described here...

Huh?
Except for a few phonecalls, they hardly do anything but fuck in this chapter...
And it's not really any less detailed than in the previous chapters.

[Hoitash]

It doesn't go into much detail is what I meant by moderate. There's no full-on love scene described here...

Huh?
Except for a few phonecalls, they hardly do anything but fuck in this chapter...
And it's not really any less detailed than in the previous chapters.

I think its a literary optical illusion; because the sex is spread out (heh) throughout the chapter in varying levels of detail, and is a relatively pertinent plot point, it just seems to stand out more then the rest of the chapter, which itself is pretty fluffy. Helbereth's vivid writing style probably only exacerbates that (not that I'm complaining; your skill helps reading through these babies two or three times much more manageable and enjoyable).

[Helbereth]

but fuck

I assure you, there is no butt-fucking going on in this chapter.

literary optical illusion

So, Textual Inception?

vivid writing style

What worries me is whether that vivid detail loses its consistency somehow, or if the love scenes simply stand out because of the subject matter; at some point, they're just words to me, so everything evens out, but that might not be true for a one-time reader.

Really, I don't put any less effort into anything else (if you read my responses over time, I go into ridiculous detail about seemingly inconsequential things), so it should all be around the same level of detail. At least that's the plan...

However, perhaps I ought to cut back on the details in love scenes so they're more proportionate impact-wise with the rest of the story on a psychological level...? That sounds like a real mind-fuck (watch out for the pun there) to me... It'd be like being in the middle of an RA Salvatore book, and the vocabulary suddenly turns into Dr. Seuss.

[Helbereth]

So, I almost forgot today is Wednesday, and I spent the morning cleaning the oven (it was in a very sorry state after over a month of neglect), and didn't realize until three in the afternoon that I'm supposed to release a chapter today.

Then I had to set up the posts, adjust my formatting for the forum, write this introduction, add footnotes, insert links, change the primary post to reflect the change, and all that jazz. Anyway, I'm just wasting forum space at this point, so I'll get on with the show.

Previous|Part 2|Next Chapter
________________________________________________________
Chapter 37 – For Better Or Worse

My gait quickens as I catch sight of my sweater-vested Swooner standing outside the black-iron bars of the main gate, facing away with his hands in his pants' pockets. Despite my somewhat noisy skipping, there's enough wind to have muffled the sound of my footfalls, so he remains oblivious of my presence. Resisting the urge to call out and ruin my unseen approach, I slow to a creep for the last ten meters, grinning girlishly as I stealthily step up behind him. The last time I had a chance like this, I was much more reserved, reaching up just to cover his eyes and tease him with only the surprise. Now, I'm not afraid to crush my body against his back and cup my hands around his eyes while giggling.

“Guess who~!” I lilt, trying to disguise my voice by making it higher.

There's a brief pause while he leans back in surprise, and I use the moment to bounce myself against him playfully, which I'm sure he enjoys. When the shock settles, he calmly reaches around behind himself to place a hand on my waist, then starts mumbling.

“Hmm... well, you're about the right height,” he starts his playful, unnecessary deduction, “You're nice and soft, and you smell like... apples?” his hand moves lower, running down to my jeans and around to grab my behind, “And, you're about as curvy as I expect, but I'm not quite sure...”

I think he's just prolonging my backwards hug at this point...

Giving me a gentle squeeze, probably in an attempt to make me protest and give away my voice, he tilts his head slightly. “Ah! Okay... based on the evidence available, I'm ready to make a theoretical inference,” he announces, reaching his trailing hand up to pontificate, “I'm about ninety-five percent certain—you're Misha!”

Slapping his shoulder, I attempt an imitation, “Wahaha~!” which sounds completely wrong, then flip him around by the arm and spring up on my toes to kiss his cheek. As I settle to my feet again, I scold, “Idiot!”

“Oh, hello!” he greets, reaching around my waist and narrowing his eyes at me with a derisive smirk.

“Are we really that much alike?” I ask coyly, pouting a little.

I know Misha and I share some physical attributes...

Squinting, he looks down, presumably to compare me to his mental image of our pink-haired friend. “She's a little shorter, not as chesty... and you have a nicer... rear quarter,” he remarks, slipping his hand down over my hips to punctuate his observations, “Plus, she doesn't wear glasses.”

“Har, har... like that's a plus,” I mock, reaching up to adjust his crooked shirt-collar.

“Let's just call it a fetish, then?” he suggests, which I decide is a passable excuse.

“Okay, but why are you so sure about me having a nicer ass? Have you gone around grabbing hers?”

“No... I don't think I'd survive that, and, besides, have you seen yourself in jeans?” he asks plainly, forcing me to shake my head. “It's like roundness perfected,” he compliments, dragging his hand back up over my jeans to rest against my waist, “It's the best ass at Yamaku, by far—and I'm not just saying that; I've done hundreds of interviews—collected testimonials... I took the research seriously!”

I'm trying not to take him seriously, but I secretly think he isn't kidding...

It's rather futile trying to turn and look at my own behind, so I shrug and reply, “I'll take your word for it, I guess.”

In response, he leads us over to sit on the bench beside the gate, then crosses one leg over the other. After I spend a few moments looking at him with a bewildered expression, he aims his eyes downward briefly, leading me to inspect his groin. Noticing he's apparently somewhat strained, I giggle and look away, mostly to see if anyone's watching.

“That's your litmus test?” I ask incredulously.

“It doesn't do that automatically around anyone else,” he remarks plainly, wiggling in the seat to try and adjust himself, “Just you—thought, sight... and especially touch.”

“Like I said before: I'm not even sorry!” I say, holding back some prideful laughter.

I like having that effect on him...

Happily, he doesn't seem offended, and instead closes his eyes contemplatively, resting his head back against the wall. If I gather what he's saying right, he suffers from a bit of embarrassment whenever I'm around, and, if I'm to believe his claims, he's so focused on me that other girls don't even draw his eyes. Honestly, I've felt the same way about other men since we started seeing each other; I don't think about anyone else, especially since our relationship entered the bedroom, and the idea of having some other guy in my bed is plainly repulsive.

I guess he has the same effect on me...

“If it helps at all, I'm the same way,” I mention, which makes him smile weirdly, but he stays against the wall with his eyes closed. “I never really had much of a crush except with Kenta, and that went nowhere for both of us,” I explain, pausing to gauge his nodding reaction before adding, “Ever since we met, you've pretty much been the object of all my fantasies, so don't feel bad about... that. It's a mutual problem.”

“I think it's a chemical thing,” he mentions, shrugging slightly, “I'm kinda hooked on you, like a drug—my eighteenth medication.”

Laughing lightly, I reply, “Well, whenever you need a dose of Aiko... just let me know!”

To put a little extra distance between us, he sidles away, then remarks, “Your mom will be here in like ten minutes, or I'd take you up on that right now...”

“Later, then,” I suggest, glancing down the hill, “We can repeat this morning tomorrow, maybe...” I look back and shrug, “before you leave?”

Nodding and smiling casually, he surmises, “You mean have you spend the night, and we'll spend the morning playing Mario Kart... among other things?”

“Exactly,” I reply, patting his knee exuberantly, which makes him flinch. “Eh, sorry—didn't mean to-”

“I'm calm now,” he interjects, shaking his head slightly. “And that sounds like a perfect plan,” he adds, starting to nod as he continues, “I'll work on getting packed while you're out; so we have more time to focus on those other things... which will remain nameless.”

Giggling, I reply, “I'll put together an overnight bag and give you a call after I get back.”

“Make it a text,” he advises, offering a slight shrug.

“Really? My voice does it, too?” I question, shaking my head at his sympathetic smirk.

“Your voice sounds more... sultry over the phone,” he explains, shrugging slightly, “Or, that's what my brain tells me, anyway...”

“Which brain?”

“Both of them.”

I probably shouldn't be surprised...

“Anyway,” he adds, tapping the bench with his finger, “I'll be gone for a whole month, so I'll need a big dose of Aiko before noon tomorrow.”

Nodding despite him keeping his eyes closed, I reply, “You can consider me your personal wet-nurse.”

“Sweet, sweet medicine,” he says with a lewd smirk, and I giggle airily.

I hope he doesn't think about that too much while we wait for Mom...

Since this is the last day of school for the summer, there are plenty of other students starting to make their way out toward the bus stop, and headed for the car park. Many of them are students I don't know—probably first and second years—who walk by without so much as a glance. The few I recognize are no less preoccupied with their fast-paced exit, and most of them don't even wave—it's really not surprising. Among them are a few of my classmates, teachers, and I catch sight of Emi throwing up a big, energetic wave as she steps into a little sedan.

I recall Emi saying her mom lives in the city somewhere...

