h e r o i c | a c t s
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For every (heroic) action, there is a (not-so) equal and (quite certainly) opposite reaction. ;)
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"You need to go out more," my mother suddenly declared, slamming down her hands on our solid oak table, looking at me.
I glanced up from my essay before going back to dutifully writing. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're a teenage boy, and I'm worried that you've become antisocial and have cut yourself off from society as atonement for your family's tradition and are secretly ashamed that you cross-dressed as a girl for a majority of your childhood," she said, giving me a worried, motherly look.
The only thing I managed was to not choke on my nonexistent drink.
"Or, another thing is that, due to being a girl for so many years, you are now severely traumatized and have no idea how to be a boy. I mean, do you even have those typical raging hormones?" she questioned, sipping her tea as if this subject was completely ordinary.
I tugged on the collar of my shirt, feeling that this subject was certainly straying from a simple one. "Er, yes?"
"Really?" she asked, astonished.
"… Sure, I do," I said uncertainly, trying not to squirm underneath my mother's expectant stare.
"…" my mother sipped her tea and put the cup back down, lacing her fingers together as she scrutinized me. "Well?"
I tapped my pencil against my paper as I looked back up. "'Well', what?"
"Who are they directed at?" she asked impatiently, arching an eyebrow.
"… M-Mom, I don't—" I began, but she cut me off.
"It's that long-haired blonde girl, isn't it?" she questioned, her eyes sparkling. "I knew it! I always sensed this immense amount of sexual tension, and I always wondered when it'd finally snap—"
I stood up suddenly, knowing that we had hit a very taboo subject, seeing as how if she even caught wind of me and my mother talking about her like this, I would have to throw the prospect of ever having kids out the window.
"I-I think I'll go out for some fresh air…" I muttered, edging towards the door while my mother pouted.
"Aw, but you haven't even told me how far you've gotten—!"
And with those words I left her, slamming the door behind me, and starting to feel the impending doom of a very ominous headache at the edges of my mind.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I walked over to our garage and rolled out my dusty bicycle. It was covered in cobwebs and old pollen, giving it an odd yellow sheen. I sneezed as I wheeled it out.
I swung my leg over it, already noticing just how small it had gotten, and knowing full well that the tires were flat, I hadn't ridden a bike in years, and that I was more than likely going to swerve into the rushing streets of Tokyo, I opened the iron gates and pedaled out, sighing slightly with a faint grin on my face.
I felt the tires strain with the effort, hearing it squeak slightly, and every now and then, I would accidentally dip into the road more than necessary, and I heard a loud flow of curse words being uttered by random taxi drivers. Typical Tokyo at its best.
It was a quick ride— the road was smooth and not-bumpy, which was convenient for the old, hasn't-been-used-for-years bike.
The trees swayed gently, the leaves fluttering about in the wind, and I almost felt at peace. They were soft, miniscule sounds that were out of place in the loud and bustling noises of Tokyo— mismatched at best. The book store, gas station, everything loomed closer as I came down the hill.
Unfortunately, at that time, my phone vibrated, and most likely at the worst time possible. I jumped in surprise and rammed into a nearby pole. I slowed to a stop and jumped off, holding my sore side while glaring at the puke green pole.
I snatched up my phone. "Hello?" I said as I ran my fingers through my hair.
"Nagihiko, are you in town?" my mother asked eagerly, and I winced. I leaned against the peeling, cold metal pole and closed my eyes.
"Yeah, I am."
"Can you buy me ice cream, chocolate, rope, beer, and if possible, a straitjacket?" she wondered, and I could already visualize that sickly sweet smile from over the phone.
"… Wait, why would you need—?" I began, but she immediately cut me off.
"It's a secret," she sang. I rubbed my temples.
"It has something to do with Dad slipping laxatives in last night's soup, doesn't it?" I asked, opening my eyes again.
"…"
[Beep. Beep. Beep. Call ended. Please hang up and try again—!]
I slid my phone shut and snorted at the sight of my unsuspecting dad sleeping away on his futon. I slipped it into my back pocket and walked towards the grocery store, already not knowing that I'd most likely receive weird looks for even attempting to inquire about straitjackets.
I walked into the grocery store, the slight chill of the air conditioning giving me goose bumps. I was about to grab a shopping cart, until I saw a familiar flash of gold, and I spun around and saw an exasperated Rima along with a pleading elderly woman.
I arched an eyebrow. She worked here?
"I'm sorry, I'm off my shift," Rima said, pulling her curls out of their ponytail, giving the woman a threatening glare, disregarding the fact that she was supposed to respect her elders.
"I'll pay you fifty dollars!" the woman shouted, waving about her cane. Rima gritted her teeth.
