Little War Wound
"Go tell Ojou lunch'll be ready in about fifteen minutes," Tetsu calls out from inside the house.
I finish my cup of green tea and rise from my place on the back porch, slowly, feeling every new ache and pain from my recent sparring match with Kyou. Running my fingers through my hair, still slightly damp from my bath, I leisurely make my way into the house. My first stop is Yamaguchi's room, but there's no sign of her. Winding my way back to the kitchen, I check every room as I go, but still find no trace of her.
"She's probably out back using the hammock, then," Minoru says after I tell him the results, or lack thereof, of my search.
"Hammock?" I question, more amused than surprised. Now that I think about it, I remember Kyou calling out a greeting to Ojou while we were sparring. Thinking it only to be a ruse to distract me, I went in to land a pretty decent hit on my opponent, causing him to actually go down. Seeing an opportunity, I looked back, just to be sure, and saw no one. Unfortunately, this left me wide open for Kyou's counterattack, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back with a very intimidating Kyou standing over me, a wicked glint in his eye, cracking his knuckles malevolently. Quickly, I got up and continued sparring, forgetting all about it until now.
"Yup. She sets it up every summer out back." He points in the general direction using a carrot he was about to cut up. "I guess it's like a private place she can go to and relax. Lord knows she needs it after dealing with the problems you punks cause her—I mean, that is—" He tries to backtrack before digging himself into a deeper grave, but I wave him off.
"I know we're a handful," I respond good-naturedly. "I'm sure her responsibilities to the clan can be just as stressful." I look out back, feeling my brow furrow slightly with worry. It must help to get away once in a while, I think sadly, even if it is only for a few hours.
I head towards the back corner of the garden, near some tall bushes, taking in the beautiful weather and scenery around me. A light breeze rustles the leaves in the trees overhead, bringing with it a collection of comforting scents associated with summer: freshly cut grass, flowers now in full bloom, a backyard barbeque nearby. I exhale a long sigh of contentment, feeling a happiness I haven't known in a long time, and a small smile makes its way through my usual mask of indifference.
There's a slight hitch in my stride as I come around the bushes and blink at the sight before me, practically dumbstruck. A large nylon hammock has been strung up between two sturdy wooden posts that have been pounded into the ground. What really catches my attention, though, is the object lying within the hammock: Yamaguchi Kumiko.
Cautiously, I approach, allowing my eyes to rove hungrily over her rather revealing ensemble. Her red tank top with one sleeve hanging off the shoulder bares her perfectly pale skin beneath. The bottom of the shirt has been pushed up close to her small chest exposing her midriff where a petit hand rests, barely holding her place in the paperback she must have attempted to read. Her other hand lies at her side, next to her thigh that is barely covered by jean shorts, not leaving much to the imagination, revealing delicate legs crossed at the ankles which any 3-D student would salivate over.
Stopping beside her, my gaze slowly and seductively makes its way back up to study her face, tilted slightly in my direction. I can't help but linger on her mouth with her pink lips slightly parted, practically begging to be kissed. A tingling in the pit of my stomach serves as a warning to move on. With glasses nowhere to be seen, her long lashes rest against rosy cheeks kept warm by the sun occasionally breaking through the overhead leafy canopy. Her wealth of dark hair, free of its normal restraints, is disheveled, a black aura encircling her head.
Her nearness is overwhelming. My fingers ache to reach out and touch her and I find myself caressing her cheek in a wistful gesture. Idiot, I think sadly, not quite sure if I'm referring to myself or her.
My hand wanders down to her mouth and I trace her lips, briefly wondering how they would feel against my own. I commit them to memory, enjoying the feel of her warm breath fanning against my fingertips. Realizing my self-control is holding on by a mere thread, I reluctantly withdraw my hand, absently bringing it to my own lips.
Why? Why is it so hard to stay away? With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes as I try to calm my racing heart. She's like an addiction I just can't quit.
Can't quit, or won't quit?
Though I know it's near impossible for any kind of relationship other than friends—at least, while I'm still a student—I can't deny my attraction for her. No matter how taboo the world tells me a romantic relationship between student and teacher is, my feelings won't listen to reason. My friends tell me it's just an infatuation, a crush, that I'll outgrow her sooner or later.
They're wrong.
It's there in the way I'm filled with a strange inner excitement as I lie on the rooftop awaiting her arrival to bring me back to class; or in the way I become caught up in her enthusiasm no matter how hair-brained her schemes are; or in the way it makes me feel good to be around her, her nearness alone giving me comfort.