Soon the crowd thins, and only a few stragglers remain, which indicates it's probably getting close to noon, so I check my watch. Timing is everything in Mom's profession, or at least it was when she ran restaurants. That makes her very punctual, which, in turn, led us out here long before the noon deadline—to ensure she doesn't go searching through the dorms. Reading the time, I notice the hands are just about to meet on twelve, and look up to see the sun reflecting off her rental's windshield, just as it crests the hill.

I think she has an atomic clock built in somewhere...

“She's here,” I mention, turning a curious look at Hisao, “You ready?”

Keeping his eyes closed, he replies, “Do I have a choice?”

Laughing at his mild apprehension, I retort, “C'mon. She actually likes you, I think.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he agrees, then moves to stand, “she's still scary, though...”

I'd disagree, but then I'd be lying...

Rising to my feet, I hook my arm around his, and he leads us to the edge of the sidewalk. Despite his protests, Hisao hasn't really had any complaints about Mom, which I'm surprised I didn't notice until now. The fear he mentioned probably comes from respect, and perhaps a desire to impress, rather than any real aversion. He even mentioned that if I were to become like my mother—which is something that I find frightening, but remains a possibility—he wouldn't mind. It's an encouraging thought, although I'd rather it not come to that—at least not entirely.

Mom pulls up right alongside us and leans down to look up at him, smiling broadly, then beckons toward me. “Well, there's my beautiful, smiling daughter!” she greets as I'm opening the door, “And her handsome suitor~.”

Realizing that I never actually had the opportunity to do so, I decide to offer Hisao a proper introduction. As I'm sitting down, I aim a cordial hand toward him and announce, “Mom, this is Hisao Nakai—The Swooner,” then I nod toward her and add, “Hisao, this is my mother—Ina Kurai.”

“Kitten, you don't need to introduce us—we've met!” she balks, but smiles anyway and extends a hand over me toward Hisao. He looks a little perplexed, probably by the late introduction as much as her willingness to go along with it, but he remains stoically silent, and takes her hand tentatively for a quick shake.

“Charmed~!” she greets with a agreeable chuckle, “And, do call me Ina, dear~!”

“Hello, Ina,” he replies cordially, retracting his hand slowly. “Aiko told me to call you that," he says, glancing toward me, then he shrugs slightly and looks to her before adding, "but, it feels a little weird...”

I wonder what he'd rather call her...

“Result of years working as a grunt in the service industry,” Mom explains, as she does customarily, shrugging at his furrowed brow. “It makes the work environment less stressful, I think. Even later, my employees could approach me in a friendly manner, and it made solving problems less tense... And I do appreciate your apprehension, but, please, I want to be friends with my daughter's... friends.”

I think she was about to say “lover”...

With a flick of his eyebrows, Hisao replies, “Very well; Ina it is.”

“Good~!” she chirps, patting his hand, “Now if you don't mind, I need to steal your girlfriend away for an afternoon!”

Nodding in deference, he takes a step back and crouches down to reply, “I won't keep you, then.”

Instead of agreeing, or waving, or starting the car moving, Mom just stares at him for a few moments with a bright smile. Her continued gaze makes him fidget in place, and cast me a questioning glance. After a few more seconds, she blurts, “Are you going to kiss her goodbye, or am I wasting gas for nothing?”

We share a quick glance at her prompting, then let out some nervous laughter. It takes a second for the thought to sink in, but he slowly approaches, then leans against the door. While he's crouching toward me, I turn a speculative glance at her, but she just nods happily and waits. Faster than we've ever done before, he leans forward, our lips meet, there's a brief moment of suction, and he backs away bashfully. Mom grins brightly at our restrained display, chuckles lightly, then offers Hisao a little wave.

“We'll be back by evening, don't worry!” she says, though I doubt it offers him much comfort.

“I'll let you know when I'm back,” I offer, which makes him smile.

As she maneuvers the car through a three-point-turn—which takes her seven points to accomplish, annoying a number of other parents as they attempt to leave—I watch as Hisao stands on the sidewalk, waving slowly and shaking his head. Once we're lined up well enough to start down the road, Mom pulls up alongside him and leans out the window, beckoning him closer with a welcoming hand. When he's close enough, she whispers something in his ear, laughs lightly at his confused response, then leaves a peck on his cheek before letting him back away.

I wonder what she keeps whispering to him...

Whatever she said, it's apparently something she isn't going to tell me, and probably told Hisao not to mention. She's probably just giving him advice, or warning him to stay in line, but keeping it a secret bothers me a little. It's also possible she's simply complimenting his sweater-vest, or something equally inane, if only to make me wonder—she's crafty like that. Once we're on the road, she tunes the radio to another classical station—away from the j-pop Midori was probably listening to during their ride earlier—then sets a contemplative look on me and sighs.

“Watch the road, Mom,” I advise flatly, rolling my eyes as she turns to face out the windshield.

“Sorry, I'm admiring the smile on my daughter's face!” she remarks, turning for another quick glance before adding, “You look so relaxed and... well, happy.”

“That's probably because I am happy.”

“Well, I don't just mean the state of mind, Kitten~!” she lilts melodically, which I'm guessing is some kind of lewd innuendo. “So... the sex was good, I'm guessing?” she asks bluntly, making me cringe, then she lets out a happy whimper and adds, “I'm sorry, I'm just curious. I just want to know if you're enjoying yourself~!”

I think she's more interested in living vicariously through me...

“I am—we are... it's a fun part, like you said...” I reply nervously, trailing off and hoping she doesn't continue her line of questioning.

I don't think I'll be that lucky...

“So, is he naturally talented...? Or just well-hung?”

“Mom!”

I expect this from Amaya, not Mom...

“Don't be embarrassed, just think of me like one of your girl friends!” she assures me, giggling and sounding particularly girlish. “I haven't had sex in four years, and I said I wanted to help, remember...? With advice, I mean... Wow, Ina...” she trails off, shaking her head and blinking.

I guess I know where I got my dirty mind, now...

“You want details?” I ask with mild disbelief.

“Anything you feel like sharing; I'm mostly interested in the high points.”

“High points?”

“The ones putting that smile on your face, Kitten.”

“Oh, those...” I trail off and raise an eyebrow, “Well, three consecutive times last night... and five more this morning.”

Mild shock causes her to turn a wide-eyed stare at me for a moment, but squealing tires pull her back to reality. After regaining control of the car, she inquires, “You're sure they were-”

“Yes,” I interject, deciding to be blunt, “Big ones—very satisfying... and he's talented, not huge.”

Shaking her head slowly, she takes a deep breath to settle herself, then comments, “Your father was quite talented like that.” Blowing out the breath, she glances at me again, and holds a questioning hand up as she adds, “You made sure that he-”

“Four times to my eight, since you left...” I say, feeling as though I'm relating a scorecard.

I wonder if there's a sexual Olympics...

“Now I regret not inviting him to lunch,” she remarks absently, then furrows her brow and asks, “You used protection-”

“New one every time he went in... though two of mine were from-” I stop myself and shrug, “And I-”

“It's alright, Kitten; I can surmise,” she interjects, relieving me from having to get too descriptive. “That he's willing to... explore all facets of the experience, with you... is telling,” she adds, then looks at me and smirks, “Going the extra mile, as it were.”

I still wonder about that ninth orgasm he claimed I missed...

Blushing at the memory, I mention, “That's actually how he woke me up.”

“Oh, dear...! That's the kind of initiative you should... cultivate~!” she lilts brightly, nodding and smiling. After a moment, she furrows her brow to inquire, “I hate asking, but... has he been with... anyone else?”

Taking a moment to consider the question, I'm certain Hisao would have told me about any other affairs; he was up-front about Iwanako. “No, I'm pretty sure his only other girlfriend never had the chance.”

“How do you mean?” she inquires, sounding curious, “Is it related to his medications?”

Kind of... but I think she's more interested in the segue...

The question of Hisao's condition is one I've been dreading, but I'm relieved she isn't just assuming he's completely healthy; she reacted somewhat poorly to meeting Kenta. It was a while after our attempted romantic endeavor, and she mostly just stared intently—which Kenta didn't exactly appreciate—but it wasn't her finest moment, and it's a reaction I'd rather save Hisao from enduring. Arrhythmia isn't particularly obvious, but it has a lot of potential to become debilitating, so I feel obliged to give her the full story.

I think Hisao will understand me being honest with Mom...

“You're wondering why he's at Yamaku?” I ask, desiring clarity.

She nods and winces, then sighs, “Yes, I suppose... I didn't quite know how to ask...”

I probably shouldn't sugar-coat it...

