Author's Note: Yes, yes, another giripan story. I wish I could apologize, but I can't. I adore this pairing and I adore writing it even more. Expect a lot of them from me, hehe. But rest assured, my other stories are not forgotten! I apologize for the slow updates, but I'm doing the best I can. I promise.
hi·ki·ko·mo·ri. noun. (In Japan) the abnormal avoidance of social contact.
The glow is always with him.
Black words on a white screen before him, a single blinding light in the engulfing dark. Kiku stares at them with the curtains drawn, the door shut, everything in his head and nothing in this heart. There is a blanket around his shoulders, but it does nothing about the cold. Kiku shivers. He is alone. He is freezing. But more than anything, he was waiting.
Finally, a ping. The sound might as well be angels singing. Kiku leans forward, drawing closer to the warm glow, and devours each pixelated word.
CatMan: Hello, Kiku. Are you still awake?
Kiku manages a slight, tired smile, and then glances at the blinking clock on his desk: it's nearly four in the morning. Any reasonable person would not be awake at this time. But Kiku is, and more importantly, he is.
Maybe their combined lunacy was what had brought them together all those months ago, deep in an Internet chatroom far away from the rest of the world. Kiku thanks every god that has ever been worshiped for those blasted chatrooms. Without them, he would truly be alone. He quickly types a response.
SakuraDreams: I am.
A pause. Kiku shivers again, tugging the useless blanket closer, and waits without blinking, or breathing. Another ping. Another breath.
CatMan: Another late night, I see. What is keeping you up?
You, Kiku wants to type, over and over again until his fingers bleed and his chest stops aching. Every day and night it's the same question, the same answer. You, you, you…
SakuraDreams: No reason, really. I should be asking you the same.
CatMan: It is only ten at night here.
Kiku laughs lightly at himself, without mirth. He always forgets the distance. It feels like Heracles is here, with him… always. Just about always.
SakuraDreams: Oh, I apologize. The time difference tends to slip my mind.
CatMan: That's alright. Anyway, I have stayed up quite late a few times myself. I just seem to function well at that hour.
SakuraDreams: Really? Function well doing what, if I may ask?
CatMan: Well… to be completely honest, I mostly just watch cat videos.
Kiku lifts a hand to his pounding heart. Oh, Heracles. Dear, sweet Heracles. The man seems to live and breathe cats. In fact, it's likely all that can tear his thoughts away from Ancient Greek philosophers. He can go on and on about both of those topics – in fact, he has, and Kiku clung to each word like a drowning man to land. His quirks label him as eccentric or flat out bizarre, to most. But Kiku loves that about him. Really, Heracles is the most normal thing is his life.
SakuraDreams: How cute.
The response is not immediate this time, yet Kiku keeps his eyes locked squarely on the glowing, burning screen. There is nothing else in this room for him. It's dead, cold, and his virtual reality is alive and warm. Finally, at the sound of a ping, it all rockets back to life.
CatMan: Not as cute as you, kitten.
Kiku feels his chilled face warm. He looks away from the screen, as if to hide his embarrassment from someone across the world from him. Heracles may live in Greece, but his words put fire in Kiku's veins, like a hand touching his cheek, or a fever setting in. He wonders what Heracles sounds like. He reminds himself not to dream, and types.
SakuraDreams: That was quite… random. He tries to sounds put together as his hands shake over the keys. But nothing about Kiku is put together. A moment's consideration, and he adds: Thank you.
CatMan: You are welcome. Moments after the message sends, another appears under it. Kiku, may I ask something of you?
Kiku swallows, his throat dry, a bad taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with drinking earlier that evening. Part of him knows what's coming, but he denies it as he types.
SakuraDreams: Sure.
CatMan: Can we speak face to face? With video?
