Coping Methods Arc #2: Kumokasumi (Haze) Part 3
TItle: Kumokasumi (Haze)
Part: 3/3
Notes: You know, I could have sworn that I posted this this morning...
*_*_*_*
Well… she’d always tried to be optimistic in a practical sort of way (or, well, practical in that optimistic sort of way) and her aunt had insisted on going back to Chiba on the late train, and it wasn’t as if Mari had exactly even stirred herself to make the polite token protests that she stay over. So she’d been able to content herself with waking up early to get fresh chocolate croissants from the bakery, and making tamago-yaki, two eggs each fried with a lot of salt and pepper, until the yolks were just a little solid, the next morning. Just the way she and her father both liked them.
Probably biting off her nose to spite her face, quite frankly, because she could taste the warm smooth richness of the butter and dark chocolate when she bit into the still-steaming croissant, but not at all strange how the rich comfort-food tasted so much better that what she’d prepared the night before. Beef teppanyaki, despite the good cut of the meat and the fact that the butter sauce had been so very tasty, just didn’t taste as good with her aunt staring so very hard at her when she went back to the rice-cooker for another bowl for herself. Despite the fact that she hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid when Mari’d refilled her father’s.
It wasn’t that what Kou-obasan had said wasn’t true-because, damn it, by Japanese standards she did look somewhat fat, and fatter on the very rare occasions when she bothered to put on one of the hideous ruffled, poofy things that were so in fashion. (It made her very glad that she didn’t own one of the things, and more glad that Hyotei had a uniform, no matter how hideous it was.) It didn’t mean that she was fat, and really, she was fairly sure that should she ever need to, she could deadlift far, far more than any of the fanclub girls, and definitely outrun them.
It didn’t necessarily, however, mean that she wanted a woman who’d never had an ambition outside of her own household telling her what to do with her name, to say nothing of her body; yeah, sure, one day she’d adjust to having portions of salad and pasta barely big enough to cover her palm, but being a peg pounded into a nice convenient little slot had never much suited her. And it wasn’t as if marrying some Japanese boy and being suitably barefoot and pregnant had ever been part of even her most general desires as to what to do with her life…
Though really, it was just one of those days, because really, there wasn’t any point in still being annoyed enough to… not notice Hiyoshi walking briskly onto her end of the platform. Just late enough that he didn’t make it to the middle, where she knew all too well he normally waited for the train. Didn’t notice him until he cocked his head, just a little, and she caught the fall of that distinct bronze hair out of the corners of her eyes… and, of course, like an idiot, turned to look.
Funny, because if there had been any justice in the world, she’d have had Hiyoshi-sense the same way Jirou had Atobe-sense, all the better to get as far away from him as fast as possible. He did, at least, blink when her eyes-perhaps just a little too wide, she could feel them stretched at the edges-met his, nodding a greeting just a little warily, it seemed, with his gaze never quite leaving hers. Almost amusing, really, how that made her spine wobble like that. “Taira-san. What are you-what are you doing here?“
Yup. Still as blunt as an anvil. And hurrah, she’d done her job well, if he’d never noticed that they rode the same train to school… though, of course, she had just spent a school year taking the train an hour later than he did, being in high school and all, and she could choke up a smile just knowing that. “Well, I’ve been living here two years.”
One vaguely-just vaguely-curious tilt of his eyebrow upwards later, he cocked his head. “Why? The dorms apartments are so much closer.”
Well, yes, they were, and very reasonably priced, for all that-well, unless one was living in a room like Jirou’s and Atobe’s, which really was virtually the size of a small house. “Well, I could, but I don’t think Yawata Hospital would like it if their gastroenterologist got gastritis from too much frozen gyoza.” He so would, too, at that. How it was he’d managed to survive medical school without contracting something nasty had always been beyond her…
One had to give the boy credit, sometimes-he didn’t ask where her mother was. Simply cocked his head at her and nodded, before stepping aside to let her step into the train before him.
Mari snorted, silently, to herself. Right. Not even a fox-spirit was going to convince her that Hiyoshi was sensitive-because the truth was far, far more likely that he honestly didn’t care, and certainly wasn’t going to ask if he didn’t.
Except his eyes were still on her face when he shifted to let her stand beside the metal support pole, warm already with others’ hands, rather than having to reach for one of the handholds. And it wasn’t like he’d catch her if she swooned, but bloody Hell, why in the world was she even considering swooning-
When he frowned, his brows came together, but he didn’t… crinkle, for lack of a better word-perhaps that was why it always made him look so much younger when he was angry. She’d never actually been close enough to really witness firsthand one of Hiyoshi’s famous temper explosions, but she’d definitely heard one or another of the Regulars teasing him about it… “Jirou-senpai is right, Taira-san. You do have bags under your eyes.”
Thank all the gods he’d let her have the spot at the pole. Okay, there wasn’t anywhere for her to run even if she’d wanted to, but for the first time in her life, she did understand the desire to, er, cling to something. And, since clinging to the train tracks with the nearest shinkansen barreling towards her at top speed wasn’t an option…
That… little…
Jirou was dead when she got her hands on him. Dead. She was… she was going to… to… cook him in a giant pot of that nasty-looking okayu he liked so much. And feed him to Atobe. Except, damn it, he’d really enjoy that far, far too much…
And then there was the fact that it really was awfully hard to kill someone when the first thing that he did when you walked into tennis club that afternoon was greet you, look very intently into your eyes, and mutter, “Mariii, you still have eyebags.”
It would have been downright nice to be able to throttle him, but that was far, far too quick a death. Plus she occasionally realised that her interior monologue did make her a bad person, but she just wasn’t bad enough to kill someone who looked so worried about her. She’d just want to, was all. “Right,” she growled back. “Yes, I do. So who else have you told that?”
He just blinked up at her, and protested, “I just said it in the clubroom. Was an accident, really it was!” Of course it was. Just like him falling asleep on Atobe’s lap and nuzzling happily was just pure coincidence. “But almost everyone said they knew already.”
And oh, she just had not needed to know that. It wasn’t that she wasn’t that obvious-all right, so she was very tired occasionally, and sometimes it had to show on her face-but it was just that the rest of the Hyotei Regulars were just so dense… “I’m…” there really were no murder methods good enough for him. “Jirou, I’m going to smother you in your sleep. In that hideous leopard-print jacket thing that’s crammed at the back of Atobe’s closet.” There. That was an appropriately horrible death.
Jirou really was entirely too chipper for someone she’d just threatened with a slow and very furry, painful demise. “Oh! So that’s where it went! Is the ruffly pink shirt there, too?”
…oh, oops, wait, the leopard print with the faux fur at its collar had been at the back of Atobe’s closet because she’d hidden it there.
“There is no ruffly pink shirt, Jirou,” she raised her chin at him. Which would really likely have been more effective if he hadn’t been draped onto her with such floppy abandon that his face was nestled in her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The warmth of his breath unsettled her collar as he… puffed, for lack of a better word, in what sounded almost like exasperation. “There is, too! He used to wear it, and… you always made funny faces. And said it wasn’t there. But it was. ”
Ah, that. Considering that the shirt had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared more than a year ago, she’d almost forgotten that. “There is no ruffled pink shirt,” she insisted, nudging him with a hip. “He simply went without a shirt sometimes, is all.” And perhaps if she kept pretending that the shirt (the thing wasn’t a crime against fashion, it was a cardinal sin) didn’t exist, it would… simply go away. Well, all right, it had, but that had had absolutely nothing to do with her simply refusing to admit that anyone actually wore it. “I’m rather glad he’s stopped that.”
But the sensation of Jirou shaking with laughter-and his arms coming over her shoulders in a tight squeeze, and Jirou was stronger than anyone gave that slim frame credit for-made the day just a little warmer. It made her just consider forgiving him for putting her at the peripheries of Hiyoshi’s very focused field of vision, even if Jirou’s version of ‘I meant well,’ she suspected, was as counterproductive as Atobe saying something like ‘I’m grateful.’ Roads to Hell and all that. “Mari, you’re so silly.”
“No, I’m weird,” she informed him, dryly-but, really, it felt good to loop her arms lightly over his waist, and squeeze back, feeling sinew and muscle curve like bands of iron under her forearms. Until the little brat squeaked for mercy, anyway. “There’s a difference.”
Of course, the moment they sat down together on the bleachers-Jirou blinked, and… pointed. “Oooh! Hiyoshi’s playing Shishido. Over there on the far courts. Mmm, he’s winning, too. I’m going to take a nap, so wake me up for Atobe’s game, okay?”
Mari’s back jerked very, very straight, even under Jirou’s-not inconsiderable-deadweight slumping onto her back. Okay, she understood him telling her to wake him up. Why had he felt the need to point out that Hiyoshi was playing, over on the far side, when she might have actually gone a few precious moments not noticing him…?
Of course, since Jirou’d decided the best way to make her relax was to sleep on her, in the heartbeat before she could tell him to plant his head into the ground and grow upside-down like a turnip-he promptly fell fast asleep onto her. With both arms looped happily over her shoulders. She was perfectly all right with him slumped on her back, but if he drooled on her, she was going to kill him. Again.
Like she really needed another reason.
One of these days, she was really going to start using that exceptionally hard head of his as a podium, or something. Or perhaps a mallet.
…or perhaps she could try using Jirou as a distraction to ward away Atobe, since it looked rather like he was heading in her-all right, their-direction with the nastiest sort of ‘what are you doing with my things, Taira Mari?’ look in those far-too-oblivious eyes. With said ‘things’ having absolutely nothing to do with a certain hideous, nonexistent portion of his wardrobe. “Mari. I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”
No doubt about the fact that Jirou was hugging her in his sleep, except, of course, it being Atobe, he simply couldn’t say that. Life with the Hyotei Regulars was going to be so much easier when Jirou’s not-a-boyfriend actually came out and admitted that he was snarly because Jirou liked to snuggle in his sleep far, far too much for anyone’s peace of mind. “Yes?” she smiled.
They’d keep it simple, for now. He was actually of a cranky enough state of mind where he might have actually noticed if she’d insulted him, and besides-that generally required ammunition, and she preferred hers… fresh.
Considering the scowl that seemed like it was going to swallow his forehead, it was looking like he’d give her some in a matter of moments, anyway.
He… scowled, for lack of a better word. Prettily, it had to be said, because Atobe did do quite a few things very, very prettily (even though he objected to the term.) “Is Jirou being a nuisance?” No use in agreeing or negating, particularly, considering he was going to say whatever he said, whether or not she had any objections. “You’ve been taking care of him quite a substantial amount over the past week or so-allow me to express my gratitude. You may prepare a lunch for the two of us to eat together, on… I believe my Wednesday next week is free. Only the once, you understand. As a treat.”
Yep. There it was.