“Back in February, he received a confession from his crush, and... before he could even respond... he promptly suffered a heart attack,” I recount bluntly, listening to her gasp of surprise before finishing, “He spent four months in a hospital, diagnosed with arrhythmia—a heart-rate disorder... and, upon recovering well enough, his parents had him transferred to Yamaku... I met him a few days after he started in June.”

It's a lot of information to grasp, so I wait while she thinks it through. His explanations came slowly over the past two months, in little chunks, so I had plenty of time to reason them out before he added to the story. That didn't make it sound any less surprising, or horrifying, but it afforded me plenty of time to process each bit individually. Looking at Mom's expression as it slowly moves from confusion, into worry, and finally ends with a thoughtful expression and careful nodding, I let out a relieved sigh and wait for her to speak.

I'm glad she's better prepared this time...

“So, he's doing better now?”

Nodding, I reply, “Much! I've been helping him get his strength back with the swimming, and,” in the interest of full disclosure, I decide to mention, “he was depressed for a while, but... he's a lot healthier and happier now... as you can probably guess.”

In a curious tone, she remarks, “It sounds like quite the tale... I'd like to hear him tell it some time.”

I'd like to be there to see that...

“But, for now,” she continues, turning to offer a genuine smile, “it sounds like he means more to you than a simple fling.”

“We've basically been dating since we met... just... not officially until Tanabata,” I mention, smirking at the revelation; I've never actually admitted—to myself or anyone else—that it felt like love at first sight.

I didn't know how to identify the feeling at the time...

“We got stuck together working on inventory reports, on Shizune's orders, and it was... fun, y'know? We got along despite it being awkward, and mostly just sat there in silence, but... he seemed nice and smart... and I kinda wanted to see him more... so I invited him to lunch, and that was... completely awkward... But, after that, there was a lot of talking and flirting, and it took a month for us to figure it out, but-”

“Kitten,” she interjects, giggling lightly, “I don't think I've ever heard you talk so... girlishly.”

“He makes me feel like a girl, I guess,” I say, barely conscious that I was having that thought. “Like I'm allowed to be pretty and, well... he tells me I'm sexy, and all that stupid, sappy stuff that used to make me feel uncomfortable... but from him it just makes me melt...”

As I'm trailing off, Mom remarks, “This may sound strange, but your father made me feel the same way—not that I wasn't already girlish and felt pretty... he made it okay to think it, though. Complimented me, said I was the only one for him—not in a creepy way... I'm starting to think you may have already met his corollary.”

I'll take that as a compliment...

Shaking my head and sighing, I remark, “It's weird... I never used to think about boys much until he came along... now he's practically all that's on my mind.”

“That's what love does, Kitten; rewrites your entire outlook~! It can be a little scary, but I'm happy for you! It took me so much longer to find that feeling, and...” she trails off and frowns, then narrows her eyes to focus on the road. If she weren't such an inattentive driver, I wouldn't find that strange, but this is Mom, and she isn't known for paying attention to her driving.

Her sudden quiet makes me a little nervous, but talking about Hisao leaves an indelible smile on my face. Remembering how awkward we were for the first few weeks leaves me awed by how comfortable we've become. Even telling Mom about our sex life isn't that embarrassing, especially considering how readily she accepts the information. In her eyes, it's just part of the relationship—one part of the equation—and no more or less important than anything else we feel for each other; I'd surmise she views our mutually focused attraction as a good sign.

I wonder which of us has the dirtier mind, though—Hisao, Mom, or myself...

Having let go of my fears about Mom's driving, I find myself sinking into the seat with my knees up against the dash, smiling to myself, and readjusting my satchel about every thirty seconds; I'm not used to carrying a bag for anything. With the windows open, I can't even hear myself think when we reach the highway, but Mom soon closes them and turns the air conditioner on to full blast, like always. After that, the car ride passes in silence while I listen to the quiet thrum of engine noise, hum along with the classical symphony, and get goosebumps from the chilled air.

I never have figured out why she likes it so cold...

Upon our arrival at the Metro-Gnome Cafe, Mom insists that we sit outside to enjoy the sunshine, and I can't help snickering at her suggestion—I'm quick to claim something else made me laugh, though. Apparently she's among those people whom Amaya and I laugh at from inside the air-conditioned cafe during our visits, but I love my mom, and giggling at her enjoyment is probably rude—and dangerous. Following her toward one of the far tables, I notice colorful flower garlands arranged along the fence, and colorful garden-gnome statues standing guard beneath each post.

I always thought the cafe's name was a misspelled musical term...

Walking a few feet behind her, I find myself looking over her attire again, if only because I'm starting to entertain the idea of imitating her style. Never one to wear skirts, today she opts for black slacks with a lavender-colored blouse, along with the typical, oversized knit purse. Whether it's because I'm maturing, or just that I admire Mom, I could see myself adopting some of her choices—just not that color. The only weird thing is that I never really thought much about clothes until recently, and I think it has to do with Hisao more than Mom.

I feel like such a girl when he compliments my looks...

It's quite private sitting at the farthest table, so we won't have to worry about eavesdroppers, which I imagine is intentional on her part. Having always sat inside during previous visits, I never noticed the tables out here are constructed from heavy wrought-iron—I thought they were molded plastic. The chairs are nice and sturdy with plush cushioning, and the oversized umbrella provides a decent amount of protection from the noontime sun. Although I assume that shade is less effective earlier or later in the day, the cool breeze sweeping through the valley between the buildings assists in making it more comfortable.

I guess experience trumps perception every time...

Although I had cereal with Hisao barely two hours ago, there was an exhausting forty-five minute exercise regimen that followed, so I'm reasonably famished. Usually I get something light and sweet off their bakery menu, along with some tea, but when the perky, pig-tailed server asks, I decide to order a deli sandwich and a fruit smoothie—I hope Hisao finds something equally satisfying. Mom requests a simple fruit salad with coffee, then leans against the table on her elbows, settling a curiously stern look on me even before the chipper waitress departs.

I think she's itching to get it out quickly... whatever it is...

Mirroring her pose, I fix curious expression on her and prompt, “Mom? You said you wanted to talk about something?”

After taking a deep breath and sighing heavily, she nods slowly and replies, “I need to clear up some things about my past, Aiko.” Her not using my nickname makes me cringe a little; it either means I'm in trouble, or she's at least going into mother mode—both of which could be bad.

Before I can reason that out, she continues talking, “While we were getting ready last night, I didn't want to unload my fears onto you, and I don't think you really need to worry with Hisao,” she pauses, assuming an even expression that enhances her serious tone, “But I want you to know where my concern comes from—I wasn't always so worldly.”

Some of what she's saying sounds almost like an apology, and the wistful, faraway look she's offering is telling. Whatever she's about to say, I'm planning to pay it my full attention, though she goes silent for a short while, which may be for my benefit. Considering her prelude, I get the feeling she intends to expand on her thoughts about Hisao, but the grim look makes me feel uncomfortable; it's possible her fickle nature is about to bite my behind. If she's being this direct, she must want me to listen carefully, so I try to prepare myself for the worst.

I almost don't want to hear this...

“Not all boys are like your father, or Hisao,” she starts, pausing while I start nodding; I know some guys are jerks, in various flavors. “When I was fifteen, I was a girl with a crush... on Keno Kubari, a third-year boy on the track team,” she explains, though, from her despondent tone, I don't think it's a happy memory. “I was... timid and shy, like your red-haired friend, but early to develop like you, so I looked older...”

I know I don't want to hear this now, but I think I have to...

“Eventually, my longing glances drew his attention, and he approached me after school one day,” she says, shrugging disdainfully, then blowing out a quick breath. “He invited me to a party, and I, being infatuated, barely managed to squeak out a reply... but I agreed, and he smiled,” she continues, rolling her eyes regretfully, “At the party, which I told my parents was a girls-night-out with my friends, he found me among the crowd of third-years, and lured me up to his parents' room... where he... proceeded to get handsy...”

I feel sick...

“I was inexperienced and reluctant, and he was a jerk... so, he got more forceful,” she continues, making me cringe, especially at seeing the tight-lipped grimace on her face. “He managed to get down past my bra before I fought him away, and managed to run... crying and blubbering, all the way home,” she finishes, shaking her head slowly and leaning back in the chair, leaving me with a shocked stare—she just told me how she was almost raped.

I can't begin to process how horrible that must have been...

After a few moments she stops her head-shaking and adds, “I've never told anyone about Keno, until now.”

Dad would have found and murdered this guy if he knew about this...

As those words run over me, I start to feel my eyes burning, and she leans forward to touch my cheek. Using her thumb to sweep away my trailing tear, she manages a smile that I suddenly can't understand. Furrowing my brow at her lack of a reaction, and her apparent secrecy—she left a predator so he could find another girl to violate—I can't help asking, “Why didn't you ever tell anyone?”