The room turns hot. It should be a simple request, but it isn't. And it isn't the first time it's been brought up. Kiku has seen Heracles before, in obviously self-taken photographs he's sent electronically. He knows Heracles has long, shaggy brown hair, sharp features, and the most brilliant green eyes he's ever seen, even if they are tired. Kiku has the photos saved on his computer. He nearly has the images memorized by now, burned permanently in his mind. His face gets him through the lonely days.
Kiku has reciprocated pictures before – he had a chance to clean himself up, find natural light, and feign normality. Now is not one of those times. He has dark circles under his bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep. There is a stain on his shirt, one he has not changed in three days. His apartment is a mess. He does not want Heracles – the beautiful, glowing Greek God, olive skin kissed with sun and eyes shining with life – to see the shame he has managed to lock away from everyone else.
Appearances are not even his biggest concern – Kiku cannot remember the last time he spoke to someone aloud. In fact, the very idea terrifies him. Heracles cannot see, cannot hear, cannot know the truth. Surely he would leave, disappear from what's left of Kiku's life, leave him to perish in his isolation-
CatMan: Kiku? Are you still there?
Kiku blinks away his thoughts, grits his teeth, and pounds out a lie identical to at least a dozen others.
SakuraDreams: Yes, sorry. I was checking my webcam. I apologize, but it is broken.
CatMan: Oh, really? Still?
The disappointment is nearly audible in his message. Kiku feels shame sink into his gut, a wave of cool air wash over his skin. He tugs at the blanket; it does nothing. He wonders where this chill is coming from. Perhaps it's internal.
SakuraDreams: Unfortunately. He adds a frowning emoticon, for effect. It's a cat face. Heracles should appreciate it. He imagines he smiled when he got it, and the thought makes Kiku smile, too.
CatMan: Well, I hope you get it fixed soon. I would love to hear your voice.
Kiku flushes again. It's the one warm thing about him.
SakuraDreams: Hopefully. He pauses, but before he can think himself out of it, he adds: It would be nice to hear yours, too.
CatMan: You can hear it someday soon, hopefully. Kiku smiles at that message, frowns at the next. I would love to keep talking, but I must get some sleep. I have work in the morning.
Kiku feels a lump rise in his throat that he quickly swallows. Those words, or others like it, never fail to break his heart. But Heracles cannot know that. He works as a veterinarian, an honorable, enviable career. It is not his fault Kiku doesn't have anything like it. He does not even know.
SakuraDreams: Oh, alright. Sleep well and have a nice day.
CatMan: Thank you, I will try. I'll message you when I get home.
The promise soothes Kiku's heart as it aches, keeps his eyes dry. It gives him the will to respond.
SakuraDreams: Alright. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and blindly types: Goodbye.
CatMan: Hey, try to get some sleep, okay? I worry about you staying up so late.
Kiku blinks heavily to clear his blurring vision. No one else worries about him. He doesn't even worry about himself.
SakuraDreams: I will.
CatMan: Good, good. Well, bye, kitten. Then, almost like an afterthought, a last message appears. I love you.
Kiku has to wipe his eyes. His heart pounds beyond his control. Unconsciously, he lifts a hand to the monitor and presses it against the glowing screen. He pretends the warmth is Heracles's hand, the electronic hiss of the modem is his voice, and for just a moment, he smiles. Then he drops his hand and responds.
SakuraDreams: I love you too, Heracles.
A moment later, the circle beside Heracles's screen name turns from green to blank. Kiku sighs, pushes his chair back, and suddenly, all at once, he becomes aware of his fatigue. He doesn't want to be awake any longer, anyway. There's nothing to wait for now. Kiku stands, the computer screen still alive and glowing behind him. He never shuts it off. Total darkness is too much, too… empty. Like a void.
Kiku walks across his small apartment to the bed resting on the floor – it's only a few steps. He lies down, and the sheets, just like everything else, are cold. He's cold even after he pulls the quilt to his chin, pulls his knees to his chest. So Kiku reaches for the extra pillow. It's no warmer, but it's bigger than he is. He can hug it, wrap his arms around it, bury his face in the material. Kiku closes his eyes against the fabric.