Though she supposed it was almost a compliment, all things considered-Atobe didn’t get nearly this pissy when Jirou fell asleep on the laps of the other fangirls. Therefore, Taira Mari was, somewhere in that mushy overeducated brain of his, a threat. How it was that she could possibly be a threat when the mush repeatedly told him that she was madly in love with him, and that he felt absolutely nothing for Jirou… well, she’d have asked him if she hadn’t been afraid it would make his brain reach critical mass and explode, killing them all.
Really, all things considered, it was the sort of compliment that she might have been just that touch happier without.
Mari grinned, just a little, and shifted Jirou on her back just to see Atobe twitch. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit, Atobe. Shibata was taking care of him all of yesterday, and Oketani the day before… actually, Kimura was with him on Tuesday, too.” Mostly because Mari’d been sitting with them at the time Jirou’d come over to flop on her lap, and it was fairly easy to displace a sleeping flop onto someone else when there were six pairs of hands to help out… “Don’t you think they should have their chance to…” want to bash your head into a wall? “…learn about you swimming in denial?”
He… frowned. “I’ve only been to Egypt once, Mari, and I’ve certainly never swum in the Nile-it’s filthy with silt.” Yes, well, she’d thought he’d say that. “So. Wednesday. I would like a grilled gindara-a good cut, of course-and steamed Komatsu rice. And the normal tsukemono and miso soup, of course. It is supposed to be a treat for you, after all.”
Oh, no you don’t. Perhaps the part of Atobe’s brain buried underneath all the thickness was just as smart as the rest of him was supposed to be, because it had come to the (correct) conclusion that he wasn’t going to win any verbal battles, and he couldn’t very well yell at her for stealing his roommate if he didn’t quite realise the reason for his ire-so he was going to make her cook for him.
He probably couldn’t have come up with a better punishment if he’d tried.
She was his fanclub president-yes. She was most definitely not his housekeeper, caterer, or maid. She already had one male she had to do those duties for.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Kobe beef shabu-shabu, instead?” she queried, and the deadly sweetness in her voice-she felt Jirou twitch on her back. She didn’t often pull out that particular tone, and this was… twice in two days? Then again, the two most annoying individuals of her life were at their signature best, so that certainly “With handmade peanut sauce, of course.”
He looked at her for just long enough to raise her eyebrows-was it actually possible that her sarcasm had penetrated through the first layer of defenses…? “That would be perfectly fine, too. But make sure they slice the beef very thinly-it ruins the flavor otherwise.” No, apparently, it was not possible. Especially considering that he was starting to smile-a faint little thing that worked over the corners of his slim mouth. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mari. You’ll make someone a lovely little housewife someday.”
The idiot meant it, too. And if she was going to be honest, yes, it was true that she’d been thinking, well, similar things about Jirou, but-at least she’d had the forbearance to refer to him as a ‘husband’… not a ‘full-time housewife!’
Now that was a compliment that she was very sure she’d have been happier without.
She gaped at her neurotic boss for all of… two seconds.
For all that she was fairly certain that much of her childhood training had included such statements as Violence Is Not The Way and A Thrown Fist Always Comes Back To You-it felt preposterously good to draw back her foot and kick Atobe-hard-in the shins.
He’d forgive her for it, of course. (Though, oddly, it had been somewhat more satisfying to do it the first time, when she’d thought that he might actually get-gasp-annoyed with her.) Naturally, it wasn’t her fault that her body wasn’t under the same kind of exquisite control as his, and, oh, she must have accidentally hit her knee and set off a knee-jerk. She really did to be more careful about things like that, or she was going to kick someone who was far less understanding.
Never mind that she was, in fact, sitting on the bleachers holding nothing in her hands but her spiral-bound club membership notebook-certainly nothing that could set off a reflex kick. Admittedly, she had been contemplating using Jirou’s head as a mallet, not all that much earlier, but…
Right. She definitely needed to stop spending so much time around one Atobe Keigo, because the fact that her mind was following the same paths as his was definitely not a clear indicator of good mental health.
…though it was very amusing to watch him walk-er, hobble, she actually had kicked him rather hard-away with nothing more than a vague sense of puzzlement in his eyes, and a brief, almost unconscious hand reaching out to ruffle Jirou’s hair… well, she’d puzzled him enough with her actions that he’d forgotten to dislodge his roommate.
“That was mean, Mari,” Jirou’s chin dug, just a little, in her shoulder, and she had to giggle as his hair tickled her ears. Oh, of course. Atobe-sense. Jirou really should have come with optional attachments that showed the radar lines coming from his head… like a little blonde, underdeveloped Spider-Man.
Well, yes. Just a little. “So was he,” she pointed out. Housewife, indeed.
Jirou squirmed against her back, and she had to laugh as he attempted to… squish her, pressing against her shoulders with those clever hands resting on top of her head. “Okay, okay, so it was a bad choice of words. But he meant it as a compliment…”
Mari chuckled, dryly, just under her breath. “Yes, I know, that’s why I kicked him.” But Jirou was genuinely too cute when he was sure that the right thing to do was pout at her for body infractions against the love of his life, but the corners of his lips kept licking upwards like that. “Besides, you, of all people, should thank me.”
He blinked at her, and detached himself from her back to flop back-first over her lap, like a little underweight seal. “Really? I should?”
Mari carefully reached down and adjusted his jersey until it actually covered his stomach. And the hint of boxers that were showing above his waistband. Jirou-fanservice might have delighted some of the fangirls (personally, she was more disturbed by their glee than anything) and it certainly would have delighted a small and not-so-secret part of Atobe’s soul, but it really wasn’t to her taste. “Well, do you know how to make shabu-shabu?”
How it was he could cock his head when said head was mostly dangling off her lap… er, perhaps Jirou’s neck was as strong and versatile as his miraculous wrists. No doubt from all the practice he had being horizontal. “No, but…”
“Oh, good,” she chuckled, reaching down to tap his nose. “I doubt he’s ever going to ask for it again, after this.”
“…oh.” It was probably a good thing he’d never thought about it. Then again, she imagined that even Atobe knew better than to expect fine cuisine-Japanese or otherwise-out of Akutagawa Jirou…
Mari grinned. “And do you want to be a house… er, house-husband?”
“Um.” He considered hard enough that he was practically crinkling with it. With what looked very much like a naughty twinkle beginning to rise in those eyes. “I mean, what’s so bad about that? It means lots of naptime…”
Well, after that, she was too busy chasing him around the bleachers trying to thwap some sense into that too-pretty head to watch the rest of Hiyoshi’s game, so perhaps it wasn’t such a bad day after all…
…except she really had to stop thinking things like that, because somehow, somehow, she’d managed to end up in the same subway car as Hiyoshi, again-and it was far from being rush hour, so there weren’t even other people around to block the too-pretty view. Probably a good thing, come to think, because with the fox-god’s perversity, she’d have ended up squished against him, like she had that morning…
“Hey. Hey, do I know you…?”
Ooooh. Distraction. Distraction was good. She smiled, just a little tentatively-the boy wasn’t wearing a Hyotei uniform, but at this time of the day, he had to have come from club practice. She couldn’t really blame him for wanting to have those plaid pants on as little as humanly possible-even she changed into jeans at the end of the day-especially since he was one of those who cared enough about his look to have a short, black ponytail tied at the nape of his neck. A-la-Shishido. “I’m… not sure.” One of these days, she was going to figure out a way to remember people’s faces, even though it was perfectly possible that they’d been riding the same subway train all this time. Really, she was always just a little surprised whenever someone recognised her, considering, well, she wasn’t all that far off from being utterly ordinary-looking. “Where did we meet?”
“Oh, wait.” He had a nice smile, though-relaxed, with just a touch of naughtiness around the corners of his lips. “Yeah, it was club day. You were running one of the booths, weren’t you…? Tamura… no, Taira, right?”
Well, she’d been there mostly by default, since she really, really didn’t trust any of the other fangirls to run the kissing booth. Especially not during that particularly hellish hour when Atobe had deigned to stand in it. Still, they’d made more money than any other group… “That’s me,” she chuckled, cocking her head. “I’m sorry, and you are…?”
Probably a senior, considering how tall he was… It was astounding that she’d known the teenaged big-friendly-giants of the tennis club as long as she had, and she could still think things like that. She might’ve pegged him for a college student, even, except, honestly now, there wasn’t any way one of them would be talking to her.
“Ishikawa Satoshi,” he grinned, and dipped his head at her in a little bow. One that put him to eye level to her, if even that. “Third year. I see you on this train all the time, but I just couldn’t figure your name…”
“Oh?” she blinked. Nice to know she hadn’t managed to make herself notorious with everyone in the school… “Then how-“
He chuckled, and gestured, a brief flick of his chin, in the direction of her lap. “It’s on your notebook.”
…ah.
Damn it, she most certainly didn’t blush.
She was a little surprised that Ishikawa ‘You don’t have to use the ‘san,’ you know’ Satoshi lived in Kashiwa, too, just because-well, it was a pretty remote place for families, but… “Oh, well, I live on my own,” he shrugged, with a faint smile. “It’s quieter out here than Tokyo. And, well, cheaper. It’s so damned far. ”
True, and definitely true; but she had to laugh. “Doesn’t that make going out on Friday night hard, though? Since the last trains are fairly early?” and he didn’t exactly strike her as the type to be happy sitting on the sofa at home with a movie, either.
“Yeah,” he had a twinkle in his eyes that she sort of did rather like the look of, actually. “But hey, that way, I don’t spend as much, right? Or I can just crash with friends, since, well, no curfew or anything.”
“That must be nice,” she smiled. Well, not that she had a curfew, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever tried staying out really late, either…
Having someone walk her home was most definitely a novel experience. She’d often thought that she needed to ask her father for an MD player, or something of the sort-or at least for a regular allowance, so she could listen to something other than the whisperings of a certain demonic kitsune about just how well Hiyoshi’s games had gone. Or, even worse, the meanderings of her mind insisting that she really did just need to give Jirou a call and invite him over one of these days, because, her house was a little empty with no-one but her in it…
“Well,” Mari smiled, just a little reluctantly. “My house is right over there, so…”
“And my place is over there,” he gestured with one hand, past the park-well, she’d never known that there was anything there for student housing, but he was probably just renting out the attic room of one of the bigger houses. “See you tomorrow? You really shouldn’t be walking home by yourself, you know.”
She bobbed her head, a little-shy was just not something she’d ever been, but… “Oh, I’m used to it. Besides, this isn’t quite central Tokyo-it’s not as if there’s ever anyone else around here…”
“Still, though.” He smiled at her, and his teeth flashed. It didn’t make her flutter-but then again, there really was only a single male who ever had. Ishikawa wasn’t bad, not bad at all, and she was fairly certain Tanimoto, at least, would have had something to say if she ever told the girl about it. “I’ll see you on the train-or the platform-tomorrow, then.”
Maybe. Maybe, I could get used to this…
*_*_*_*
Hiyoshi Wakashi liked his life… simple.