"The shopping carts are not for sale!" Rima retorted, her hand wandering closer and closer to her phone, as if to call for help.
"But this is my grandson's favorite toy," she immediately countered. I glanced over at the old and peeling shopping cart that the woman had a firm hold on. "Look at all the cute drawings on it," she insisted, gesturing frantically at the crudely drawn flames and dinosaurs.
Rima scowled while the woman abused the usage of her cane and 'accidentally' whacked Rima with it. I winced; that looked like it hurt.
Her eyes flashed and just as she was about to strangle the woman, I stepped in, standing in front of Rima before she could cause any bodily harm.
Rima rolled her eyes behind me. "Of course it's you. You seem to show up at the worst possible times."
I rolled my eyes while the woman gave me a dirty look and said, "Are you going to sell me a shopping cart?"
"They're not for effing sale!" Rima hissed.
The woman clicked her tongue, "The nerve of kids these days. Using such language around adults— it was unheard of when I was a little girl."
I was sure that Rima was about to bite out another snarky comment, until I smoothly said, "But, ma'am, wouldn't you rather—?"
"Don't back sass me!" she cried out, smacking me with her cane. I took in a sharp intake of breath, rubbing the sore spot and trying to ignore the intense laughter of Rima in the background.
"I'll pay you a hundred dollars!" she said, waving the bills of money around as if we were in an auction.
I could feel the headache looming ever closer, and the people who were whispering and pointing at us definitely wasn't helping the situation.
Just as she raised her cane for the umpteenth time, a man sprinted out the door and shouted, "Mom, what are you doing? You were supposed to get the oranges!" I could see a little boy peeking out from behind his leg.
"She's trying to buy one of our shopping carts," Rima bit out behind me, crossing her arms.
He sighed. "Mom, c'mon, he doesn't need one," he said gently, kindly. "We can just buy—"
"Don't back sass me, m'boy!" she yelled, slamming her cane painfully into his skull. She then stalked away, hobbling on her cane as she pushed her cart dutifully. She took the small boy's hand and told him, "Come, Narumi, we must go find the manager of this awful place so we can purchase your lovely shopping cart."
With a low annoyed grunt, the man followed, bowing slightly. "I'm sorry, she's gone slightly senile, and—"
"Andou!" she barked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Yes ma'am, coming," he yelped, scurrying back to her side.
Rima snorted. "That was pitiful," she said under her breath, as she left the grocery store. I bit my lip and followed, not exactly eager to run into the woman again. Her cane was painful.
Rima quickly walked towards the edge of the sidewalk, making a face at her uniform as she walked. Reluctantly, I followed, already knowing full well that I'd soon be accused of 'stalking' her.
Rima tapped her foot impatiently as she waited to cross. She turned on her heel and faced me, staring at me. "Stop following me," she said strictly as she looked critically at the light and began walking across. I sighed; it was a very typical response.
"It's not my fault," I said with a shrug. "My bike's in that—"
I turned slightly and frowned at the loud commotion somewhere farther down the road. Everywhere, cars were squealing on their tires and honking loudly. I tugged on Rima's arm, shaking my head.
"We shouldn't cross yet," I said, holding onto her wrist firmly.
"Why?" she asked, giving me another dark look. I let go and laughed nervously.
"Well, it seems like there's a lot of stuff going on down there, and so…" I trailed off, frowning at the sight of a car racing down the road at obscene speeds, driving unsteadily. Cars were dodging it desperately, loud beeps and honks sounding off quickly. People swore and cursed long streams of words as the nearly rammed into nearby poles.
I quickly tugged on the edge of Rima's shirt, trying to get her off the street, and she bowled into me. We both slammed onto the concrete uncomfortably just as the car screeched by, the rubber tires rubbing harshly against the asphalt as it made a heavy turn and hit a nearby fruit stand, which caused the cheapskate owner to kneel in despair.
I blinked, a bit dazed, seeing four of just about everything. I felt Rima panting heavily on top of me, the tips of her hair tickling my face, and I soon realized she was actually lying on my chest, clutching my shirt as she trembled slightly. My arms were secured around her tightly, firmly. I felt her body go rigid as she noticed just exactly what we were doing in the middle of a very busy sidewalk.
She practically jumped off, brushing herself off and turned abruptly the other way as she crossed her arms with a slight 'hmph' sound.
"You're a lot heavier than you look," I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and ended up hissing in pain when she jabbed her elbow into my rib cage. As it turns out, no matter what, that comment always tended to offend girls.
People clamored around us, helping us up and asking if we were alright and a few even whipped out their phones and began dialing. "We're fine," I said persuasively, while Rima dusted herself off, an irritated look on her face.