“Because I was a stupid young girl! And I thought it was my fault,” she explains, sounding tearful and full of remorse. “I feared what my father would think, and your Grammy... her marriage was arranged, and she never dated, so...” she trails off and I can see tears welling in her eyes now, but she steels herself with a deep breath and grimly adds, “So, I bottled it up, and let him get away with it... and the experience left me terrified of men for years.”

Reaching out, I hold her cheek as she held mine, sweep away the tears, and carefully apologize, “I'm sorry, I-”

“Don't feel bad, Kitten; I know now I should have said something... but that's not the point of my story,” she explains, placing her hand over mine. “Keno took something worse than my virginity, which I retained for years before I would trust another man... and it was still the wrong man,” she says with a disgusted sigh.

Realizing she started rambling, I prompt, “Mom?”

“Aiko, he took away my ability to trust,” she replies flatly, soberly, then punctuates it with a fist slamming into the table, causing the silverware to clatter.

Seeing her react so violently, I sit in awe, feeling like I've met yet another new version of my mother. This one, instead of being an exaggeration of her gregarious nature, seems like the opposite of her bright, cheerful self. Her regretful frown is even more disturbing than the sullen, somber expression she wore while Dad was in the hospital. It's more visceral, at least, which I think comes from it being a personal failure. It's almost frightening seeing her look this angry, but somehow I think this is more like her real self—the woman she hid from our view.

I wonder what else she held back...

Taking her hand away to rest it on the table, she sits there in flustered anger, or regret, or remorse, or all of the above. For a few long minutes, the only constants are her labored breathing and narrowed eyes, which are well-hidden as she faces away from the other patrons—a maneuver she likely planned. After seething for a short while, she finally sucks in a deep breath, shrugs heavily, closes her eyes, and lets the tension out slowly. The cheerful serenity returns to her expression, and she looks to have regained control as she opens her eyes fully and locks her gaze with mine.

“He took away the ability to give myself over to a feeling... and I didn't get it back until I was in college, years later, after a series of horribly failed relationships,” she explains, and I'm starting to understand the point she's trying to make. “When I met your father, I wasn't able to trust him, and I nearly lost the chance... I don't want you to feel like that, ever! It nearly cost me the love of my life....”

“You're worried I'll miss that chance with Hisao?” I ask, and she nods slightly, but squints in consternation.

“I'm saying I don't want you missing that chance at all,” she clarifies, pausing to see me nod before continuing, “If that happens to be with Hisao, then, yes, I want you to fight for him—tooth and nail—with everything you've got... Here,” she looks down suddenly and starts pawing at her wedding band, “I want you to see this...”

Extracting the band, she lifts it up and smiles wistfully as she gazes into its interior. She removes it to cook, so I've seen it off her finger before, but taking it off here and now, I realize, is much more significant. After a few moments, she holds it out toward me and smiles, apparently wanting me to take a look. Reaching up tentatively, keeping my eyes on hers, I pick it out of her fingers reverently, and slowly draw it up closer. The outside edge bears some simple leafing, but is otherwise unmarked; it's a humble, loving reminder, not costume jewelry.

I've never held it in my hand before...

“Read inside the band, Kitten,” she advises, nodding encouragingly.

With a curious tilt of my head, I investigate as she asked, and read the Italian inscription aloud, “Amore e fedeltà per l'eternità.”

Love and faithfulness for eternity...

“Your father had it inscribed after we sent you to Yamaku,” she explains as I'm still looking it over. “Not as a command, but a promise; he loved me so much he wanted me to go on living in his absence,” she recounts, and I find myself smiling despite realizing what that meant. “He knew I had decades left to live, God willing, and didn't want me to squander my twilight years pining for a lost love.”

Confused by the apparent contradiction, I roll the ring over in my hand a few times before voicing my dilemma. “I don't understand... fedeltà means faithfulness... doesn't it?”

I might have misinterpreted the inscription...

“To his memory, not carnally,” she says with a light chuckle, reaching out to take the ring back carefully. Placing it on her finger once again, she takes a deep breath and blows out a contemplative sigh. “He knew I was—am... a sexual being... with needs he couldn't fulfill by that point in our marriage. He said he didn't want me to bottle up my desire if I found someone I could love again, after he was gone—I haven't yet, just in case you're wondering.”

That's a relief...

“It may be a while yet before any man can measure up to his memory,” she continues, shrugging lightly, “I mean his ability... to love, not-” she stops herself again, and I try not to think about where her meandering thoughts were leading. “You don't want to hear that, I'm sure...”

I doubt she really wants to know about Hisao's virility, either...

“Though I can't say I haven't been... investigating some options... from a distance,” she adds, pausing while I nod carefully. The idea that she might seek out a new lover in Dad's absence has crossed my mind, so I'm hardly surprised to hear her admit she considered the possibility—especially at his behest.

While I'm nodding, she develops a dirty little smirk and adds, “Like your Uncle Enzo.”

“Mom!” I yell in exasperation.

I did not need that image, thanks...!

Although, after a moment of thought, I quickly decide my reaction is incorrect. Uncle Enzo might make a decent match for her, actually, even if I'd feel really weird calling him my step-dad. It may not be so bad, though; he apparently sees me like a niece, or a daughter already—even to the point of screening my boyfriend.

I would probably still call him Uncle Enzo, though...

“Sorry,” I say, shrugging slightly. “That might be cool, actually,” I add, shaking my head slightly and blinking, “but I don't think I wanna know you've been thinking about it...”

“Fair enough... I'll let you know if I stop fantasizing, and start pursuing, alright?”

Groaning and shuddering with a sickly feeling in my stomach, I reply, “Fine, just... no details, okay?”

Raising an eyebrow, she remarks, “This from the girl who told her conservative mother about cumming eight times in the past fourteen hours?”

“Mom!” I balk, glancing around for any possible eavesdroppers. Satisfied that nobody heard her, I lean forward to sternly whisper, “You asked, remember?”

“You didn't have to be so... specific...! Although, I suppose counting is one of your specialties~!”

I guess she has a point...

“Just remember it's not a race, and the scorecard doesn't have to stay tied,” she advises, leaning forward similarly and nodding with a lewd grin, “I'm pretty sure my number is at least double that of your father, but Navarro women have a long history of high sensitivity and multiple-climaxes... which I'm thinking you inherited.”

My blushing retort is interrupted by a cheerful, though nervous, girlish voice, “One deli sandwich with a smoothie, and a fruit salad with coffee—anything else, ladies?” Immediately, I aim my face away, burying my head against my arm and trying to hide the red across my cheeks, but Mom turns a chipper smile at the dark-haired waitress.

“Thank you, miss... Mia?” she replies, apparently reading the girl's name-tag. While I move myself out of the way so the server-girl can set down the plates, Mom laughs lightly and adds, “Leave the pot? I think my daughter might want a cup, too, if you don't mind a second trip?”

“Alright~!” the waitress named Mia replies melodically, “I'll be back with another mug in a few—noontime rush!”

“That's fine, Mia, we'll be here for a while; just swing by on your next trip out.”

“Will do~! Enjoy the afternoon, I hear it's supposed to rain later!” Mia advises, sounding less nervous already.

I'm still awed by Mom's ability to make strangers feel comfortable...

“Thank you, dear!” Mom says as the girl departs, then turns a raised eyebrow at me and scoffs, “Why so embarrassed, it was just the waitress!”

Meanwhile, she has the uncanny ability to mortify me...

Turning a frustrated glare at her I accuse, “You did that on purpose!”

Watching Mia leave, she absently remarks, “Lovely girl, that... I'm always happy to see the servers taking pride in their work...”

“Are you even listening!?”

“Kitten, I'm always listening,” she replies, still looking away, and adding an indicative nod. “I'm surprised you don't know her—having come here several times before.”

Following her gesture, I turn to watch Mia walking into the main cafe, but I don't recognize her at all. That could be due to the angle, though; the black skirt and white blouse makes all the servers look the same from the back. “We don't come here often, and she might be new,” I remark absently, then look back at Mom to shake my head and reiterate, “You still did that on purpose!”

Laughing, she reaches out to pat my hand and chide, “You're a long way from being open about sex, Kitten; consider this a test of your personal fortitude!”

Her suggestion makes me groan, “I'm barely open about it with my best friends, never mind strange waitresses!”

I've had to deflect some of Amaya's more... specific... questions...

“Some people are prone to tossing it into conversation randomly... or constantly,” she adds, tapping my wrist a few times and nodding knowingly. “You need to be ready for it, and have control over your reaction; a lady shouldn't curl up like an armadillo if someone mentions something embarrassing... she should deflect it aside and continue the conversation in spite of the discomfort.”