Being on the Hyotei Regulars probably should have been one of those things that was simple. As long as he won, and kept on winning, he stayed on the team-what else was there to it? But with all the gossip that went around the school… didn’t people have anything better to do with their time than talk to him?
He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard, “She kicked him? Mari-senpai kicked Atobe-buchou in the shins? Is that true, Hiyoshi? What happened?” today.
It had to be a slow week for everyone else’s overactive mouths, if they were gossiping about Taira-san today. True, they talked about her-a lot, and generally in terms of the newest impossible favor she’d pulled out of her book bag and how close she was to the rest of the Regulars, wasn’t it a good thing they were gay so she didn’t steal them-but, really, didn’t they have any control? “Yes,” he’d stated, clearly, once-before he went back to his textbook to study for their quiz.
A futile effort, ultimately. He had a great deal more respect for Taira-san’s self-control after having the girls pestering him for the story until he slammed his book down on his desk and related it.
He’d started off classifying Taira-san as ‘sheep,’ to be shut into the convenient little gated pen as the rest of the fangirls, but… he wasn’t Atobe, to deny what was in front of his eyes. He’d never actually needed to go to her for favors-because if he couldn’t do something himself, then there was something wrong with him-but when said so-called sheep kicked Atobe-buchou, being his most insufferable, in the shins…
Admittedly, perhaps he’d noticed because there had most certainly been a time or ten when he’d had the desire to inflict bodily harm on his buchou, and she’d gotten him a good, solid hit, if the way Atobe-buchou had been limping for awhile afterwards was any indication. And, well, the way the rest of the Regulars had made such a fuss of her, afterwards, only her skirt keeping Shishido-senpai from picking her up and whirling her around. He respected a good kick, and it wasn’t as if Taira-san had to obey the same strictures of respect and seniority as the tennis club.
Of course, considering that it was hardly the first time it had happened, well-apparently, for all his genius at tennis, Atobe-buchou was just not learning.
Still, though, she wasn’t a bad sort. He’d heard that she was smart, but at least she seemed to be smart in a somewhat less obscene way than Oshitari-senpai. He didn’t keep track of Atobe’s fanclub presidents, either, but he had to admit that the girls had been more or less better behaved since she’d taken over.. was it last year? The year before?
Taira-san also didn’t smile at him in that suspiciously toothy manner that some of the other fangirls affected, and, better, didn’t ever try to hook her arm through his elbow, or edge into his personal space. She didn’t touch him, and that made her one of the acceptable ones, in his book. Well, he didn’t claim to know her-and, at the end of the day, she was one of Atobe-buchou’s fangirls, and he truly didn’t have any desire to know her-but it was somewhat comforting that just the thought of her batting her eyelashes at him was more than a little absurd.
It was nice to know that there was at least one relatively sane girl in all of Hyotei.
Relatively, because who in their right mind joined a fanclub?!
At the same time, though he’d always been accustomed to his instincts being what they were, and, in general, when they screamed, Hiyoshi listened to them.
Somewhat like the instincts that were telling him that the fellow on the train, the one with the ponytail who was smiling at Taira Mari-san, Atobe’s fanclub president, was not the kind of person Taira-san’s parents would likely want talking to her. Of course, instincts being what they were, he couldn’t have exactly said why he thought that, but… it was something about the man’s smile. Something about the way he held his shoulders, and his hands trembled, as if with eagerness.
But. Maybe the girl really did have the common sense of a tadpole, because-what in the world was she doing smiling at a boy that Hiyoshi was fairly sure was not either a Hyotei student or bearing good intentions?
He might not have known until the day before that she got on and off the same commuter train stop as he did-but he did know the area he lived. Safe, yes, certainly. Quiet. A good place to have a dojo; a good place for a family to stay if they had no interest in Tokyo’s nightlife.
Far, far too widespread for anyone to hear if something happened.
Kashiwa was large, but the residential district was fairly small-he doubted very much that Taira-san lived in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police forensics compound. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to make sure nothing happened to her-allowing a strange man to walk her home might have been the height of stupidity, but he wasn’t inclined to let someone he knew, even if she really was just an acquaintance, come to harm just because she’d been dense.
True, he’d seen them getting off together the day before-and nothing had happened when he’d followed, a few hundred meters away, for just long enough to watch them part ways-but-
But.
But the man walking too close to her, his fingers brushing against her thigh-she had to notice that, and she did, edging away.
Hiyoshi walked just a little faster.
But the man’s smile was just a little wider, hers a little strained around the edges-puzzled, the little idiot, she couldn’t honestly think-
Hiyoshi was running, pulling his tekko from his bag-thank the gods for show-and-tell in PE class, thank the gods-and slipping the familiar warm wood over his hands, blunt metal spikes between his fingers, by the time big hands came up to grab both of Taira Mari’s wrists.
Taira-san’s face twisted, and she was going to scream-she was-
She did-a hellish kiai scream, wordless, when she yanked back-and her right foot came up and lashed the strange man across the face in an absolutely beautiful full-moon kick. Toes pointed, her knee snapping inwards-a hit with the blade of her foot, the hard sole of her school-issue shoes contacting hard enough that the sharp crack sound of plastic meeting flesh hung in the air, louder even than Hiyoshi’s breath as he ran.
He had just one instant to blink. All right, apparently the solidity of the kicks she inflicted on Atobe-buchou wasn’t pure luck.
The strange man stumbled back-almost fell, now, Taira-san, one more-
To Hiyoshi’s horror, she set herself into some stance he didn’t know-and hesitated, something like surprise flickering across her face.
If he’d ever been inclined to curse, he would have. He did, as the strange man spat-a dark gout of blood, perhaps-and reached out to pound her across the face, fist closed-hard enough to knock her to the ground, hard enough to stun.
Hiyoshi was sure he could get there before anything happened to her-two hundred more meters, one, and she hadn’t been stunned-not if she was struggling, spitting, all elbows and denim-clad knees when the stranger shoved her down, grinning, snarling-
The man was at least a handspan taller than he was, but that utterly useless little fluff of ponytail was a very effective handhold when Hiyoshi reached out and yanked the stranger off Taira Mari. Hard enough that the man howled, and Hiyoshi casually glanced down to find strands of hair caught in the grip of his tekko.
An instant later, the man-only a second of shock, only an instant-whirled, charged, hands up to protect his face-
Idiot.
It only took a moment. It only ever did, after all-one slow, slow breath, since he had time to set himself on his heel of his left foot and the ball of his right-one fluid stroke, twisting, from waist upwards-the strength flowing into shoulder, arm, fist-
Hiyoshi smiled as the stranger hit the ground, eyes wide, shocked, clutching at his neck-the print of the tekko digging wide bruise-channels just below his throat.
This, he knew.
He could have aimed for the throat-the fool had been leaving himself open enough-but, really, he didn’t have any desire to kill him-
A moment later, the man was… gone, running, and Hiyoshi breathed again-once, slowly, centering himself; letting the adrenaline drain. It was tempting to yell at Taira-san-he could hear her moving, behind him, getting back to her feet-because what in the name of the gods had she thought she’d been doing, what?
But when he turned-her face was stark, stark white as his mother’s powder, except for the raw scrape on her cheek-dripping bright down her face.
Hiyoshi flinched as a shudder shook her body, and her eyes were too large, too dark, frozen. The one thing he did know about Taira-san was that she never broke face-never lost her composure, never, no matter how annoying anyone was being, no matter how much she had to do. He knew that, but-this wasn’t composure, it was pale, trembling lips, and she was shivering all over, tiny little motions that teased the tip of her once-neat ponytail into shaking, the little tendrils of hair trailing around her face clinging to her cheeks, before she closed her eyes. If she fainted-or, worse, started crying-or, even worse, clinging to him, ugh-
It was a good thing he’d been around; he didn’t want to think what would have happened to her if he hadn’t been following them. If he hadn’t been, just a little, worried.
But fighting was easy.
This was the part he’d been dreading.
*_*_*_*
I am not going to cry, I am not going to cry, damn it all, I don’t cry-
Much to her own surprise, when she opened her eyes, they were… tear-free. She was almost calm, really. Given a few deep breaths, a band-aid, and an extra-large makeup kit, she might’ve even been able to try for ‘perfectly normal.’ Except, no, she’d never been perfectly ‘normal,’ so perhaps this calm that had settled over her just might have been shock. Shock was fine. She could deal with shock.
Aside from the hysterical desire to burst out laughing at the way Hiyoshi Wakashi was looking at her the way he might have looked at a small fire-breathing dragon, because no doubt he was expecting her to burst out into Raving Hysterics.
She twitched at the thought. Raving hysterics? No, she didn’t do that, either. But then again, she didn’t do a lot of things. Like walk home with strange men.
He winced, almost invisibly, at her twitch, but… stood his ground. Brave boy. If she’d had to deal with a potentially hysterical, crying fangirl, in his place she’d have been halfway to home by now.
Mari carefully suppressed the desire to reassure him that she wasn’t going to belch flame at him, not if she had anything to say about it. “Hiyoshi-kun.” Words felt strange in her mouth. His name did. The desire to keel over onto him, however, didn’t, which was probably the only reason she managed a deep breath, and a smile. She even managed the smallest dip of her head, because he’d appreciate the effort of a small bow. “Thank you.”
She had to get out of there. She had to. Him looking at her like that-because he didn’t know her, of course he didn’t, why should he have?-like she was going to break down crying… Damn it, she didn’t cry. Her cheek stung, a little, and there was crimson smeared over her fingertips when she raised her hand to it, but… really, nothing that a band-aid and some antiseptic couldn’t fix, when she got home.
Somehow, through the drift of cool, cool shock that chilled her fingertips and her lips, she managed to look away from his eyes-still fixed on her, and his gaze was as intense as she’d always thought it might be, but the mental flyswatter was limp in her hands, and she couldn’t think, but all she could do was think, and-
Somehow, she managed to turn, and start walking.
Somehow. Except-his voice twined around her trembling knees, and she almost fell. Almost, because she was Taira Mari, and damn it all, she would not go to her knees.
“Taira-san. Are…” the words sound like they came hard to him. Probably they did. Probably he wanted nothing better than to head home away from the crazy girl who didn’t know better than to talk to strangers. “Are you all right?”
She was fine. She always was, after all. “Yes, thank you.” She could even nod normally. “It’s a good thing you were heading this way. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
But his eyes narrowed-and, well, it was the intensity of them that just about knocked her off her feet, not the fact that her cheek burned, not the fact that her eyes wanted to burn but she wasn’t about to let them. “You’re in shock.”
“Yes, I expect I am.” She could smile at that, too. If a certain fox-god expected her to faint at Hiyoshi’s feet, well, he was going to be sadly disappointed. Shock did not equate fairy-tale princess behavior. “But da will be expecting dinner when he gets home.”
She’d just save the fainting until after she’d put something on the stove to simmer.
His eyes narrowed a little further. “Your father’s not home?”