I stood up and glanced in the direction of my bicycle, and was instead faced with the scene of a pickup truck that had mysteriously landed itself on the sidewalk.
A policeman loudly whistled— he was a bit late— and he swung the door open. Somebody tumbled out, giggling and laughing insanely.
"Who are you?" the policeman demanded, taking a swig from his coffee cup.
"Who's shwat?" the man slurred, furrowing his eyebrows in temporary confusion.
The policeman scrutinized the damage and the man, and then scribbled a few things down onto his notepad.
He crouched down and poked a peculiar piece of blue metal sticking out. "Mhm," he said to himself, "and whose bike is this?"
I groaned inwardly, seeing as how that was my ticket home, and I had no urge to ride a taxi. "Mine."
The policeman strutted over. "I hope you do realize that that area is not authorized for bicycle parking?" he said to me, pointing accusingly with his pen.
I was severely tempted to point out that I didn't even know that there was such a thing as 'authorization of bicycle parking', but decided I would just leave it.
"Um, no sir," I said quietly, calmly.
"Right then," he said, sniffing haughtily. "I suppose you'll just have to come down to the station." He promptly dragged me closer to his car, while I heard soft protests.
"But, he just saved this girl's life!" a woman said, gesturing at Rima, who was still on the ground. People agreed immediately, nodding profusely.
"He really did," Rima said bluntly from the ground, avoiding my gaze.
"And just because he's your so-called knight in shining armor, your prince charming, I'm supposed to let him off in the face of the law?" he sneered, pulling up his pants.
At these words, I snorted slightly. The analogy was rather ridiculous, in my opinion.
"Well, your little hero will just be down at the station, and you can go pick him up then, alright?" he said, taking another quick swig of his coffee.
Rima opened her mouth to protest— along with twenty other people— but I merely smiled and shook my head. "It'll be fine."
I entered the police car and leaned against the cheap fake leather seat, leaning onto my fist, and soon afterwards, I was accompanied by a shameless drunk, who clung onto the back of the policeman's seat like a lifesaver while he roared, "Don't touch me while I'm driving, you raving lunatic!"— and— "Androgynous, get this psychotic man off of me!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose at the newfound nickname as I ripped the 'raving lunatic' off of the back of the seat. After seven tense and awkward minutes, we arrived at the police station. I bolted out of the car and was followed by a clumsy, tripping-over-his-feet-not-at-all-sober man.
The policeman herded us into the station, and I looked in surprise at the petite figure sitting in the 'waiting room'. "Rima?"
"H-how are you here already?" the policeman sputtered next to me. Rima rolled her eyes, instigating a low growl from him.
"I walked," she said simply, which I found hard to believe, seeing as how Rima wasn't very… athletically inclined.
The policeman grumbled under his breath as he took out handcuffs and cuffed one to my arm, and the other to a nearby chair. He did the same with the sober man and gave me a warning look. "Androgynous,"— I was starting to feel it was the beginning of a new nickname era— "you make one move on this elementary schooler, you'll get an even heavier fine."
I found it strangely ironic how he didn't notice the man with the slurred words crawling all over Rima, who looked at him in disgust. "Androgynous?" she questioned as the policeman bustled away.
"Don't ask," I muttered, studying the handcuffs.
"So, 'prince charming', care to save the damsel in distress?" she asked, kicking the man in the groin. He moaned, clutching the spot, immediately releasing Rima's arm.
"Look, even through the haze of alcohol, you still managed to make him feel pain," I said with a small smile. "Besides, it looks like this princess will be just fine without me."
She was about to reply, but the very loud policeman interrupted, shouting, "Hey, stop flirting with the victim!" Rima shot him a dirty look, scowling, her face a light shade of pink.
"Flirting? With him?" was what she managed to say, after much effort, while I counted just how many bruises I had received from the old-cane lady. Rima was ignored, again, and I could tell that the possibility of kicking him in that sensitive area was growing steadily.
He gave me a warning look as he came forward with a phone, his finger poised over the number pad. "I'll type it in," I offered, and a bit suspiciously, he handed it to me.
He snatched the phone back as my mother answered. Either this policeman was deaf, or my mother was quite loud.
"Hello?"
He cleared his throat. "Hello, this is policeman Tanaka. I am here to inform you that your androgynous son,"— he really wouldn't let that go— "is here at the station for parking his bike in an unauthorized area."
Rima stifled a bit of laughter at the nickname.
"… Hmm, does that mean he didn't purchase the straitjacket?" she asked disappointedly over the phone. Rima shot me a mix of a confused and heavily amused look, while I just shook my head.
