Disclaimer! All fictional entities in this segment belong to Kazuki Takahashi; I rented them. Except Sara Scinner and Silpheed, who are mine.
I realize that Valentine's Day's two weeks away, but I couldn't wait that long to post this story. This has been beta-read by ChazzyLuverGurl; thanks, amigette!
PS: If you were expecting something sappy or romantic, I'm not sure if you'll find that here. Maybe?
HUG ME!
Zane never liked Valentine's Day, not because he didn't have a girlfriend--he got along quite well without one, thanks very much--but because it was such a phony and obnoxious holiday. While everyone else puckered up and exchanged bouquets of roses and lacy cards etched with generic words of mush, he was on his way home with a grocery bag nestled in his arms, and not with the intention of making a romantic dinner for two once he reached his destination.
By the time he was almost home, he had already been approached by five or six different girls, every one of them bearing gifts. There could've been more, but who was counting? He'd sure picked an awful day to need groceries, what with the unwanted attention and the sickly sweet scent of perfume and cologne permeating the air, almost as densely as the clouds of exhaust fumes from rumbling trucks. But so far, he'd managed to evade the fan girls, and keep his breath.
Soon he came to a stop at the curb, waiting for the signal to cross the street and reach his apartment. Though he kept his eyes on the light, he had this suspicious sensation in his backbone that someone was rolling up behind him. From a distance behind him, he could hear wheels on a pair of skates stuttering along the cracked, bumpy concrete, accompanied by lip-nipping snickering.
The light didn't change. Come on, what is this light, painted red? Several trash cans clanged together, like something—or someone—was darting in between them.
And then…it happened.
Something small and spongy plummeted from the sky, and—thump!—struck him on the top of the head. It dealt no damage, but at the moment of impact, Zane whirled around to glare forks and knives at the path behind him. Without his noticing, the pedestrian signal blinked green.
All he found was a red heart-shaped toy lying at his feet, and Sara, in a bucket and green feather cape, sliding along the walls of the buildings, whistling an innocent tune. But the twinkle in her green eyes implied otherwise.
"Why, Ziti, fancy seeing you out here on Valentine's Day! Gonna go home and make a gushy candle-lit dinner for someone special, huh?" she cheered.
Overhead, he could see Silpheed fluttering like a hummingbird, only in a slower and far less graceful kind of way. "RAWK! RAWK! I'm Cupid, I'm Cupid!" he proclaimed as he hovered back down to earth and settled on a window sill. He preened his feathers, looking quite pleased with himself. "Got one arrow! One arrow, all you need!"
Rather than humor them with a reply, Zane turned his back to them and tried to cross the street. Unfortunately, at that moment, the signal switched back to red, and a pick-up truck almost flattened his foot.
Vrrrooom! Zane wobbled backwards to the curb for safety, not forgetting to sneer at the driver as he sped down the street, leaving a jet stream of fumes in his wake.
Sara rapped her knuckles against her bucket. "Gosh, Ziti, don't ya know that you can't cross the street when the signal's red?" she chided, as though he were the idiot.
Silpheed stretched out a foot. "Unless it's the Red Light District! RAWK!"
To Zane's annoyance, Sara reached out to grab his wrist, despite the fact that he had a bag in his arm. "Here, we'll show you how to cross the street."
He jerked away. "Look, kid, if I couldn't cross the street, I would've asked a Boy Scout to help me. Now go away." Zane focused on the signal light again, this time with no intention of looking away until it turned green again.
"What about a Girl Scout? Girl Scouts help folks across the street, too; I know 'cause I used to be one," pouted Sara. Not that it was her business, but she stole a peek into the bag, pulling out a jar of soy paste.
She gagged, "What the heck's this stuff? Where's the junk food? You can't celebrate Valentine's Day without junk food; preferably, chocolate!"
Without even looking at her, he reached under with his free hand to snatch back the soy paste. "How's about you show my groceries some respect?"
Silpheed hovered over to Sara's shoulder. "Look who's talking, RAWK!"