“He works late,” she tried for a faint smile. She really was going to have to come up with a story to explain the scrape to her father-well, if he noticed. The fact that she’d fallen, and hit her face on something, was nothing but the truth-and all things considered, he definitely wasn’t going to like the whole truth.
He didn’t ask about her mother. He was smarter than she’d thought if he made the connection between daughter dear doing the cooking and mother dear not being around to do it. It definitely wasn’t the Japanese standard. “No siblings?
“I’m an only child.” She’d probably have killed a sibling, anyway.
The breath hissed between his teeth-exasperated with her, and she didn’t know what he was doing here; she didn’t quite know where he lived, but she was fairly sure it was far nearer to the Keisei line station than hers was. He should have been home already. Should-“Are you telling me you’ve been going home, alone, to an empty house?!”
“I do it every day, Hiyoshi-kun?” She did. Or had. Japan was so safe, wasn’t it? It always had been. Until Ishikawa had shown up, dear gods, dear gods. “It’s not new.”
“Apparently not, ” he bit out, his face chill, beautiful-flushed, had he been running? He must have been, considering she hadn’t seen him anywhere in the vicinity-before he turned his back to her. “Come with me, Taira-san.”
Talk about words she never thought she’d hear. “What? Where?” she blinked at his very, very straight, retreating back. She wasn’t going to hyperventilate. Bad Mari. Potential rapist hadn’t made hyperventilate, the thought of following Hiyoshi somewhere certainly shouldn’t have-“My home’s that way-”
He did look younger when he scowled. She’d probably have been in more of mood to laugh at that if she hadn’t been trying so hard not to keel over, honestly. “You’re in shock, and you don’t know if he’s still around here. I’ll make you some tea. Come on.”
…tea? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone but her aunt had made her tea.
At… his house. A large, lovely wooden building that looked radically different from the delicate little stone-and-concrete fixtures around it-from the little cobblestone walkway to the porch, the small, twisted trees that someone had planted for no apparent reason other than to cast feathery shadows across Hiyoshi’s face-
Oh, gods. Oh, sweet, sweet fox-gods, this just… wasn’t funny.
He glanced over his shoulder at her from the entryway, eyes half-narrowed as if he was still suspicious she was going to faint at any moment. Sorry to disappoint you, too, Hiyoshi. But his voice was a touch gentler than she’d expected-not warmer, but he straightened… a little less, if it were possible, raising a fine, tapered eyebrow just a touch. Just before the late, late afternoon shadow touched his hair, like fingers. He didn’t reach out to her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She smiled, faintly. That, she knew the answer to. “I’m fine, Hiyoshi-kun.”
As fine as I can be walking into Hell, anyway.
Mari whispered, “Ojama-shimasu”-because, well, hey, one had to be polite walking into Hell, right?-and stepped up into the genkan of Hiyoshi Wakashi’s home.
*_*_*_*
Mari slept, and dreamed, that night.
She dreamed that his hands were quick, efficient, when he handed her a first-aid kit and showed her the way to the bathroom so she could wash her face, put a band-aid on her cut.
She dreamed that green tea, hand-mixed, and she’d watched with fascination as he stood at the countertop and whisked away with a little brush, tasted a little like blood, since she’d bitten the inside of her cheek when she’d fallen. She dreamed that her feet had fallen asleep, since she wasn’t really used to having tea sitting in seiza, and trying to stand had been an interesting experience-he’d rolled his eyes when she eyed her misbehaving, completely numb, feet, and asked them where in the world they’d gone off to.
She dreamed she’d gotten him to smile, once-not intentionally-when he’d asked where she’d learned to kick like that… and she’d cocked her head and replied, “Six years of kung-fu.”
She hadn’t asked why he’d smiled. She hadn’t questioned, when he’d mused about her coming back to the dojo, sometime, to see if kobujutsu suited her.
She dreamed that she’d started to walk home, and she’d been perhaps two or three minutes on her way when he’d come jogging up behind her-muttering something under his breath about “baka otousan,” and it had been her turn to laugh, as he’d-very, very grudgingly-walked her home… and stayed, waiting outside the house, until she turned on the main lights.
She knew, because she’d watched him stay, and watched the way the darkened streets couldn’t dim the white of his Hyotei uniform before he faded around a corner.
She dreamed, and it was a dream, except it hadn’t been, the day before.
No, she hadn’t slept well at all. Mari winced at her reflection in the mirror.
Gods, she looked awful. Admittedly, she wasn’t exactly given to looking like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine on any given day, but… gods.
She didn’t wear makeup, so starting today would have been more than a little ridiculous, but the way the bags under her eyes dangled heavily enough to have been mistaken for low-hanging rainclouds in a pasty white sky, honestly…
Well, okay, so she did have one thing to thank Jirou for. Kimura would probably worry, but she always worried. The rest of the fangirls… well, most of them knew better than to ask, and the Hyotei Regulars would probably just assume that her present Incarnation of the Living Dead impression meant that she’d had a little less sleep than normal (true,) that she had a million and one things to do (true,) and that she’d last out the day (…probably true.)
Probably, when the thought of stepping off the train again, and walking home alone, when the phone had rung that morning and there had been nothing but static and breathing in it, like a cold wind twisting at her spine…
Stop that. Ishikawa’s gone. It doesn’t matter. And he didn’t do anything to you-not really-so there’s no use in telling anyone, you know how these things are… ‘you asked for it,’ they’ll say. ‘Why were you so stupid?’
Considering she’d asked herself that no fewer than a thousand times over the course of the past three years, well… Oh, the irony, when she did live about ten minutes from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police forensics headquarters.
She’d have called it a long day-she couldn’t ever remember a day when she’d forgotten so many, many things that were supposed to have gotten done the night before, and the startled, somewhat disappointed eyes of the people who she’d promised favors to for today… they’d forgive her, probably, if she told them why.
Of course, she really had no intention of telling them why, and the thought of the road home kept gaping, like a mouth that was trying to eat her brain.
But Hiyoshi stepped out onto the platform even as she did, and looked at her, carefully, out of the corner of his eyes. “Taira-san. You look awful.”
Gee. Thanks, Hiyoshi-kun. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. “I’m fine,” she tried on a smile. She had the sinking feeling, from the way his eyes narrowed, at just the corners, that the smile really didn’t fit very well. “I’ll be fine on my own, Hiyoshi, really. My father said he’d be home early today.”
Hiyoshi blinked, once, very, very slowly-but nodded.
He still walked with her as far as the corner that turned towards his house, though, before she waved him on his way-no, she didn’t miss the still-suspicious look that he cast her over his shoulder… and the way the suspicion deepened when she smiled. “Are you sure you’re-“ he stopped on the toes of her negation, and his eyes narrowed further. “I’m teaching a kobujutsu class this afternoon. Six o’clock. You can watch, if you want.“
He sounded like he was saying that between his teeth, in much the same tone as he used to say “Stop making such a big deal of things, senpai,” to Shishido-so her laugh was mostly genuine when she shook her head and shooed him from her with both hands.
Well, her da had said he’d be home early, but considering he said it on an average of once a week, and it had yet to happen, well… still, though. Hiyoshi Wakashi was worrying about her. Yes, this was most definitely still a nightmare.
The sound of her heart beating was too loud, and too fast, by the time she passed the sweet store-less than halfway home, she really had to pace herself, but it was hard to pace when she was in jeans and school-issue loafers, not sneakers and shorts-and she doubled over to catch her breath. Choking on it. The sour taste in her mouth-it wasn’t bile, she wasn’t half the runner she thought she was if a sprint like this made her vomit, but…
She had no right to be this afraid, no right, Kashiwa was a safe area, and no-one was chasing her-of course no-one was chasing her, but…
But he knows where I live. I told him. I told him. He-
She still jumped when a quiet, creak of a voice queried, “Are you all right, little lady?” from behind her.
Ah. The sweet-shop owner, of course, come out to see who the crazy girl panting on her doorstep was. Jumping at shadows-she was getting to be as bad as Shishido. Shishido and Ootori combined. Still, though… it really wouldn’t do to scare the nice old lady by, oh, having a complete nervous breakdown. “Oh. I’m… yes, I’m-I’m awfully sorry.“
She must not have been very convincing, not the way two little hard-candy eyes were looking at her with a great deal of concern, from a wrapper of soft, papery wrinkles. “Would you like to come in and have some cold tea?”
Heh. Tea really was the Japanese universal cure for everything. Mari… smiled, just a little. “Oh, no, thank you-I don’t want to bother you-“
“It’s no trouble,” she waved a thin, efficiently blue-veined hand. “Maybe you’ll buy some of my nice mizumanju while you’re here, eh? I only made them this morning, and they’re very nice in this heat…” The woman was as plump, and soft, and insidious as one of her candies, it was looking like, from the way she was twinkling. “You’ll have to try one, of course.”
Well, all right, she’d promised herself no more sweets at least until she lost a few kilos, because the supposed ‘healthy’ nature of Japanese sweets really was horribly sinister… but she did appreciate a clever invitation.
Even if she had absolutely no idea what a mizumanju was.
And the woman was right-the cold tea and the mizumanju-a chilled little ball of some sort of sticky, translucent sweet with a candied bit of chestnut in the centre-really was delicious in the heat, and by the time she walked out…
Mari blinked with just a little puzzlement at the fact that she’d somehow purchased a small box of the little treats.
Ah, well, the cost of the candies was significantly less than that of her peace of mind-and, well, smiling at a chattering old lady, who brought out a roll of some sort of dough to flatten into shape even as Mari was drinking her tea… well, maybe she could believe that Kashiwa was just this sort of area. For a little while, at least.
At least until she hit the corner, and the heat rushed back to slap her across the face, leaving sweat dampening the little animal-print band-aid. After the quelling look that Hiyoshi’d given her, she certainly hadn’t been about to ask why the band-aids in the first-aid kit were colourful little strips with rainbow-hued animals on them.
Hiyoshi.
Well… her father wasn’t likely to be home for awhile, yet, and… well, she owed him, didn’t she…? Tossing herself headfirst into emotional Hell, and whatnot, notwithstanding-well, he was far indeed from being a angel, but… well, she owed the devil a favor, so to speak.
She always paid her debts, didn’t she?
Mari took a deep breath-just one-hefted the bag of sweets… and started walking, slowly, in the direction of the Hiyoshi family dojo.
~owari~
Start: July 23, 2004
End: August 26, 2004
Hello again--I bet you guys are wondering why this was finished so long ago, but not posted. It's partly because I was just too lazy to do the major edit (which would have been taking out Hiyo's POV in the middle, and obviously didn't happen) and partially because, well, I've never been completely satisfied with this story. Still not, actually, but I've since decided that there's no way I'm going to rewrite it, not after all this time, it would be sad not to share it. Yes, there is more to the tale, but... as I guess you guys have also worked out, chances are that past Kumo (Clouds) which I'm going to be posting someday soon, I'm not going to be writing much more. Does Mari have a happy ending? She certainly does, but... I'm going to leave thinking of what it is to your worthy imaginations. ^_^
Part: 3/3
Notes: You know, I could have sworn that I posted this this morning...