That's probably really good advice for anyone...

“Okay, I'll work on that,” I say, pausing to sit up straight before adding, “Can we talk about something else now...? Anything else, really...”

“Why don't we enjoy this lunch first? You look hungry, Kitten—and you're probably famished after-”

“Okay, we'll eat first!” I blurt to stop her from finishing that sentence, then start shaking my head.

I really am hungry, anyway...

With Mom watching, I try to mind my manners, but none of those silly rules—like keeping your elbows off the table—ever made sense to me; they just make eating more difficult, and result in pointless embarrassment when someone points out a mistake—it's frustrating. Luckily, she's used to my lack of table tact, and doesn't even flinch when I lean against the table to eat my sandwich. When it's about half gone, Mia swings by to deliver another coffee mug, and I take Mom's advice, partaking of the black liquid without my usual creamy, sweet additions; it's a bitter, awful experience I won't likely repeat.

I didn't even notice how Hisao takes his coffee... not that I had much chance...
________________________________________________________
Previous|Part 2|Next Chapter

[Helbereth]

Previous|Part 1|Next Chapter
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While nibbling at her salad, she thankfully avoids any disturbing subjects—things that might make me spit out my lunch. Instead she comments on the nice weather, and recalls that she heard about the possibility of rain later—before Mia's mention—though, looking at the clear blue sky, I'm pretty sure the weatherman is having an off day. Once the sandwich is gone, I start working on my smoothie, and when I'm about half way through that, she sets a patient stare on me. With a ponderous expression, I release the straw and set the drink down.

“What now?” I prompt, fully expecting more embarrassing commentary.

Offering a reciprocal smile, she states, “You mentioned having something to ask about; I'm curious.”

I may never figure out how to guess what she's thinking...

Taking a moment to consider things, I lean back in the chair to figure out how to approach what I planned to ask. It's really a simple problem: I want to know how Dad handled telling her about his condition, and how she reacted—I want to know what I can expect. The problem is, she probably assumes I already told Hisao about my disease, so I'll have to start at the beginning.

“You knew about Dad's... disease... before you were married, right?”

Her smile vanishes, replaced with an appropriately flat grimace, but her forward lean tells me she's ready for this line of questioning. “Yes, of course; he waited until he was comfortable, but didn't withhold the information,” she explains, then tilts her head slightly and asks, “You haven't informed your lover?”

Unable to voice my answer, I simply shake my head and send my eyes down at the table. Although I fully expected her to say she knew, and predicted the following question, actually hearing it makes me feel awful all over again. My reaction is apparently something she expected though, which doesn't mean it's right, but at least it isn't abnormal.

“Kitten, it's okay, I'm not judging you,” she says evenly, crouching against the table to look up at my downcast expression and smile, “It's not exactly a small secret to keep... I'm really not surprised you haven't mentioned it.”

“But-” I start and stop, blowing out a quick sigh at my hesitance, “But, I should tell him, right?”

“On your terms, yes,” she advises, reaching out to grasp my shoulder, “At your own pace.”

Her touch makes me turn up to look into her brown eyes and groan, “I feel like I should have told him already...”

“Why?” she questions, squeezing my shoulder, “Because you're sleeping with him?”

“Because I'm in love with him, Mom!” I exclaim, feeling like it's the most obvious thing in the world, “And, worse, I think he loves me, but I haven't told him... and I feel like I'm being dishonest somehow...”

“Aiko Marina Kurai, you're over-thinking again!” she scolds, giving my shoulder a light slap.

Furrowing my brow at her, I balk, “About what?”

Undeterred by my glare, she inquires, “You love him, right?”

“Yes,” I answer with certainty.

“He loves you,” she states, giving me another light tap.

“I think so, but-”

“That wasn't a question, Kitten!” she interjects, letting out a little chuckle. “Love is blind, but I'm not! You think I'd send you into the arms of a man I thought didn't love you? After what I just got done saying?”

“I... guess... not?”

“You're damn right I wouldn't!” she says with finality. “It took all of three seconds after meeting him to figure out he's madly in love with you, and I really don't blame you for being uncertain, but, take it from me,” she pauses to pat my shoulder and start rubbing my arm, “he'll still love you, no matter what you tell him. As blindly as you're walking? He's just as lost—remember that!”

I guess that's somewhat comforting...

“Okay, but that doesn't quite answer my question,” I retort, lifting my hand up to hold hers, “I'm still scared of... trapping him with me...?” I say, trying to describe the problem, “I mean, we're in deep already, but... I didn't want to let it get this far without him knowing the whole story.”

Apparently my logic is making some sense because she's nodding, but it's a slow, confused nod. “You told him about your father? That he died from-”

“A non-specific brain disorder,” I finish her sentence, shrugging as she lets out a sympathetic sigh.

“That's good, you can lead into it from there,” she mentions, giving me a supportive shake. “Your father was a few years older by the time we met, and was used to working it into conversations... at least with people he trusted—you trust Hisao?”

“Yes,” I state plainly, “The problem is I'm worried about what'll happen to him... if...”

“Okay, I think I understand now,” she says, pulling my hand over to the middle of the table. “By the time your father told me, I was already infatuated, and we were at each other like rabbits... not much different from what you described.”

My slight groan at hearing more about my parents' interludes makes her pause and squeeze my hand.

“Now, listen; when he told me we might only have fifteen or twenty years together, I was... frightened. First that he was being so long-term, and second that I knew it meant I'd end up without him,” she explains, watching my reaction carefully all the while, “Honestly, I had all my misgivings in the three seconds after he finished talking about the awful brain disease that was festering in him... after that, I dove at him in earnest—you may very well have been conceived that night...”

The mirth in her last statement makes me smirk weirdly, despite the implication. “Mom, could you... maybe... not work that stuff in?” I ask tentatively, trying not to sound too unappreciative, “I like this side of you, but it's better in small doses.”

Very small doses...

“Kitten, you looked like you needed a joke,” she retorts, folding her arms and chiding, “Besides, you were probably conceived on our brief honeymoon... a few weeks later.”

“Good to know...” I say, trailing off for a few moments before raising an eyebrow and prompting, “Wait, what?”

A few weeks later...?

“Once I figured out there was a time limit, I suggested rushing to the finish line,” she says flatly, almost as though she's goading me into a response, then adds, “And he proposed less than a day later—haven't I mentioned this before?”

I'm sure I would have remembered...

Staring over her shoulder as I speak, I sardonically remark, “No... it must have... slipped your minds.”

“Huh...” she grunts, adding in a shrugging smirk to sell her false dismay. “Well, anyway, knowing things like that puts life in perspective. I even stopped taking my birth control before the wedding—which we rushed your Grammy through terribly... and nine months later, we brought you home~! You lived with us in Italy for three months before we got your Japanese citizenship, by the way.”

Learn something new every day...

“So, I'm a dirty foreigner?” I remark with a sneer, “No wonder I was picked on in school...”

“Technically, I guess... your father was finishing his apprenticeship, and I had another six months of culinary school after you were born,” she rambles, then folds her arms on the table and continues, “It seems rushed in retrospect, but we were so in love that it just felt right at the time.”

I was willing to run off with Hisao if Mom disapproved...

“Now, I'm not advocating anything like that, but you should be prepared to face that decision,” she says, smiling wistfully and leaning back in her chair, “You'll still want to finish your academics and such—I'll insist; university and all. But I'll do anything I can to help if you two decide to leap into things early.”

I thought her suggestions wouldn't get quite so blatant...

“Mom, let's not get ahead of ourselves,” I say sternly, trying to absorb all this information.

“You're the planner, Kitten: I'm just contributing to your contingencies...” she trails off, then smiles brightly and pats my hand. “And let your mother have her fantasies~!”

“Just as long as you know they're fantasies,” I retort with a smirk.

“Aah,” she sighs, sounding wistful, “Your father used to tell me this day would come...”

Confused, I lean back and raise an eyebrow as I reply, “What day?”

“Oh, he worried terribly about you two growing up,” she says, shaking her head and leaning against one hand. “You kept him up nights with all kinds of worries... about the kids picking on you, about you being depressed, and feeling lost all the time,” she adds, reminiscing with a solemn smile, then stops and looks at me firmly to ask, “Remember the nightmares you used to have?”

I thought she didn't know...

“Yeah...” I reply with a slight nod, not wanting to tell her I still have them. “Dad used to come to my room and hug me to sleep,” I remark, the memory forcing me into a wistful smile. “But I told him to keep it a secret...” I add, trailing off for a few moments before asking, “How did you find out?”