But it's not enough. I want her to feel something for me, as well, something outside the student/teacher comfort zone she seems to have wrapped herself in. I want her to see me as more than just a "boy" or a "kid" as she so often calls me, pissing me off to no end. I just want—
Her.
She lets out a small moan, startling me from my rather depressing thoughts, and she stirs in the hammock, her now forgotten book sliding to her side as she lightly scratches her stomach. I can't help but smile and roll my eyes at her. She's such a child sometimes.
"Shin," she sighs, and my eyes widen in surprise, thinking she must have woken up on her own when I notice movement beneath her eyelids and realize she must be dreaming. A sly smile forms. Dreaming about me?
The thought barely crosses my mind before another follows. Dreaming about him. Shinohara. My hands fist and I give a harsh sound that is almost a laugh. It's always the damn lawyer.
The tip of her tongue pokes out drawing my attention back to her mouth, dissolving my anger as I become mesmerized by the small dancing muscle. Slowly, it slides along those tantalizing lips of hers, taunting me, daring me to embrace them with my own. Mirroring her actions, I find myself wondering what she tastes like.
Probably sweet.
A delicious shudder heats my body at the prospect of kissing her. I briefly wonder if I'll be her first kiss or if the lawyer has already claimed that honor. My temper flares, fueling my traitorous body into action. Before I know it, I find myself leaning over her, hands behind my back so as not to disturb the hammock, eyes half closed, our breaths mingling between parted lips, when my conscience decides to give his opinion.
After my inner voice screams a string of obscenities at me I wasn't even aware I was familiar with for even considering such an immoral idea, I take a deep, unsteady breath and somehow pull back, abruptly turning away. I can only stand there feeling utterly miserable as the knowledge of what I'd almost done twists and turns inside me. A few deep breaths later, I'm finally strong enough to lift my head and turn back to complete my mission.
"Yamaguchi." I wince at how tired my voice sounds. "Yamaguchi, wake up." Better.
It's like I'm not even here. I knew it wouldn't be that easy. "Kumiko, please wake up," I try again, my voice full of entreaty. Still nothing. A frustrated growl escapes me as I get closer, my desire now replaced with the desperation at removing the temptation that lies so seemingly helplessly before me.
Luckily, my problem seems to solve itself. Most people may not think that a kick to my backside by an unknown source, causing me to fall into the hammock of a sleeping yakuza heiress to be "lucky." On the contrary, after much confusion and excitement, I find myself landing on the ground with a loud "Oomph!" followed by another as said yakuza heiress, no longer asleep, lands on top of me with an "Oomph!" of her own. Problem solved.
As I lie there listening to my heart beating frantically in my ears, I realize that with the solving of one problem, another has taken its place. My eyes fly open to find us lying in a rather compromising position: Yamaguchi is on top of me, her legs straddling my waist; my arms are wrapped tightly around her in some kind of unconscious effort to catch her when she fell; but, most importantly, her mouth is on mine.
It's a kiss in the most literal sense of the word. I was right: she is sweet. I push that thought aside and focus my concern on getting out of this alive, bracing myself for the freak out that's sure to come.
She groans as she lifts herself away from me, her hands on my shoulders unwittingly pinning me to the ground. Her hair hangs straight down at me like a glossy curtain, tickling my face. I resist the urge to brush the strands away since my hands are now mysteriously residing on her hips where they fit perfectly.
"Who's the asshole—" A swift shadow of anger sweeps across her face, but it quickly fades to confusion when she sees it's only me. "Sawada? What the hell?" Her eyes widen slightly. "You're bleeding!"
At first, my mind refuses to register the significance of her words. She leans in closer, gazing concernedly at the tiny wound that has begun to sting beneath my lower lip, giving me a better view of her eyes. I notice for the first time that they are not merely brown but have flecks of gold around the iris.
"Say something, dammit!"
"Huh?" turns out to be the most intelligent thing I can muster. I snap out of my daze and mentally facepalm myself for how lame I sound. In an attempt to regain control of the situation, my mask of apathy goes up, but I can still hear bitterness spill over into my voice when I ask, "Do you mind?" I give her hips a squeeze for good measure.
With a squeal, she scurries off of me and scrambles away, though she somehow manages to knee me in the gut along the way. Making a noise between a gasp and a groan, I curl up, clutching my stomach as it burns with pain. I wonder if that one last squeeze was worth it.
Oh, yeah.
"Shit, Sawada! What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demands shrilly. She crouches a few feet away, watching me warily, looking unsure as to whether she should be concerned for my well-being or smug over the karma my actions have brought me.
"Why do I always get hurt around you?" I hoarsely whisper as the pain slowly begins to lessen.