"Goodnight, Heracles," he says in his native tongue. The words linger in the dead air. His hands tense around the pillow, and for just a moment, he almost succumbs to his fantasies. Almost believes them to be true. Of course, they are not… but he can pretend. He can do it forever. He has to.
A smile. "I love you, Heracles."
As Kiku drifts off to sleep, he is warm.
.
This is the part of the month Kiku hates. But hate is not strong enough a word, it seems, and it feels like a simple placeholder for where 'dread' or 'fear' belongs. Hate is easier to stomach, however. Kiku sticks with it as he steadies his hands to open his apartment door. He steps outside, and the air too cool, too fresh. It almost makes him dizzy.
Kiku starts with the trash. The cleanliness he had valued earlier in life is nowhere to be found, lost in the isolation and carelessness of it all. He rarely even sees the filth anymore. But at least he still has the decency to rid himself of it once every few weeks, tying the food containers and junk mail into bags and disposing of it like a body, a dirty secret in the dumpster behind his apartment building.
Now, the worst part – Kiku forces his legs to move in the direction of downtown. He, after all, is simply a man who needs to eat, even if he often forgets.
The city lights obscure the stars as they always do. Kiku concentrates on them as he walks, grateful Tokyo is not as crowded as it could be, but his skin still shudders each time he passes someone. Kiku does not trust these people. He hasn't for a long time… though sometimes, he still wonders why that is. He wonders if Heracles ever thinks this way, but quickly pushes past the thought.
The inside of the store is too bright. Kiku squints against the artificial light as he moves about, heart thumping, hands numb. It's vacant, but not as much as he would like. Nothing is ever as vacant as he would like. But at least those in the store do not seem to notice him, oblivious to his inner unrest, blind to how his hands shake as he fills his basket.
But eventually, as it always does, Kiku's luck runs out.
"Uh, hello, sir," says a voice beside him in broken, unsure Japanese, the American accent it's laced with as startling as a sudden explosion of fireworks. Kiku does not move. "I am… uh… hotel…" The man lets out a resigned sigh, and then, in English, says, "Dude, do you speak English? I'm really freaking lost."
Kiku does. He speaks it just as well as he does Japanese, in fact, but in that moment he forgets both languages in a snap. His mind turns to a muck of sludge, and it takes an absurd amount of concentration to even turn his head. The man in front of him is practically a personification of America itself, all blond hair, blue, bespectacled eyes that scream confusion, hands clutching a tattered map and phrase book. A tourist, Kiku suspects. He must be having trouble finding his way around the foreign city. Kiku cannot say he knows the feeling – he has never left Japan – but he sympathizes all the same.
The American sighs, exhausted, and holds out the map. "I'm looking for this place."
He points to a street, and it takes Kiku a moment too long to realize he knows it. He even walked through it on his way here. It would take all of three sentences to explain the directions, to end this man's apparent distress.
Help him, a voice in his head screams, but his lips do not obey. Kiku is powerless to his own crumbling psyche.
"Is that a no?"
Kiku opens his mouth, prepared to help this man, to do something useful for once in his lowly existence, but all his words, English, Japanese or otherwise, are forever locked inside. Embarrassment hits just as soon as guilt does, and Kiku does the only thing he knows how to do anymore.
He turns and runs.
.
Another late night, another chance to escape. Kiku hopes the glow of the screen will erase the memory of the evening. It has done so before, and he is nothing if not deeply rooted in routine. The waiting is part of this familiar cycle, and Kiku takes some comfort in it, even if it does leave him almost shaking with restlessness.
And, as the routine goes, a simple ping brings a tidal wave of relief. The weight resting on his heart dissolves as he leans forward.
CatMan: Hello, Kiku. I just got home. How are you?
Kiku wants to tell him about the store, right down to the guilt and shame that still rests very firmly in his gut. He wants to tell him about how walking out his front door feels like going to battle. Kiku wants Heracles to know, to understand, to help, to hold him and tell him it will all be okay…
SakuraDreams: I am fine. Then, to throw the attention from himself, he adds: How about you?