*_*_*_*
Well… she’d always tried to be optimistic in a practical sort of way (or, well, practical in that optimistic sort of way) and her aunt had insisted on going back to Chiba on the late train, and it wasn’t as if Mari had exactly even stirred herself to make the polite token protests that she stay over. So she’d been able to content herself with waking up early to get fresh chocolate croissants from the bakery, and making tamago-yaki, two eggs each fried with a lot of salt and pepper, until the yolks were just a little solid, the next morning. Just the way she and her father both liked them.
Probably biting off her nose to spite her face, quite frankly, because she could taste the warm smooth richness of the butter and dark chocolate when she bit into the still-steaming croissant, but not at all strange how the rich comfort-food tasted so much better that what she’d prepared the night before. Beef teppanyaki, despite the good cut of the meat and the fact that the butter sauce had been so very tasty, just didn’t taste as good with her aunt staring so very hard at her when she went back to the rice-cooker for another bowl for herself. Despite the fact that she hadn’t so much as batted an eyelid when Mari’d refilled her father’s.
It wasn’t that what Kou-obasan had said wasn’t true-because, damn it, by Japanese standards she did look somewhat fat, and fatter on the very rare occasions when she bothered to put on one of the hideous ruffled, poofy things that were so in fashion. (It made her very glad that she didn’t own one of the things, and more glad that Hyotei had a uniform, no matter how hideous it was.) It didn’t mean that she was fat, and really, she was fairly sure that should she ever need to, she could deadlift far, far more than any of the fanclub girls, and definitely outrun them.
It didn’t necessarily, however, mean that she wanted a woman who’d never had an ambition outside of her own household telling her what to do with her name, to say nothing of her body; yeah, sure, one day she’d adjust to having portions of salad and pasta barely big enough to cover her palm, but being a peg pounded into a nice convenient little slot had never much suited her. And it wasn’t as if marrying some Japanese boy and being suitably barefoot and pregnant had ever been part of even her most general desires as to what to do with her life…
Though really, it was just one of those days, because really, there wasn’t any point in still being annoyed enough to… not notice Hiyoshi walking briskly onto her end of the platform. Just late enough that he didn’t make it to the middle, where she knew all too well he normally waited for the train. Didn’t notice him until he cocked his head, just a little, and she caught the fall of that distinct bronze hair out of the corners of her eyes… and, of course, like an idiot, turned to look.
Funny, because if there had been any justice in the world, she’d have had Hiyoshi-sense the same way Jirou had Atobe-sense, all the better to get as far away from him as fast as possible. He did, at least, blink when her eyes-perhaps just a little too wide, she could feel them stretched at the edges-met his, nodding a greeting just a little warily, it seemed, with his gaze never quite leaving hers. Almost amusing, really, how that made her spine wobble like that. “Taira-san. What are you-what are you doing here?“
Yup. Still as blunt as an anvil. And hurrah, she’d done her job well, if he’d never noticed that they rode the same train to school… though, of course, she had just spent a school year taking the train an hour later than he did, being in high school and all, and she could choke up a smile just knowing that. “Well, I’ve been living here two years.”
One vaguely-just vaguely-curious tilt of his eyebrow upwards later, he cocked his head. “Why? The dorms apartments are so much closer.”
Well, yes, they were, and very reasonably priced, for all that-well, unless one was living in a room like Jirou’s and Atobe’s, which really was virtually the size of a small house. “Well, I could, but I don’t think Yawata Hospital would like it if their gastroenterologist got gastritis from too much frozen gyoza.” He so would, too, at that. How it was he’d managed to survive medical school without contracting something nasty had always been beyond her…
One had to give the boy credit, sometimes-he didn’t ask where her mother was. Simply cocked his head at her and nodded, before stepping aside to let her step into the train before him.
Mari snorted, silently, to herself. Right. Not even a fox-spirit was going to convince her that Hiyoshi was sensitive-because the truth was far, far more likely that he honestly didn’t care, and certainly wasn’t going to ask if he didn’t.
Except his eyes were still on her face when he shifted to let her stand beside the metal support pole, warm already with others’ hands, rather than having to reach for one of the handholds. And it wasn’t like he’d catch her if she swooned, but bloody Hell, why in the world was she even considering swooning-
When he frowned, his brows came together, but he didn’t… crinkle, for lack of a better word-perhaps that was why it always made him look so much younger when he was angry. She’d never actually been close enough to really witness firsthand one of Hiyoshi’s famous temper explosions, but she’d definitely heard one or another of the Regulars teasing him about it… “Jirou-senpai is right, Taira-san. You do have bags under your eyes.”
Thank all the gods he’d let her have the spot at the pole. Okay, there wasn’t anywhere for her to run even if she’d wanted to, but for the first time in her life, she did understand the desire to, er, cling to something. And, since clinging to the train tracks with the nearest shinkansen barreling towards her at top speed wasn’t an option…
That… little…
Jirou was dead when she got her hands on him. Dead. She was… she was going to… to… cook him in a giant pot of that nasty-looking okayu he liked so much. And feed him to Atobe. Except, damn it, he’d really enjoy that far, far too much…
And then there was the fact that it really was awfully hard to kill someone when the first thing that he did when you walked into tennis club that afternoon was greet you, look very intently into your eyes, and mutter, “Mariii, you still have eyebags.”
It would have been downright nice to be able to throttle him, but that was far, far too quick a death. Plus she occasionally realised that her interior monologue did make her a bad person, but she just wasn’t bad enough to kill someone who looked so worried about her. She’d just want to, was all. “Right,” she growled back. “Yes, I do. So who else have you told that?”
He just blinked up at her, and protested, “I just said it in the clubroom. Was an accident, really it was!” Of course it was. Just like him falling asleep on Atobe’s lap and nuzzling happily was just pure coincidence. “But almost everyone said they knew already.”
And oh, she just had not needed to know that. It wasn’t that she wasn’t that obvious-all right, so she was very tired occasionally, and sometimes it had to show on her face-but it was just that the rest of the Hyotei Regulars were just so dense… “I’m…” there really were no murder methods good enough for him. “Jirou, I’m going to smother you in your sleep. In that hideous leopard-print jacket thing that’s crammed at the back of Atobe’s closet.” There. That was an appropriately horrible death.
Jirou really was entirely too chipper for someone she’d just threatened with a slow and very furry, painful demise. “Oh! So that’s where it went! Is the ruffly pink shirt there, too?”
…oh, oops, wait, the leopard print with the faux fur at its collar had been at the back of Atobe’s closet because she’d hidden it there.
“There is no ruffly pink shirt, Jirou,” she raised her chin at him. Which would really likely have been more effective if he hadn’t been draped onto her with such floppy abandon that his face was nestled in her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The warmth of his breath unsettled her collar as he… puffed, for lack of a better word, in what sounded almost like exasperation. “There is, too! He used to wear it, and… you always made funny faces. And said it wasn’t there. But it was. ”
Ah, that. Considering that the shirt had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared more than a year ago, she’d almost forgotten that. “There is no ruffled pink shirt,” she insisted, nudging him with a hip. “He simply went without a shirt sometimes, is all.” And perhaps if she kept pretending that the shirt (the thing wasn’t a crime against fashion, it was a cardinal sin) didn’t exist, it would… simply go away. Well, all right, it had, but that had had absolutely nothing to do with her simply refusing to admit that anyone actually wore it. “I’m rather glad he’s stopped that.”
But the sensation of Jirou shaking with laughter-and his arms coming over her shoulders in a tight squeeze, and Jirou was stronger than anyone gave that slim frame credit for-made the day just a little warmer. It made her just consider forgiving him for putting her at the peripheries of Hiyoshi’s very focused field of vision, even if Jirou’s version of ‘I meant well,’ she suspected, was as counterproductive as Atobe saying something like ‘I’m grateful.’ Roads to Hell and all that. “Mari, you’re so silly.”
“No, I’m weird,” she informed him, dryly-but, really, it felt good to loop her arms lightly over his waist, and squeeze back, feeling sinew and muscle curve like bands of iron under her forearms. Until the little brat squeaked for mercy, anyway. “There’s a difference.”
Of course, the moment they sat down together on the bleachers-Jirou blinked, and… pointed. “Oooh! Hiyoshi’s playing Shishido. Over there on the far courts. Mmm, he’s winning, too. I’m going to take a nap, so wake me up for Atobe’s game, okay?”
Mari’s back jerked very, very straight, even under Jirou’s-not inconsiderable-deadweight slumping onto her back. Okay, she understood him telling her to wake him up. Why had he felt the need to point out that Hiyoshi was playing, over on the far side, when she might have actually gone a few precious moments not noticing him…?
Of course, since Jirou’d decided the best way to make her relax was to sleep on her, in the heartbeat before she could tell him to plant his head into the ground and grow upside-down like a turnip-he promptly fell fast asleep onto her. With both arms looped happily over her shoulders. She was perfectly all right with him slumped on her back, but if he drooled on her, she was going to kill him. Again.
Like she really needed another reason.
One of these days, she was really going to start using that exceptionally hard head of his as a podium, or something. Or perhaps a mallet.
…or perhaps she could try using Jirou as a distraction to ward away Atobe, since it looked rather like he was heading in her-all right, their-direction with the nastiest sort of ‘what are you doing with my things, Taira Mari?’ look in those far-too-oblivious eyes. With said ‘things’ having absolutely nothing to do with a certain hideous, nonexistent portion of his wardrobe. “Mari. I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”
No doubt about the fact that Jirou was hugging her in his sleep, except, of course, it being Atobe, he simply couldn’t say that. Life with the Hyotei Regulars was going to be so much easier when Jirou’s not-a-boyfriend actually came out and admitted that he was snarly because Jirou liked to snuggle in his sleep far, far too much for anyone’s peace of mind. “Yes?” she smiled.
They’d keep it simple, for now. He was actually of a cranky enough state of mind where he might have actually noticed if she’d insulted him, and besides-that generally required ammunition, and she preferred hers… fresh.
Considering the scowl that seemed like it was going to swallow his forehead, it was looking like he’d give her some in a matter of moments, anyway.
He… scowled, for lack of a better word. Prettily, it had to be said, because Atobe did do quite a few things very, very prettily (even though he objected to the term.) “Is Jirou being a nuisance?” No use in agreeing or negating, particularly, considering he was going to say whatever he said, whether or not she had any objections. “You’ve been taking care of him quite a substantial amount over the past week or so-allow me to express my gratitude. You may prepare a lunch for the two of us to eat together, on… I believe my Wednesday next week is free. Only the once, you understand. As a treat.”
Yep. There it was.