"Excuse me, a straitjacket?" Tanaka-san asked, glaring daggers at me.
"…"
[Beep. Beep. Beep. Call ended. Please hang up and try again—!]
Tanaka-san watched me carefully, before he took the drunken man— who was still moaning— to a cell, most likely to wait it out until he could actually think straight.
"… a straitjacket?"
I held my head in my hands. "It included laxatives in last night's soup and a bar."
"Huh," she said to herself, leaning back into the hard plastic chair. "I never took you as one to go to those sorts of things, Nagihiko," she commented offhandedly, flipping through a magazine.
I chuckled. "I didn't go, and neither did he. He got too drunk off of all the beer at home." I sighed. "I suppose Mother had suspected already."
"How disappointing," she said mockingly, although she avoided my gaze— again.
"Is something wrong—?" I began, but then the policeman strutted back in and walked over to Rima.
"Now, why are you here, little miss?" he asked slowly, as if talking to a seven year-old, which I suspected that he thought he was.
She looked awfully tempted to kick him in his very vulnerable spot, but she managed to control it, somehow. "I'm sixteen," she managed to say through gritted teeth.
"… Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh'," Rima scoffed angrily.
He cleared his throat. "So, um, continue."
"He really didn't do anything," she muttered, hugging her knees to her chest. "All he did was play hero, prince charming, knight in shining armor— whatever you want to call it— and he prevented me from being a nasty blood stain on the sidewalk."
She tugged on a blonde curl. "I just don't find it fair that you arrested him for parking his bike in an unauthorized space."
"— is that all?" the policeman asked with pursed lips, his pencil still poised over the notepad.
Rima paused for a minute, and then said, "That, and, Tanaka-san, my father still has that picture of you drunk, from that senior party in '79."
At those words, he paled immensely. Through ashen lips, he managed, "The one with—?"
Rima nodded. "The one and only, owned by Mashiro Ayumu. Really, very classy, what with the pink lacy lingerie and—"
"Don't!" he yelped. He stopped talking for a moment, swallowing.
"And you're his—?"
"Daughter," she said, growing annoyed. "Can't you at least finish your stupid questions?"
"R-right," he said, fumbling with the key to my handcuffs. I couldn't help but feel slightly amazed at her… skills.
"Ahem, Mashiro-san, I'd appreciate it if that incident it is never mentioned again," he said stiffly as he finally managed to find the key. Rima looked a bit smug— much to the officer's chagrin— but she nodded in acknowledgment.
He inserted the key into the handcuffs and practically through us out. Right before I left, he whispered to me, "But I'm watching you," he said, paused, and then added, "Androgynous." He then slammed the door shut again, right in our faces.
Rima scoffed a bit at the nickname, while I managed a forced little smile.
"… very extensive blackmail," I remarked eventually, breaking the small silence that we had created.
She nodded, albeit a bit absentmindedly. Rima's face looked somewhere between annoyed and frustrated. Either way, it was quite conflicted.
"Rima…?" I asked hesitantly.
"— thanks," she managed to say, looking at a nearby, and conveniently placed tree.
"For what?" I asked, confused.
"For pulling me out of the way of an oncoming car, my impending doom, from an idiot police officer, and preventing me bodily harm from an old lady with a cane?" she said weakly.
I rubbed my chafed wrist with a slight grin. "Ah, yes. For being your so-called 'hero'?"
"Something of that nature," she said, tugging on the edges of her skirt, finally looking at me again. She bit her bottom lip, fondling her curls again.
She cleared her throat and said, "So, what do you want as a rew— mmph!"
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Fujisaki Nagihiko
Sexual harassment— $ 150.00
I sighed. Looks like the so-called 'sexual tension' had finally popped.
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(a/n): ... You know, I really can't bring myself to hate this oneshot. I don't care if it's filled with nonsensical crap and whatnot— it amused me. Even if it's not all-that sweet and practically filled to the brim with my grammar errors and other blah, ehhh. I still quite like this one, although it's not my best. :)
And yes, Nagihiko's family isn't rich or anything; they're normal, disregarding the straitjackets, amongst other things. And yes, Nagihiko's OOC here and there, but it's his birthday, so if he's OOC, who cares, right?
... And if that excuse doesn't work, it's my first time writing in his POV, so screw it all. Anyways, if it seems all weird and clumsily put together, it was inspired by a random white bicycle with a police star sticker that I saw, so there's that excuse too. And for some reason, it has nothing to do with his birthday, because if it did, it'd be very cliché and cheesy and blah.
Yeah, so... Happy birthday, Nagihiko. You just got arrested twice. Whoopee.
(Review if you'd like.)
-Bluey-san