“I knew all along, Kitten,” she admits, standing up and starting to pull her chair along. After dragging it over so she can sit right next to me, she explains, “Almost before you were born, we decided he'd be the teddy-bear because he was better at keeping a straight face, but... he told me every little fear, and we both tried to figure out how to help. You girls were almost all we talked about, every night.”

As I sit here, watching her sigh deeply, I wonder how tough it must have been for her to stay back and let Dad be our rock—our teddy-bear. There's a part of me that always thought Mom was a little cold and unfeeling, or that she didn't really know how, or wasn't willing to express herself in a more caring fashion. Not that I ever doubted she loved me, and Midori, deeply, like any mother would, but she willed herself to stay in the background, and let Dad handle our tribulations.

Seeing her now, a year after Dad's death, fawning over me, listening to everything I say, and trying to be there for me like never before, makes me realize something awful: she loves us no less than Dad did, and the subtle rift I've noticed forming between Mom and I since he died may be entirely my doing. Her decision to move half a world away may have exacerbated my resentment, but it must be killing her that I've been so distant ever since the funeral, and I feel sick for not realizing it sooner.

“I didn't mean to make you worry,” I say, not sure how to word my feelings.

“Kitten, you're supposed to make me worry—that's what daughters do. My point is that your father worried too, and tried his hardest not to show it under any circumstances,” she explains, and I'm starting to understand what she means.

“Dad was amazing.”

“Your father was a man,” she says flatly, almost coldly, but with love in her eyes. “He had flaws like any other, but he hid them well... under those... amazing smiles, and...” as she trails off, I can see tears welling in her brown eyes, and that makes me want to cry.

“Mom?” I prompt, feeling my eyes start to burn again.

“Your father wanted to see you grow up, so much...! It isn't fair!” she almost yells, barely stifling herself. “He wanted to see you both grow up, fall in love...” she trails off, reaching up to touch my cheek, “maybe get married, and have children of your own... but he knew he couldn't.”

He knew he was on borrowed time...

“When you would cry, it tore him apart, kept him up at night... and when we had to send you away...” she trails off and goes silent, leaving me to ponder Dad's list of worries.

When he knew me last, I was a troubled, argumentative, irrational, and sometimes childish fifteen-year-old girl being shipped off to the far side of the country so I could avoid seeing his fast decline. There was a lot of yelling and door-slamming involved, as I recall, but over the past few years, with the help of Amaya and the happy misfits I found at Yamaku, I've grown out of that anger. Somehow I never considered what Dad went through after I left, or the effect my infuriated departure must have had on his declining years. It somehow never occurred to me that Dad would lose sleep over me, and I guess I can understand, but I wonder why he never said anything.

I thought he told me everything...

“You're so much like him, so this should be easier, but...” Mom trails off and sighs, trying to steel herself against whatever dark thoughts are swimming behind her troubled eyes, and that makes me reach over to place a hand on her shoulder. A thin smile breaks across her grieving expression, and she reaches over to grip my hand; for her own support, if not mine.

“I wanted to tell you this before... last year, when-” she stops, shrugging heavily, “But you weren't ready to hear it. You were always so stubborn, just like your father... almost obstinate. Thick-headed. Uncompromising.... A real pain in the-”

“Mom!” I yell, stopping her train of adjectives. More quietly, I ask, “What were you going to tell me?”

“He and I... we wanted you to do yourself a favor, Aiko...” she requests, turning her teary eyes toward me, and placing her other hand against my cheek, “It's what he told me when he returned my wedding band with that inscription, and wanted me to tell you... when you would understand...”

I'm not sure I'm ready for that...

“Never forget he loved you, more than you know, every day, with every breath—you and your sister. He wanted you to be happy, live your life, and not worry about the clock, or the calendar, or anything except whatever you love. He held onto you through everything, worked himself to exhaustion providing for you, and all the while knew he would never see you blossom into the superb young woman I see before me... but he saw it anyway... he predicted your greatness was coming! Even when you were too scared, too hurt, or too embarrassed to see it, he knew... and yet he still worried...”

As she trails off, I'm left dumbfounded, completely incapable of holding back the solemn tears running down my face. The grief I thought had passed comes right back to the surface, and I fall against my mother, weeping. All the pain, fear, cowardice, and despair mix together with sweet memories, filled with laughter and love, and rush over me as I rest in her arms. Burying my face against her shoulder, I sob and smile, feeling strangely happy and depressingly melancholy at the same time.

I feel like I'm at his funeral again...

As Dad's mystique kept me in awe, he secretly worried about everything I might become, and both he and Mom did everything they could to help, but all the while I rejected them both. However, their sending me away wasn't only for my benefit; it was to give Dad some peace, allow him to have his dreams, and think about his daughter growing into the woman he imagined. Instead of showing gratitude, I stomped off to Yamaku holding a grudge, which I regrettably held onto in that hospice, and continue carrying even now.

I don't want to hold that grudge anymore...

“I miss him,” I whisper, managing to choke back my tears enough to speak, “every day... every time I swim, every time I see his picture... and every time I remember being his little swimmer,” I whimper and hold her tighter, “And I cry when I think about how much of a coward I've been! Leaving him alone in that room... running out of his funeral, and-”

“You have to let him go, Aiko,” she whispers into my ear, stopping my recounting. “Guilt is an anchor you can't afford to carry, especially the unfounded kind—you can't blame yourself for being scared,” she says soothingly, and I almost believe her. Grasping my shoulders, she pushes me back to look into my eyes. “I'm not saying you should forget, but you need to forgive yourself—you weren't ready for him to go... even I wasn't ready, and I knew it was coming for eighteen years.”

Sighing, I protest, “It's not that simple-”

“Of course it isn't!” she retorts, “It won't be easy, but he wanted both of us—all three of us—to live on in his absence. You can start small with something simple... like putting that picture on the wall, or on your desk, or have it blown up, and put it on your pillow~!”

“That'd just be weird,” I say, which makes her giggle.

Giving my shoulder a shake, she laughingly admits, “I thought about it for my body-pillow~!”

“I'd more likely do that with a picture of Hisao,” I reply, which redoubles her laughter.

I'd need a picture of Hisao first, though...

“Just remember to smile when you see Dad's picture!” she advises, redirecting the subject, “He should be nothing but good memories for you—he wanted it that way. His greatest regret was ever letting you see him falling apart. Midori was too young to really understand, but we couldn't get you away fast enough—before reality hit you... I'll carry that burden forever, but you need to let it go—for your friend's sake, for Midori's sake, for my sake, for your lover's sake... and especially... for your own sake; remember him always, but let him go.”

Mom withheld this speech at Dad's funeral because I wasn't ready to hear it, I wouldn't have believed her, and only recently have I found the clarity to truly understand. Still feeling a bit of shock, I sit here staring at her, slowly realizing what she's trying to tell me: Dad needs to exist as a happy memory, not a sad one. Everything I remember about Dad—even long after the disease set in—is accented by jokes, kind words, and an overwhelming sense of calm; he tried to turn even his most painful moments into jovial memories.

I think I can try to emulate that...

“I'll try,” I say with a careful nod, my voice cracking against the tears.

“You'll do,” she replies flatly, “There is no try.”

The conviction in her tone stops me from smirking at her likely unintentional reference, and I redouble my nod instead. She's not advising me to move on, she's telling me I have to, and that distinction makes it sound almost like I'd be abandoning my past, but that's probably the point she's trying to make. The past is gone, Dad is dead, he's not coming back, and I have to face that fact instead of dwelling on my regrets. If not, I risk ruining my future no matter who I'm with, but I'm still left with a nagging problem; I don't know how I can do that without causing more pain.

I at least need to know it's worth the potential joy...

After the speech she just gave, she looks emotionally drained, and so am I, really. However, the real question I've been needing to ask is ready, and I finally have the conviction necessary to force it out. “Mom?” I prompt once again, feeling truly apprehensive for the first time all day. Grasping her hand with both of mine, I stare into her eyes evenly, and the words flow out effortlessly, “I know you were in love, and had a lot of good years, but... Do you regret being with Dad? Do you regret putting yourself through that?”

Casting me an awkwardly hesitant look, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Now, Kitten, believe me when I say; I adored your father, and wouldn't give back the time we had—for better or worse—for anything in the world,” she says, apparently prefacing her statement.

I almost don't even need to hear the rest...

Placing her other hand over mine, she offers a sympathetic look as she continues, “But, honestly... sometimes... I do feel the pangs of regret for spending my youth with a man who was doomed to leave me early. It's not enough to outweigh the joy, but... some nights... I lie awake and wonder... how things could have been different had I never met Hideo Kurai.”