Heracles takes an abnormally long time to respond, as if he chose every word with the upmost of care.
CatMan: Fine.
Even in the pixelated words, Kiku can nearly hear the sigh in his voice. He narrows his eyes, a worried pang striking his chest, and types.
SakuraDreams: Is something wrong?
Another long pause, another skipped beat. Kiku cannot help but feel uncomfortably, fully, almost painfully worried for this person he has never seen beyond pictures, has not even heard his voice. But Kiku loves him. He loves him more than anyone he has ever known in the flesh. So the worry, the sympathy, consumes him like a flame as he waits.
CatMan: I suppose. It's kind of silly, though.
Kiku does not hesitate.
SakuraDreams: You can tell me.
CatMan: Well… we had to put a cat down today.
"How awful," Kiku says out loud, brow furrowing in concern. Knowing him, Heracles might as well have lost a child. He lifts his hand to the screen and holds it there, as if he can reach through and do to Heracles what he was hoping he would do for him just moments ago. Kiku wants to help. That's all he ever wants to do, but he can never do it, and it burns into him like flesh eating bacteria. At a loss, he types what he can.
SakuraDreams: I am very sorry. He adds a frowning face, but he decides against the cat this time. It hardly feels appropriate.
CatMan: That's alright. It happens, I suppose. I just feel bad for the poor girl…
Kiku fights the overwhelming urge to Jusapologize again. Apologies have become engrained in him, and all he can think every second of every day is sorry, sorry, sorry, as if whatever wrong he had done would somehow be the last time, as if he could do something, or, even more unthinkably, change.
Before Kiku can even sort out these thoughts, another message pops up.
CatMan: Is your webcam working, by any chance?
It was never broken to begin with, but Kiku is not about to admit that, no matter what the circumstances are. A new breed of guilt hits as he responds.
SakuraDreams: No, unfortunately.
CatMan: Oh.
Kiku cringes. He can practically feel the disappointment, perhaps even the skepticism, in the simple syllable. This must be the hundredth time he has refused such a simple request. The hundredth time he has turned Heracles down when he needs to talk, needs to be listened to beyond pixelated words, only because Kiku cannot get past his own barbed-wire fence of anxiety. And he doesn't even have a choice. Allowing Heracles to see him like this – to know how he really lives and exists – would destroy the both of them.
Another moment lost in contemplation, another succeeding message.
CatMan: Do you think it will be working soon?
Kiku drums his fingers against his desk, the rapid pace about the same as his thumping heart. This insistence is definitely new. It is something he should have expected, logistically, but not this soon. Not this soon. He will be ready one day, he tells himself, hopefully in the near future. But today is not that day.
SakuraDreams: I hope so.
CatMan: Okay.
There's that shortness again. Kiku cringes as he did the last time, right before a panicked thought hits like a knife in the ribs – Heracles must be getting tired. Tired of waiting, tired of wondering, tired of Kiku. Near frantic, Kiku says all that is left in his mind.
SakuraDreams: I love you. He types it only once, but thinks it a dozen more. He loves him, he loves him, he wants to help, he's sorry, he loves him. At least the response is near immediate this time.
CatMan: I love you too, kitten.
Relief. Sweet, sweet relief, a feeling that's immediately taken by an intrusive thought: He's lying. Kiku bites his cheek. The very idea is like a virus, and he quickly pushes it away, in fear that it will take root in his vulnerable mind.
But the attempt at sanity is in vain. Kiku has failed again, and it is all he can think. He must have upset Heracles, must have let him down, must have given him a perfectly valid reason to hate him.
For the second time that day, Kiku choses to run.
SakuraDreams: I believe I have to get going.
CatMan: Oh. Is everything okay?
Kiku actually laughs, some mirthless choking sound that hurts his chest and brings hot tears to his eyes. "No," he says aloud, with a smile for some sick reason. "No." Then, he types.