Before Sara could tear anything else out of the bag, beep. A miracle: the light turned green! Zane wasted no time crossing the street, while the cars alongside him revved with impatience. But Sara and Silpheed trailed closely behind him, like two ducklings following their mother home. Sara made sure to wave at all of the drivers before they stepped onto the other side, with a couple of silly faces in between.
Zane knew that they were going to follow him, and tried to keep going when she twirled in front of him. "Hey now, hold your Dragons! We still gotta give you something. Don't you know that everyone should have chocolate on Valentine's Day?" Sure enough, from out of her cape, as if by magic, she pulled out a stained, dinged-up box with a wrinkled yellow ribbon tied sloppily around it.
With her cheeks a ticklish pink, she slipped the box into the bag. "Okay, I'll admit that we already polished off half of them, to see if they were any good." Licking her lips in fond memory of the candy, she added, "but there's still twelve in there: six for you and six for your sweetie!"
Before Zane could reject her offering, Sara whirled around him and—WHAP!—slapped him extra-hard on the back. "Have a happy one, Ziti!"
"RAWK! Hope you get lucky!" squawked Silpheed.
"Silpheed, you must be thinking about St. Patrick's Day." Just as abruptly as they had appeared, they vanished in a whirlwind of feathers and giggling. As soon as he was certain that they had vanished, Zane snorted and continued on his way. On the way, he plucked the box of chocolates out of his bag and tossed them into the nearest trash can. He certainly didn't like getting slapped on the back, but at least there was no noogie, this time.
Little did he know that Sara hadn't just left him a half-eaten box of chocolates and best wishes. He was so determined to get home in one piece that he hardly gave that slap any thought until he was in front of the sign of White Magical Hats Apartments. An old lady scooting up the parking lot passed Zane by…but not without wrapping an arm around him as though he were her grandson.
Though Zane looked like the type to batter old ladies, this was not so. Instead, he tensed up under the contact and demanded, "What do you want?"
As the elder pulled away, she gave him a warm, wrinkly smile. "Why, you asked for a hug, sonny. So that's what I gave you."
"A hug? I never asked for a—wait a minute…" He reached behind him to feel if anything was back there. Sure enough, he found his grip on a torn sheet of looseleaf paper. And scrawled on it in bold red marker were two giant words:
HUG ME!
He crumbled the blasted thing in his fist, but he didn't have time to get angry about it. From behind him, he could hear a stampede of footsteps and fan girlish squeals. Eleven or twelve of them were lunging at him with their arms outstretched, like a pack of hunting lionesses closing in on the kill.
"C'mere, you big black teddy bear!"
"I could just eat you all up!"
Normally, Zane didn't just run off like a chicken, but then again, he had no Spell card of defensive strategy that could stop this attack. Had he dashed out of the way any later, he would've become a pancake underneath that tidal wave of hormones! Never once looking back, he dove into his apartment—SLAM!—and locked the door. His heart pounded almost as loudly as the girls pounded on his door.
Taking deep breaths to calm down, he ambled towards the kitchen to put away the groceries. He should've guessed Sara would go pull off something like that. Had she no idea how dangerous it was to stick a prank note on the back of someone of his status? Why, if his thirst for vengeance was just a little stronger, he would—
Thump. Thump.
Zane glanced up at the ceiling. Why did he get that suspicious feeling in his backbone that something—or someone—was crawling inside his air vent? He reached for a broom and jabbed at the ceiling with its handle. "Whoever you are," he warned, "you'd better go, before I call the cops."
"Aw, come on, now! Are you such a blue meanie that you'd call the cops on your best friend?" a hollowed voice shot back.
Zane didn't know how or why this could be, but with a raised brow, he called out:
"…Atticus?"
And then…it happened.
From out of the vent plummeted one hundred and thirty-two pounds of maudlin, his words echoing through the room as he made contact with the duelist below him:
"Huuuug tiiiiime!"
Zane probably should've thrown the note away when he had the chance.
END