While I appreciate her honesty, I almost wish she would have sugar-coated her reply. Being in love with, and loved by Hisao, I can handle. However, I'm not sure whether I can handle dragging Hisao toward my doom; if he spends his life with me, he'll eventually have to say goodbye, sooner than either of us would want. Dad knew it was coming, and had the courage to tell his wife to go on without him, and continue living her life in his absence—his selflessness came full circle. However admirable that may be, I'm not sure I have that kind of fortitude.

I'm not sure I can let go of Dad, or Hisao...

As all this is running through my mind, it forces my expression into a pained grimace that Mom notices immediately; she goes from smiling hopefully, to a sympathetic frown. “I'm sorry, Kitten, but I don't want you to go into anything blind. That you're having that kind of forethought just shows how much you care; you don't want to leave him behind,” she says, cutting right to the core of the problem in a few simple words.

My eyes are welling and my voice cracks as I reply, “I'm worried... about what he'll think, how he'll react, and... a million other things. But mostly, I'm terrified he'll think it's too much, or too hard, or that I'm not worth it... or that he'll look back after I'm gone and regret having bothered...”

The tears rolling down my cheeks pull her out of her chair, and she kneels beside me to hug me the way only a mother can—with all her heart. Meanwhile, my blubbering continues, “And even if he can handle it, what's he gonna do when I'm gone? It's unfair... it's all unfair! I love him. He loves me... But what right do I have to condemn him like that?”

“Shh, shh,” she soothes, hugging me tighter and starting to rub the back of my head.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying here-”

“It's okay, Kitten, nobody would dare blame you for crying over this,” she assures me, starting to rock us back and forth. “You've always felt things deeply, even when you try to hide it,” she adds, shaking her head and squeezing me again, “That's why I'm surprised it took so long for you to fall in love, but... I guess there were other factors.”

“Other factors?” I prompt between sniffles.

“Never mind, Kitten, it's not important. What you should focus on is the present; focus on Hisao. He loves you. I know it, and you should realize it,” she replies, placing a hand on my cheek and slipping it down to grasp my chin, “Don't compare him to me, or your father. It's not the same; you're not the same two people we were. Remember that!”

The sharp tone in her voice makes me recoil a little, but I nod immediately. “I will.”

“Good! Your father wanted to see you happy, and he's watching—even if you don't believe that, always remember he's watching, and he loves you,” she mentions, rolling her faith into the conversation, “The best way you can honor his memory is to live your life. You've already cried enough over the past three years, and more; you should be happy, now—in the present! Okay?”

Despite her encouraging words, I'm left feeling melancholy. Looking forward, if Mom bears regrets for living her life with Dad, I can't help but see that same scenario playing out with Hisao. Ever since I was little, I've always been more interested in the happiness of others, rather than my own. So, if Hisao will eventually regret being with me, then perhaps I should save us both some pain and end things quickly. That thought is almost unbearable, but considering what my death might put him through, it may be better for us both.

I'm even more confused than I was starting out...

“And don't go thinking you should stop now!” she blurts suddenly, cutting my thoughts like a knife.

“W-what?” I stammer, cringing as I try to regain control over my expression.

“Aiko, I know when you're thinking too much—you need to listen,” she commands, and I give up my attempt to hide my feelings. “You asked because you're worried about dragging him down, making him carry you, and you don't want to see him suffer, but you're saving nothing by making yourself a martyr,” she explains, placing a firm hand on each of my shoulders to reassure me, “You should give him the chance to love you, the chance to surprise you—to make you happy. And never think you don't deserve it, either!”

“But, how can I do that to him?”

“Don't think only of yourself!” she scolds, slapping my shoulder lightly, “You might think imposing yourself on him is selfish, but so is shoving him away when you know you don't want to—selfish and stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

My question makes her smirk strangely and shake her head, as though I'd said something totally irrational. “Kitten, I didn't want to spell it out for you, but the plain truth is—he loves you. Even if he does decide to back away, don't you think he deserves the chance to make that choice?”

“Well...” I trail off and grimace, realizing I never even considered that before.

“It's okay, you can't expect to see every possibility—you're only eighteen,” she assures me, patting my shoulder gently, “It might hurt, and you'll probably have to work yourself up to it—your father disappeared for a week before he would tell me why—but in the end, Hisao deserves to know so he can make the decision himself.”

Put that way, I can't think of any valid arguments, so I just nod and settle back in my chair. Telling Hisao isn't just a matter of my own peace of mind anymore, it's also necessary for his. Leaving him without ever saying why will certainly make him resent me, and I might be able to deal with that, but even if he rejects me after I tell him, there's a chance we could stay friends—which I could live with. Either way, it's a lot to think about, and Mom seems to realize that because she pulls her chair away to let me have my thoughts.

Over the years, my way of dealing with personal problems has varied. Instead of dealing with Dad's death, I shoved his picture in a drawer and tried to forget he ever existed. As my mind raced with bad dreams and constant worries, I put on a smile, passing off my insomnia and nightmares as something normal. Then, when I was given the chance to love someone for myself, I held back and tried to make up reasons why we shouldn't be together. It all leads back to something I've been berating myself for doing: running away.

That same fault keeps coming back to haunt me: I ran from dad's hospice and funeral, I ran from my nightmares, and I even ran from my feelings. Realizing it's a pattern is one thing, but doing something about it is another matter. That prospect is more frightening than anything I've seen in a hospital bed, or a nightmare, or anything I've felt over the past two months with Hisao. Even if I consciously decide to correct those problems, I'll probably need help, which I'm not particularly good at seeking, but maybe I don't have to look far.

“Mom?” I prompt, and she peeks up from her salad.

“Yes, Kitten?” she replies, offering a gentle smile.

“I- Um...” I trail off and shake my head, then bite my lip. Although I could probably ask her anything, and I have no doubt she would want to help, I'm suddenly not sure she's the one I want to ask. “Never mind, just... thinking out loud,” I claim, which isn't far from the truth. “Thanks,” I decide to say, then smile at her gentle nod before adding, “For lunch... and the talk—I think I know what I need to do now...”

“Hisao is a good man, Aiko—a mother knows. Give him the chance to prove it,” she replies, and I shrug resignedly at her apparent deduction.

She may not know exactly what I was thinking, and it's probably better that way, but her words stick with me through the rest of lunch. If there's anyone I should be able to trust with my darkest secrets, it's my lover. It's too late to go back and stop him from falling in love with me, or I him, and maybe that's just the way it's supposed to happen. Somehow all those quantum realities lined up and placed us together. There's still a lot of fear involved, and I'm uncertain how he'll really react, but leaving it unresolved just wouldn't be satisfying for anyone.

I can't just end things without an explanation...

As she drops me off by the gate, Mom gives me another hug and reiterates her advice by saying I can choose to wait, and tell him when I feel comfortable. While I'm trekking across campus, I can't help wondering if I'll ever feel that level of comfort with anyone. My reaction to Shizune finding out was less than stellar, and left her with a nasty welt. When I told Amaya, it was an impulse she goaded out of me, and I never really wanted to tell her at all. With Hisao it's different somehow—simpler, maybe—as he hasn't asked, and isn't even curious.

Except that I told him I had a big secret to tell...

When I get back in my room, I decide to check for messages. There are a couple from Yoko, apologizing for digging around to find the silly briefs, and along with those are a few dirty messages sent via Kenta's sarcastic fingertips, proclaiming his willingness to keep my affairs a secret—I'll believe that when I see it. There's a short message from Shizune berating me for skipping the last day of school, which I'll choose to ignore—it's protocol for her. Misha sent a message asking why both Hisao and I weren't in class; I doubt she'll believe my flimsy, coincidental explanation.

I get the feeling she and Shizune will know soon enough...

When I get down to the bottom, I find one last message, and reading it makes me break out laughing.

[Bring extra panties!]

While I'm looking at those three simple words, I stand and sway girlishly, giggling to myself. As I tap out my reply, [Just got back. More funny characters?] I ponder the depths of my closet, and wonder if he'd like any of my other ridiculous garments.

Setting the phone down on my desk, I start searching through my closet to piece together an overnight kit. Finding a pair of black denim jeans, I fold them up small, along with a blue v-neck t-shirt, some thin white socks, and three pairs of panties; I want to be sure I'll have a clean pair to wear to the train station. While I'm working at stuffing them into my satchel, I hear my phone buzzing, so I abandon the bag to pick up the device, quickly flipping it open to read his new message.

[Just bring yourself! You're the only funny character I need.]

Upon reading the simple message, I smile, then sigh as the last word sticks in my mind. Whatever else Hisao has told me, I don't think he was lying about being in love. His admission about walking around with an erection when I'm around may have just been some boyish charm tactics, but his constant staring isn't new. Considering how much he compliments me, it probably started with an interest in my body—specifically my behind—and slowly grew to include other facets. Now it seems like he really does need me on a chemical level—his eighteenth drug.