SakuraDreams: Yes.
Then, before Heracles can respond, Kiku logs off. "No," he says again, again, lowering his pounding head to rest in his folded arms, "No," until his throat is raw, his eyes hurt, and he is empty.
.
Kiku is waiting again. But this feels different, because he has never waited this long. He peers out his curtained windows and sees that the sun is nearly full in the sky. He squints against the light, and then turns away, as if to deny its existence. Heracles still has not spoken to him. It has been months, Kiku thinks to himself as his nails cut into his palm, since Heracles has gone a night without speaking to him.
He is tired – from lack of sleep, from waiting, from worry. Heracles must be tired, too. Everyone is tired, tired, tired of this inane situation. Kiku resists the very real urge to pick up his computer and throw it. He resists the urge to destroy this… it is not a home, he decides. It is a prison, and he wants to tear the door off the hinges, bang angry holes in the walls, destroy, destroy, destroy until there is nothing left of the cursed tower he made for himself.
When all of that is said and done, Kiku wants to run out of the newfound rubble. He wants to breathe the fresh night, or morning, air. He wants to run through to streets and scream, as he cannot remember the last time he uttered a physical word. He wants to tear his hair out, to go mad, to take the world into his clutches and devastate it exactly how it devastated him.
If Kiku were to tear through those layers of insanity and recklessness and search for this true desire, he may discover that he only wants to die.
But Kiku cannot do any of that. He has not the will. He is empty and alone and tired and he will never have the will for anything but this monotonous state.
Heracles must surely be at work now; Kiku decides when he finally dares to look at the digital clock mocking him from his screen. It is nearly seven in the morning. Seven in the morning, the time when normal, successful human beings are waking up to start a productive day, or at the very least, sleeping – most of them with their spouse beside them.
And Kiku is here, waiting.
But he cannot keep his eyes open any longer. Kiku is too tired, tired, tired to continue to wait for something that will never arrive, for someone who has certainly grown sick of him.
It feels as if an arrow is stuck straight through his chest as Kiku moves from his desk. He leaves his computer alive, as he always does, but for a different reason this time. Usually he does it to feel less alone. This time, he is doing it in the hopes that he will eventually feel like something other than the last person living on earth. Seven billion people and Kiku is vastly alone.
Not to mention, no matter how deep a sleep he will inevitably fall into, he will surely awake at the sound of a ping. That sounds has brought him back to life many times before… even as his heart feels like it is giving into it's last, desperate beats.
Kiku does not believe in a god, but he pretends he does as he settles into his bed. He pulls his pillow tight, so tight, so his chest, until he almost feels as if it is a part of him. He pretends the icy satin is warm olive skin. He pretends the suffocating silence is filled with easy breaths instead of gasps, laughter instead of tears, hearts that beat evenly rather than threaten to stop. It hurts. Every part of Kiku hurts.
He ignores it.
.
Kiku sleeps, but at the same time, he doesn't. He traps himself in a limbo, too tired to sleep and too numb to dream.
By the time he opens his eyes, the sky is orange, there is nothing on the computer, and even less in his heart. Kiku holds the pillow so tight he half-expects it to become a part of him. He considers getting up, but realizes the waking world has nothing for him. Kiku closes his eyes again. Back into the limbo, back into oblivion.
He does not dream.
For three days, Kiku hears nothing from Heracles. So Kiku sleeps. He forgets to eat, to breathe, to live.
Kiku does not dream for three days.
.
On the fourth day, Kiku remembers he's alive. Although, when he pulls himself from his bed, checks his computer, and sees that there is still nothing there, still nothing to give him air when he is drowning… Kiku feels as though he is a thousand miles below the surface.
Maybe he is. That, if nothing else, would explain why the entire world has seemingly disappeared before him. After all, Heracles is… was, his only remaining proof that there's anything still out there. His final string has been cut and Kiku is lost in the all-consuming nothing that he is left with. That caused him to leave? Kiku wishes he could ask that question without feeling utterly foolish. He knows why Heracles left. He knows what he deserves is what he got, and there was nothing left to do but try and piece together the aftermath.