Though she supposed it was almost a compliment, all things considered-Atobe didn’t get nearly this pissy when Jirou fell asleep on the laps of the other fangirls. Therefore, Taira Mari was, somewhere in that mushy overeducated brain of his, a threat. How it was that she could possibly be a threat when the mush repeatedly told him that she was madly in love with him, and that he felt absolutely nothing for Jirou… well, she’d have asked him if she hadn’t been afraid it would make his brain reach critical mass and explode, killing them all.
Really, all things considered, it was the sort of compliment that she might have been just that touch happier without.
Mari grinned, just a little, and shifted Jirou on her back just to see Atobe twitch. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit, Atobe. Shibata was taking care of him all of yesterday, and Oketani the day before… actually, Kimura was with him on Tuesday, too.” Mostly because Mari’d been sitting with them at the time Jirou’d come over to flop on her lap, and it was fairly easy to displace a sleeping flop onto someone else when there were six pairs of hands to help out… “Don’t you think they should have their chance to…” want to bash your head into a wall? “…learn about you swimming in denial?”
He… frowned. “I’ve only been to Egypt once, Mari, and I’ve certainly never swum in the Nile-it’s filthy with silt.” Yes, well, she’d thought he’d say that. “So. Wednesday. I would like a grilled gindara-a good cut, of course-and steamed Komatsu rice. And the normal tsukemono and miso soup, of course. It is supposed to be a treat for you, after all.”
Oh, no you don’t. Perhaps the part of Atobe’s brain buried underneath all the thickness was just as smart as the rest of him was supposed to be, because it had come to the (correct) conclusion that he wasn’t going to win any verbal battles, and he couldn’t very well yell at her for stealing his roommate if he didn’t quite realise the reason for his ire-so he was going to make her cook for him.
He probably couldn’t have come up with a better punishment if he’d tried.
She was his fanclub president-yes. She was most definitely not his housekeeper, caterer, or maid. She already had one male she had to do those duties for.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Kobe beef shabu-shabu, instead?” she queried, and the deadly sweetness in her voice-she felt Jirou twitch on her back. She didn’t often pull out that particular tone, and this was… twice in two days? Then again, the two most annoying individuals of her life were at their signature best, so that certainly “With handmade peanut sauce, of course.”
He looked at her for just long enough to raise her eyebrows-was it actually possible that her sarcasm had penetrated through the first layer of defenses…? “That would be perfectly fine, too. But make sure they slice the beef very thinly-it ruins the flavor otherwise.” No, apparently, it was not possible. Especially considering that he was starting to smile-a faint little thing that worked over the corners of his slim mouth. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mari. You’ll make someone a lovely little housewife someday.”
The idiot meant it, too. And if she was going to be honest, yes, it was true that she’d been thinking, well, similar things about Jirou, but-at least she’d had the forbearance to refer to him as a ‘husband’… not a ‘full-time housewife!’
Now that was a compliment that she was very sure she’d have been happier without.
She gaped at her neurotic boss for all of… two seconds.
For all that she was fairly certain that much of her childhood training had included such statements as Violence Is Not The Way and A Thrown Fist Always Comes Back To You-it felt preposterously good to draw back her foot and kick Atobe-hard-in the shins.
He’d forgive her for it, of course. (Though, oddly, it had been somewhat more satisfying to do it the first time, when she’d thought that he might actually get-gasp-annoyed with her.) Naturally, it wasn’t her fault that her body wasn’t under the same kind of exquisite control as his, and, oh, she must have accidentally hit her knee and set off a knee-jerk. She really did to be more careful about things like that, or she was going to kick someone who was far less understanding.
Never mind that she was, in fact, sitting on the bleachers holding nothing in her hands but her spiral-bound club membership notebook-certainly nothing that could set off a reflex kick. Admittedly, she had been contemplating using Jirou’s head as a mallet, not all that much earlier, but…
Right. She definitely needed to stop spending so much time around one Atobe Keigo, because the fact that her mind was following the same paths as his was definitely not a clear indicator of good mental health.
…though it was very amusing to watch him walk-er, hobble, she actually had kicked him rather hard-away with nothing more than a vague sense of puzzlement in his eyes, and a brief, almost unconscious hand reaching out to ruffle Jirou’s hair… well, she’d puzzled him enough with her actions that he’d forgotten to dislodge his roommate.
“That was mean, Mari,” Jirou’s chin dug, just a little, in her shoulder, and she had to giggle as his hair tickled her ears. Oh, of course. Atobe-sense. Jirou really should have come with optional attachments that showed the radar lines coming from his head… like a little blonde, underdeveloped Spider-Man.
Well, yes. Just a little. “So was he,” she pointed out. Housewife, indeed.
Jirou squirmed against her back, and she had to laugh as he attempted to… squish her, pressing against her shoulders with those clever hands resting on top of her head. “Okay, okay, so it was a bad choice of words. But he meant it as a compliment…”
Mari chuckled, dryly, just under her breath. “Yes, I know, that’s why I kicked him.” But Jirou was genuinely too cute when he was sure that the right thing to do was pout at her for body infractions against the love of his life, but the corners of his lips kept licking upwards like that. “Besides, you, of all people, should thank me.”
He blinked at her, and detached himself from her back to flop back-first over her lap, like a little underweight seal. “Really? I should?”
Mari carefully reached down and adjusted his jersey until it actually covered his stomach. And the hint of boxers that were showing above his waistband. Jirou-fanservice might have delighted some of the fangirls (personally, she was more disturbed by their glee than anything) and it certainly would have delighted a small and not-so-secret part of Atobe’s soul, but it really wasn’t to her taste. “Well, do you know how to make shabu-shabu?”
How it was he could cock his head when said head was mostly dangling off her lap… er, perhaps Jirou’s neck was as strong and versatile as his miraculous wrists. No doubt from all the practice he had being horizontal. “No, but…”
“Oh, good,” she chuckled, reaching down to tap his nose. “I doubt he’s ever going to ask for it again, after this.”
“…oh.” It was probably a good thing he’d never thought about it. Then again, she imagined that even Atobe knew better than to expect fine cuisine-Japanese or otherwise-out of Akutagawa Jirou…
Mari grinned. “And do you want to be a house… er, house-husband?”
“Um.” He considered hard enough that he was practically crinkling with it. With what looked very much like a naughty twinkle beginning to rise in those eyes. “I mean, what’s so bad about that? It means lots of naptime…”
Well, after that, she was too busy chasing him around the bleachers trying to thwap some sense into that too-pretty head to watch the rest of Hiyoshi’s game, so perhaps it wasn’t such a bad day after all…
…except she really had to stop thinking things like that, because somehow, somehow, she’d managed to end up in the same subway car as Hiyoshi, again-and it was far from being rush hour, so there weren’t even other people around to block the too-pretty view. Probably a good thing, come to think, because with the fox-god’s perversity, she’d have ended up squished against him, like she had that morning…
“Hey. Hey, do I know you…?”
Ooooh. Distraction. Distraction was good. She smiled, just a little tentatively-the boy wasn’t wearing a Hyotei uniform, but at this time of the day, he had to have come from club practice. She couldn’t really blame him for wanting to have those plaid pants on as little as humanly possible-even she changed into jeans at the end of the day-especially since he was one of those who cared enough about his look to have a short, black ponytail tied at the nape of his neck. A-la-Shishido. “I’m… not sure.” One of these days, she was going to figure out a way to remember people’s faces, even though it was perfectly possible that they’d been riding the same subway train all this time. Really, she was always just a little surprised whenever someone recognised her, considering, well, she wasn’t all that far off from being utterly ordinary-looking. “Where did we meet?”
“Oh, wait.” He had a nice smile, though-relaxed, with just a touch of naughtiness around the corners of his lips. “Yeah, it was club day. You were running one of the booths, weren’t you…? Tamura… no, Taira, right?”
Well, she’d been there mostly by default, since she really, really didn’t trust any of the other fangirls to run the kissing booth. Especially not during that particularly hellish hour when Atobe had deigned to stand in it. Still, they’d made more money than any other group… “That’s me,” she chuckled, cocking her head. “I’m sorry, and you are…?”
Probably a senior, considering how tall he was… It was astounding that she’d known the teenaged big-friendly-giants of the tennis club as long as she had, and she could still think things like that. She might’ve pegged him for a college student, even, except, honestly now, there wasn’t any way one of them would be talking to her.
“Ishikawa Satoshi,” he grinned, and dipped his head at her in a little bow. One that put him to eye level to her, if even that. “Third year. I see you on this train all the time, but I just couldn’t figure your name…”
“Oh?” she blinked. Nice to know she hadn’t managed to make herself notorious with everyone in the school… “Then how-“
He chuckled, and gestured, a brief flick of his chin, in the direction of her lap. “It’s on your notebook.”
…ah.
Damn it, she most certainly didn’t blush.
She was a little surprised that Ishikawa ‘You don’t have to use the ‘san,’ you know’ Satoshi lived in Kashiwa, too, just because-well, it was a pretty remote place for families, but… “Oh, well, I live on my own,” he shrugged, with a faint smile. “It’s quieter out here than Tokyo. And, well, cheaper. It’s so damned far. ”
True, and definitely true; but she had to laugh. “Doesn’t that make going out on Friday night hard, though? Since the last trains are fairly early?” and he didn’t exactly strike her as the type to be happy sitting on the sofa at home with a movie, either.
“Yeah,” he had a twinkle in his eyes that she sort of did rather like the look of, actually. “But hey, that way, I don’t spend as much, right? Or I can just crash with friends, since, well, no curfew or anything.”
“That must be nice,” she smiled. Well, not that she had a curfew, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever tried staying out really late, either…
Having someone walk her home was most definitely a novel experience. She’d often thought that she needed to ask her father for an MD player, or something of the sort-or at least for a regular allowance, so she could listen to something other than the whisperings of a certain demonic kitsune about just how well Hiyoshi’s games had gone. Or, even worse, the meanderings of her mind insisting that she really did just need to give Jirou a call and invite him over one of these days, because, her house was a little empty with no-one but her in it…
“Well,” Mari smiled, just a little reluctantly. “My house is right over there, so…”
“And my place is over there,” he gestured with one hand, past the park-well, she’d never known that there was anything there for student housing, but he was probably just renting out the attic room of one of the bigger houses. “See you tomorrow? You really shouldn’t be walking home by yourself, you know.”
She bobbed her head, a little-shy was just not something she’d ever been, but… “Oh, I’m used to it. Besides, this isn’t quite central Tokyo-it’s not as if there’s ever anyone else around here…”
“Still, though.” He smiled at her, and his teeth flashed. It didn’t make her flutter-but then again, there really was only a single male who ever had. Ishikawa wasn’t bad, not bad at all, and she was fairly certain Tanimoto, at least, would have had something to say if she ever told the girl about it. “I’ll see you on the train-or the platform-tomorrow, then.”
Maybe. Maybe, I could get used to this…
*_*_*_*
Hiyoshi Wakashi liked his life… simple.
Being on the Hyotei Regulars probably should have been one of those things that was simple. As long as he won, and kept on winning, he stayed on the team-what else was there to it? But with all the gossip that went around the school… didn’t people have anything better to do with their time than talk to him?