"Yeah, well, tough. I'm hurting too. It feels like my tooth almost got knocked out." Two deep lines of worry between her eyes betray her harsh words. "It can't be that bad."
It's really not, but she doesn't need to know that. I merely lie there, watching her, keeping my expression as stoic as possible. She must see something, though, as she begins to squirm and looks away. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?" My voice is measured, soft. I'm pretty sure this can go one of two ways: righteous fury or...Who am I kidding? With Yamaguchi, it's always fury.
"Like this is all my fault!" she splutters. "You scared the shit out of me! One minute I'm enjoying this wonderful dream involving me and Shinohara-sensei—"
I knew it.
At the mention of the lawyer, anger again singes the corners of my control. I grit my teeth when I notice her cheeks have colored; whether it is from remembering the dream or the mere mention of him, I don't know. Even her voice changes, making her sound like one of those annoying schoolgirls I make a habit of ignoring. Desperately needing a distraction, I roll onto my back to watch the leaves overhead sway.
She just has a crush...right?
"—and the next thing I know I'm straddling you—" She makes a choked-off sound of surprise. I look over to find her staring at me with her mouth open, her body stiff with shock. As our gazes meet, her eyes widen and a soft gasp escapes her. She covers her mouth and her nose with her hands pressed together.
Shit.
I had been hoping the anger would distract her from our previous compromising position, but it seems to have taken her full circle. With a sigh, I slowly sit up, buying myself a few extra seconds before complete meltdown. Using my best talk-her-down-from-a-ledge voice, I begin. "Yamaguchi—"
"I was straddling you!" she hisses, though it comes out a bit muffled with her hands still covering her mouth.
I give her a cocked eyebrow, waiting for her to continue, but her thinking process seems to have frozen on that one fact. Maybe I can still get away from this mostly unscathed. "So?"
"So? I was straddling you like some...tramp! How can I ever show my face at school again? I'm going to have to resign! I—"
"Lunch is ready," I interrupt in an attempt to break up her babbling. My head begins to pound with the beginnings of a headache that has nothing to do with our earlier fall. How could such an infernal woman make me so excited yet so tired at the same time?
"What?" She frowns in exasperation. "But we need to talk about this," she complains. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me."
I stare at her. I stare at her longer. She doesn't seem to be kidding. I don't know exactly how to put everything that was ridiculous about that idea in a single sentence. Shaking my head, I slowly stand up, aware that she's watching me, and shove my hands in my pockets.
Walking away at a leisurely pace, I decide to ignore her demands to return followed by her empty threats of what will happen if I don't. Eventually, I walk out of range of her screeching—or she gives up—though I know it's only temporary. The longer I put this off, the more determined she'll become to resolve it. Hopefully she'll wait until after lunch.
"How'd it go?" Pulled from my musings, I look up to find Kyou lounging against the door frame that leads into the house, a cigarette in hand, an expression of satisfaction showing in his eyes. And that's when it all clicks.
I should've known.
"You tell me. After all, you were there." A heavy dose of sarcasm can be heard in my voice. I roll my eyes and stop a few feet in front of him, waiting for him to finish his gloating.
His brows arch mischievously. "Why, whatever do you mean, Red Lion?" He takes a long drag on his cigarette, the tip blazing brightly. "Seriously, though," he continues while exhaling, "when I saw you about to take advantage of Ojou, I was about ready to rip you a new one." He straightens up and flicks the cigarette butt into the yard. "But I knew you'd do the right thing, so I decided you could use a little reward." He gives me a broad wink.
I glare at him. "So you decided to kick me?"
"Kick sounds so violent. I prefer nudge. You gotta think outside the box, Red Lion. It wasn't the nudge so much as what the nudge started. In the end, you got yourself a nice little war wound there." I begin to lift my hand absently to the cut beneath my lip, but stop halfway and cross my arms instead, trying to make it look like that was my intention all along. His mouth twitches with amusement. "Get it? Like a domino affect."
I'm not buying it. "So you're telling me you planned the whole thing?" I drawl with distinct mockery. He shrugs which only irritates me more. "I think you're full of shit."
He stares at me and then bursts out laughing. "That's what I like about you, Red Lion," he says, punching me in the shoulder hard enough that I wince. "You don't take shit from no one."
He turns, still chuckling, and I quickly brush my tongue against my "little war wound," knowing it will have to remain a secret from Yamaguchi. If she ever found out that we "kissed"—what a trainwreck that would be! So I'm okay with this—for now. I follow Kyou inside, wondering if Yamaguchi is dumb enough to believe I cut myself shaving.