Side effects may include: swimming, singing, gaming, bad math jokes, and sex behind the pool building...

That makes me wonder if his love might also be of the chemical variety, along with the mental attachment. While I'm not discounting that it makes biological sense, I'm finally able to look at it rationally and emotionally. Somewhere in the mix, I forgot why I liked him in the first place; he's handsome, well-spoken, dresses nicely, has manners, loves nerdy things, likes to read, and I even like his sweater-vests. So, maybe it's both the chemical and the rational thought process making me fall in love with Hisao—either way, I should give it the chance.

Lifting the phone up, I type out another cheerful reply, [Be there in twenty—taking a shower first.]

As I hit send, I reach up and grab a lock of hair, then draw it under my nose to give it a sniff. The apple smell makes me smile, so I decide to write out another message.

[Never mind the shower, be there in ten. I may end up stealing your shampoo.]

After grabbing a few more necessities, I close up the satchel and head for my door, but a random thought makes me stop and turn back. Crossing the short distance to my desk, I open the drawer, dig past the box of oversized condoms, which is curiously open, then reach for the photograph. Picking it up, I turn it over to find my younger self beside Dad, both with big, happy smiles, standing out on a sunny beach. Running my finger over Dad's face for a moment, I actually smile, which isn't my typical reaction. Usually I smile for a moment, then frown, but Mom's words are echoing in my mind, and their wisdom is overpowering my sadness.

Remember him always, but let him go...

Heeding Mom's advice, I set the picture down on my desk reverently, facing it out toward my laptop; that way I should be able to see it from anywhere in the room. With a careful step backward, I tilt my head side to side, making sure it looks right with my other desktop oddities, then nod and turn toward the door. Walking along the hallway, I have a wistful smile on my face as I remember that day at the beach and the sand castle we built; the memory doesn't get interrupted by dreadful thoughts. There are bigger problems to tackle where my memory of Dad is concerned, and it might not be much, but I'm calling it a small victory.

I like the idea of smiling about Dad...

As I pass the empty common room, I hear my cellphone alarm start to beep; it's time to take my pill. With nobody around, I decide to get a drink of water in the kitchen to take it with, though I still get an eerie feeling standing in the darkened room. After classes today, a majority of the students left for greener pastures; heading home to visit family, or just out for the afternoon to spend time with friends before leaving tomorrow. About two-thirds of my classmates will be leaving for at least part of the summer break, so I can expect it to be this deserted for the next month, but, for tonight, I only care about one Yamaku student.

I'm eager to give Hisao that big dose of Aiko...

The sunny afternoon isn't entirely perfect, as the weatherman's prediction of rain seems to have generated a dark line on the horizon, but it probably won't bring showers until after nightfall; the gorgeous sunset it brings should make up for any wetness in the air. The courtyard is basically empty, so I'm free to stroll at whatever pace I feel like, which I decide to keep nice and slow. Some part of me wants to run across the lawns, but a few extra minutes won't make much difference—Hisao and I have all night.

The groundskeepers are out in force today, making sure the lawns are freshly trimmed, ensuring the flowers and trees are watered, clearing away any trash, and making the school grounds look their best for visiting parents. They're about the only people I see on my way around to the back of the boys' dorm, and the diligent workers are mostly too distant to even notice my approach, which is fine; I didn't want an audience. Not that I really feel apprehensive about someone noticing, but I don't feel like getting delayed by questions.

The back door of the boys' dorm is closed, but unlocked, so I pull it open with a happy grunt—it seals pretty tightly—then step through with a cheerful skip. Finding the game room empty is a little strange for this time of day, but I'm not going to complain about getting a break from scrutiny. Snaking through the halls, I notice the carpeted floor is cluttered with some paper refuse; some of the boys apparently got a little excited and spilled their bags in academic protest.

As I step over a pile of discarded notebooks and round the corner, I notice there's heavy-sounding music playing from one of the rooms down Hisao's hall, and I'm confused until I realize it's coming from Kenji's room. Whatever the music is, it's certainly loud, with heavy drums and electric guitars; it sounds like death metal, I think. All I really know is that it's definitely loud, and I wonder if it's the result of him hearing us earlier; I don't think we were loud, but I'm half deaf, and Kenji has heightened hearing.

I don't think I care, honestly...

During previous visits, I don't recall hearing loud music playing, but, if Kenji decided making his ears bleed is better than listening to his hall-mate having fun with his girlfriend, I'm not about to complain. Then again, it could have nothing to do with us at all; maybe he just decided to turn up his music now that the dorms are mostly vacant, or maybe he's using the rhythm to assist in building a bomb. Either way, I think it's kind of him to turn a deaf ear to our activities if that's what he's doing—even kooks can be neighborly.

I ought to thank him if I get the chance...

With the muted cacophony over my shoulder, I reach up and knock three times, then lean against the door to whisper the agreed-upon codewords, “The dolphin returns before dusk.”

“It's open!” Hisao replies, sounding excited, and I step in through the door with a cautious, narrowed expression. The loud music is basically inaudible as soon as I close the door, but I don't even care about that as soon as I lay eyes on my boyfriend's glazed-over look, which is entirely focused on the television.

I can't help but feel like I caused this...

Lazing on the floor against his bed with an open bag of pretzels resting against his knee, there he sits in green boxer-briefs and a white t-shirt; I should have expected this, but it makes me laugh anyway. Instead of packing, in his hands is a Gamecube controller, and on his face is a look of determination; apparently he's practicing his power slides. His suitcase rests behind him on the bed, half open and partially filled, with random piles of clothing folded up and laid out nearby; evidently, he didn't take his objective too seriously, but I'll be happy to help him finish packing later.

“Where's controller two?” I inquire as I sit down beside him, leaving my pants on for the moment.

I like his no-pants gaming style...

Pausing the game, he picks up the other controller and hands it to me with a prideful smirk. “I've been practicing,” he claims, and I definitely believe him, “I'm determined to beat you at least once before I leave!”

“Challenge accepted.”

I might just let him win one... out of love, not pity...
________________________________________________________
Previous|Part 1|Next Chapter

I honestly don't know what to write as a footnote...

Except to add this brief YouTube link.

[Joonwoo]

Yes I've been looking forward to this! Another amazing update! Keep it up!

[BlackWaltzTheThird]

Has there really been no posts since 11 AM? I was sure there'd be a bunch more by the time I managed to get home from Uni and type all this up. Anyway, here goes...

ass

Dang, son, you really got a thing for ass, huh? Or a thing for writing about guys who have a thing for ass. One or the other.

I probably shouldn't sugar-coat it...

“Back in February, he received a confession from his crush, and... I met him a few days after he started in June.”

I'm of the opinion that first part of the story isn't relevant. She did just decide not to sugar coat it. She should just mention the arrhythmia, and clarify that it's a heart condition. "How we met" should be another conversation entirely. Perhaps after that awkward silence a few paragraphs later.

I always thought the cafe's name was a misspelled musical term...

Oh Aiko, has no one ever taught you what puns and wordplay are? Poor dear. Unless that's supposed to be in English. In which case, you're excused.

I find myself looking over her attire again, if only because I'm starting to entertain the idea of imitating her style.

Always got an excuse to describe someone in intricate detail, don't you?

pig-tailed

I pictured the wrong pig-tail for a second there. That's not a hairstyle that comes up often in mature fiction, I guess.

exaggerated caricature of her gregarious nature, seems like the antithesis of her bright, cheerful self

Bit of sesquipedalian loquaciousness, I see. Perhaps simpler words would be more appropriate, especially for someone rather lax towards languages like Aiko.

I doubt she really wants to know about Hisao's virility, either...

They were just talking about it like twenty minutes ago. Not to mention,

“You asked, remember?”

body-pillow~!

I'm glad you used the English terminology. Very glad.

“You'll do,” she replies flatly, “There is no try.”

Heh.

Hideo Kurai.

Another reference, I take it? I don't recall whether we heard his name before, but in any case it sounds like a reference to Mr. Kojima.

dig past the box of oversized condoms, which is curiously open

Hmm... I wonder how that happened... maybe it was made you look. I guess we'll never know. >:3

I'm glad to see we're finally getting to telling Hisao about the big H. I just hope the scene isn't prefaced with more hanky-panky. I've grown quite tired of reading it, to be frank. And that's assuming it won't detract from or create a clash of tone with the confession. Until next Wednesday (well, Thursday for me), then.

[Hoitash]

I just hope the scene isn't prefaced with more hanky-panky. I've grown quite tired of reading it, to be frank.

At least its plot related and not superfluous.

I blame Aiko, myself. Girl bottled up all that sexual energy and then unleashed it on the poor bastard who fell in love with her.

Worse ways to direct it, I suppose