He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard, “She kicked him? Mari-senpai kicked Atobe-buchou in the shins? Is that true, Hiyoshi? What happened?” today.
It had to be a slow week for everyone else’s overactive mouths, if they were gossiping about Taira-san today. True, they talked about her-a lot, and generally in terms of the newest impossible favor she’d pulled out of her book bag and how close she was to the rest of the Regulars, wasn’t it a good thing they were gay so she didn’t steal them-but, really, didn’t they have any control? “Yes,” he’d stated, clearly, once-before he went back to his textbook to study for their quiz.
A futile effort, ultimately. He had a great deal more respect for Taira-san’s self-control after having the girls pestering him for the story until he slammed his book down on his desk and related it.
He’d started off classifying Taira-san as ‘sheep,’ to be shut into the convenient little gated pen as the rest of the fangirls, but… he wasn’t Atobe, to deny what was in front of his eyes. He’d never actually needed to go to her for favors-because if he couldn’t do something himself, then there was something wrong with him-but when said so-called sheep kicked Atobe-buchou, being his most insufferable, in the shins…
Admittedly, perhaps he’d noticed because there had most certainly been a time or ten when he’d had the desire to inflict bodily harm on his buchou, and she’d gotten him a good, solid hit, if the way Atobe-buchou had been limping for awhile afterwards was any indication. And, well, the way the rest of the Regulars had made such a fuss of her, afterwards, only her skirt keeping Shishido-senpai from picking her up and whirling her around. He respected a good kick, and it wasn’t as if Taira-san had to obey the same strictures of respect and seniority as the tennis club.
Of course, considering that it was hardly the first time it had happened, well-apparently, for all his genius at tennis, Atobe-buchou was just not learning.
Still, though, she wasn’t a bad sort. He’d heard that she was smart, but at least she seemed to be smart in a somewhat less obscene way than Oshitari-senpai. He didn’t keep track of Atobe’s fanclub presidents, either, but he had to admit that the girls had been more or less better behaved since she’d taken over.. was it last year? The year before?
Taira-san also didn’t smile at him in that suspiciously toothy manner that some of the other fangirls affected, and, better, didn’t ever try to hook her arm through his elbow, or edge into his personal space. She didn’t touch him, and that made her one of the acceptable ones, in his book. Well, he didn’t claim to know her-and, at the end of the day, she was one of Atobe-buchou’s fangirls, and he truly didn’t have any desire to know her-but it was somewhat comforting that just the thought of her batting her eyelashes at him was more than a little absurd.
It was nice to know that there was at least one relatively sane girl in all of Hyotei.
Relatively, because who in their right mind joined a fanclub?!
At the same time, though he’d always been accustomed to his instincts being what they were, and, in general, when they screamed, Hiyoshi listened to them.
Somewhat like the instincts that were telling him that the fellow on the train, the one with the ponytail who was smiling at Taira Mari-san, Atobe’s fanclub president, was not the kind of person Taira-san’s parents would likely want talking to her. Of course, instincts being what they were, he couldn’t have exactly said why he thought that, but… it was something about the man’s smile. Something about the way he held his shoulders, and his hands trembled, as if with eagerness.
But. Maybe the girl really did have the common sense of a tadpole, because-what in the world was she doing smiling at a boy that Hiyoshi was fairly sure was not either a Hyotei student or bearing good intentions?
He might not have known until the day before that she got on and off the same commuter train stop as he did-but he did know the area he lived. Safe, yes, certainly. Quiet. A good place to have a dojo; a good place for a family to stay if they had no interest in Tokyo’s nightlife.
Far, far too widespread for anyone to hear if something happened.
Kashiwa was large, but the residential district was fairly small-he doubted very much that Taira-san lived in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police forensics compound. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to make sure nothing happened to her-allowing a strange man to walk her home might have been the height of stupidity, but he wasn’t inclined to let someone he knew, even if she really was just an acquaintance, come to harm just because she’d been dense.
True, he’d seen them getting off together the day before-and nothing had happened when he’d followed, a few hundred meters away, for just long enough to watch them part ways-but-
But.
But the man walking too close to her, his fingers brushing against her thigh-she had to notice that, and she did, edging away.
Hiyoshi walked just a little faster.
But the man’s smile was just a little wider, hers a little strained around the edges-puzzled, the little idiot, she couldn’t honestly think-
Hiyoshi was running, pulling his tekko from his bag-thank the gods for show-and-tell in PE class, thank the gods-and slipping the familiar warm wood over his hands, blunt metal spikes between his fingers, by the time big hands came up to grab both of Taira Mari’s wrists.
Taira-san’s face twisted, and she was going to scream-she was-
She did-a hellish kiai scream, wordless, when she yanked back-and her right foot came up and lashed the strange man across the face in an absolutely beautiful full-moon kick. Toes pointed, her knee snapping inwards-a hit with the blade of her foot, the hard sole of her school-issue shoes contacting hard enough that the sharp crack sound of plastic meeting flesh hung in the air, louder even than Hiyoshi’s breath as he ran.
He had just one instant to blink. All right, apparently the solidity of the kicks she inflicted on Atobe-buchou wasn’t pure luck.
The strange man stumbled back-almost fell, now, Taira-san, one more-
To Hiyoshi’s horror, she set herself into some stance he didn’t know-and hesitated, something like surprise flickering across her face.
If he’d ever been inclined to curse, he would have. He did, as the strange man spat-a dark gout of blood, perhaps-and reached out to pound her across the face, fist closed-hard enough to knock her to the ground, hard enough to stun.
Hiyoshi was sure he could get there before anything happened to her-two hundred more meters, one, and she hadn’t been stunned-not if she was struggling, spitting, all elbows and denim-clad knees when the stranger shoved her down, grinning, snarling-
The man was at least a handspan taller than he was, but that utterly useless little fluff of ponytail was a very effective handhold when Hiyoshi reached out and yanked the stranger off Taira Mari. Hard enough that the man howled, and Hiyoshi casually glanced down to find strands of hair caught in the grip of his tekko.
An instant later, the man-only a second of shock, only an instant-whirled, charged, hands up to protect his face-
Idiot.
It only took a moment. It only ever did, after all-one slow, slow breath, since he had time to set himself on his heel of his left foot and the ball of his right-one fluid stroke, twisting, from waist upwards-the strength flowing into shoulder, arm, fist-
Hiyoshi smiled as the stranger hit the ground, eyes wide, shocked, clutching at his neck-the print of the tekko digging wide bruise-channels just below his throat.
This, he knew.
He could have aimed for the throat-the fool had been leaving himself open enough-but, really, he didn’t have any desire to kill him-
A moment later, the man was… gone, running, and Hiyoshi breathed again-once, slowly, centering himself; letting the adrenaline drain. It was tempting to yell at Taira-san-he could hear her moving, behind him, getting back to her feet-because what in the name of the gods had she thought she’d been doing, what?
But when he turned-her face was stark, stark white as his mother’s powder, except for the raw scrape on her cheek-dripping bright down her face.
Hiyoshi flinched as a shudder shook her body, and her eyes were too large, too dark, frozen. The one thing he did know about Taira-san was that she never broke face-never lost her composure, never, no matter how annoying anyone was being, no matter how much she had to do. He knew that, but-this wasn’t composure, it was pale, trembling lips, and she was shivering all over, tiny little motions that teased the tip of her once-neat ponytail into shaking, the little tendrils of hair trailing around her face clinging to her cheeks, before she closed her eyes. If she fainted-or, worse, started crying-or, even worse, clinging to him, ugh-
It was a good thing he’d been around; he didn’t want to think what would have happened to her if he hadn’t been following them. If he hadn’t been, just a little, worried.
But fighting was easy.
This was the part he’d been dreading.
*_*_*_*
I am not going to cry, I am not going to cry, damn it all, I don’t cry-
Much to her own surprise, when she opened her eyes, they were… tear-free. She was almost calm, really. Given a few deep breaths, a band-aid, and an extra-large makeup kit, she might’ve even been able to try for ‘perfectly normal.’ Except, no, she’d never been perfectly ‘normal,’ so perhaps this calm that had settled over her just might have been shock. Shock was fine. She could deal with shock.
Aside from the hysterical desire to burst out laughing at the way Hiyoshi Wakashi was looking at her the way he might have looked at a small fire-breathing dragon, because no doubt he was expecting her to burst out into Raving Hysterics.
She twitched at the thought. Raving hysterics? No, she didn’t do that, either. But then again, she didn’t do a lot of things. Like walk home with strange men.
He winced, almost invisibly, at her twitch, but… stood his ground. Brave boy. If she’d had to deal with a potentially hysterical, crying fangirl, in his place she’d have been halfway to home by now.
Mari carefully suppressed the desire to reassure him that she wasn’t going to belch flame at him, not if she had anything to say about it. “Hiyoshi-kun.” Words felt strange in her mouth. His name did. The desire to keel over onto him, however, didn’t, which was probably the only reason she managed a deep breath, and a smile. She even managed the smallest dip of her head, because he’d appreciate the effort of a small bow. “Thank you.”
She had to get out of there. She had to. Him looking at her like that-because he didn’t know her, of course he didn’t, why should he have?-like she was going to break down crying… Damn it, she didn’t cry. Her cheek stung, a little, and there was crimson smeared over her fingertips when she raised her hand to it, but… really, nothing that a band-aid and some antiseptic couldn’t fix, when she got home.
Somehow, through the drift of cool, cool shock that chilled her fingertips and her lips, she managed to look away from his eyes-still fixed on her, and his gaze was as intense as she’d always thought it might be, but the mental flyswatter was limp in her hands, and she couldn’t think, but all she could do was think, and-
Somehow, she managed to turn, and start walking.
Somehow. Except-his voice twined around her trembling knees, and she almost fell. Almost, because she was Taira Mari, and damn it all, she would not go to her knees.
“Taira-san. Are…” the words sound like they came hard to him. Probably they did. Probably he wanted nothing better than to head home away from the crazy girl who didn’t know better than to talk to strangers. “Are you all right?”
She was fine. She always was, after all. “Yes, thank you.” She could even nod normally. “It’s a good thing you were heading this way. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
But his eyes narrowed-and, well, it was the intensity of them that just about knocked her off her feet, not the fact that her cheek burned, not the fact that her eyes wanted to burn but she wasn’t about to let them. “You’re in shock.”
“Yes, I expect I am.” She could smile at that, too. If a certain fox-god expected her to faint at Hiyoshi’s feet, well, he was going to be sadly disappointed. Shock did not equate fairy-tale princess behavior. “But da will be expecting dinner when he gets home.”
She’d just save the fainting until after she’d put something on the stove to simmer.
His eyes narrowed a little further. “Your father’s not home?”
“He works late,” she tried for a faint smile. She really was going to have to come up with a story to explain the scrape to her father-well, if he noticed. The fact that she’d fallen, and hit her face on something, was nothing but the truth-and all things considered, he definitely wasn’t going to like the whole truth.