So, with a deep breath and a long-awaited spark of resolve, Kiku decides to see if anything is left.
He checks the clock… it is nearing midnight. No one will be out at this hour. There is a park a mere block away. It will not be that hard, Kiku decides. Nothing could be harder than allowing himself to rot here, ignored, rejected, and isolated to the point of insanity. Surely.
Right?
Kiku shakes his head in a sorry attempt to alleviate the doubt. Instead, with his heart pulsing into his ribs and eyes stringing with an urge to cry he leaves ignored, he bolts out his front door before he has the chance to come to his senses.
The night air is cool, at least. It is not hot, not humid, and Kiku if thankful, as he needs nothing more than his own mind to suffocate him. His steps are his heartbeat – fast, yet even, and reminding him of his existence as well as the existence of the world. The stars shine above him like spotlights and do the same. The streets are empty, bearable. Kiku still feels as if there is a firm vice grip on his lungs.
But he can breathe through it, and it's an improvement.
Kiku enters the park before it has even fully set in that he has left his apartment. He has been here before, but it has been awhile, and the very sight of the stone walkways the scattered trees remind him of an easier time. He is not sure if the memory makes him happy that it existed or sad because he can barely remember it, so he settles on melancholy as he enters.
The stone bench, just like the air, is cool and unfrightening. Kiku sighs as he sits against it, strangely relieved that he made it here at all. It is not much of an improvement – he has gone from alone in his apartment to alone in this park. Still, he is proud of himself. He has to be.
The wind is chilled an intoxicating against Kiku's skin. His apartment is stale, unmoving, and silent, though this park is nearly as quiet… until he hears the noise.
Kiku sits up like a man electrocuted, the hair on his arms standing on end, beyond ready to leap and run just as he did that day at the market. If someone is here, he will leave. That is how it is and how it always will be.
But as Kiku calms down, he realizes what he is hearing is far from a human sound – it is animalistic, soft, pleasant. Kiku looks down, fast heart slowing, and sees a set of amber eyes staring up at him. A pair of pointed ears point towards the nearly full moon, long brown tail in the same direction, tiny paws pressed together like a solider standing on the battlefront.
"Oh," Kiku breaths, smiling, relieved, and for a moment convinced there truly is a god looking out for him. At the same beat of the heart, he cannot help but think this is a strangely cruel coincidence… "Hello, kitty."
Kiku lets an idle hand fall, and the cat responds by pressing her face against it. So willing to trust, Kiku muses to himself, almost laughably impressed by the mental state of this feline. If Kiku were this cat he would have run away. But here she is, rubbing against him and purring as if a human has not touched her in years. Kiku knows the feeling and briefly wonders if it is shared.
"Are you out here all alone?" he asks, shockingly willing to speak to something long as it lacks the ability to answer him. He lifts his head and glances about, half-heartedly searching for an owner, and entirely hoping not to find one. He sees nothing, and looks back to the cat with relief in his veins. "I guess so."
The cat licks his fingers with her scratchy tongue in response. Kiku chuckles for the first time in what feels like an eternity and a half.
"Oh, you are very, very cute," Kiku coos shamelessly, letting his barriers go as he reaches down to pick her up. He checks for a collar, for any sign of ownership, and thankfully finds nothing. "Are you a stray?"
At least part of him must believe his animal is capable of answering him. Although… if his only human friend cannot do just that, then perhaps Kiku is putting too much faith into a simple cat. Seems he puts both not enough reliance and far too much in absolutely everything.
"I guess so," says Kiku before he can think about that too much. Then, just as a well-repressed wave of loneliness threatens to swallow him whole, Kiku places the overly-compliant cat on his lap and finishes with, "You do not have to be a stray any longer."