He didn’t ask about her mother. He was smarter than she’d thought if he made the connection between daughter dear doing the cooking and mother dear not being around to do it. It definitely wasn’t the Japanese standard. “No siblings?
“I’m an only child.” She’d probably have killed a sibling, anyway.
The breath hissed between his teeth-exasperated with her, and she didn’t know what he was doing here; she didn’t quite know where he lived, but she was fairly sure it was far nearer to the Keisei line station than hers was. He should have been home already. Should-“Are you telling me you’ve been going home, alone, to an empty house?!”
“I do it every day, Hiyoshi-kun?” She did. Or had. Japan was so safe, wasn’t it? It always had been. Until Ishikawa had shown up, dear gods, dear gods. “It’s not new.”
“Apparently not, ” he bit out, his face chill, beautiful-flushed, had he been running? He must have been, considering she hadn’t seen him anywhere in the vicinity-before he turned his back to her. “Come with me, Taira-san.”
Talk about words she never thought she’d hear. “What? Where?” she blinked at his very, very straight, retreating back. She wasn’t going to hyperventilate. Bad Mari. Potential rapist hadn’t made hyperventilate, the thought of following Hiyoshi somewhere certainly shouldn’t have-“My home’s that way-”
He did look younger when he scowled. She’d probably have been in more of mood to laugh at that if she hadn’t been trying so hard not to keel over, honestly. “You’re in shock, and you don’t know if he’s still around here. I’ll make you some tea. Come on.”
…tea? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone but her aunt had made her tea.
At… his house. A large, lovely wooden building that looked radically different from the delicate little stone-and-concrete fixtures around it-from the little cobblestone walkway to the porch, the small, twisted trees that someone had planted for no apparent reason other than to cast feathery shadows across Hiyoshi’s face-
Oh, gods. Oh, sweet, sweet fox-gods, this just… wasn’t funny.
He glanced over his shoulder at her from the entryway, eyes half-narrowed as if he was still suspicious she was going to faint at any moment. Sorry to disappoint you, too, Hiyoshi. But his voice was a touch gentler than she’d expected-not warmer, but he straightened… a little less, if it were possible, raising a fine, tapered eyebrow just a touch. Just before the late, late afternoon shadow touched his hair, like fingers. He didn’t reach out to her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She smiled, faintly. That, she knew the answer to. “I’m fine, Hiyoshi-kun.”
As fine as I can be walking into Hell, anyway.
Mari whispered, “Ojama-shimasu”-because, well, hey, one had to be polite walking into Hell, right?-and stepped up into the genkan of Hiyoshi Wakashi’s home.
*_*_*_*
Mari slept, and dreamed, that night.
She dreamed that his hands were quick, efficient, when he handed her a first-aid kit and showed her the way to the bathroom so she could wash her face, put a band-aid on her cut.
She dreamed that green tea, hand-mixed, and she’d watched with fascination as he stood at the countertop and whisked away with a little brush, tasted a little like blood, since she’d bitten the inside of her cheek when she’d fallen. She dreamed that her feet had fallen asleep, since she wasn’t really used to having tea sitting in seiza, and trying to stand had been an interesting experience-he’d rolled his eyes when she eyed her misbehaving, completely numb, feet, and asked them where in the world they’d gone off to.
She dreamed she’d gotten him to smile, once-not intentionally-when he’d asked where she’d learned to kick like that… and she’d cocked her head and replied, “Six years of kung-fu.”
She hadn’t asked why he’d smiled. She hadn’t questioned, when he’d mused about her coming back to the dojo, sometime, to see if kobujutsu suited her.
She dreamed that she’d started to walk home, and she’d been perhaps two or three minutes on her way when he’d come jogging up behind her-muttering something under his breath about “baka otousan,” and it had been her turn to laugh, as he’d-very, very grudgingly-walked her home… and stayed, waiting outside the house, until she turned on the main lights.
She knew, because she’d watched him stay, and watched the way the darkened streets couldn’t dim the white of his Hyotei uniform before he faded around a corner.
She dreamed, and it was a dream, except it hadn’t been, the day before.
No, she hadn’t slept well at all. Mari winced at her reflection in the mirror.
Gods, she looked awful. Admittedly, she wasn’t exactly given to looking like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine on any given day, but… gods.
She didn’t wear makeup, so starting today would have been more than a little ridiculous, but the way the bags under her eyes dangled heavily enough to have been mistaken for low-hanging rainclouds in a pasty white sky, honestly…
Well, okay, so she did have one thing to thank Jirou for. Kimura would probably worry, but she always worried. The rest of the fangirls… well, most of them knew better than to ask, and the Hyotei Regulars would probably just assume that her present Incarnation of the Living Dead impression meant that she’d had a little less sleep than normal (true,) that she had a million and one things to do (true,) and that she’d last out the day (…probably true.)
Probably, when the thought of stepping off the train again, and walking home alone, when the phone had rung that morning and there had been nothing but static and breathing in it, like a cold wind twisting at her spine…
Stop that. Ishikawa’s gone. It doesn’t matter. And he didn’t do anything to you-not really-so there’s no use in telling anyone, you know how these things are… ‘you asked for it,’ they’ll say. ‘Why were you so stupid?’
Considering she’d asked herself that no fewer than a thousand times over the course of the past three years, well… Oh, the irony, when she did live about ten minutes from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police forensics headquarters.
She’d have called it a long day-she couldn’t ever remember a day when she’d forgotten so many, many things that were supposed to have gotten done the night before, and the startled, somewhat disappointed eyes of the people who she’d promised favors to for today… they’d forgive her, probably, if she told them why.
Of course, she really had no intention of telling them why, and the thought of the road home kept gaping, like a mouth that was trying to eat her brain.
But Hiyoshi stepped out onto the platform even as she did, and looked at her, carefully, out of the corner of his eyes. “Taira-san. You look awful.”
Gee. Thanks, Hiyoshi-kun. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. “I’m fine,” she tried on a smile. She had the sinking feeling, from the way his eyes narrowed, at just the corners, that the smile really didn’t fit very well. “I’ll be fine on my own, Hiyoshi, really. My father said he’d be home early today.”
Hiyoshi blinked, once, very, very slowly-but nodded.
He still walked with her as far as the corner that turned towards his house, though, before she waved him on his way-no, she didn’t miss the still-suspicious look that he cast her over his shoulder… and the way the suspicion deepened when she smiled. “Are you sure you’re-“ he stopped on the toes of her negation, and his eyes narrowed further. “I’m teaching a kobujutsu class this afternoon. Six o’clock. You can watch, if you want.“
He sounded like he was saying that between his teeth, in much the same tone as he used to say “Stop making such a big deal of things, senpai,” to Shishido-so her laugh was mostly genuine when she shook her head and shooed him from her with both hands.
Well, her da had said he’d be home early, but considering he said it on an average of once a week, and it had yet to happen, well… still, though. Hiyoshi Wakashi was worrying about her. Yes, this was most definitely still a nightmare.
The sound of her heart beating was too loud, and too fast, by the time she passed the sweet store-less than halfway home, she really had to pace herself, but it was hard to pace when she was in jeans and school-issue loafers, not sneakers and shorts-and she doubled over to catch her breath. Choking on it. The sour taste in her mouth-it wasn’t bile, she wasn’t half the runner she thought she was if a sprint like this made her vomit, but…
She had no right to be this afraid, no right, Kashiwa was a safe area, and no-one was chasing her-of course no-one was chasing her, but…
But he knows where I live. I told him. I told him. He-
She still jumped when a quiet, creak of a voice queried, “Are you all right, little lady?” from behind her.
Ah. The sweet-shop owner, of course, come out to see who the crazy girl panting on her doorstep was. Jumping at shadows-she was getting to be as bad as Shishido. Shishido and Ootori combined. Still, though… it really wouldn’t do to scare the nice old lady by, oh, having a complete nervous breakdown. “Oh. I’m… yes, I’m-I’m awfully sorry.“
She must not have been very convincing, not the way two little hard-candy eyes were looking at her with a great deal of concern, from a wrapper of soft, papery wrinkles. “Would you like to come in and have some cold tea?”
Heh. Tea really was the Japanese universal cure for everything. Mari… smiled, just a little. “Oh, no, thank you-I don’t want to bother you-“
“It’s no trouble,” she waved a thin, efficiently blue-veined hand. “Maybe you’ll buy some of my nice mizumanju while you’re here, eh? I only made them this morning, and they’re very nice in this heat…” The woman was as plump, and soft, and insidious as one of her candies, it was looking like, from the way she was twinkling. “You’ll have to try one, of course.”
Well, all right, she’d promised herself no more sweets at least until she lost a few kilos, because the supposed ‘healthy’ nature of Japanese sweets really was horribly sinister… but she did appreciate a clever invitation.
Even if she had absolutely no idea what a mizumanju was.
And the woman was right-the cold tea and the mizumanju-a chilled little ball of some sort of sticky, translucent sweet with a candied bit of chestnut in the centre-really was delicious in the heat, and by the time she walked out…
Mari blinked with just a little puzzlement at the fact that she’d somehow purchased a small box of the little treats.
Ah, well, the cost of the candies was significantly less than that of her peace of mind-and, well, smiling at a chattering old lady, who brought out a roll of some sort of dough to flatten into shape even as Mari was drinking her tea… well, maybe she could believe that Kashiwa was just this sort of area. For a little while, at least.
At least until she hit the corner, and the heat rushed back to slap her across the face, leaving sweat dampening the little animal-print band-aid. After the quelling look that Hiyoshi’d given her, she certainly hadn’t been about to ask why the band-aids in the first-aid kit were colourful little strips with rainbow-hued animals on them.
Hiyoshi.
Well… her father wasn’t likely to be home for awhile, yet, and… well, she owed him, didn’t she…? Tossing herself headfirst into emotional Hell, and whatnot, notwithstanding-well, he was far indeed from being a angel, but… well, she owed the devil a favor, so to speak.
She always paid her debts, didn’t she?
Mari took a deep breath-just one-hefted the bag of sweets… and started walking, slowly, in the direction of the Hiyoshi family dojo.
~owari~
Start: July 23, 2004
End: August 26, 2004
Hello again--I bet you guys are wondering why this was finished so long ago, but not posted. It's partly because I was just too lazy to do the major edit (which would have been taking out Hiyo's POV in the middle, and obviously didn't happen) and partially because, well, I've never been completely satisfied with this story. Still not, actually, but I've since decided that there's no way I'm going to rewrite it, not after all this time, it would be sad not to share it. Yes, there is more to the tale, but... as I guess you guys have also worked out, chances are that past Kumo (Clouds) which I'm going to be posting someday soon, I'm not going to be writing much more. Does Mari have a happy ending? She certainly does, but... I'm going to leave thinking of what it is to your worthy imaginations. ^_^