She purrs, burring her striped face against his shirt, and Kiku takes it as agreement. Two lonely creatures in a vastly harsh and unfair world… It is eccentrically beautiful, and entirely cruel… a man who loves cats has abandoned him and Kiku is now left with one. Whoever is writing his story must love symbolism and despise humanity.
"Well, come on then," says Kiku a moment later, once he decides he has grown tired of this open, threatening park. Something drove him here and fate must have been it– a cat in the shape of fate. Oh, how Heracles would have loved such tripe. Kiku tries not to feel too bitter. "You can live with me. My apartment is nice and warm. Is that okay with you?"
He receives another lick in response.
"Okay." It is not perfect, it is not Heracles, but Kiku will take it. He leans in and kisses her little pink nose. "Very well."
The entire walk home, Kiku alternates between thinking of a name and trying to evict Heracles from his thoughts. As he enters through his door, however, and familiar feelings of both safety and dread come rushing through him at once, both of the subjects converge like a tornado touching down to water.
"You," said Kiku as he placed the cat on the cluttered floor, making a pained yet important mental note that he would soon need to go into the shops for supplies, "Will be Eros."
Kiku may have crossed the line into insanity some time ago, but he is sure Eros's meow is one of agreement.
.
That night – morning, really – Kiku falls asleep with Eros beside him and his pillow slightly further off. The natural warmth is not something he is used to. But it isn't half bad, he decides as he feels her furry back rise and fall against his hand. This is nice. The ache in his chest has yet to be soothed, as someone has yanked his heart from him from across the ocean. But the cat helps. Cats always help, just as Heracles did… Kiku sighs. Time has yet to heal him.
For once, Kiku falls asleep when it is dark and wakes when it is bright. Eros is still beside him, sleeping sounding, and Kiku takes care not to wake her. It takes a moment to convince himself she is not a figment of his imagination. When Kiku is convinced, awake, and nearly less alone than he was just a day ago, he gives Eros a pat and walks to his computer.
The first thing he notices is the message.
Kiku's heart leaps to his throat, and he grips his desk to keep from floating away. Four days. It has only been four days. But those four days have been en eternity, and now, he finds it nearly impossible to believe it over. Stuck in confusion, Kiku forced his hand to move to the mouse, and the cursor to the blinking alert.
CatMan: Hello, Kiku. I am so sorry I have been gone. I have been… very busy.
Kiku wonders briefly what that means, and then settles on wondering why something with such a simple explanation has affected him so greatly. This man was simply busy, with a life Kiku could not dream of having, and such a thing was enough to panic him. And judging by the near-dizzying relief in his veins, he can assume he still is not other it. Embarrassed, relieved, disbelieving, and confused, he responds as if he feels none of it.
SakuraDreams: That is alright. What has been going on?
A moment passes… a long moment.
CatMan: Well… I actually have quite the surprise planned.
And there is that confusion again.
SakuraDreams: Oh? And what would that be?
CatMan: Oh dear… I hope you will not be mad at me.
Kiku stops, looks up, and wonders what he should make of that. Whatever it is, he already does not like it. Maybe Heracles is getting married. It is a jump, of course, and Kiku believes Heracles to be loyal to even him, but he is tired and confused and he has little clue how functioning people actually function.
SakuraDreams: Did something happen?
CatMan: Yes, I would say so. Kind of.
He is stalling and Kiku hates it. Growing more and more frantic, he resists the urge to take hold of the poor monitor and shake it and types with punching strokes.
SakuraDreams: What is going on?
CatMan: Well, kitten, I am going to need your address.
Before Kiku can make sense of it, another message pops up – not text, but a picture. It is one of a sign from what Kiku recognizes as the Tokyo airport, Heracles standing below it, and lifting his hand in a wave. Kiku leans back, going numb. No. No, surely…
Another message.
CatMan: Surprise. : )
Kiku's vision tunnels. He jolts back from his computer, heart falling like an anchor to the sea, covers his mouth with his hand, and screams.
To be continued...